Saddled, Chapter Nine (Patreon)

On Tuesday morning, John dragged himself out of bed. He’d expected to call the hospital Monday and check on how to arrange for funding. After all, he had money coming to him. However, he’d been so tired that watching talk shows and drinking beer had taken every ounce of energy.  His body was sore, but he’d suffered far, far worse. Fishing was not a profession for the weak, and until his knee injury, John had lived every day as a fisherman down to the core of his being.

But his mind kept spinning until he was too tired to move. Maybe John was being naïve, but Davidson had seemed to have fun. Not just dirty, lurid fun, but they’d shared a joy in trying to best one another. John had felt like a kid again—free to try and beat the shit out of his best friend, knowing that all would be forgiven the next day. He’d thought he’d grown out of the days of mutual “hit me—didn’t hurt” battles, but apparently not. 

But now the sun was rising, trying to cut through the dense gray cloud that blanketed the sky, and the neighbor had his saw going. John should probably offer to help him with his siding. The guy was not handy, and he was trying to renovate a hundred year old home. The two hundred year old homes around town were solid pieces of architecture that would probably stand forever. The wiring was shit and the plumbing worse, but the walls would survive anything short of nuclear war. The shit matchstick houses slapped up in the mid nineteen hundreds weren’t worth the powder it would take to blow them up, but John’s neighbor was an optimist. He had visions of being Maine’s newest millionaire by flipping houses.

Schmuck.

After scrubbing his hand over his face, John grabbed his phone and found the number he wanted in the directory.

“Talk fast,” Logan said in place of a greeting.

“Good morning to you to.”

“It’s five in the fucking morning, you idiot.”

“I overslept,” John said as he looked at his clock. Sure enough, it was eight. He actually had thought it was later, but he wasn’t about to apologize, not when he was calling to offer money and not considering what he’d done to earn the money. “I thought you worked for a living.”

“I work smart by hiring people to get up this early. I sleep in. Is Mom okay?”

“Yeah. I was calling to get you know I should have at least twenty-five thousand today, so don’t write the hospital a check until I can’t take care of some business on my end.” John sat up and pushed the blue and grey quilt back. While the silence continued, he headed to the bathroom to take a leak.

Eventually, Logan asked suspiciously, “What did you do?”

“I didn’t rob a bank, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Did you sell your fucking boat? Are you playing at being a fucking martyr? Because I will come down there and I will kick your ass up between your shoulder blades.” Logan sounded pretty damn serious, but John had a good fifty or sixty pounds of muscle on his baby brother, so the threats didn’t intimidate him.

“You and what army?”

“The army of fucking Mom. When I tell her—”

“Whoa!” John shouted, cutting Logan off before he did something stupid. “I didn’t sell my boat. Leave Mom out of this, Buttface.”

“Buttface? That’s the best you have? Either you tell me what you did to get that much money or I’m calling Mom and telling her to have at ya.” Logan must be angry because the California shine wore off, leaving the round vowels and missing letters of a Maine accent. John could not afford to have his mother do too much digging because Beverly Michaud could scare "Lucky" Luciano into spilling his guts. The woman swung a mean wooden spoon, and cancer wouldn’t slow her down.

“Look, don’t tell Mom, but I couldn’t make a go out of it with the boat. I’m doing some fishing and I’m running a few tours of my own, but I took a job at one of those companies that hooks rich people up with whatever they want, like an getting to play at being a real fisherman. Or,” John added with a dramatic sigh intended to throw Logan off the truth, “I play the rich man’s version of scared straight. They pay me to take their kids out and show them what real work actually looks like. After that, they listen to their daddy’s a little more carefully. But I’m cashing in my retirement with the company.”

“Fuck.”

“Hey, I won’t be any worse off than any other sap trying to make a living around here. None of us have two nickels to rub together.”

“If you’d get out and do something sane for a living—something that didn’t involve the highest death rate of any occupation—you couldn’t start working on a nest egg.”

“I’m coming up on fifty. I’m not sure when you think I’m going to start laying any eggs, but I’m fine.”

“You’re forty-six, so stop being a drama queen. I’m the only queen in this family. And you’re not fine. You can’t cash in your entire retirement.”

“I already have. I’m going in today to find out the exact value. But I’m having it sent straight to the hospital, so that should take some of the weight off you.”

“Will you be a normal person and worry about yourself for once? This whole first-born perfect son shtick is getting old. You need to worry about your own finances. I gave you shit about the damn money because I’m sick of Fawn acting like a precious, precious princess who can’t handle the stress, and I fucking hate Kevin’s guts. I never meant for you to get some stick up your ass about actually paying the money up front. I’ll pay. You pay me back when you can.”

“I can pay twenty-five thousand now.” John kept his voice firm and refused to get in an argument, especially when he’d already given up his ass to earn the money.

“You are the most annoying, stubborn brother in the fucking universe, and I’m including Kevin!” Logan slammed the phone down hard enough to make John flinch. He sighed. On television, people had normal families that talked without screaming, but John had never been that lucky. Maybe people in Maine were unusual in their love for a good family fight, or maybe John’s friends were all from fucked up families, or maybe television lied. That last one was a real possibility. Hell, some days John suspected his own father had gone out on his boat as often as he did to avoid the drama.

Avoiding the bathroom mirror, John dressed and shaved and headed out the door. Elena had given him Monday off to recuperate, but if he didn’t show his face today so she could see in person that he was alright, she would send someone out to get him. He knew because he often did that chore for her. Until she looked an assistant in the eyes and knew they weren’t battered or limping, she worried. He loved her for that, but he did wish he had another couple of days before having to face a strong personality. Right now he still felt a little fragile and cracked, and he feared she’d see it.

The drive into Portland was fairly quiet until he got around the Maine Mall. Then he cursed a little. But at its worst, Portland still wasn’t like the other eastern cities to the south. John wasn’t sure how people could live in Boston at all. It could be that none of them wanted to live there, but they go into that damn traffic and between the cars and the tangled roads they just never found their way to freedom again.

The agency’s main office was in a small, unassuming building that served accountants and lawyers. The steady foot traffic made it easy to slip in and out of the unmarked door into an empty waiting room decorated in tacky shades of blue and green with nautical rope and wooden anchors nailed to the wall. Anyone sane would run the other way, but John crossed to the inner door and held his smart watch up to the scanner. A lock clicked and he pushed the door open.

Gray industrial carpet and gray waiting chairs contrasted against verdant plants and a white reception desk. A blonde stuck her head out from the back. “John. Elena was ready to send out the cavalry, but since you are usually the cavalry, I talked her into waiting.”

John rolled his eyes.

“Go on in.” Helene settled behind her desk and touched her headset. “Okay, I have that up. Who called you?” 

She was clearly in the middle of something, so John headed behind her desk, through the coffee room, and into the maze that Helene guarded with her life. Elene’s office was near the end, but even now, John wasn’t sure what happened behind the other doors. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Up until Davidson, he had kept a careful distance, but now he found curiosity overpowering his discomfort with the agency in general.

Elena’s door stood open, and she was behind her desk, her chin resting on her fist as she stared at her computer monitor.

“You look deep in thought,” John said.

Elena glanced up before turning her attention back to the screen. “Same old, same old.” She studied it for a few more minutes before turning it off and leaning back. Her gaze captured and assessed him. The woman must be a mother because she had that “I know what you did” expression that had always made John confess to every shitting thing he’d done up until about age fifteen. She finally asked, “How did the appointment go?”

John came in and sat in one of her uncomfortable chairs. The things were white leather and chrome and built for someone who weighed about a hundred pounds. Elena was a large woman—pushing three hundred at least—so John had no idea why she owned chairs she wouldn’t fit in, but he suspected she didn’t want to make it comfortable for people to overstay their welcome. “I don’t know. You tell me what sort of review I got, and I’ll tell you how it went.”

“I’m more interested in your opinion.”

John sighed. “So, his review was that bad, huh?” If Davidson complained or if John actually had broken one of his toes, that was not going to bode well for him getting work in the future. Elena had done right by John—placing him in jobs where he didn’t have to push his boundaries. However, she had a business to protect.

“He made it clear that he enjoyed your company far more than anyone else I’ve sent him,” Elena said.

John’s mouth fell open. He had to gather his thoughts before saying, “I’m surprised.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m pretty sure he’d going to need to see a doctor about a broken toe.”

Elena’s normal composure broke and her eyebrows went all the way up to her salt and pepper black hair. “You broke his toe?” Her voice carried pure incredulity.

“I’m not sure, but in my defense, the call sheet did say he wanted a wild stallion.”

Elena pulled her pony tail clip out and sent it skittering across the desk before running her fingers through her hair. “It did, and I’m not criticizing.” She blinked several times, and John got the feeling that she wasn’t used to feeling this shocked. “I hadn’t realized Mr. Davidson was a masochist. If I had, I would have sent him different assistants entirely. That goes a long way to explaining why he has never wanted a repeat performance from anyone.”

“I wouldn’t call him a masochist,” John said firmly.

Elena gave him a strange look before grabbing her clip and pinning her hair back again. “Maybe you should start from the beginning and share your insights,” she said slowly.

“I’m not sure you should trust my judgment when it comes to Davidson. He did a number on me.”

“Do you want a referral to a therapist?” Thank God her voice lacked any sympathy. John wasn’t sure how he could have dealt with it.

“No,” he said firmly. 

“Of course not. God forbid you tarnish your veneer of masculine perfection.”

John glared at her. “The irony is a little thick.”

She shrugged. “If I don’t lay it on, you tend to miss it.”

“Trust me, I didn’t miss it this time. I honestly don’t need a therapist because I’m not feeling upset or angry. I’m just a little... disturbed.”

“That’s… not making me feel better,” she finished after a brief pause.

“I enjoyed it more than I expected to, okay? More than I wanted to, in fact.”

“Are you bothered that you enjoyed hurting Clive?”

John sighed. He didn’t want a therapist because he didn’t want to think about any of this long enough to form coherent thoughts. However, assistants didn’t stonewall Elena, not unless they wanted to get fired. “I didn’t exactly take pleasure when I caused him pain. I was more likely to come when he grabbed my dick or stuck his dick up my ass.”

“Ah.” A hint of sympathy showed on her face.

“Yes, ah. I’m just having a moment of heterosexual panic, thank you. So please leave me alone to be a stereotypical macho asshole in private, at least until I can wrap my head around the fact that my heterosexuality exists in theory more than in practice.”

She chuckled. “That’s why I like you. You face problems head on.” She leaned forward and tapped her red nails on the glass top of her desk. “Well I have a problem. Davidson is a valuable client, and I haven’t been able to nail down what sort of fantasy the man likes to indulge in. I’ve sent him experienced equestrian assistants and newbies, and every single one gets sent back with a polite, thanks, but don’t send this one again. So what did you do that he enjoyed so much, other than breaking his toe?”

“I tried to break more than one,” John confessed. “That one was just the only time I managed to land a solid blow. I also destroyed a high tech bluetooth cock ring and I left several bruises on his thighs.”

“And you maintain he’s not masochistic?” Elena’s voice went up.

“He didn’t want me to land hits. In fact, he want out of his way to keep me chained up so I couldn’t fight back. But he enjoyed watching me try to fight.”

“So he has a competition kink,” she said in a smug voice.

“Maybe. If it was all about the competition, I would think he would hate losing, but when I got in a good hit, he seemed more proud of me than anything.”

“Did he punish you?”

“Define punishment,” John said. With Davidson, every action had a reaction, but not one John would have anticipated. The man swung a whip so well that he had John fucking wanting it.

“Did he make you regret winning the point?” Elena asked. She pulled her wireless keyboard over and started typing.

“No. In fact, two of my orgasms came right after I’d kicked him.”

She looked up from her computer screen. “Is it possible he wanted to lose?”

“No. Definitely not. He got off when he could counter my attack and tie me down so I couldn’t fight him. The man has a few kink wires crossed.”

She snorted. “Competition kink is common enough,” she said. “Doms want a challenge. Subs want to overcome an obstacle. That’s hardly rare. However, a competition Dom who is a good loser is a little less common. And if he enjoyed you putting all your effort into physically damaging him, he’s got a rather extreme version. So, is that something you would consider doing again?”

“What? Equestrian play?” John grimaced. He wanted to deny it outright, but if he could bring in more money, he had to consider it as an option. Sadly he would never again make as much money as he had with Davidson. He’d only had his male virginity to sell once, and John wasn’t a good enough actor to fake it a second time.

“I take it that’s a no. I’ll tell Clive you’re not available.”

“Wait. Davidson asked for me again?” John firmly ignored the way his apprehension largely faded—replaced with a version of anxiety with more ambiguous feelings attached. 

“You look surprised. I thought you said Davidson appeared to enjoy having his toe broken.”

“And I thought you said he never asked for the same person twice.”

She crossed her arms and stared at John for long, uncomfortable seconds. John had worked with tattooed and muscled longshoremen that scared him less than Elena when she got that thoughtful look on her face. That was the expression she had when he started scheming all the ways to ruin someone. “Until now he hasn’t. The man has defined fickle. But now he wants to put you on retainer.”

“Retainer? Like a lawyer?” John felt like his head was in one of those carnival rides where it spins so fast you get pinned against the sides before the bottom falls out.

“In a way. You’ve never been a headliner, so I never really went over our retainer system with you, and I didn’t expect Clive to make the offer, or I would have explained it earlier.”

“Gee thanks. You’re just wicked supportive today.”

“Bite me,” she said without rancor. “I was wrong about Clive, but I didn’t have any way to predict that. Our retainer system works by allowing a client to reserve a certain assistant. In this case, Clive is offering five hundred a week. For that, he can claim up to five hundred dollars in services from you without any further pay. The benefit on his end is that he gets to know the contract and amount on any job you’re offered. If he matches it, he would get priority. So if someone offered to pay five hundred dollars for you to fuck their wife, he would find out first, and he would have the option of allowing that contract to go to you for your decision or he could pay the money.”

“Pay for a fuck or pay me to stay home that night?”

“Either. Of course if he takes you up on the service, he would need to add a tip, like any other client.”

John rubbed his neck where the bridle had left a tender spot. “So it’s a virtual leash.”

“It’s power sharing,” she corrected him. “And he still never gets your full name or any identifying information on you or your other clients, so it’s a limited exchange of power. You can only be on retainer for one client, so normally this is where I warn assistants to avoid choosing a patron too quickly. If you’re going to specialize in equestrian play, you may get better offers. A number of women love having a strong, masculine man harnessed. You may receive a more generous offer after you’ve worked a few more stables.”

John was surprised at the bone deep revulsion he felt at that. “Now I feel like a sexist jerk, because the thought of letting a woman do that to me...” a shudder ran up John’s spine. Trying to stomp a hole in Davidson’s skull had been the most enjoyable part of the weekend, and John would not feel free to do that to a woman.

“Kinks don’t have to be logical, so no judgment here. So, what do you think of being on a retainer?”

John normally made three or four thousand a month from the agency, and then he fished to make up the difference on his bills. The house and boat were both mortgaged, so his bills were considerable. “Will you still give me the small jobs?”

“Absolutely,” Elena said. “I appreciate how discreet and patience and fucking intimidating you can be. So if someone needs protection or a client wants to feel threatened, I am more than happy to call you. I’ll have to put those through Clive first, but I’ll make it clear that if he vetoes every non-sexual job I give you, he’ll piss me off.”

John nodded slowly. That would be a significant protection.  “Can I end the retainer at any time?”

“Unless the client does something to violate the terms of service, you need to commit to six months on both sides. That’s twelve thousand. Normally I would warn you that we need to spread that out, but since your money is going to a hospital, it will be easy to add the retainer fee to the money from this weekend and send it directly to the hospital, earmarked for your mother’s care.” Her voice dropped into a softer tone than he normally heard from her. “I do hope this treatment works.”

“Me too,” John said softly. He swallowed, not willing to say more. “What are the odds that I’ll get more work on top of the retainer? I don’t want this to end up costing me money on the sexual jobs. Those are the bread and butter callouts.”

“Right now, I suspect Clive is going to enjoy playing with you quite a bit. In the short term, expect to make some good money. However, don’t get used to it. The man has the attention span of a gnat, so grab every cent before he loses interest in plowing your ass.”

“You make it sound so romantic.” In truth, John preferred it that way. He felt overwhelmed by emotion at every turn, and Elena was a steady rock of rapacious capitalism.

“Anyone in this business who looks for romance is destined for disappointment.”

John nodded. The younger assistants sometimes got burned, but John knew the difference between sex and love. Hell, he knew the difference between sex and fucking. And if Davidson wanted to keep him on retainer and fuck him raw, that could mean paying the money off faster than John had anticipated. He’d have to find a way to explain where the money came from well enough to prevent Logan from asking too many questions, but Elena was a mastermind of money laundering. She could make it work.

“I could add ten thousand onto the twenty five I had been planning on sending to the hospital. I would leave me five thousand to cover living expenses.”

“How are you figuring that math?”

John frowned. “Twenty eight for the weekend, twenty five to the hospital and three to me. Add to that twelve thousand for the retainer with ten for the hospital and two for me.”

“And that leaves your tip. What do you plan to do with that twelve thousand dollars?” Elena asked.

For the second time, John found himself speechless. Elena laughed. “Make hay while the sun shines because Davidson is stupid in lust with you. Now go. Helene will get you set up with the retainer paperwork. Standard contract, in this case, we’re writing it off as you consulting on a possible script. I’ll tell Davidson that you are officially on his payroll.”

Elena dismissed him with a wave, and John couldn’t quite figure out where he’d lost several significant brain cells. Forty thousand dollars. Davidson had paid him forty thousand dollars to play horse.  That was as much as John’s neighbor had spent on his whole damn house—even if it was a shitty pile of plywood and glue.

John wished Davidson would stop rewiring his brain. He was fairly sure this short of shock would lead to brain damage eventually.

Chapter 10: https://www.patreon.com/posts/saddled-chapter-17637933 

Chapter 11: https://www.patreon.com/posts/saddled-chapter-18483089 

Chapter 12: https://www.patreon.com/posts/saddled-chapter-18786045 

Chapter 13 and 14: https://www.patreon.com/posts/saddled-chapters-18974026 

Chapter 15: https://www.patreon.com/posts/saddled-chapter-19132781 

Chapter 16: https://www.patreon.com/posts/saddled-chapter-19490176 

Chapter 17: https://www.patreon.com/posts/saddled-chapter-19634666