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I was just settling in for a quiet evening with a cold drink when the phone began to ring. Sherman was out on a ten day business trip. It's nice, sometimes, to get some time to myself, do things I wouldn't normally get to. Still, only two days in and I missed him. My brown fur felt cold without his warm white pelt snuggling against mine.

It had to be him. No one else would call at this hour. A toothy grin broke out across my wide, shaggy muzzle.

"Hello, Pet."

Some people like to play at being pets. They dress up and crawl around or make barking noises. Rumor has it that some people live for years in kennels with muzzles and leashes, commanded or beaten without speaking. Sherman's not that kind of Pet, and I'm not that kind of Master. I care for him deeply. I look after him. He cuddles in my lap and I comfort him. He pleases me and I provide for him. He obeys me and I keep him safe, happy, and healthy. What continues to astound me is that as much as I love my beautiful bunny boy Pet, he adores his big brown bear Master.

"Master, I . . ." His voice was shaky, worried. My expression dropped.

I kept my voice low, calming: "Is something the matter, Sherman?"

"I'm sorry Master. I've disobeyed you." I could hear the nervousness in his voice. He was afraid of what I'd say next.

"Sherman, It's going to be okay. Whatever it is, we'll work this out. I love you, Sherman, you're my Pet, and that's not going to change." I did my best to emphasize possession. It bothers some people, but for Sherman, it's an honor. He's the Pet I chose, the one I take responsibility for, the one I care for.

"Well, M-Master, you know um . . . we had to take my cage off when I went through airport security."

"Yes. . ." I tried to keep my sinking suspicions out of my voice. Sherman lives to please me. He's dedicated to it. It's one of the reasons we keep him in a chastity cage, except when I feel he's earned a tremendous reward. It'd only been a week and a half since he'd last been so fortunate as to deserve a thoroughly pleasurable draining of those plush white bunny balls. For security's metal detectors and body scanners, however, his slim stainless steel tube, custom fitted to his cute flaccid form, may as well have been a bomb locked to his body. After one particularly embarrassing incident with an acquaintance of ours, we agreed to allow him to take it off for security. I gave him the spare key I keep in the apartment. I always keep the other on a chain around my neck. It reminds me of my responsibility to see to his needs.

"You were supposed to put it back on in the airport bathroom." I'm wasn't angry, but I'm afraid some of my suspicions of disappointment may have slipped into my tone.

"I tried to, Master, I tried, but . . . It was so hard. I'm sorry, Master. It's just that the second week is always tough, and just getting out made me so stiff I couldn't get the tube on . . . and then I was running late for the flight."

"Sherman, please tell me you didn't squirt in the plane." This is what happens when I try to defuse tension with levity.

"No, Master," I swear I could hear him blushing: "But by the time I got to the hotel, I felt like I had it under control. I . . . well I thought a few days of walking around uncaged . . . Master, please, I'm not used to feeling fabric or sheets against myself like that, not since we started with chastity, so every step teased. It felt so good, and I thought if I could resist it, I'd come back to you so much more . . . eager." His voice was a barely audible whisper, his embarrassment almost painful.

"Pet, where are you?"

"In my hotel room, Master." He seemed relieved at the momentary reprieve.

"Is anyone else there?" His quietness worried me.

"No, Master."

"Alright Pet, take a deep breath. No one else is listening in. Just tell your Master what's worrying you, and we'll work this out."

"Last night I was exhausted enough that I went straight to sleep, but tonight . . . I couldn't sleep on my back with the way the sheets tickled . . ."

I could have warned him about that. He's always so amazingly sensitive when I let him out: such a pleasure just to tease.

"So I rolled over onto my stomach, and . . . well at some point I must have moved for some reason, and the way I stroked up the bed sheets . . ."

"You couldn't stop yourself, could you?" I tried to keep my voice understanding. It really was cute, in a strange way.

"Master, I came. Your Pet spilled all over a bed far from your own. I didn't have permission, and I came anyway. I'm so sorry." It was like I could see his face through the phone: head bowed, ears drooping, eyes lowered to his own chest, shame.

"Pet, we're going to make this right. Everything will be fine. Take a few deep breaths . . . that's it. Now, I want you to put your cage back on-"

"Already done, Master."

"Good, and I want you to clean up yourself and the bed. I want you to get a good night's sleep, and then I want you to finish your trip. I know you were looking forward to seeing a new city, meeting new people." Truthfully, he always gets nervous before trying new things, but I know what he likes, and if I prod him, he'll have fun. "You can do this, and you'll enjoy this. Take off your cage before you go through security coming back, but I really do want it back on in in the airport. Use some ice if you have to."

"Yes, Master." Relief! His tone carried relief, at last. I was so worried he'd chew himself up for the rest of the trip.

"Sherman, you can always talk to me: any time, anywhere. You can always ask me when you have problems. You can always rely on me to see to your needs. I'm not angry, and I'm so glad you called to tell me about it, but I'm a little disappointed you didn't trust me with your cage and your cum. I love you too much not to want to build that trust, and your punishment will reflect that."

"P-Punishment, Master?"

"Pet, there will be a punishment when your trip is over, but I want you to focus on enjoying the moment, like a good Pet. Enjoy your trip, Sherman, and don't worry. I could never hurt you."

"Yes, Master." His breathing was shaking again.

"Do you have your collar on?"

"I do, Master." Sherman wears a thin black collar of supple leather with a small tag bearing his name and mine. It was a gift from me. Usually, when he's in public he wears it under a collared shirt or scarf.

"You can always feel me holding you, my Pet, warm and soft. It's a symbol: I've always got you."

"Thank you, Master." Relief again, calm.

"Good night, Sherman. Dream of me."

"Good night, Otis."

Maybe I was a little angry with him. Maybe I just missed him so desperately. Maybe I was just disappointed. I didn't sleep well that night.

~~~~~~~~~~

I spent a good portion of the next week thinking of a punishment. I really couldn't hurt him. I could never hurt him. He wouldn't like the pain, and I couldn't stand seeing him in pain. I needed something to reinforce his dependence on me, to allow him to show his trust in me, to feel me with him, always. Like so many good ideas, I was in the bathroom when it hit me. Some research, a few online orders, some rudimentary practice, and I was ready.

Every evening, he called me to tell me about his day, and to hear about mine. He was getting work done, meeting new people, and having a good time. Never once did he mention "the incident." Equally candid, I told him I missed him, and while I described many things I wanted to do to him, I never brought up any of my plans.