Ethan's Christmas
By Musuko

This Christmas scene could be one of a billion or more like scenes across the world; a family, in this case a father and son, gathered in the warmth of a firelit room, around a tree that sparkles and shines with tinsel and trinkets, children happily tearing into their presents, parents relaxing deep into cushions and unwinding from the hectic preparations of the day.
	Not many Christmas mornings, however, feature a present that quietly whimpers.
	A box, two feet along each edge, papered in cartoon snowmen and thoroughly taped up with the sloppy workmanship that can only indicate the hand of a father, and an absent mother; wrapping presents is, after all, something that fathers never do seem to get right. Atop the box is a ribbon bow, store-bought and stuck on with even more tape. From it hangs a tag; To Jimmy. Happy Christmas. Love Dad. Xxx
	The keen-eyed might notice the box shifting slightly, as if something inside were trying to move.
	Kneeling amidst the chaos of wrapping paper and over-priced and over-hyped toys,  a young raccoon boy scurries, seeking the next unwrapped present to sink his claws into.
	“This one's from Grandma!” he cries, lifting a present and violently shaking it.
	“Be careful with that one, son,” says his father, a larger, sterner-looking version of his son, seemingly carved from teak and ever alert, even as he lounges in a knitted reindeer jumper with cookie crumbs in his lap. “I think that one's delicate.”
	Slowly, and with wide-eyes, Jimmy lifts out the box's contents, holding it with thumb and forefinger, dangling it in the light from the fire. Rubber glistens. Buffed leather shines. Uncertainly, he looks up at his father.
	“It doesn't look delicate, dad.”
	“Ah,” says his father. “I guess she didn't get you the tablet after all.”
	Jimmy wrinkles his nose. “What is this thing, dad?”
	“That's a strap-on dildo, son.”
	“A strap-on what?” He turns it over in his hands. “It kinda looks like...like...” Through some terrible twisting of the physical limits of the universe, Jimmy somehow manages to widen his eyes even further. “Oh my gosh,” he says. “Why did grandma get me a...a...”
	“You can say it, son. It's a false penis. And as for why, I think it's because of this.”
	Jimmy's father sets his hand down on the top of the large present.
	“Open this one next, son.”
	Jimmy's claws sink into the paper and cut long rents down the side of the box. Jimmy's father watches as the painstaking and frustrating work of wrapping is undone in moments. The box shifts and moans, and Jimmy flinches away from it.
	“Something's in there,” he squeals. “Is it...a puppy?”
	“You're close.”
	Jimmy's father crouches beside his son and rests a hand on his shoulder. He squeezes reassuringly.
	“Okay, open the top now, son. Try not to be too surprised by what's in there. You might scare him.”
	“Him?”
	With shaking hands, and as much serious resolve that a small boy can muster, Jimmy lifts open the flaps of cardboard and peers inside.
	From the darkness inside, two wide, terrified eyes, stare back.
	And in the still, silent moments that follow, Jimmy takes in what he sees and tries to process it.
	Finally, he says, “It's...a boy?”
	“That's right, son.”
	“And he's...he's.” Jimmy looks away. His fingers patter nervously on the edge of the box. “He's all tied up, dad!”
	“That's right, he is.”
	“Why've you given me a tied up boy for Christmas dad?”
	Jimmy's father chuckles and pats Jimmy's shoulder. “Let's finish getting him out of the box and I'll show you.”
	“Why's he got no fur, dad?”
	“He's a whelp, son. They don't have fur.”
	“Don't they get cold?”
	“Sometimes. I suppose. I've never really thought about it. It doesn't matter, anyway. This one doesn't go outside much.”
	The furless boy lies in a tight bundle on the floor, surrounded by wrapping paper and toys. Shiny-looking restraints hold his wrists and ankles together behind his back, less than a couple of inches apart from each-other.
	“He doesn't look very comfy,” says Jimmy.
	“He's used to it. Aren't you boy?”
	The whelp, his mouth gagged with a drool-covered ball, makes a muffled noise and nods his head.
	“He's fat,” says Jimmy.
	“He's pudgy, son. Some slaves are.”
	“Slave?”
	“Or pet. Or toy. Whatever you decide you want him to be, son.”
	“I don't...I don't get it.”
	“Here, take this,” says his father, handing over a small key. “Unlock his cuffs and take his leash. Don't worry, he won't hurt you.”
	With cautious, nervy movements, Jimmy edges towards the trussed-up boy. As he gets close, the boy's toes curl against his soles.
	“He's got something in his butt!” squeals Jimmy.
	“I'll tell you all about that soon, son. Don't worry, it'll all make sense.”
	“This is a weird present.” Trying not to touch the boy, Jimmy threads his hand in between the boy's fingers and toes, and inserts the key. With a twist, the lock clicks and the cuffs release.
	“Isn't it...uh.” Jimmy hesitates, looking up at his father. “You know...isn't slavery...wrong?”
	Beside him, the boy unfolds his limbs and pushed himself up from the floor and onto all fours. He glances up at Jimmy's father, then quickly looks away.
	“Only when they don't want to be slaves, son. And this boy really wants to be a slave. Or pet. Or toy. Isn't that right, boy?”
	The boy nods without hesitation, his eyes wide, his lips kneading at the ball stuffed in his mouth.
	“See?” says Jimmy's father.
	“Umm. I guess so,” said Jimmy.
	His father's steely hand pats his head, then ruffles his fur. “Pick up his leash. He'll follow. We're going down to the basement.”
	“The basement?” Jimmy blinked, mouth wide. “But...but I'm not allowed in the basement! You said I'm not.”
	“You're allowed now, son.”
	Jimmy looks down at the boy, and at the leash in his hand. He stares in thought at nothing in particular. His ears rise up, as does his fur, and his mouth widens into a giddy smile worthy of any young boy on Christmas morning.
	“Cool!” he says.
	“Come on,” says his father. “Follow me.”
	Jimmy tugs the leash. “Come along, uh...oh. Hey dad, what's his name?”
	“I don't know, son. It's up to you to name him.”
	Jimmy's eyes meet the boy's. “Oh. Erm. I'll call him...” He clicks his tongue against his teeth and frowns, then brightens into a smile. “I'll call him Podge!”
 	At his feet, the boy whines and lowers his head.
	“That's a good name,” says the father. “It suits him!”
	Beaming, Jimmy follows his father through the big, sturdy door to the basement. Behind him, Podge follows, walking with ease on all fours.
	“Whoah,” says Jimmy, poking at the spongy foam lining the inside of the door.
	“That's to stop sounds from getting out of the basement.”
	“How come?”
	Podge whimpers and hesitates, until Jimmy tugs the leash.
	“You'll see, son!”
	
The basement contains many wonders. The day wore on unheeded as Jimmy's father explained one object after another. At first, the boy squirmed and blushed almost as much as Podge. But confidence is contagious, and his father's relaxed smiles and matter-of-fact way of describing things soon rubbed off.
	“So,” says Jimmy, looking down at Podge. “That thing he's wearing is a...chastity device?” He looks up at his father, who nods back at him.
	“That's right. It stops his penis from being able to get hard. You see, when a boy gets excited...”
	Jimmy's eyes widen as the explanation fills his mind with new concepts. Below, the boy Podge nuzzles at his ankles, whimpering.
	“Kind of like yours is now, dad?”
	His father smiles. “Exactly like this, son. Want to see how it works?”
	“Sure!”

Jimmy watches, rapt. He had seen his father naked before, sure, but not like this. The man stands tall and lean under the strange lights of the basement playroom, flanked on all sides by bondage furniture and toys, only some of which Jimmy now understood. Podge is there too, and Jimmy's father had removed the plug from his butt and replaced it with his own cock.
	“So much bigger,” Jimmy whispers too himself. His hand is inside his underwear, clumsily fondling his own limp cock. In front of him, Podge jolts against the restraints on the “fuckhorse”, as his father had named it, face down on the padded surface, drooling through his gag, his soft butt making wet slapping noises each time his father shoves deep, his big cock disappearing completely inside.
	“I wanna try,” says Jimmy!
	“Think you can do it?” says his father, hilting inside the boy and staying there.
	“Yeah, I think I can do it! It looks easy! Oh wow!” He crouches down, looking under the bench. “He's all dribbly!”
	Podge squeals as Jimmy's fingers nudge the chastity device, mopping up the trail of precum.
	“That's because he's trying to get hard, son.”
	“Sticky,” says Jimmy, making a string of precum between his fingers.
	“Wipe it on his nose, son. That'll help him try to get hard even more.”
	Podge whines and closes his eyes, shuddering as the scent fills his nose.
	“Cool,” says Jimmy. “Looks like he likes it!”
	“He does!”
	“How come mine's not trying to do that?” says Jimmy, looking down at his own untented underwear.
	“Don't worry, son. There's a special way to make that happen. Go fetch your present from your grandma, and I'll get it ready for you.”
	With a wet slurp, and a needy whine from Podge, Jimmy's father pulls his wet cock free, glistening and dripping under the lights. With red heat in his cheeks, Jimmy runs upstairs to fetch the strap-on dildo.
	“I guess grandma knows about this stuff too, huh?” he says, descending the stairs.
	“It runs in the family, son. Long tradition. Come on over here.”
	Next to his father stands a bondage frame. Jimmy recognises the basics, seeing similarities between it and the various others he'd been shown around the room. There is the place where the arms are strapped in, and there the legs, and in-between are straps to go around the tummy and chest and neck. But right in the middle is something that he hasn't seen yet. At first glance, it looks like the dildo, or even like his father's cock; big and long and rounded. Except way bigger, and with tubes and wires coming off it.
	“Is it...a video game?”
	“Not quite. Take your clothes off, son, and I'll show you.”
	Getting naked is no big deal for Jimmy now. The warm air of the basement, tainted by the humidity of sweat and sex, wafts pleasantly through his bare fur. Still, though, his cock hangs limp, disappointing.
	“Up here,” says his father, patting the bench of the frame. “No, on your back, like this.”
	“It's cold!”
	“It'll soon warm up.”
	His father starts setting the straps in their places, and Jimmy holds still. Once each one is in place, he gives it a testing tug.
	“Can't move,” he says.
	“That's the point, son.”
	“But...I'm not like Podge, am I? He's tied up and now I am.”
	“No son, not like Podge. But this is something that's going to happen to him too. And to do it right, you've got to be strapped down. Otherwise, you'll move about too much and it won't work.”
	“What's it do?”
	His father smiles. “This,” he says, lifting the strange tube over the top of Jimmy's limp cock and pressing a small button on its side. Instantly, the tube starts sucking like a vacuum cleaner, and Jimmy's soft cock is pulled upright and inside it. The neck of the tube drops with a soft bump against his groin, forming a semi-seal with his fur, held in place with constant gentle suction.
	“Oh w-wow!” cries Jimmy, shaking from the tingling feeling of the suction all along his little cock.
	“And it hasn't even started yet, son,” says his father, pressing another switch. Jimmy starts to gasp, eyes closed, head laying back against the frame.
	“Ooooooh woooow,” he pants.
	His father pats his son's tummy. “Five minutes. That's all you'll need.”
	Jimmy nods, only half aware of what's going on. Something inside the tube is moving, squishing slick up and down his length, squeezing and kneading it in ways his own untrained fingers never could. In moments he feels it; the longed-for sensation of a growing erection. Faintly, he can hear the whimpers and heavy slapping sounds of his father resuming his use of Podge.

For Jimmy, five minutes was a long time. He wriggled in the frame, as far as the restraints would allow him, and soon found himself instinctively thrusting upwards, managing only an inch or two of range. It didn't help. The tube just moved with him, and kept up its relentless massaging sucking.
	Gradually, Jimmy feels a pressure building.
	“Dad...ah...” He gasps and shakes his head, trying to clear it. “Dad! I need to pee!”
	“No you don't, son. That's something different. Something really wonderful. It's called an orgasm.”
	“It feels...ah...”
	“Feels good, doesn't it? It'll feel even better when you're doing this! Ah!”
	Jimmy opens one eye and sees his father bent over Podge's quivering body. The scent in the air changes, growing stronger, and when his father steps backwards and slides his cock out of Podge, it's dripping even more than it was before.
	“That,” says his father, out of breath, “is an orgasm. And you're nearly ready to have one.”
	Jimmy wriggles, his eyes locked onto Podge's rear, hungry and needy. “It feels like...like I really need to pee, dad. It's weird!”
	Smiling, his father pats his tummy. “Stay there just one more minute, and I'll have everything ready...”

Podge's thighs feel warm and squishy in Jimmy's hands. The skin is smooth, kinda alien, but also kinda nice; like the feeling of firm synthetic rubber. And when he squeezes, Podge moans into his gag.
	“See how the tube works on his cock, like it did on yours?”
	“Yeah,” breathes Jimmy, bent across Podge, his muzzle occasionally bumping against the trailing tubes and wires.
	“You remember that feeling of needing to pee? Like something is bubbling up inside you, needing to burst out?”
	“Y-yeah! I'm feeling it now, dad.” Jimmy grips Podge's thighs a little tighter and stands up on his toes. His deeper thrusting into Podge's rear makes the whelp squeal. Jimmy giggles. “This strap-on thing's nearly as big as you, dad! I think he likes it!”
	“I think you like it too, son,” says his father, placing a hand on Jimmy's lower back and pressing him forward, hilting deeper into the whelp. The squeal turns into a muffled scream. “Feel that?”
	“Y-yeah! It squeezes really tight. On my...on my cock inside the strap-on. This is so cool! It's like I've got a big one!”
	With a devilish smile, Jimmy thrusts forward, digging his toes into the stepping stool and slamming his whole weight forward. A dribble of clear liquid slides up through one of the tubes.
	“Podge will never feel what you're feeling now,” says his father. “He only gets that feeling of needing to burst. And that tube is making him feel that really strongly right now. It's called an edger. It felt really nice for you, didn't it?”
	“Y-yeah!”
	“It made you feel like you really wanted to burst, right away?”
	“Yeah!”
	“Imagine having that feeling go on and on, never getting to burst.”
	Jimmy shudders and bends over the whelp, his eyes clenched closed. “I'm gonna...”
	“It's called cumming, son, and it's something Podge will never do. That's only for you and me and others like us to do!”
	Gasping, Jimmy claws weakly at Podge's sides, struggling to stay upright as the unfamiliar pleasure rushes through his body. His legs tremble, weakened, and one foot slides off the stool. Stars pop around his head, and he feels dizzy, like he's held his breath for way too long. He opens his eyes and meets Podge's mournful stare, before his legs give way completely and he falls backwards. His father is there to catch him, gently easing the boy away from his slave and scooping him up to carry him.
	“Did you enjoy that, son?”
	“Mmmm. Yeah. Can I do it again?”
	His father laughs. “Any time you like.”
	“What about Podge?” says Jimmy, as his father starts to carry him back up the stairs. The tube continues its sucking and pumping, and Podge writhes weakly in the frame, drool running from the gag and down his cheeks.
	“He'll be alright for a while,” says Jimmy's father. “An hour or two in the edger will make him even happier for you to play with him. Let's go get breakfast. How about ice-cream?”
	Jimmy hugs his father and looks back at the squirming whelp, meeting the boy's pitiful, helpless stare. “Yay, ice-cream breakfast!”

“So,” says his father, to a cleaned-up and ice-cream fed son. “When you led Podge on the leash, what was that?”
	“Pet-play!”
	“Or?” prompts his father.
	“Or...puppy-play?”
	“Correct. Now, what about when you fucked Podge?”
	Jimmy's eyes shine, and his cheeks are still flushed with heat. He smiles wide, bursting with pride. “Fucktoy!”
	“Correct! Now, look at Podge and see if you can tell me what he is being now? No, don't look at your notes.”
	Beneath the table, and on his hands and knees, an ungagged Podge is dutifully licking Jimmy's toes.
	“Umm. Slave?”
	“That's right. And why is that?”
	“Because...” Jimmy frowns, biting his lip. He curls his toes, and feels Podge press his tongue between them. “Oh, I got it! Because he's free to obey or disobey, but he's choosing to obey.”
	“Because?”
	“Because...uh...”
	“Because if he doesn't?”
	“Oh!” Jimmy grins. “Because if he doesn't, we punish him! Right?”
	Beneath the table, Podge whines and licks faster.
	“That's right. Do you want to try a punishment, son?”
	“Yes please! But he hasn't been naughty, has he?”
	“That's alright, son. We can try out Torture Victim. Then you can punish him without needing a reason.”
	“Cool!”
	“The only thing you need to do, then, is think of what torture to use.”
	The sniffling noise of Podge's fear rises up from under the table.
	“Erm,” says Jimmy. “Spank his butt?”
	“That is a torture, yes. But you're going to need to think of something more harsh than that. You have to remember, son, that Podge is used to this kind of thing. A simple spanking is almost a reward for him.”
	A whine from beneath the table contests this, but is ignored.
	“We could, umm.” Jimmy shivers as Podge's eager tongue gets a little too much to stand. He plants a wet foot on Podge's muzzle and pushes him away. “Tie him up and...whip him?”
	“That's closer to being proper torture. But that's just pain, and he's used to pain. For it to be real torture, you have to be inside his head. Tell you what, son, why don't I show you the kind of thing you can do? I'm sure you'll pick it up in no time!”

The whelp fights the restraints of the edging frame, showing a level of liveliness that he has yet to show before. His head shakes wildly from side to side, but it cannot dislodge the latex mask zipped over it, nor the short tube and valve protruding from his muzzle.
	“Mmmph!” cries the boy, his voice muffled and distorted by the mask.
	“This wire here connects the mask to the control box,” says Jimmy's father. “Make sure you don't snag it on anything. If it pulls out, then the valve will snap shut completely, and we don't want that.”
	The frame rattles as Podge's body fights it.
	“Is he gonna die, dad?”
	“Only if I don't open this valve up again. He can last a little while yet, though. Remember, it's not torture if you're too easy on him. Do you see this control here? That's a timer. You can set it in lots of different ways, and I'll show you them all in time. For now, if I turn the dial here and press this, then the timer will activate whenever I press this switch. Do you understand?”
	“Umm. Maybe?”
	“I'll show you. First, some air for the victim.”
	Podge gasps loudly, and wetly, into the mask. His drool trickles down the length of the tube and drips onto his naked chest, which heaves with rapid panting.
	“Now, if I press this switch...”
	Podge tenses and groans. The valve on the end of the tube snicks shut.
	“And it won't open again for ten seconds, which is the amount of time I set on the timer.”
	“Oh, I get it now!”
	“And with this, son, we can do all manner of inventive things.”
	“Like what?”
	“Well, like this...”

Jimmy watches, eyes fixed and wide, as if he were watching a television show. Except this is real. He can reach out and touch it, and he does; his paws stroke sweat-sheened skin and feel the heat of the whelp's body. The edging device hums and hisses, suckling as it had before. But now it is mounted on its own fixed arm, and it's Podge that moves...or, at least, is able to do so.
	He seems very reluctant to do so.
	“Have you been watching closely, son? I want you to explain to me what's going on, and I can tell you how much you've got right. Can you do that for me?”
	“So...” Jimmy licks his lips and frowns in concentration.
	“Go on, son.”
	“So, the edger is teasing him, right?”
	“Right.”
	“And he can move. I mean, not completely. He's all tied up and stuff like before. But this time the straps over his tummy are loose and he can kinda...wiggle, right?”
	“He can thrust his hips back and forth, yes.”
	“And the switch is under his butt.”
	“Yes.”
	“But I thought if the switch was pressed, he'll run out of air?”
	“I've set it the other way around. When he's pressing the switch, it'll give him air. But if he lifts off it, the valve will close and he'll not be able to breathe. Can you guess why it's this way around?”
	Jimmy looks closely, thinking hard. As he watches, Podge lifts his rear up, thrusting up into the edger. His soft, shaky groan is cut off by the snap of the valve closing.
	“Oh! He wants to fuck the edger! But if he does, then he gets no air!”
	“Exactly. That way, he's in control of his own torture, and we make it so he really wants to do the thing that'll make him suffer. So he has to fight it, using all his willpower, and that really is torture. You know how you felt last night, son? Waiting for Christmas morning, knowing all your presents were downstairs and you couldn't have them yet? You had to wait, even though you could have gone and got them. You had to fight your own urges, otherwise bad things would happen; you'd have got a spanking from your dad.”
	“I wouldn't have sneaked down and got my presents, dad.”
	“I know, son.” His father chuckles. “Imagine that feeling, but so much stronger.”
	Jimmy shudders, but smiles. “That does sound like torture!”
	“Exactly! See how hard poor little Podge has to fight to stay still, even though he really wants to fuck the edger? And because he's done nothing bad to deserve this, it's not punishment; it's just cruel, unnecessary torture, reminding him that his owner can do this anytime he wants to, just because. And that's you, son. You're his owner.”
	“Cool!”
	“The timer's set to thirty seconds right now. Want to change it?”
	Jimmy looks at the dial. It runs from zero all the way up to two minutes. With a wicked grin, he turns the dial all the way round to the maximum.
	His father's hand stops him. “Hold on a minute, son. I need to make a quick phone call before you do that. Leave it at one minute for now, okay?”
	Jimmy pouts. “Okay.”

The phone is picked up after the first ring.
	“Hello,” says a voice.
	“Hello,” says Jimmy's father. “Who's this?”
	“No names,” says the voice.
	“Okay. My name is-”
	“I know who you are. Why are you calling?”
	“I have a question about my rental.”
	“Ah. And how are you enjoying it so far?”
	“We're enjoying it very well, thank you. My son is playing with it as we speak. May I ask, what is the policy on damages?”
	“It's simple,” says the voice. “You break it, you bought it.”
	“I see.”
	“Have you broken it?”
	“No. Not yet. My son looks like he might, though. He's playing a little rough.”
	“Ah, like father like son, eh?”
	“So it seems. Just in case it comes to it, what is the purchase price?”
	“It's equal to one year's rental.”
	“Is that all? That seems remarkably cheap.”
	The shrug was almost audible down the line. “I'm very glad you think so. If I'm brutally honest with you, most of the...ah...products...tend to wear out within a year anyway. It's like phones or computers, you know? Can't charge too much for something that's gonna be thrown away and replaced when something newer comes along. And we have new...products...coming in all the time, so...”
	“I understand. Thank you...”

“Jimmy,” says Jimmy's father. “You can turn it up to two minutes.”
	“Yay!”

Sweat sheens the whelp's skin, making him look like a pool inflatable. His rounded limbs strain against the straps, which dig deep and show just how much padding there is between skin and bone. The boy moans into the mask, head lolled to the side, drool leaking out of the  neck of the mask to drip on the floor.
	Another stream of drips, between his legs, where his cock dribbles precum down over the curve of his balls.
	The edger keeps sucking and pumping, but much more slowly now. The device can sense when the boy is about to shoot, picking up on changes in pressure and heart-rate. All he needs is a few good thrusts and he'd beat the device and go over the edge.
	But, with two minutes of airless hell accompanying each thrust, and reset to the beginning each time he thrusts, he doesn't dare to even try.
	The first time his body managed to overrule his mind, he was caught in the middle of an exhale. He screamed in panic after the first thirty seconds, losing what little air he had left. As the long seconds ticked away, he fought for his life, straining against restraints that weren't going to loosen, crying for mercy that wasn't going to come. He couldn't even be sure that he wasn't alone in the room, left to suffer and die. And while he struggled, his chest aching and his head swimming, his cock throbbed needily, gently suckled on by the edger, hovering at the brink of orgasm. All it would take was one more thrust; one that would give him release after so many weeks and months, but also doom him to another two minutes of airlessness on top of the minute and a half he had already suffered. Only weakness saved him, as his struggling body slumped in the frame, barely able to move, as black fog closed in from the edges of his vision.
	Click.
	The valve opened and fresh air brushed against his lips. He sucked it in, alive again. Back to the hell of aching, teasing temptation, the constant stroking and sucking of his cock, now more rigid and needy than ever, always a thrust away from orgasm. A thrust he dare not take.
	Jimmy's father explained all of this to his son, as they sat eating sandwiches at the other end of the room, giving only fleeting attention to the suffering whelp.

The television crackles static. The Christmas tree's lights twinkle on a darkened room. Slowly, rising up to the prompting of some subconscious cue, Jimmy's father awakes, head feeling heavy and unstable after an evening of mulled wine and bad movies with his son.
	“Jimmy,” he says, nudging the sleeping form beside him. “Wake up, son. It's time to put Podge to bed.”
	“Mwuh. Do we have to?”
	“You've got to look after your toys, son,” says his father. “Or slaves, or whatever you decide that Podge is going to be. Come on, let's go see how he's doing.”
	Ten hours. Ten long, impossible to measure hours, strapped to the frame and relentlessly teased by the edger. The floor is wet. His body shakes with exhaustion. His mouth is dry. His mind is fractured.
	“Wake up, Podge!” says Jimmy, poking the whelp's tummy. “It's time to go to bed!”
	The whelp barely responds, managing only to lift his masked head and groan into the air tube.
	“Phew,” says Jimmy. “He stinks!”
	“He's been sweating all day, son. And he may have wet himself.”
	“Eww!”
	“You will have to clean him up, son. Either in the tub, or outside with the hose. Which do you prefer?”
	Jimmy, wrinkling his nose in disgust, says, “he looks like a piggy, and he smells like one too!”
	“I don't know, son. He smells more like...”
	Inspiration often comes at the most opportune moments. And for Jimmy's father, it came then. “Son, remember Rex's old bed and toys? They're still upstairs in your wardrobe, aren't they?”
	Jimmy tilts his head. “Yeah?”
	His father smiles. “Go grab some shackles, chains and locks. I have an idea.”

Podge struggles during the long climb up the stairs, his arms and legs shaking, barely able to hold him up. The chastity device is back on his cock, soothing the raw skin and bruises earned from Jimmy's rough, unpractised fingers shoving it impatiently back into its prison.
	“It's a bit thin, dad,” says Jimmy, laying out the dog bed. The fabric is old and threadbare, the padding long-collapsed. The whole thing smells of dog. “Sure he'll be comfy enough?”
	“He's got a lot of padding, son.”
	Jimmy snorts. “Yeah. Little fatty Podge!”
	The shackles weigh down on Podge's wrists and ankles. The chains drag between them, slowing his crawl even further. Blindfolded, he can't see the room. He doesn't notice the edge of the door frame until he's already stumbling into it, grazing his shoulder.
	“Loop the chain around the bed post there,” says Jimmy's father. “Then padlock it. That's it, just like that. How much range do you want to give him, son?”
	“None at all!” says Jimmy, with a grin. “Can we put it really low down so he can't lift his head up off the floor?”
	“We certainly can.”
	Smiling, and rubbing his son's head, Jimmy's father helps lock the chain in place around the bed post, down below the low horizontal bar, giving Podge only a foot and a half of slack. Barely enough to lift his head. Nowhere near enough for him to crawl away from the foot of the boy's bed and the old, musty dog bed that is soon to be his.
	Jimmy's voice makes Podge jump, coming loud and close in his ear. “Don't make too much noise tonight, doggy, or you'll wake me up and I'll have to come and spank ya!”
	Podge whines and leans towards the voice. He doesn't try to speak; with the gag, there's little point. He feels the touch of Jimmy's hand on his cheek, and for a moment it comforts him.
	“Well done, son. I think we can add 'beloved pet' to the list of possible lifestyles for Podge.”
	 Jimmy's hand gives a sudden downwards shove, pressing Podge's face down into the dog bed. “Goodnight, doggy!”
	“Or not,” says his father, amused.

Podge tries to curl up tighter, forming a ball out of his small body. The room is warm, but the sheen of sweat on his body has chilled him, and even after it has dried he is sorely lacking a blanket. The dog bed beneath him does little to protect him from the firmness of the floor. There is no hope of sleeping.
	The night contains sounds; the hiss of the trees, leaves moving in the wind, the distant rumble of traffic, far too distant to ever be a hope for help. And other sounds too, more unsettling; the skitter of movement, the padding of tiny paws, the goings on of nightly creatures, all unseen, all close by, just outside what sounds like an open window. And inside, too, the constant soft creaks of wood as an unfamiliar house shifts and settles with changing temperature, each one sounding like the prowl of a murderer. Podge whimpers under his breath and tries to make himself seem small.
	In the quiet cacophony of tiny noises, a soft rustling of fabric and a wooden creak catches his attention. Alert, now, but staying still, Podge listens. Footsteps? Yes, definitely footsteps, nearby and getting closer. Podge tries to suppress his whimpers and buries his face deeper into his arms.
	“Hey doggy,” whispers a voice. It's Jimmy. “You awake?”
	Talking is impossible with the ball-gag in, but noises can be made. Podge whines and lifts his head.
	“Good,” whispers Jimmy. “I can't sleep. Get up.”
	With limbs that feel cold and numb, Podge pulls himself up onto all fours until the clink of the chain stops him, head unable to lift up to shoulder height. With head down and rear up, he holds still, facing the bed post, with sounds of Jimmy's movement coming from just behind him.
	“Perfect,” whispers Jimmy. “Dad said you're made to be fucked. You look like it! Butt up in the air.”
	A hand, warm and firm, touches Podge's rear, making him flinch. It strokes down between his cheeks, grazing his pucker, ending at the metal of his chastity device.
	“Such a cute little butt.” Another hand, now, joining the first in stroking his rear. Then, the soft thud of two knees dropping onto the floorboards behind him. “Brr, it's cold in here. No nice warm bed. You're gonna have to warm me up, Podge!”
	Arms close around his middle and squeeze across his tummy. A breath pants at the back of his neck. Podge makes an uncertain noise into his gag.
	“Dad said I can fuck you whenever I like,” whispers Jimmy. “And I wanna fuck you right now...and I can! It's really awesome.”
	Podge drops his muzzle down into the dog bed and muffles his groan as Jimmy's cock presses against his pucker, like a hot little spear, clumsily prodding a few times before finding his aim. Podge bites hard into the gag and squeals.
	“Shuddup, Podge!” hisses Jimmy. “You'll wake dad, and then he'll be mad at you.”
	Podge's hands dig deeper into the bed's fabric as Jimmy presses his weight down onto his back. Short, sharp little thrusts press into him, feeling more raw and painful after his earlier treatment.
	“You're the best present ever,” pants Jimmy. “You're gonna be my little doggy. You can stay right here by my bed every night. I can come and...ah...do this any time I like!” Jimmy's body shudders. His fingers curl into claws that scrape across Podge's tummy.
	“And when I'm not playing with you, dad can play with you. And I'm gonna learn all the ways to do tortures and stuff.” Jimmy grunts, smacking fur against flesh, making the whelp squeal. “It's gonna be so much fun! For me, I mean!”
	With his face pressed into the floor, and his cock straining inside the unrelenting confinement of the chastity, Podge whimpers and tries to imagine himself somewhere else, as Jimmy finishes with a pleasure-filled groan.
	“You're not gonna be my slave,” pants Jimmy. “Or my pet. Or toy. Or all the other things dad's been teaching me about. You're gonna be all of them at once!”
	Pulling himself free, Jimmy plants a kiss onto Podge's drool-soaked muzzle.
	“Night night, doggy,” he says. “Tomorrow's gonna be so much fun!”