The night is hot, and my knees are sore from the concrete. I am at the back door of Cody's apartment, kneeling on the ground next to the sliding glass door in the dark, waiting on him to arrive home. Except for a jockstrap, I'm naked. A thick leather collar is around my neck, fastened with a heavy padlock. I don't have the key to the padlock, so once the collar is on, it's there until Cody decides to remove it.
Fortunately, each apartment has a partial privacy fence around the small patio area, so I am mostly shielded from anyone walking by. Mostly. There is no gate, though; just an opening in the fence, so I could be seen if someone happened to walk by. What is worse: the apartments are two-story townhouses, so any of Cody's neighbors who happen to look out the window will be able to see me clearly. Every time I do this, I say a little prayer no one will spot me and call the cops.
My clothes are folded neatly and put away in a wooden chest on the far side of the patio, the same chest where Cody keeps the collar and padlock. The chest is too far for me to grab my clothes quickly if someone should happen to see me, but that doesn't matter. There is an extra padlock kept in the chest, which I use to secure it once my clothes are inside. Once I'm stripped and my clothes locked away, I'm committed, my service to Cody assured. That's how he insists on it. Cody doesn't need to tell me what he wants me to do. He did that the very first time: strip to a jockstrap and lock my clothes in the chest; kneel next to the door, legs spread wide, head down, arms behind me. And wait until called for, no matter how long that took.
The hot, humid night air, combined with the stress of maintaining the position on the concrete is making me start to sweat, but I don't dare move, nor change position. Cody could be home at any moment, and will be furious if I'm not exactly where and how I am supposed to be. One time, my knees were very sore from kneeling for over an hour waiting on him to arrive, so I sat on my butt for just a minute to relieve the pain. That's when Cody walked in the front door and saw me through the sliding glass door, on my ass. That was the first time he used his belt on me. It was a week before I could sit without pain. No matter how badly the concrete hurts my knees, I know better than to move.
Cody works late. He usually gets off at 11:00 pm, but sometimes later; then he has to drive home. It doesn't matter; when I am told to report, I am expected to be in place by 11:00 pm sharp. Occasionally, Cody is already home, and my punctuality, or lack of it, is noted. Most times, though, it is like this: I strip, kneel, and wait for as long as it takes him to arrive.
You see, I'm Cody's on-call ___. Fill in the blank. Cocksucker, foot massager, cum dump - whatever he wants. He calls, and I come running for the chance to serve him.
Cody's biggest problem is that he's really busy. He's a full-time student at the local college, attending on a partial baseball scholarship, so he has classes and ball practice to deal with. It's a smaller school though, and his scholarship doesn't cover full tuition or living expenses, so he also works as a cook at a restaurant. Between the two, it doesn't leave him a lot of time to go on dates.
So, Cody keeps me around - the fag at his beck and call. He took my phone number the first night. Since then, whenever he wants me, I get a text. The text is always very simple: a report time. Nothing else. No chat, no instructions - just a time. Most of the time it's like tonight: "11." As simple as that. He beckons, and I'm here on my knees, waiting for him.
Sometimes the text just says, "Now," which means I have to drop what I'm doing and come over immediately. It doesn't matter to Cody if I have plans. He doesn't ask, and doesn't care. When he wants me, he expects me to come running, no excuses. On those occasions, my wait outside is usually mercifully short, but no less stressful, since often those messages come during daylight hours, so I am even more exposed, kneeling there behind his apartment, both my body and my need to obey on display for anyone who happens to see me.
Sometimes those are the worst, though. Once, the text said "Now," so I drove over immediately. I live about 20 minutes from Cody's apartment. When I arrived, I could see Cody through the sliding glass door, sleeping on the couch. He was wearing just a pair of athletic shorts, nothing else. I was already stripped down and in my required position by the time I saw him. I knelt there, looking at him sleeping, fearing at any moment someone would see me and report me to the police. But I didn't move. And I didn't dare disturb him by knocking on the door. I waited, the hot sun beating down on my exposed flesh, sweat dripping off of me, the concrete slowing digging further and further into my vulnerable knees, while Cody napped, peaceful as a babe, in air-conditioned comfort ten feet from me on the other side of the glass. I was like that for 45 minutes, but it seemed like days, the constant risk of being seen by his neighbors making every minute seem like an hour. When Cody finally stirred, he got up off the couch and looked at me through the sliding glass door. Then the turned and went to the kitchen, leaving me there to suffer longer. A while later he returned with a sandwich and a beer and settled down to watch TV, ignoring the desperate faggot kneeling, collared and mostly naked, on his patio. I moaned in frustration; my little dick as hard as a rock in the jockstrap. Cody does things on his own schedule, always. When he finally decided to unlock the door and let me inside, I was so overwhelmed with relief I immediately began kissing his feet in appreciation of his kindness, forgetting in the moment he was the cause of my suffering in the first place.
