Page 13 of Boo-ty Calls
Archer
Walking into the living room, she isn’t there, and I can’t help but hyper-focus on what the punishment will be. Sloane is always full of surprises, but I hate not being able to touch her. It’s the hardest thing she doles out.
I find her in her office, reading a book.
“Can I help you? Or are you going to stand in the doorway all night?”
“Could go either way.”
She stretches her legs and taps her toes on the floor in front of her. “Make yourself useful?”
I tread into the office and kneel on all fours, but lower further onto my elbows so it’s not too high for her.
Once I’m in position, she puts my collar on, and when she rests on my back, I feel like I have a purpose.
Sloane is my whole world, but I’ve always felt like a worthless sack of shit. My parents never bothered to show me love.I work a shitty job and for a long time felt like life wasn’t worth the effort.
With her, she takes away the doubt, the guilt of not being more for her. In its place is only adoration and all the other things she provides for me.
“You take over, I don’t need you ruminating on your thoughts all night.” She tosses the book at me, and I open it and read from the chapter she has bookmarked.
Another dom age-gap story. She loves these, but I wonder why there aren't more like us out there. Our story should be written for others to read, and maybe they’d be able to find themselves in the pages.
I read her the next few chapters until my voice strains, and she taps me. “It’s enough. Let's go to bed.”
Staying on all fours, I wait for her. She walks around in her sock feet and puts things away before turning off the lamp next to me.
Squatting in front of me, Sloane lifts my chin and swipes her thumb across my bottom lip. “You were a good boy tonight. I need someone to cuddle me.” She smiles and clips my leash to my collar. We don’t use it often, but when Sloane’s in the mood, I do whatever she wants.
With a light tug, relief fills me, and I crawl behind her. Pins and needles float through my muscles, but after we reach the bedroom, I wait for her to be ready.
Sloane ruffles my hair and unhooks my collar. “You were such a good pet, come keep me warm.”
I’ve done well enough to be able to touch her tonight, and I’m thankful to lie next to her form. The soft intimacy of cuddling is what we both needed.
The next day drags like molasses on a hot day, itching to get home to see what Sloane has in store for me. It plays like a loop in my mind.
“Wanna go with us to get drinks?” Brian, the other manager, asks me, and I shake my head. “Bro, you never come out. Call that girl of yours and make it happen.”
I adjust my tie and look around the room as the new trainees are cleaning and leaving. “Can’t, my guy, maybe next time.”
“Pussy whipped,” he mutters. If he only knew.
I head out to the parking lot and get in my Jetta. Taking the back roads, I think about this job. It’s been a way to put food on the table and a roof over our heads, but I fucking hate it.
Day in and out of bullshit, no room to grow, and the commute sucks the life out of me. I’ve never explored what I wanted to do, I didn’t attend post-secondary, and although I’ve beat myself up over it, Sloanenever does.
Every single morning when I leave the house, I want to quit, but I need to provide for Sloane, and this job does that.
After a bit, I turn up the volume of my playlist and belt out the lyrics because my thoughts cloud my head too much.
When I get home, her car is gone, and I wonder where the hell she could’ve gone. Working from home means she rarely ever leaves, unless I’m with her—which isn’t as controlling as it sounds. She gets overstimulated and has high social anxiety.
Climbing the steps, I head in and glance around the space, but can’t find anything.
I walk up the stairs to the bedroom and strip off my suit. We could wear business casual because no one sees us but other employees; but the big bosses would lose their minds.
On top of my dresser is a bag and a note. I rush to the shower and rinse off before opening it:
