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16

Griffin

I stroked his hair while he struggled with the water, and I remembered the other treat I’d gotten him. It didn’t seem so much a treat anymore as much as it was a necessity — which meant holding it hostage was a larger punishment than things like toys and even strolls around the basement.

He didn’t pull away from me. It seemed like the fight had vanished, but I knew it would be back. It was only a matter of when. But that was fine with me. I wanted to see this back-and-forth, because otherwise… I’d have to doubt my progress. There was no way this could be flawless.

“I have something else for you,” I said, my hand sliding down the harness, along his back. I briefly tightened my grasp on the handhold there, which pulled beneath his arms and legs in what had to be an uncomfortable move. I didn’t know why I felt the need to hurt him when he was behaving, but I did. I wanted to see how he’d react, and right now, he just took it — docile and willing to be touched.

I considered whether I wanted to demand something else in turn for the newest addition to his kennel or not, but he’d been tolerating my touches. He’d even started to get hard when I’d touched his cock in the bath, which had been a pleasant surprise.

That was it, then.

“You really made me happy in the bathtub,” I continued.

He went still.

“You let me touch and wash you, and your cock responded to me.”

He let out a choked sound, something I couldn’t really read — though I could make a few guesses at what it meant.

“Shh, shh,” I said, petting his hair again. “It’s good. You’re such a good boy for me.”

“No,” he said, just as he’d said before.

“Yes,” I insisted. I didn’t reach down to touch him again, even though I wanted to weigh his cock and balls in my hand. “So you get another treat. Okay? Because you’re such a good boy.”

He whimpered, but he didn’t move away.

“Now I want you to stay there,” I said.

I strode out of the cell, curious to see if he’d get up and make another futile run for it, if he’d stay where he was, or if he’d move just to be contrary. I kept tabs on him out of the corner of my eye as I went through the boxes again, glad I’d organized them well. I found the stand for his food and water bowls and nodded, bringing it out.

As it turned out, he hadn’t stayed put, but he hadn’t tried to make a break for it, either. He’d just gone back to his dog bed. I couldn’t blame him too much. The concrete floor had to be chilly beneath his body despite the warmth of the basement.

I sighed, though, shaking my head. “No. Your master told you to stay,” I told him sternly. “Good dogs stay when they’re told to.”

He gave me one of those venomous looks, but it lacked the heat it once would’ve shown.

“Come,” I told him, pointing back to the floor in front of the water bowl.

Our eyes met, and I could see the defiance in his eyes hold for a moment, then falter… then he ducked his head and returned, every motion deliberately slow. That was fine with me. As long as he moved, that was all I needed from him. Alacrity could come later.

So could respect, and loyalty…

I gave a slight shake of my head, and while he returned, I put the stand up. It had two holes, one for the food bowl and one for the water bowl. It would let him eat and drink at a more natural angle

He faltered as he saw it, but he ducked his head and tried the water.

I’d guessed the height correctly, and I was pleased to see that it looked much easier than leaning down into the bowls.

“Good boy,” I told him.

He didn’t give me a look. He didn’t do anything except get little mouthfuls of water and swallow them, pretending I wasn’t there.

I touched his hair again, then his back, and he let me. The fact that he wasn’t flinching away told me volumes, and even his brief act of defiance hadn’t lasted long.

He glanced aside at me, and I noticed he looked exhausted.

“Not sleeping well?” I asked, concerned. He should’ve been comfortable down there. I’d gone out of my way to prepare it — but for the cement, which I thought was countered enough by the blanket and the heating.

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Because some psychopath kidnapped me and locked me in his basement and is making me act like I’m a dog,” he snapped, sullen.

And because he’d reacted to said psychopath’s touch, and because he was having a harder and harder time fighting me. I couldn’t get angry at him, not really.

“If you keep behaving,” I said, ignoring his words, “you’ll get to come upstairs with me.”

His head shot up, his eyes locking with mine again. “You wouldn’t bring me upstairs. You know better.”

“You still don’t understand,” I told him. “There are benefits to being rich.”

I didn’t usually flaunt my wealth, but if there was ever a time to do it, it was now. He had to realize I could more than afford to keep him locked up inside until he didn’t want to run anymore.

He inhaled slowly, moving away from the water bowl.

“You should probably get some rest,” I told him. “You’ve been such a good boy today, but I know it had to be hard for you.” I couldn’t resist making the dig at him, couldn’t resist reminding him of what had happened in the tub.

He flinched, turning so he didn’t have to look at me. “You don’t have to—”

“I don’t have to what?” I interrupted him, still calm despite the part of me that was frustrated and impatient and wanted to pull that tail from his ass and fuck him senseless. “Remind you that you got hard when I touched you? It’s natural,” I said soothingly. “You’re a guy. You haven’t been touched in a while. ”

“It’s not natural ,” he spat, staring down at the ground. “I don’t like men that way, especially not men like you. Especially not men who look like you.”

He just had to throw the appearance card in there, didn’t he?

My teeth dragged along my bottom lip as I struggled to hide my reaction. At least I’d heard it more times than I could count, and I knew how to deal with it. It wounded me just as it always did, but I stayed as stoic as I always did.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“Oh, stop it,” he scoffed. “Stop pretending you’re some understanding guy instead of some piece of shit. You’re just fucking with my head.”

I was doing a good job of it, if this indicated anything. “I want you to have a good life here,” I replied, completely honest with him. There was no point in lying, not about this. “If I didn’t, you’d be strung up and fucked raw until I was done with you.”

He snorted.

“Believe me if you want. You’ll see. You’ll get comfortable here. This will be your home. You’ll be my pet, and I’ll be your master, and that’ll be that,” I said softly.

He shook his head, but no matter how much he wanted to deny it — to deny the truth — we both knew it was already beginning to happen. He was fighting less, giving in more easily… responding to me in ways that really were natural, though they’d be associated with me soon enough. All of his pleasure would be.

He might not be interested in men ‘that way,’ but he’d be interested in me .

“Now it’s time to settle in,” I told him. “Go on back to your bed.”

For all that he’d been quick to go to it when he hadn’t had permission, he was slow then, having to be as contrary as ever with me. I didn’t know what he thought that would accomplish, exactly — but maybe it made him feel better.

If our situations were reversed, I wouldn’t want to just give in either. I’d have to try not to break… and that was what he was doing. He was trying not to break. He was trying to save his mind despite how difficult that would be.

Despite the fact that he was going to fail.

I left him in the cell, locking the door behind me, and headed upstairs to clean up.

As always, it was quiet and lonely, and I put music on to try to chase some of my melancholy mood away. It was only a matter of time until I had companionship. My methods might not exactly be kosher, but it was the only way.

It wasn’t like I lied to myself and thought I was doing something good for the boy. I wasn’t. But this was the best way for me, and in time, he wouldn’t care anymore — or so I told myself yet again.

I washed the dishes and tidied up the kitchen, going through the house and poking half-heartedly at different things before ending up in the office where I could monitor him.

He was lying on his back in the dog bed, his eyes open as he gazed at the ceiling. I wondered what he was thinking, but his thoughts, at least, would be his own — for now. I was pretty sure I could guess anyway, and they had to be going to the tune of utter despair.

I didn’t want that for him. I didn’t want him to have a life of misery and desolation. I wanted him to be as happy as he could, to realize this could be an easy life of luxury.

He raised his hands in the air, looking at the mitts on his hands, and even through the camera I could see the miserable way he looked at them. He hated them just as much as he hated me — maybe more, really.

Without them, though, he would find it so much easier to disobey, and I’d have to punish him. I didn’t want to punish him again, especially not this early in the game. I wanted to give him positive reinforcements and teach him to crave my touch.

Was that really so wrong?