Virtue to Vice

“They didn’t liked the names.”

Whiplasher eyed the boy straddling him, finding it amusing that the boy actually dared to speak without getting questioned.

He leaned back a little on the grey couch.

“They never like the names.” Whiplasher let it pass this time, like so many times before when they sat like this; he didn’t want Cat to stop what he was doing by the embarrassment he would feel.

“They found it amusing when they thought that you came up with them.” Cat moved his fingers with slow massaging rhythms over his Master’s chest, with soft blue eyes he looked up. “They hated it when you told them it was my idea.”

“Rule number one, kid.” Whiplasher sat up a bit more on the couch, looking straight into the teenagers eyes. “Every idea is my idea.”

Cat opened his mouth to protest, but closed it quickly again, smiling apologizing when his leader looked at him with those piercing eyes he found fascinating.

“Yes Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.” His leader leaned back again and Cat slowly unbuttoned his black shirt. “I meant that they hated it when they found out that I had helped you with the names.”

“Good.” Whiplasher nodded, Cat was not sure if he meant the apology or that Cat just had let the black shirt slide down over his shoulders and down to the floor. “You learn quickly.”

Cat smiled mischievously. “And, if I may ask, in which case do you mean that? Sir?”

“That, dear Cat, you may not ask.” Whiplasher looked down. “Get those off.”

“Mine or yours?” Cat whispered hotly in Whiplasher’s ear while standing up, showing up an innocent smile while unbuttoning his jeans when Whiplasher’s only answer was a raised an eyebrow. “We’ll start with mine then.”

Whiplasher watched how Cat slide down the jeans over his pale thighs and ankles, pulling his boxers down with them, and stepped out of them. Without showing any of the amusement he felt by Cat standing so exposed before him, he motioned down with his hand to his own jeans. With a nod Cat felled down to his knees, Whiplasher smiled as the boy worked his pants open.

The boy knew the deal, he took care of Whiplasher in whichever ways the man wanted – mostly the sexual – and he held Cat with a place to live and with food. However, there had been a setting with rules coming along with this agreement, Cat was never allowed to come by Whiplasher when he felt a need for it, it was simply when Whiplasher wanted it that Cat was welcome to. Cat was neither allowed to call Whiplasher his boyfriend, lover or entertainer, Cat had done the mistake once, the bruises hadn’t gone away until after two weeks. Neither was he allowed to engage in relationships with any one, he was Whiplasher’s (and simply just Whiplasher’s) personal toy. And he didn’t find the thought of someone else using his toy would acure.

With shinning eyes Cat looked up at Whiplasher, pulling down the pants as good he could without any help from his leader.

Cat opened his mouth, letting his tongue run over Whiplasher’s erection. Whiplasher moved his hand in through Cat’s hair and guided the boys head down, just giving the boy time to swallow hard and take a shaky breath before he pushed Cat’s head down far enough so he was forced to quickly open his mouth wider. With the help of his leader’s hand, he deep throated him immediately, and by that, he also gagged.

When Cat first had ended up in Whiplasher’s care he had been inexperienced in so many ways, Whiplasher had kindly taken the time to tell Cat how to use his mouth and how to move his tongue. After all, even Whiplasher could offer to be nice if he won something on it. To his luck Cat was a quick and eager learner, always willing to please his master, and soon he had dared to try different things without asking for permission first. The only occasions when Whiplasher agreed to those things happening.

“Good. Good boy.” Whiplasher closed his eyes, pushed down Cat’s head again, harder this time, and made the boy gag for a second time.

Cat grunted around Whiplasher, definitely not enjoying being gagged so carelessly by Whiplasher, but he did not stop. His respect for the man was too big and he would not like to feel the punishment Whiplasher could create for him later.

He should be thankful, really. Whiplasher had taken care of him; Whiplasher had allowed him to be a part of their team. Even if that had just been by mistake, a mistake done only by Cat, but after that, Whiplasher had figured that having the boy in the squad could be to much use. And in the first, and so far only, assignment Cat had proved to be very useful.

He had taken a step over from being just a toy.

Whiplasher roughly pulled up Cat’s head and near enough threw the young boy on the floor.

“Get up.” He ordered hoarse, showing teethes with an almost animalistic look. “And bend over.”

Cat had taken a step over from being just Whiplasher’s toy, but it was simply a small step with not much change.

He quickly did as Whiplasher had ordered, bending forward to lean against the table, holding himself up with thin arms while he waited for his master.

In either position he was, the bed or the room where the meetings accrued, he was still getting ordered around.

Whiplasher moved up behind him, pressing himself tightly against Cat and held out a silver object letting it dance from his hand before Cat’s eyes. Before Cat got any time to clarify what it was Whiplasher had moved it away, placing it around Cat’s neck where a soft click was heard.

Confused Cat laid his hand over the cold silver piece around his neck. “A necklace?” Cat blinked. “I mean, thank you. Sir.”

The young boy let his finger wonder the object; it was the shape of a star, as big as his palm. The steel felt cold against his hand and skin, but it surprised him that it wasn’t heavier than it was, it had looked like it would be a burden to carry, but strangely enough, it was not.

“Guard it with your life,” his master’s voice matched the necklace cold as the man slid his fingers over Cat’s shoulders, down to his back. “It has an important part of our commission.”

Cat wanted to ask more, but he knew better than to open his mouth without being asked, again. Questioning Whiplasher was never an accepted act, no matter what the circumstances was.

After all, he was no more than a toy; his reason for existing was to be used and only that.