Bath Day

I stop oiling Kareem long enough to slap a bronzed butt-cheek. He’s prone, face down with me sitting on his legs, my thumbs sliding in and out of his crevasse. I’m pinching him open, swirling my way inside. I love the way his ass wiggles, but discipline is paramount, so I slap him again.

I work the plug in slowly. He’s new at this, and his hole is pretty tight. He wiggles his protest some more—my new pet. So I pull at his ear, our signal for him to simmer down, and then yank on his chain. He’s up and trotting behind me.

In the bedroom, I lay towels carefully on the bed and have him jump up, which he does, surprised and pleased, I can tell, at this rare privilege.

Stroking his cock, I raise his leg in the fowler’s position, leaving him there to collect what I need from the bathroom. I return with an enema, the plastic nipple of which I insert in his rectum, slowly emptying the bag, petting Kareem.

It’s all done in about half an hour. I wash my pet’s ass carefully, explaining the while that he’s to get a special treat, a much more thorough bath, at a friend’s private establishment.

We arrive promptly at seven. “Mr. La Croix, I say, and pet.”

I’m suffering by then, and I know Kareem is too. His favorite chew-toy is about to explode in my pants. I usually make him wait. One game involves clamping his balls while he rolls over and I jizz his tummy. Sometimes I spank him. Sometimes, I let him mount me, though usually I fuck him.

“Never mind all that,” I interrupt the receptionist’s obvious prattle about tubs for pets, thrusting my credit card at her. I want a large tub, for both of us.

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