Carlos Vagasky

Pet sits huddled beneath his blanket, in the far corner of the black room. Beneath the same blanket that lent his Master solace in his absence, the blanket mingled with the scent of both of them, the blanket pet finds very comforting to him in moments of uncertainty and stress. This is one such moment.

He hears his Master in the adjoining room, his keen ears strain for every little tell tale sound. He was commanded to go to the black room and wait, wait for his Master's pleasure. He hears the soft sound of the summer rain on the slate shingles above, and that of the Master shuffling paper in the next room, he hears the beating of his heart almost drowning out every other sound.

A train sounds in the distance, the street below is quiet, as the hour is late. Then he hears the sound of his Master's footfalls on the wooden floor. Pet is ready he thinks, he already knows or at least thinks he knows what he can expect this night. He has longed for this, yet he fears it as well, his heart leapt for joy this day when the package arrived. Pet knew what its contents were, he knew this would be the night. The night he got his reward.

His Master comes through the doorway, he fills it with his powerful semi naked presence. Pet is always in awe of his Master, his Master is all pet wishes he could be, sometimes it makes pet cry. Tonight though pet's mind is on other issues, and he begins to shake as he realizes once again his Master is doing something he did not expect.

"Come here." His Master's beautiful voice issues from the dark. The voice pet so loves to hear. Pet jumps at the command, and hurries to kneel at his Master's feet still wrapped in his blanket. He looks at his Master's toes, such beautiful feet his Master has. Pet thinks this abstractedly to himself, as he waits and wonders what his Master is going to do.

He hears the piece of paper long before he sees it, as the Master places it before him on the floor. Stark and white it is devoid of all marks. A barren canvas, resting on the rough carpeted floor. "Here" the Master pushes a large felt tipped pen into pet's hand, and pet looks up at him confused, and wonders what game this is that his Master has planned.

"Write your name." Comes the simple request from above. Pet shivers, even in his too warm blanket, this cannot be as obvious as it seems; but takes the pen and writes his name Carlos Campbell in neat bold letters on the paper spread before him in the dim light. He sets the pen down at the task's completion, he can feel his Master's dark eyes on him and he dares not look up.

"That is not your name. I said write......... your name," comes the patient request. A sudden sweat breaks out on pet's naked flesh, and he is unsure whether he wants to play this game. But he knows he has no outs, he cannot withdraw.

Pet is still for a long time fumbling with the pen, looking at his Master's feet, looking at the floor, looking at his name. Feeling small and scared. Knows without having to look up that his Master is standing above him arms crossed on his hairy chest waiting for him to comply. Pet does not want to do this, and he thinks he knows what the Master wants but he cannot bring himself to write the words. He cannot bring himself to relinquish his name, but he knows he has to do something. He can hear the Master's sigh of annoyance, he is growing impatient for pet's compliance.

Shakily his writing not so confident or neat this time he again writes his name. This time just Carlos and stops. He hears his Master sigh above him. "The rest of it my boy." His Master adds.

Pet squirms in his blanket feeling very uncomfortable on the floor, conscious now of the carpet prickling into his naked skin. But he dare not move, he so badly wants to get out of this.

"Come on do it." Pet cringes at the command and suddenly makes to flee. But strong fingers in his ample black hair ensure he is going no where. "Write what I tell you!" The Master growls down at him now. Pet sits there his hair firmly entwined in the Master's hand feeling miserable and afraid. He does not want to do this he is desperately seeking an out, but the doors all seem to be closed.

" I can see you may need some help with this." The Master says. In a voice stern, but filled with love. Still holding pets hair he moves to sit behind him. Pet can feel the heat from his Master's body, he swallows nervously and shakes. The shaking intensifies as he feels the blanket being removed from his nakedness.

He wants to hold on to it but he knows better than to do so, and relinquishes it begrudgingly. "That's better now I can see all of you." The Master announces, as he throws the blanket across the room and pet's security with it.

Abjectly pet sits and waits, the fur on his Master's body prickling on to his skin, making him shiver even more. Then he shies away as he feels the Master's hand invading him in a way he does not like, the other hand still holding his ragged mane of hair. He can feel his Master's fingers inside him, and he sits too scared to move, though at this moment he would disparately like to pull away. He feels his Master's whiskered chin brush his shoulder as he whispers tenderly in pets ear. "Don't be scared my love, I am not hurting you." As the other hand strokes pet's now teary face.

"Write your name my pet." Pet looks forlornly down at the paper now carrying the wet of his tears, mingling with the ink of his now redundant name. An identity he is now at this defining moment about to shed, in the Master's presence. "Remember my pet you are mine, all mine inside and out, forever mine." The Master's whisper is hoarse with lust and passion now, and pet's tears run freely and silently as he again, picks up the pen.

He hesitates for a long time, he can feel the Master touching him inside unrelenting, he knows in his heart who he is, who he belongs to. His identity absorbed by this man who holds him now. The man who feeds him, holds him, loves him, punishes him, and wants him, and wonders, is it too much to ask?

Slowly he touches the pen to the surface of the paper, the black ink scrawling across its now crumpled and battered surface. The blood pounding in his temples, his hands shaking, and the Master filling him inside. It is hard to do, yes his hardest moment yet, as he writes the seven letters. Vagasky behind his Christian name.