Sub encounter: Plumber

Steve arrived home around eight. As usual, Carl had arranged pizza, so he’d eaten. When he walked in, I was in the kitchen, returning my mug from upstairs. He was grubby from time on the job, and clearly tired from a day's work, and his effort at crew drinks.

"Hello sir," he greeted, as he stripped, fitting his collar.

"Boy," I replied.

"Did you watch drinks, sir? Carl said you might log in," he asked.

"I did. Good work, but let's talk more about it tomorrow," I suggested, "you look tired, best you get some sleep." He nodded, dropped his gear to the laundry, then made his way upstairs.

* * *

The next morning, as I woke and headed to the shower, I heard the vacuum running down stairs. Steve had started his chores. As I arrived in the kitchen, he’d moved on to unpacking the dishwasher and cleaning the stove top. Mid-afternoon he'd be outside mowing the lawns. The front he’d do in just his shortest shorts, the back he'd do in just his boots. By now, he'd built up a solid routine to get everything on his list done. Tomorrow he'd wash the cars, and clear cobwebs from the eves.

I poured my coffee and sat for a moment. He knew not to talk, until spoken to. As I sipped, I took in his naked form. As predicted, his muscle mass had enlarged even more. I could see he was starting to plateau, but regardless, he was an excellent walking example, of a lean muscle head.

I still found it hard to believe, I got to fuck such an amazing specimen, any time I wanted. I felt my cock stir, which I dismissed, as requiring too much before breakfast energy. He was preparing his own meal, knowing if I wanted him to fix mine, I would have instructed it.

"May I sit, sir?" he asked, carrying a plate of cereal, and water. I nodded. He lowered himself opposite.

"When you're done with the laundry, come up to the office," I suggested, "we can talk about last night, without being distracted."

"Yes sir," he replied, diving into his cereal.

*

Forty minutes later, we were seated upstairs.

"How was last night?" I asked, kicking things off.

"I was very nervous," he started, "But, I just followed Carl's suggestions, and it all worked out ok," he paused, "I think."

I nodded, mostly agreeing.

"Carl and you, had a talk before?" I asked.

"He asked me to come in a half hour early. He said a bit of planning would make sure; we didn’t scare the crew.

"A good manager." I said, mainly to myself.

"Why did he say, four of the team already knew?" I quizzed, "I thought it was just, Carl and Craig."

"It was, but he told Terry and Zak when they came in to load up Friday morning," he answered. "They showed up at my building site around eleven, wanting to hear it from me."

"What happened?" I asked, now dead curious.

"I gave them head," he replied evenly. "They believed me then," he smiled. I nodded; it made sense now. “So, you gave nine head jobs yesterday?" I calculated.

"Ten," he corrected, "I gave one to Carl when I came in early."

Good effort. I thought to myself.

"Sir, you watched, what did you think?" he asked.

I took a breath.

"For a first-time thing, it was ok," I suggested, with overstated caution.

"Next week you can’t have rookie mistakes. You need to be on a whole new level."

“Mistakes, sir?” he asked.

"Think about it. For some fucked up reason, you kept your clothes on!”

“You fucken know subs don’t wear clothes around men! Certainly, never in drinking circles!"

He nodded, reality slamming home.

“It’s just a missed opportunity, that’s all." I continued.

"As it stands, only Carl knows you’re caged."

“True?” I asked, as he nodded it was.

"By now, the whole crew should know you don’t have a dick, well, not a dick you can use."

I paused.

"Without having to say a word, you could have shown them, you’ve been gelded.”

“You could have demonstrated, that even with all your muscles, you're not a man,"

"You're a dickless set of holes, for men to use.”

* * *

“I don’t want to harp, but you need to think about serving," I extended.

"I saw guys, having to get their own beers, for fucks sake!"

"That's basic subbing 101," I pressed, obviously frustrated. 

"I'm sorry sir," he replied, getting flustered.

"Stop there!” I pulled him up. “You don’t need to be sorry, like I said, you did ok for your first show."

"It’s just if I don’t tell you the obvious shit, who’s going to?” I quizzed rhetorically.

He nodded wildly.

“Thank you!"

“You did well, but you missed some basics. Subs don’t get that luxury," I paused. “You’re lucky your crew is so green. This time next year, fuck up like that and they’ll be paddling your arse red.”

"Your head jobs were really good,” I praised, “but, oddly, none of the crew are hung, so you didn't have to exert yourself." I smiled; he grinned back. "But next week, a few of them will be looking to fuck you. You need to be ready."

“I will be,” he assured. 

* * *

"I don’t know what the story is with Justin, but I assume it's an in-crew joke?" I prophesied.

“It is sir, the whole crew has a plan to get, and keep him naked every time they drink together," he smiled. I laughed aloud.

"He doesn't have any idea, but the crew are all onboard," he declared. "Last month, they played strip darts at the pub. He was drunk, and before he knew it, in the buff.”

I laughed again.

What a great eighteen-year-old body to be on public display, I reflected.

His natural youth based six pack, was a joy to behold!

Holy fuck! I’d do him in a heartbeat!

"So, the crew have been looking to create their own baby sub?"

“Before you came along that is?”

"I don’t think so sir, they're just playing with him, until he comes out."

"Is he actually gay?" I questioned.

"I don't know, but the crew think he is, all of them!"

I just sighed, they'd work it out, I supposed.

"Anyway, you've got some adjustments to make," I said, returning to the main topic.

"We need you thinking pure sub, as your default state." I pressed, blaming myself for being slack.

"You know, build you to super-horned, and keeping you there.” I suggested.

“We’ll aim for borderline desperation.”

 “Keep your brain hyper, like its floating in backed up cum."

* * *

That afternoon, as I wandered out to see how the mowing was going, James emerged from his place.

"Beer?" he asked, nodding back towards his door.

"Sure," I agreed, not having seen him for a week or more.

As we sat in his lounge, S1 appeared with a can for each of us.

“Where’s C1?” I asked.

“In Depriv,” James responded, “too fucken troublesome to have them both being programmed at the same time.” He huffed, “I end up having to do menial shit myself!”

I nodded, smiling internally over how entitled he’d become. There’d be a day of reckoning at some point, but that was his problem.

“Is that your blue car out front?” Remembering to ask. He nodded.

“Yeah, picked it up from work for $500,” he advised, “it’s not flash, but mechanically its A1.”

“A second car?” I asked, “you’re fucken eighteen years old, with a good car already?”

“It’s my car, but it’s for the subs to use.”

“Meaning?” I questioned.

“I’ll show you,” he said, clicking his fingers and getting C1 to bring across the computer tablet from the sideboard.

He typed something in, then passed it to me to look at.

“What’s this?” I quizzed.

“‘GIRDER’ profiles, for C1 and S1.”

I took in the screen, then decided to take my time and read it properly. I started with C1.

It was true, a fully detailed profile for the boy. The front page was essentially an advert for services the boy could deliver, head, kink, role-play and finally arse. From what I read, apart from all the usual exclusions, the main no-go, was removal of his cage.

“How do you get to the second page?” I asked, when my attempt was blocked.

“You need to register,” he said, “restricts the nut jobs, a little,” he continued.

“Use my profile, from the Favorites list.” I did.

A whole new page opened, with full body stats, nude and action shots.

It also detailed a price list, and a booking portals.

“Fuck!” I exclaimed, “they’re getting bookings at these rates?”

“Yep,” smiled James, “and we’re putting the prices up next week. They sold out this week!”

“Jeepers!” I responded, pathetically.

“What’s happening with the cash?”

“60% to their account, 20% for running costs, and the rest for me,” he grinned.

“Not that they’re spending much.” He nodded towards S1 who was now kneeling in the corner.       

“So, what’s the car for?” I quizzed, returning to the original question.

“So they can get to their trick bookings, especially when I’m stuck at work.”

 “At night, Gus rides with them.”

“Who’s Gus?”

“He’s that big guy, from my work crew.”

I didn’t remember him.

“It’s weird, he’s taken a shine to the boys,” James advised. “He’s the one who knocks on the doors at nights, you know, checks the place for extra heads, who haven’t paid.”

“Is that an issue?”

“No, not with him checking,” he replied, as if it was obvious.

“So, you’re selling their arses?” I confirmed.

“And their throats, and their anything the fucken customer wants!”

“They’re fucken subs, they do what they’re told, enjoy it, need it, and at least with me, are getting paid for it,” he defended.

I held my hands up, I wasn’t attacking him.

“I checked, there’s a lot of owners out there taking 100%, and making the subs pay the on-costs!”