Running Out Of Space

Tick. Tack.

Tick- Bing. FUCK. Tack.

Of course. Of fucking course. Friday 6pm and you get an email from a client. 6pm. Friday. What in the ever-living... You steady yourself, take a deep breath. It's just a thank-you email for all the hard work you put in during the week. It will be. Think positive. It will- FUCK.

Urgent changes - broken system. Obligatory "We tried everything...", "The backups...", "Absolutely critical...", "Due ASAP...". The usual. As always. Another client with his own personal tragedy. A tragedy, that could've long be avoided, but they don't listen. They never do. "Quick prototyping, rapid deployments, time to market". Yeah, two can play that bullshit bingo. They only had to listen to your suggestions. You gave them willingly - free of charge. They hired you for your expertise after all. They should listen to you, right? But they don't. Now that's the true tragedy right there.

You know most of your tech-jargon is lost on your clients, they like to hear it, sure, but they don't actually _hear_ it. You even tried the most crystal-clear metaphor you could think of: Only because one mother takes nine months to give birth to a baby doesn't mean it takes two mothers 4 and a half months. That's not how it works and the same goes for your job. For the job they explicitly hired you for.

But they don't listen. They never do.

So here you are. Changes requested - due monday - critical. If you had a penny every time someone said critical without being aware of the words meaning. Broken system? Critical. Broken formatting? Critical. Broken spirit? Critical. Broken face? You wish.

The changes will probably take a few hours. Maybe three realistically. That means actually nine hours and also it's the weekend so you'll double your rate. Friday 6pm. The audacity.

You gnaw on your lip and try to handle the rising frustration and anger within you. You feel like screaming, but all that leaves your mouth is a heavy, frustrated grunt. You should really order a punching bag for your office. Or two.

You swallow your anger and put on a smile, even though there's no one but you in your homeoffice. You type up a quick response. "Dear Asshole...", no, of course you don't call them asshole. Compared to them you know what basic decency and respect is. "...it'll be done." Of course it will be.

As you get up from your chair you feel your back hurt. It is like the frustration is making your muscles cramp and joints ache. You make your way down the short flight of stairs.

Click. Clack.

You have a look at the clock. 6:30.

Tick. Tack.

You snort in more suppressed frustration, considering the fact that you planned heading into the weekend early, taking half the day off. No such luck. Of course not. You look at your phone. No messages, which is both relief and reason for somewhat more frustration. Relief, because no clients tried contacting you, frustration, because your entertainment was 30 minutes late. It wasn't entirely fair to say "late", they didn't actually have set times, but something you would call a non-verbal agreement. It was probably the traffic being traffic again. Especially on a friday.

You decide to push through with the latest request from your client. You really don't want that lingering feeling of a task unfinished in the back of your mind for the rest of the weekend. Not when you want to focus on something else entirely...

You grab a snack from the fridge and head back up.

Click. Clack.

Click-

Knock. Knock.

Speak of the devil.

Behind the heavy, metal door waits a cute, little thing. Your plaything that is. He looks up at you and smiles. It is a smile of innocence - something you've long since robbed him of, a smile of expectation - one you knew all too well, a smile of embarrassment - one you'd make sure he left with. No words are spoken, you simply step to the side and let him inside. The two of you don't need words. Not overly so. Once you have him begging and crying for mercy, that's when you are in need of words, more out of twisted pleasure than actual need, but still. It's the thought that counts.

He knows what to do. You taught him well. He strips and neatly folds his clothes and puts them on the ground next to the entrance. Leaving him with nothing but a piece of metal on his crotch. He turns and shows himself off from all angles. He was sure to impress you this time. You can smell, more than you can see, that he has taken his time to prepare himself for what's to come. Is that a faint trace of perfume you smell? You almost feel bad for the things you're going to do to him. Almost, of course, but not quite.

You simply nod in approval and make your way back up the stairs. The client's request still lingers in your mind and it will continue to do so until you're done with it. Might as well get it over with. He follows you. A few steps behind. Hands behind his back, head bowed. You taught him really well. He doesn't ask questions, he doesn't demand - he obeys. For he knows: It is about your pleasure not his.

Back in the chair you point to the space underneath your desk. Might as well let out all the pent up frustration while getting the rest of the work done. The look on his face is priceless. His gaze wanders to the space you're pointing at, back to you, back to the space. It clicks in his head and he quickly shuffles under the desk. Judging by how he looks at you, it's not the most comfortable place or position to be in. His back bend, his head stopped by the tabletop and his knees on the parquet floor. He doesn't complain - he obeys.

You move your chair close and your thighs around his head. A pleasuring heat rises from his body. It feels good to have something warm between your legs, but you have just the idea to make it feel even better. He doesn't move without your permission, he doesn't even ask, he just remains perfectly still, save for them heavy breathing and an almost inaudible needy whine. Music to your ears. You knock on the tabletop above him.

Knock. Knock.

It should be enough of a hint to him - and indeed it is. He carefully removes your shorts and pulls them down and you're confident he knows what to do next. Pressing matters might wait below the desk, but critical issue were just in front of your eyes. So how best to approach that issue? Quick and dirty? Just how your toy - you mean your client likes it? Or maybe a well-rounded solution? Resistant and well lub- executed to the point that he- you mean it will remain there for the forseeable future? Without any issues arising and covering potential edge-cases? You sure know about edge-cases as does he- you mean your client.

A solid middle-ground maybe? Can't have you take too long on that fix after all and can't have your weekend plans be ruined. Speaking of... You let your foot wander down into the crotch of your pet. He is doing a good job between your legs and you're sure to reward it. You let your toes wander about, exploring, lifting, jiggling, squeezing, eliciting all the sounds of joy and desperate need from below the tabletop.

At least the client provided exact specifications. It's rare to have someone know what he wants, but it's even rarer to find someone know what he actually needs. Some need to be shown what's best for them and some just don't seem to learn.

Tip. Tap.

Your hands fly over the keyboard. An exercise in focus and willpower. Having to ignore your body and focusing on the screen in front of you. You gnaw at your lip again. The problem isn't a hard one, unlike most things today. It just takes some effort and determination to push through with it. Some changes here, some changes there. Important is to get into the flow of things. To get the creative juices flowing. It's easy from there on, really. You've done it plenty of times. You'll do it again.

Tip. Tap.

You're chasing the issue. You setup everything around it. Making sure it can't escape. Trapping it within your grasps. And then when it comes to the final push, it is like a relief that washes over you. An issue resolved - a "critical" one at that. A toy- you mean a client well satisfied.

Tip. Tap.

A final email for the day. It feels wrong sending one after dark, it's not even winter. "Issue resolved..." and all that. The usual stuff. And of course you time the email to be send in something like a few hours so that it seemed like a genuine challenge, a great investment of time, skill and resources. A-

Ring. Ring.

You gotta be fucking kid-

Ring. Ring.

Critical issue addendum #1: Never pick up the phone after working hours. Never. Ever.

Critical issue addendum #2: Don't let yourself be pulled into a conversation about potential benefits of you-don't-care and why-are-you-telling-me-this.

Critical issue addendum #3: Excuse the grunts and noises in the background with you working out, while on the phone.

Critical issue addendum #4: Make sure that _no one_ forgets his role during important business calls. Potential ways of solving such issues are to gently squeeze the right parts until all parties are back on track.

Click. Clack.

You head back down the stairs. Now, finally, after what feels like an eternity, but couldn't have been more than a few hours, you are free. Your weekend awaits. Two days that is of the two and a half you planned. Such is life. You sigh and let your muscles relax. The day has been far too long already. Any energy you had left by 6pm is long since gone. Sucked from you by client, issue and plaything alike. Unfortunate, you had many great things planned out, but there's no fun in doing them if you are about to fall asleep doing them.

You head over to the shower, your toy trailing behind you. His face still looks cute, but in a different way. Covered in all kinds of creative juices. Same goes for his crotch. He left a trail in your apartment. You'll be sure to make him clean up later. For now, though, you're mighty contend just letting the hot water rinse over your worn body and mind and letting gentle hands work your back and front. Your toy knows what to do. What is asked from him without the voice behind it. A good toy. An obedient one.

As he scrubs you down his hands hit your necklace, making it jiggle. Causing him to whine again. You shoot him a dangerous look. He notices the glint in your eyes and quickly resumes his work. There's no need for words - he knows better than to question you about his pleasure - he obeys.

A king sized bed awaits you both. Your muscles are but puddy by the time you let yourself sink into the sheets. You might've not left your apartment today. You might've only gone through your usual morning exercises, but it wasn't the physical aspect that had you all worn out, that had the muscles aching. No, the tiredness came from your mind. Solving problems, dealing with difficult clients, keeping your composure, keeping your sanity, these were all things that got to you way more than any workout ever could. Sure, you chose this life, but that didn't make it any easier. The week had been long and overly difficult.

You roll around and under the blankets. He is staying beside your bed, head bowed and hands interlocked. Did he know how incredibly hard it was to not admire him all day, every day for his cuteness? He wasn't daring to make a move on his own. You taught him well. You could just close your eyes now and he would remain there for the rest of the night, sleeping on the floor next to your bed - and while that was always a fun thing - tonight he wouldn't. He did good today. He deserved to be treated well.

You reach over and grab him by the waist, hoisting him into the sheets next to you and wrapping the blankets around him. A contend sigh escapes your lips as you pull him into your arms and hug him close. Spooning him and snuggling your face into his neck. He snickers and tries to remain still, he is quite ticklish as you've found out a while ago. Another trait you love.

You let your hand wander to his crotch and grope his nether regions. He gasps, struggling to remain still. You have no intention of engaging with him in any kind of activity, not today. You're happy to just fondle and play a bit with his - with your - property. Today you went easy on him. Let him get used to what's to come. Tomorrow however... it's your turn to snicker, before drifting off into sleep.

You are greeted with the delicious smell of waffles and coffee. He is standing next to you again, just like yesterday, this time with a tray with breakfast. He sure is on his best behavior this weekend. You can't help but smile at him. Taking the coffee from the tray and motioning him to take a seat and have a bite of his own. The sun has risen behind thick, grey clouds. Looks like rain. Maybe you should enjoy your breakfast on the balcony, while the weather is still nice enough. You get up, stretch and make your way to the wall of windows. He is quick to follow you. With the tray, of course. You open one of the sliding doors and step out, taking in the smell of the city. All the way up here it's not that bad, honestly. The wind is powerful enough to blow away the stench of millions of people and the view is fantastic. It's not the highest building you're on, but close to. Your toy hesitates in the doorframe and you snicker into your coffee mug. You don't have to turn to know he is deeply blushing at the prospect of potentially being seen from the other buildings. You decide to push him a bit. Just a tiny bit. A snap of the fingers and he comes flying next to you. He has shrunk considerably. Trying to hide his bits with his body, while still trying to keep the tray up. You grab a waffle and take your sweet time chewing on it. They are delicious of course. You taught him well.

By the time you're done with the first waffle he is quivering and ever so slightly shifting his legs in an attempt to hide himself better. His head is bowed so deep his forehead is almost on the tray. You are not really enjoying the view by this point. Well, not the view beyond the balcony that is.

You grab another waffle, just as slow as before and begin munching it. You think you hear him whine and you try your hardest not to chuckle again. You could always make him present himself right now. A simple command would be enough. Have him learn how much more humiliating this situation could become in an instant. He doesn't dare moving away from your side, even though his feet are already pointing towards the door again. You hear an audible gasp of relief as you move back inside as the dark clouds above become too threatening. It's time to start the day.

You make your way straight to a special, little room. A room without windows, but the most fun things in the entire building. That is besides the one trailing behind you. You unlock it and enter. This time there's no hesitation from him. He follows suit.

This room has a different vibe to it than the clean, modern rest of your apartment. This one is special. Red velvet, black polyester, white satin. Soft silicone, unrelenting wood, cold metal. Rough ropes, jingling chains, creaking leather. Dimmed lights, unlit candles, glaring spotlights. It had taken years completing this room. To this day you still add details, remove worn out equipment or add new toys. Whatever strikes your fancy, really.

There is another bed here. One with different sheets. One where stains are easier to take care of. On it, laid out neatly, the only "clothing" he is allowed to wear in the apartment.

You motion him to it with a finger and finish your coffee. Your gaze wanders around the room. You have something planned, but that is for tomorrow. The grand finale so to speak. As for today...?

You're not usually indecisive, but this time it's different. You feel good otherwise, but there's just no... incentive to do anything but what you planned for tomorrow. Sometimes you wished there was less to choose from. It was this thing where too much choice made it actually harder to pick. You stroll about. Along the shelves, the contraptions. No... nothing seems right. All the while your toy stands fully dressed in the middle of the room. Not making another move. You trained him well.

You turn to him and lift his chin up, locking eyes, followed by a big, all encompassing motion. A rare treat, but only because you're feeling particularly generous today.

His choice. His eyes grow big and start to wander too. You begin to wonder what he'll pick. You bet with yourself. One part of you bets he will attempt anything for some form of release, the other half bets he will pick whatever he thinks you like best - just to please you.

He takes his time. Good. You taught him well. Patience and an eye for details.

He quickly jumps over to the far side of the room and picks a big piece of leather and straps, before bringing it before you with pleading eyes. Puppy eyes. You have to compose yourself not to ravage him and his cute looks right then and there. It takes a lot of willpower to just nod in approval and you begin strapping him in a nice and tight bitchsuit.

Folding his arms and legs, making him crawl on his joints.

You're not too sure, which part of you won the bet now. Knowing he enjoyed it and you certainly did too. You pulled the straps tight made him whimper. You would give him something to really whimper about soon. An idea started to form in your head. A sinister one, he would probably say, if he was to speak that is. It is your turn now, seeing him all helpless in his black bitchsuit. You feel your groin start to tingle. You add a collar and leash, an unassuming plug from one of the shelves and a remote. Finally, a nice and tight bridle, to give him something to chew on. Seeing the result stumbling about before you makes you appreciate your work. He is looking at you expectantly, his tongue hanging out like that of a puppy.

You could tell him your plan now. You could tell him to see the panic in his eyes. What a sight that would be. You decide against it. He'll realize soon enough. A snap of your fingers and you leave the room again. He tries his best to keep up with you. Another snap of your fingers and a stern finger pointed to the ground. You leave him to grab some casual street wear. Your toy doesn't move. You trained him well.

Coming back you see the confusion in his eyes.

But only for a moment.

His pupils dilate and he almost jumps back. Quite the impressive feat. He realizes and you give him your most sinister grin. His head shakes like mad - though you notice he is still not saying a single word, not making much more noise than the occasional grunt or gulp. He even backs away a couple of "steps".

You decide to test him. It'll decide tomorrow's session's fate.

You move over to the door of the elevator and you snap your fingers a single, loud time. You will not snap a second time. He knows that. He knows what's expected of him. You can make out a slight shudder running down his spine. Shaking him. You start counting in your head.

One.

He recoils even further.

Two.

He comes to a shivering stop.

Three.

He looks at you and around the room - as if there's anything that could help him in his predicament.

Four.

There's defiance in him, but it's overshadowed by fear and uncertainty.

Five.

You start to - very slowly - tap your foot, making him almost frantic.

Six.

There's doubt in your mind too. Did you push him too far?

Seven.

His mind is racing and you can see it in his every move and in his wide-eyed look.

Eight.

You think that's the breaking point. You think you see the snap in him.

Nine.

He starts crawling towards you. Any slower and a snail could've beaten him to it.

Ten.

He is not even close to you by this point, but you decide not to punish him for it. This is a big step after all. By the time he is by your side, leaning against your leg, he is shivering from anticipation and anxiety. Poor toy. Also, you could've counted to twenty by now, but you let it slide.

The door to the elevator opens with a ding and you grab his leash. No second thoughts now. He jumped at the sound of the elevator. Part of him had probably expected you not to go through with it.

How very wrong.

You press the button labeled "Ground Floor" and the doors are closing. About thirty seconds now. Meanwhile your toy starts to whine and whimper. There it is. Music to your ears. Anyone from the lower floor apartments could enter at any time now. You know that, he knows that. But that's not what he fears. He fears what'll come after you step out of door.

The lobby is empty. Lucky him. His eyes dart left and right in search of anyone in sight. Very lucky, indeed.

Down the hall you can see the reception and a familiar face. A young tiger is seated behind the desk. Out of view from his toy's angle.

You know that tiger well. You could say inside-and-out well. That was before you met the shivering mess to your feet. He can see the people on the sidewalk going about their saturday business. Most of them don't look inside, some do, but from this distance it's likely they think he is just a regular dog. Doesn't change the fact that you have to practically drag him out of the elevator by the leash. The floor is made of smooth marble, making it easy to drag him along. But his resistance is growing. Every step you take he starts to pull against you more and more. You're stronger than him, so it doesn't bother you, but you're worried you might actually hurt his neck.

As you get close to the receptionist desk he tugs himself close against it. Hiding himself from anyone out on the sidewalk.

The tiger stands up and greets you. You smile at him and you can hear a sharp inhale from down below.

Now, he knows.

The tiger's ears perk up. A confused expression on his face.

You let your eyes wander down and the tiger is sure to follow them. Now he is the one inhaling sharply. The whine you hear coming from below almost ripped your heart apart. If it weren't for your sadistic nature, of course. You hand the young tiger the leash and inform him you'll quickly be grabbing a few things from the shop around the corner. He looks at you and then at the leash. Your smile is unwavering and before you know it he returns it. A sharp tug on the leash and your pet is gone behind the desk. All the while whimpering like a bitch in heat, filling your heart with joy. You show the tiger the remote and turn the small wheel on its side. A grunt and a moan come from behind the desk and you hand the remote over. No doubt in your mind that your toy will have the time of his life.

You walk off, you won't be gone long - not with your... obligations and the bad weather, but you really fancy some chocolate cream right about now.

You had expected to be gone for something like ten minutes, but apparently half the city fancied some chocolate cream. The queue took you more than half an hour. By that time you could've gone grocery shopping and bought all the chocolate cream you could ever wish for. But on a more positive note, you got to look at some cute picture of a whining and writhing mess below a desk, that the tiger had send you. So it wasn't all bad.

When you reentered you keep your ears perked, would you hear him, before you saw him? Apparently not, he had figured that staying quiet was the way to remain undetected - and keep his handler happy. You wonder how long that had taken him to find out? You hand the tiger a cone of chocolate cream. You know how much felines love their cream. This one especially...

You get the leash and remote back in exchange. The whining and whimpering start back up like an engine and you swear you have never seen your toy rush that fast in his suit. You give the receptionist a friendly smile and a wave and up you went. The toy to your feet basically collapses against your legs and you had to carry him out of the elevator. He doesn't make any other move or tries to complain through his bridle. He just lays in your arms and takes heavy breaths. It must've been exhausting - again not the physical part of that exercise.

You lay him down in your bed - the fun one - and roll him into your arms. Checking the remote, you notice that the tiger really went to town on him. You turn the wheel back down from full power. A low setting is more than enough for the aftercare. As much as you enjoyed what you did with your toy, you know it is just as important to take care of him afterwards.

The rest of the day passes in relative silence, that is until he starts trying to get frisky again. Thinking his actions today gave him some kind of get-out-of-jail-free-card. The plug in his ass seemed to have awoken his spirits again, at which point you had to punish him, of course.

You sit down, scratching your chin and contemplating. Your toy has been very good all weekend. There had been struggle of course. A bit of disobedience here and there, but all in all...

Good toys deserve rewards, but you don't feel like unlocking him and sending him on his way. It would ruin all that you two build up. No, it would be too easy to do that. Too easy to just turn a key. You will make him work for it. He might've worked all weekend for it, but just like you on that friday - sometimes that's just not enough. Sometimes you have to push the extra mile. Your hand wanders toward the dresser and into one of it's drawers. You pull a black marker from it. All the while keeping a close eye on him. His eyes follow your movements with all the interest and anticipation you could ever hope for. You grab a knotted dildo and start drawing. A line at the top, a line a bit further down, one around the knot and one on its base. Then the letters. Just below the first line a simple "2w", below the next one "4w", the one around the knot "8w" and for the last line you don't write anything but pull the chain from your neck, twist it a couple of times and wrap it around the base.

Your toy looks at you with the biggest of eyes. You chuckle and shrug as to say: Your choice.

At last, you pull out your phone and set a timer. Thirty four minutes. One for every day that your toy had been kept in check.

Every motion of yours is one of calm and control. You are calm itself. Putting down the bottle of lube next to the dildo and the timer. Never showing any sign of uncertainty. You know what you want. You know what he wants. And you have all the leverage right there.

Meanwhile your toy is squirming, hardly able to sit. It takes every ounce of willpower in him not to move. The dildo is big, the biggest one the two of you used yet. It doesn't seem to bother him now, though. His eyes are fixated on the key dangling just off of the base of the dildo. There's the hunger in his eyes, the clawing need, the burning desire. He is going to try his hardest. He doesn't even consider the possibility of just not playing. You didn't give him the command after all, merely the suggestion that this is one of his paths to freedom. He may choose to take it, he may not. It is up to him.

That little bit of control, that tiny fraction of self-determination that you leave him with. Will he use it wisely or will he be blinded by his lust?

Given the looks in his eyes you already know the answer.

He doesn't pay attention to you or the backup key you place on a neatly folded letter. Weighing it down just enough, so that it doesn't flip open. You leave the marker next to the paper and lean back, folding your legs. Finally, his eyes wander back to you as if to ask for permission to start. You make an offering motion to the dildo and continue the arc all the way to the letter. He stopped following your motion the second it hit the dildo. It is somewhat unfortunate, he should really pay more attention to his surroundings, but especially his master. It's the details that matter.

He takes your gesture as his cue and hurries to the table. Grabbing it all, nearly spilling the lube. The anticipation is letting his body shake. Cute, really.

You watch him look around for a second. For a moment you think he might lay eyes upon the other key, but he doesn't. He's merely looking for the best place, the best position. He didn't plan ahead with the time given during your setup. Foolish.

After a moment's consideration he simply puts it all down on the ground a few feet in front of you. Positioning himself over the dildo and applying so much lube, that you fear the floor will turn into an ice skating rink for the forseeable future. He will have to do some heavy cleaning after this.

He is ready, kneeling just above the tip. His pleading eyes give you a look of utmost desire, making your groin tingle again. Someday you'll die of an overload of cuteness on his part.

You give him a long and testing look. One he might interpret as stern, but all you want him to see is the key next to you on the letter. It would be so much easier for him. Once he starts the timer, he will have made his choice.

It's the details that matter, but there's nothing. So you sigh and nod. His choice, his consequences.

He slams his finger down on the timer and it starts ticking.

You move over and grab the letter. He notices. Now. He notices the key. His eyes dart over to yours, now not filled with hazy lust, that clouded them, but the confusion of a missed cue. His hand reaches out, tentatively, hesitant, reaching for the backup key and the letter.

But he made his choice. You shake your head, lean back and stash the backup key back where it belonged. The letter however you hand him, kneeling in front of him, waiting for his reaction. If only to add to his torment. Not that you are overly sadistic. You see it more like a... lesson of sorts. One of prudence.

All his motions have stopped, his eyes fixated on the letter. His lubed hand ruining the paper. They dart over the lines written. They are but four.

"I enjoy our time together very much."

"To me you are the special someone I want to spend my time with."

"The one I want to wake up next to, to cuddle with before bed, to have fun with."

"Would you want to move in with me?"

You are not made of stone. You have a certain attitude and you like to overplay it a bit. He seems to enjoy that, too. Otherwise the two of you wouldn't still be doing this after months on end. But you are also just another being longing for some company.

Your toy before you looks at you with eyes as wide as when he first saw the keys. He nods frantically. You smile and kiss him on his forehead, after which he just stares at you. It takes him a moment to understand, that the deal was off the table already and he follows your gaze to the phone on the ground.

Thirty two minutes.