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Chapter 11: Gliding

Dorian found his footing better and better with every step. His penis was still sore, but the ache in his shoulders and hips was slowly settling into a relieved post-workout fatigue. He heard the jingle coming from Henry’s other hand, and was somehow happy that his collar and cuffs were still following him into the aftercare.

Henry helped Dorian strip, removing his hood and mitts. The filtered air, the lights, and the cool room soothed the quetzal, and he remained leaning against Henry’s warm body.

“All right now, pet; get in the shower,” Henry softly said, and he helped Dorian inside and to kneel, then lifted his pet’s arms to connect the cuffs’ d-rings to an anchor point above his head. The quetzal smiled as he stood naked before his caretaker, locked to the wall and ready for further duties.

The duck was quite cute when performing banal male tasks; even the way he mowed the lawn or checked the car’s fluids was a tranquil ritual in which his stoic face held a calm, reassuring pleasure. Henry took a wider stance and lifted his penis, giving it a few shakes as he relaxed. The duck kept his gaze on his pet, a small smile lifting the edges of his bill.

“You really are a good urinal, you know that?” he asked.

“Now let’s be careful with that phrase,” purred Dorian, “for if I’m a good urinal, then this is just a daily duty for which I’m perfectly constructed?”

“I think that’s the point. We shouldn’t underestimate the concept of perfect construction,” said Henry, then walked closer to place a small kiss on his partner’s lips. He then took his thumb and pushed it into Dorian’s mouth, wedging it between his top and bottom molars.

The gesture made the quetzal melt, and he suckled upon the thumb as best he could, his lips kept open, and before he could drool on the shower tiles he felt a warm stream pour down upon his leg, and then walk up his body until its arc was just barely visible in his periphery. Hot urine rained down his chest and stomach, soaking his feathers as it made its way down to his groin and thighs. Pee rolled over his genitals, soaking them in Henry’s savory scent. Even if he was just a fixture, a porcelain wall for his caretaker’s relief, it was in this moment that everything was brilliant, and he submitted fully to his mate.

The two stood in radiant silence, the only sounds accompanying them being that of Henry’s pee pattering down into the shower pan, and small grunts and moans from either of them as they bathed in the present.

Henry clenched and aimed the stream upward still, arcing it into the quetzal’s open mouth. Dorian swallowed what he could, but much of it filled his lower jaw and spilled out the sides. Piss rained down his chin and soaked his tongue, coating it in a delicious salty musk.

Henry shook himself off and removed his thumb, letting his pet swallow what urine was still in his mouth. The duck walked to the sink and washed his hands, taking time to scrub between his fingers before he shook them in the sink and then went for a towel. He used both sides, even humming to himself as he ensured his hands were dry. Only then did he turn back to his pet.

“Have a good time?” he asked, reaching up to undo his pee-covered mate.

“Fantastic,” Dorian purred, his nostrils pulsing as musky humidity surrounded him.

“We’ll have to make this a routine,” Henry said, closing the shower door.

“But if you pee on me every time, what about the water bill?” Dorian asked.

Henry shrugged. “Let’s give it a whirl and we’ll worry about the sticker shock later, m’kay?” he said, “Besides, you don’t have to shower after every session. What if you swallow?”

Dorian blushed. “What if I swallow,” he purred.

“There we go,” said Henry. One hand reached for the tap and the other swatted Dorian’s behind. “Now let’s get you cleaned up, piss-pet.”

“Oooh!” the quetzal moaned. He wasn’t sure whether it was the title, or the spank, that had him tittering like a bawdy maid. It was likely both.

Hot water rained down on them, but it wasn’t a baptism for Dorian—that had been his caretaker’s urine. But it was a good reset, as regardless of the material, moisture could quickly become unpleasant if left to sit. Dorian wondered about simply drying himself off after being drenched in piss, but the precious liquid aged so poorly; ammonia be damned.

“Is it getting about time for checkout?” asked Dorian.

Henry checked the digital panel on the wall. “A nice lunch and we can get out,” he said.

“Feels like we can never return to normal life.”

“I think this will never leave us,” said Henry, scrubbing his pits. “This is our normal, and it’ll continue in the shower at home.”

“We’ll need more anchor points,” observed Dorian.

Henry chuckled, then started rubbing the quetzal’s back. He reached up and jingled his pet’s collar. “Ain’t a handyman for nothing,” he said.

“Life can be so rich,” the quetzal observed.

Henry smiled. “That it can be.”

The men got dressed and with a sentimental glow, they packed their suitcases. The new gear they acquired was charged to their room, and as such their luggage was much heavier going out than coming in.

“Shoot, we should stay here for all our romantic getaways,” he said.

“Seeing as it’s in the same city as our house, I think that’d be the only purpose,” chuckled Dorian.

In accordance with their relationship’s evolution, Dorian still wore the securing device about his loins and of course the supporting undergarments. The collar around his neck still felt a little explicit: in public, it would have the same implication as a revealing outfit.

Henry decided to wear another diaper, and to his relief it fit confidently under his pants without any prominent lumps. They went to lunch in their plainclothes dress to one of Eudaimonia’s “dress code” restaurants, which still allowed risque items but did demand that people wear at least one layer of clothing over undergarments, disposable or not.

Their lunch was a light affair, but still up-to-code with Eudaimonia’s cheekily high-quality standards. They had the “spider course” which was a whirlwind of small plates, about eight in total, and encapsulated many different flavors and food groups. It did not stray too far into avant-garde territory—the meat was still savory and the fruit was still sweet—but every dish had balancing notes that elevated them above simple, grocery store grabs.

Despite the size of each plate, Henry and Dorian yet found themselves slowing down towards dessert, but a fruit-cream mini-treat enlivened them back up before a deep, dark chocolate tart and startlingly bitter coffee closed up the tour like a heavy lock on a treasure chest.

“Are the monsieurs satisfied?” asked a slender white spider. He was easily half Argos’s width and weight, and held himself as delicately as Canterbury the cat. The athletic male wore the expected thin black briefs of the hotel and a vest that stopped just before his belly button. Before his loins hung a translucent apron. It would surprise neither of them that this would be Argos’s nephew.

“Goodness gracious,” said Henry, leaning back in his booth. He put both paws on his stomach, which he let bulge under his shirt. “Welp, just tell me what the damage is.”

“It was spectacular,” said Dorian, smiling with his long snake fangs displayed and bowing deep enough to show the top of his feathery mane. “You’ll excuse my husband.”

The spider chuckled, his limbs delicately posed like an Indian god. “It is just fine, monsieur. He is clearly in languid repose. I have the check …” he said, each of his hands twitching “right here! Payment options on the receipt.”

“Room?” asked Henry.

“‘Room, please,’” reminded Dorian.

“I do apologize,” said Henry, wiggling up in his seat. His groin felt a bit warmer, and his pants were definitely a bit wider. “Just wonderfully relaxed.”

“Yessirs; I’ll charge it to the room,” said the spider with a smile. Henry quickly scribbled on the bill and handed it back to their server. The spider took one look and smiled, then disappeared along with their dirty dishes.

Dorian scritched Henry’s hip, and Henry responded by leaning over to nuzzle his pet and jingle his collar. “Dear, I don’t mean to be a nag, but—” the quetzal started.

“Nah,” said the duck, sitting up in his seat to scoot out of the booth. “You’re right, though I have to point out an interesting conundrum.”

The quetzal’s feathers perked. “Yes, dear?”

“Wouldn’t it be that ultimate luxury is being able to act as you truly feel inside, provided boundaries for others?”

Dorian chuckled. “That meal was excellent. Not five-star by any means, but I’m startled there’s not a line out the door. You can’t say that it leveled you, though.”

“Maybe the week did.”

“Did we stay here a week…?” asked Dorian.

They were at the front desk faster than the quetzal could take his collar off.

“Roughly speaking, yes,” answered Canterbury, already preparing their final bill. At the top of the tablet’s document read in cursive, “Rebriefing~.” Henry looked over the line items, cringed a couple times, and smirked even more. Dorian heard him utter, “nice,” here and again.

Gillian, the pink dragon, brought to them a gift basket of sausages, red thongs, collar tags, mini-champagnes, and phone chargers. “We’ve very much enjoyed your stay,” she said with a smile. “We hope you have as well!”

“Oh, incredible,” said Henry.

“Just marvelous,” agreed Dorian, pulling himself to nuzzle the duck’s shoulder.

“We see that your car has been moved to the covered garage due to the, ah, upgrades we agreed to,” said Canterbury bashfully, “The Henry Accords, we’ll call them. So as such—”

“You’ll catch my uncle if you hurry,” said the white spider, coming off of lunch service with his apron over one of his arms. “He’s terribly busy but he does quite like you.”

“What, we’re not his favorite?” said Henry with a smirk.

The spider deferentially smiled and quickly looked at his phone. “I just texted him. Are monsieurs all ready to go? This will be the end.”

“Until next time,” said Henry.

The spider bowed. “Reservations this summer are filling up quickly. If you have not already rebooked with Mlle. Sandwich, I would recommend you do so the second you get the suspicion, or you may be disappointed.”

Dorian scritched Henry on the lower curve of his rump. “I’ll check our calendar, dearest.”

“Perfect; let us go so you are not disappointed twice,” said the spider. He walked quickly past them, and though he had two eyes in the back of his head, he did not hesitate when Henry and Dorian started lagging.

The duck and quetzal were huffing and puffing by the time they reached the valet threshold and, in addition, Argos Arachnos.

“Gyves,” said Argos, “while I appreciate your sense of propriety and pride, a guest will feel less welcome if you behave as a machine.”

“Many pardons, Uncle,” said Gyves. “But they are part of our wonderful machine.”

“Give and take, dear nephew,” said Argos, “We can give at least twenty percent.”

Both spiders smiled. They did not have eyelids or eyebrows, but at least the body language of the svelte young white spider, and the buff thick black spider, were soft as a butler’s.

Argos then stood square toward Henry and Dorian. “Our time has felt like only a minute in life’s grand waiting room, but I feel that you have indeed received the treatment that you came for. Am I approximately correct?”

“Accurate to a fault,” said Henry.

“Good,” said Argos. He folded his arms behind his back; his nephew’s arms were already as such. “Please do not interpret what I say as ‘wisdom,’ as that is more of a paternal, mythical-mountainman’s connotation. Take it more as a tip, a local’s insight to his tourist friends. As caretaker and pet, you will notice the balance tilt and tumble. The front end will be so heavy while the back end lifts high off the ground. This energy is the motion of a wheel. You push down and your partner, your pet, will push up. Thus will you two revolve together. Secondly, ‘listen and learn’ to each other as they say at all weddings, but more importantly, do not fear being afraid: it is a natural emotion, and if you lie to yourself, then what counterfeit are you presenting to your partner? A pet wants to constantly give, and therefore his caretaker must constantly take. It is strange, but so is any language to an unfamiliar tongue, and Misters Van Clove, I can say you have both come a great way. But still: be awkward, be amused, then become better. That is all.”

“All your wisdom?” asked Gyves.

“All I have time for,” snapped Argos and two sets of fingers. “Any questions?” he asked Dorian and Henry.

“None,” said Dorian. “You, love?”

“So, this parking deck is completely covered?” asked Henry.

Argos clasped his three sets of hands before his waist, then bowed to the two men. “Thank you again, gentlemen, for allowing me to augment, improve, and/or add complexity to your relationship. May your love last as long as your heartbeats, and perhaps a few years after mental competence. Cheers,” he said, then walked away.

“Well, if the garage is covered,” said Henry, “I think I’ll be comfortable.” The duck undid his pants and slipped them over his shoes, revealing his bright white diaper, which was already moderately wet. “And you, too, pet.”

Dorian grinned and obeyed, stripping his slacks to reveal a jockstrap wrapped around a chastity cage.

The spider in the black briefs smiled, then from behind the valet stand produced a small souvenir bag. His many arms folded the trousers, slipped them in the bag, and returned them to his guests. But his tricks were not over: “Right this way, my sirs,” said Gyves, and when he spread all three arms of his right side, a set of car keys dangled from the middle hand.

The duck smiled and took them. “Pretty good flair for a machine,” he said.

“It is an incredible, brilliantly advanced machine,” countered the handsome male.

“That it is,” said Henry, entering into the structure. The floor shimmered and a pathway lit up, seemingly out of the concrete, pointing down an aisle where in the third slot, their Deloworian sat pointed outward.

Henry took Dorian’s hand and they kissed on the lips, marveling in the afterglow of the magnificent, magic hotel. They started the car and took off, still grinning. Of all the gilding they were gliding down from, they yet had a bed of golden thread to nestle into. The thickest thread of all, however, was the gleaming leash that streamed between them.

Henry and Dorian Van Clove: husband and husband; caretaker and pet, in wholesome, holistic eudaimonia.