Such a Drag

Howdy this is a standalone that I found on my laptop when clearing out files. It is a BDSM relationship between two consenting male adults. Sorry if you're waiting for Hooking the Hockey Player. I've been sleeping better and I am currently moving house and college is restarting for the year but never fear, insomnia is always waiting for me. Hope you enjoy, Artie.

*****

I stood outside the door, furiously chewing on my third stick of gum. I had hosed myself down with Febreeze and then worried that it would tip him off, so I rolled the windows down and blasted AC on the way home. I spat out my gum in the bushes; he wouldn't know.

One more deep breath and I opened the door. The routine had been the same for nearly four years. Walk through the door, close it softly. Take off my clothes and place them in the waiting basket. Pick up my collar that is waiting on the table and put it on. Kneel. They were simple instructions but they meant the world to me. Sir had first explained to me that I was laying myself bare to him in all things. That each time I put on my collar I was doing it for myself, renewing my commitment to be his and only his.

Kneeling was about lowering myself, not in status. I was not below Sir but it was a physical reminder to be submissive that I would submit myself to his direction. It was about presenting myself gracefully and proudly as I should be in my submission. I was also at eye level with his crotch which reminded me that I was here in service of his pleasure. Sir would say our mutual pleasure but I had long since found out that I was happier serving him than at any other time.

Usually I did all these tasks with grace and ease, familiarity bringing deft movements. Today I felt twitchy and uncomfortable. I felt like a liar as I put on my collar. I had disobeyed him. I had broken one of the cardinal rules. I kneeled, waiting for him. I heard his shoes on the hardwood as he rounded the corner. He knew I would have kneeled waiting for him for hours but he would never do that to me.

There was silence for a moment, I could see nothing but his shoes. "Something you want to tell me boy?" Fuck me, of course he knows; he always knows. How does he know?

"No Sir." I blurted out. Shit, I could see his bearing change slightly, he stood a little taller. My mouth watered and my cock hardened as his dominance washed over me.

"I'm choosing to think that you accidently spoke otherwise I think that would be a lie. Do you want to try that again sub?" There was the barest hint of ice in his voice, as his disapproval rolled over me. There was no way to win this one, telling him the truth would be bad. Lying to him would be infinitely worse.

"I smoked, Sir." I said in a small voice.

Silence met my admission, I wanted to look up at him and plead forgiveness but I knew that breaking protocol would not be a way to endear myself to him or to get out of punishment. I could still see his feet in front of me, he stood unmoving. I begged him internally to do something, say something and relieve me of the misery of not knowing how angry he was.

"Eyes up," Relief that I would get to see him quickly changed to sorrow. He was almost completely impassive but his displeasure radiated from his every pore. Even knowing that I was in deep shit he looked amazing. His arms were folded over his chest as he gazed down at me showing of the muscles of his arms and chest.

He was still in his scrubs. He was a doctor who worked in the emergency room at a local hospital. It was where we met. I had been in college then, a thin reedy thing who without supervision had been continually fucking up. My grades had been in the garbage because I hardly went to class. I hadn't been a junky but I was certainly going down that path. I had crash landed in the ER my junior year after a party at my fraternity.

Binge drinking had been a way of life for me, a competition with my liver to see who could hold out the longest. I usually lost. I certainly had that night. An ambulance had been called to collect me, because I was incoherent and falling all over the place when the cops came to break up the party.

I didn't remember any of that though, I had been blackout levels of intoxicated since the pre-party where one of the pledges had sucked me off. Totally his choice, not a hazing thing.

I awoke lying on my side on a cot in the hospital. My mouth tasted disgusting and my head rang. Even the controlled noise of the ER was intensely painful to my rum and beer soaked brain. I looked down at myself: covered in my own vomit. Great. Just then a nurse noticed I was awake and bustled over to me, starting to take my blood pressure and various other stats. She did this with bristling efficiency; I doubted that I was in the first hundred college students she had seen that month.

She wrote some things down on her clipboard and then informed me in a clipped tone, "Dr. Anderson will be around so see you shortly." Then she was off to the next patient, it wasn't even that busy in the ER but she looked seriously overworked. I wasn't hurt that her bedside manner was less than warm, no one really wants to be around a person covered in upchuck. Sighing I reached into my pocket to find my phone. Nothing. Patting myself down, I couldn't find my wallet or my phone but I found my trusty box of cigarettes and a lighter.

I briefly panicked at the thought of losing my phone and wallet but figured they were probably at the frat house. The brightness of the hallway was too much for my fragile brain so I closed my eyes and tried not to feel dizzy; it felt like I was in the middle of an ocean during a hurricane.

A low clearing of a throat made me blink my eyes open and my mouth fall open. A man stood in front of me, wavy blonde hair falling over his light green eyes. He looked fit, like he ran every morning. I later found out that daily runs were just a small part of his routine.

I shrank under his intense scrutiny, "How are you feeling Mr. Marley?"

"Better than I deserve," I responded all too aware now that I looked terrible.

He smirked at my answer and nodded as if agreeing, "You came in last night with a .35 BAC; you could have died." I must have looked unimpressed because he pulled out a breathalyzer and had me blow into it. "You just blew a .15 BAC. You being this coherent shows that this is something that happens often." He said it with such a disdainful air, I dropped my eyes from him. I didn't know it then but that was the first signal to him that I was a submissive.

"You need to take better care of yourself and have your friends look out for you okay?" Dr. Anderson spoke and rested a hand on my shoulder, I'm sure it was meant to be a comforting gesture but even through a terrible hangover, I hardened. At twenty-one I didn't have much control over any part of myself, though I've since learned control over most of myself I've never been able to control my reaction to him.

After being discharged, I was faced with the truth. I had no way to get home. Without a phone I couldn't call a brother to come get me and without a wallet I couldn't pay for a cab. I sat down outside the hospital on a bench and shook out a cigarette. Smoking always cleared my mind: the nicotine and the ritual of lighting it and the deep inhales and exhales.

Three drags in and I already was feeling better and had formulated a plan: I was going to call a taxi company using the ER's phone and then pay when I got there. If I couldn't find my wallet fast enough, one of the guys would probably help me out.

My cigarette was snatched out of my hand and grinded out before I could even recognize what was happening. Indignant, I blinked up at the looming body of Dr. Anderson. His face was calm but determined. "What the fuck was that?" I asked angrily.

"I didn't spend all night getting thrown up on to make sure you didn't aspirate into your lungs only to have to fill them with tar." He said simply his eyebrow arching at my tone. I wouldn't dare curse at him now, I doubt I would be able to sit for several days. "Also this is a hospital, so it's a no smoking area."

"Oh," I shook my head at my idiocy, of course I wasn't allowed to be smoking, "I'm sorry; I guess I'm a little out of it. Did I really throw up on you?"

"Several times," he answered. I watched his mouth move, he really was incredible. I wanted to tear my eyes off of him, the sun was way too bright out, but I couldn't move my gaze from him.

"I'm sorry," I muttered feeling ashamed.

"How sorry?" He asked arms crossing over his chest. He told me later that I was being incredibly obvious in ogling him.

"What do you mean?" I asked him.

He smiled slightly, "If you were really sorry you would promise not to drink that much again or really anywhere close to that much. I don't want to see you back in the hospital."

It might have been that I was still double the legal limit to drive but I was feeling bold, "You really don't want to see me again?" Or maybe I was that bold because I was a cocky little shit of a twenty-one year old that knew he was a hot twink.

He chuckled but changed the subject, "Is a friend coming to get you?"

"Nope, I don't have my phone so I'll have to get a cab."

His voice turned slightly more serious, "How are you intending to pay for it, I know you don't have your wallet. We were trying to find your insurance card and you didn't have one on you."

I searched my brain for any memory of that, nothing, "I'll just pay when I get back home."

He sighed and checked his watched, "Come with me; I'll drive you home." His soft command had me on my feet but I had doubts.

"How do I know you're going to take me home?" I asked suspiciously, wondering why anyone would do something like this for a total stranger. He later told me that I looked so sad that he felt bad just leaving me behind.

He snorted, "What, do you think I'm going to take you? Sorry Mr. Marley, but you're covered in your own puke. Not really my thing."

Blushing, I stood and stared at him, "Nothing is free so just tell me what you want."

He was quiet for a moment, "Promise me that you won't have more than three drinks a night and give me your pack of cigarettes."

He tossed my cigarettes in the garbage can and took me home. "Thank you Dr. Anderson for taking me home and taking care of me last night," I murmured as we arrived at the frat.

"You're welcome Mr. Marley," he responded, his green eyes glimmering.

"It's Chris," I replied, wanting some courage to ask for his number or for him to ask for mine.

He didn't, "Keep your promise Chris." I nodded and left. I watched him drive away from our beer can covered lawn, still destroyed from the party the night before.

I didn't see him for a while, until I had broken my ankle playing soccer with some friends. It was around a month after the blackout incident; he looked just as good as I remembered and had grown a dusting of light brown scruff that made him look even more angular. He wasn't my primary doctor as I got my foot scanned but he spotted me and came over.

"Mr. Marley, I thought you weren't going to end up back here."

"Broke my ankle, doc. No alcohol involved." I had been following his rules even then, no more than three drinks in a night. It had felt important, my promise to him had been something I wanted to keep.

"Did someone get you something for the pain?" He asked glancing at my chart.

I smiled, propped up on the pillows while I waited to get my cast put on, "No, they offered but I've got a pretty high pain tolerance."

His eyes shot up to mine and an easy sensuous smile covered his lips, "Is that right?" Just then the nurse came to put my ankle in a cast. Dr. Anderson stayed with me, though I'm sure he had patients to worry about.

The nurse asked me to flex my foot upwards and I wished I had taken the drugs. Sweat stippled my forehead and I grunted with exertion trying to keep my foot in the right position so it would heal correctly. I closed my eyes against the pain and gritted my teeth. A felt a hand touch my head, and Dr. Anderson's voice next to my ear, his breath against my neck causing goosebumps, "You're doing great Chris. You can do it." The hand on my head started combing through my hair almost like one would pet a dog, but I loved it. I leaned into his presence and let his quiet strength bolster me. The second the plaster covered my ankle it was easier, I no longer had to actively be hurting myself.

Dr. Anderson stayed with me long after the plaster dried, "I'm going to have them prescribe you some pain medication. You don't have to get it filled if you don't want to but I'll feel better if you have the possibility."

After I thanked him and had been given several packets of instructions as well as a prescription and a pair of crutches, I was getting ready to call a brother to come and pick me up when Dr. Anderson came over to me.

"You have someone who can take care of you when you go home?" He asked sternly watching me try to juggle the sheets of paper and the crutches. I really needed a third hand.

I smiled up at him, "I'm going home to a house full of guys."

"Ones that will be comfortable helping you shower?"

I was pretty confident that I would be able to accomplish this task alone but I joked with him, "I could always order a pledge to help."

His voice pitched lower, "Something tells me you don't like to be the one giving orders." At that point I didn't know anything about BDSM or what he meant but I knew that I liked the way even just his voice made me feel. He took my pre-occupation as a yes. "If you wait half an hour, I'll drive you home."

"Is it going to cost me cigarettes again?" I blushed, excited that he was going to take me home.

He looked disapproving and held out his hand, "It's a nasty habit with long term health risks, hand them over."

I dug into my pocket and pressed the pack into his palm, our fingers lightly brushing together; a jolt of lust went through me. He stared into my eyes as he crushed the pack in his fist before chucking them in a garbage can. That was the last pack of cigarettes I ever bought.

He drove me home but as I struggled to get out of his car on my own, he asked again, "You're sure one of these guys can take care of you? You need to be taken care of Chris."

I shrugged, hoping that I was about to get an invitation back to his house. "I don't really have any other options," I hinted.

He smiled, "I'll let you stay the night at my place. I'll help you get your bearings with your crutches and how to take care of yourself."

He told me later that my smile was so big he was concerned that my face would break in half. "I don't have any more cigarettes to pay for it. Nothing in life is free, what's this going to cost me?" I asked hinting that I would be more than okay to pay with my body.

He smirked at my obvious flirtation but responded, "My house has rules and you will follow them."

I had listened to his rules they were pretty basic to start off with and I agreed to his terms. I never left. His rules got more stringent and our relationship became sexual over time. I learned about my deep submissive streak and that I liked nothing more than being taken care of and following his rules. He went from Dr. Anderson to William for a very short time to Sir. I liked Sir the best.

Sir was able to take me to heights I didn't know imagined, he treated me like a prince while also keeping me humble and reaching. He turned my life around in so many ways, he gave me a reason to value myself again. I followed his lead and he never abused my trust. Under his direction, I was better kept than ever. By the end of college I was back to making the grades that got me into school in the first place. I didn't dream of drinking to excess and he slowly weaned me off nicotine. The patch works but what really works is the threat of serious punishment.

I knew that was what awaited me as I kneeled waiting for him to speak to me, "How many cigarettes did you smoke?"

"Just one, Sir," I immediately cringed; he wouldn't like that I editorialized.

One blonde eyebrow reached toward his forehead, "Just one, hmmm? So it was okay that you went in direct contravention to my rules because it was just one?" He repeated "just one" with such disdain.

Well it wasn't like I couldn't see that coming, "No, Sir."

"You're right it isn't okay. Follow me." I followed him through the halls of his house, which had become mine as well over time. His cool color aesthetic was solely losing ground to my warm colors. There was one room in the house that I had no say over and we were headed there.

The room had evolved from the first time I had been brought there as had my reaction to it. The first time I was still in my cast and bored while waiting for Sir to come home. Boredom and I have never been a good mix. One of Sir's rules was to always have his permission before drinking. He didn't have to be there but he wanted to be sure that someone was watching me. I was on a dry month and a half while on crutches though. Being wobbly and on crutches is not a good combination. I had found my way into the liquor cabinet and had thrown back a few shots of vodka before collapsing on a chaise to wait for him. Sir for his part, picked me up and put me in bed. When I was fully sober the next morning he had introduced me to what happens when I break a rule; something that I was about to face yet again.

Sir turned to face me as we made our way into the center of the room, "Why are you not allowed to smoke cigarettes?"

"Because they are a bad habit and they have health consequences, Sir." He had repeated variances of this phrase to me for the year it took to get off nicotine completely, I knew the sentiment by heart.

"No," he said, grabbing the D ring on my collar and pulling me against him. He laid siege to my mouth, declaring his dominance over me. I melted under his lips as the intensity lightened. Our tongues dueled and I wanted so badly to grab his shoulders and pull him to me: definitely not allowed in this room. He lifted his head, his fingers still gripping my collar making sure that my eyes were locked onto his, "It's because you are mine. Your body is mine to do with what I will. I protect you and care for you sub; I won't have you destroying it yourself."

He led me forward to the table, in the past I had been strapped to it and been teased and fucked and flogged and loved. I was fond of this table. I expected an order to lay down on it or at least lean over it; that's not what I got.

"I won't be strapping you down. You are going to bend over so that your ass is high in the air and your hands stay flat on the table. If your hands leave the table, I will take that as a sign you are not willing to continue. Do you understand sub?"

"Yes, Sir." Shit. It's far easier to be punished when you are tied down, you can struggle but you won't escape. You can be free in your reactions. This way I would have to whole-heartedly focus on staying still with my hands on the table, there would be no reprieve.

"Get into position," he said walking away from me. I bent at the waist, placing my hands shoulder-width apart on the table. I spread my legs and arched my back knowing that presenting myself perfectly would please him even though he was unhappy with me.

I tracked him with my hearing as he went across the room to the armoire that held all of the punishment implements, as if I needed another reminder that this was going to be punishment.

"It's going to be three across your shoulders, three across your ass, and three across your thighs." I briefly panicked and thought about lifting my hands off the table, such a low number mean this wasn't going to be a paddle or something. This was going to be painful with something that would leave welts not bruises. My anxiety gave way to the need to do this for him and for me, for us. I had messed up. I had known the consequences before I had even bummed the cig.