#substart

"Plugs, check. Vibrators, check. Spreader bar, check. Cock cage and sounding rod, check. But I'm kinda nervous about the rod. Sounds painful... Wax kit, check. Enema kit, check. See, that I like. I like feeling clean, even if it don't feel the greatest when you make me hold it. The ginger plug is already carved. See? I put it in a bag so it wouldn't dry out. That fucker burns... Oh, I put the fresh bar of soap too. Umm... Nipple clamps are here. Restraints are here, but you won't need them. Condoms and lube, check check." He went over the list several times to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything.

"Over here I got out all the other stuff you asked for. The straps and canes, my hairbrush and martinet. I got the paddle you made with my name on it too, just in case. Worst Christmas gift ever, by the way. I would've preferred a bottle of wine. I didn't get no slippers. I fucking hate that. I don't care what you say, I'll never accept those. But I obeyed your wishes and made up the birch rod like you said. It's sitting in the brine and it's really really scary so I hope you don't use that. I pulled out a few different outfits. I wasn't sure which one you wanted to see me in. And I didn't forget the collar neither... And I brought my punishment journal like you said. I think I was a really good boy for the most part. This was hard for me to set up. I ain't never gotten so prepared in my life... I'm ready to start when you are. Just tell me how you want me."

Armand was out of breath from trying to outrun police. He'd assaulted an alpha that tried to claim him, and now He was in even bigger trouble. He was terrified that one or the other would catch up with him and claim him in one way or another.

Tears streaked his cheeks as he leaned against a crumbling building, trying to catch his breath and remain hidden.

Growing up with money, there was one person, and only one, that the young Armand Duval could count on. That was the butler, employed some time after his siblings died. His parents felt it was much more important, since very clearly, their son could not be trusted alone. It was a gesture of punishment, but Armand never saw it that way. He loved the butler very much. In fact, he was the only one that cared for him after every punishment.

He wasn’t even bothered when his parents realized he didn’t think the butler a punishment, and had granted permission, and even requested for him to punish the rebellious boy. It was then that Armand learned that his parents were far too cruel. Punishments from his butler were far from scary. He was only afraid when his parents did it instead.

The boy had faced many difficulties, and the butler was always there to help. He even helped him through his father’s funeral. However, the butler could not help him any further, when Armand’s mother kicked him out. The sixteen year old had no idea how to fend for himself. He’d had material items handed to him, and he’d been catered to since as long as he could remember. The only thing he’d ever lacked was the love of a parent, and then he had nothing. 

He was permitted to return home upon finding out about his mother’s suicide. She had left a will, giving the teen the estate and the business, and everything they contained. He was thankful of that, but more thankful still that his butler was still there.

It wasn’t long, though, before Armand grew aggravated with having to continue his parents’ business and handle their affairs. He wasn’t ready for responsibility, and he didn’t want it. All he wanted was to throw big, fun parties, with drugs, and alcohol, and sexy dancers. Of course, his butler advised him against it, and Armand obeyed, for fear of losing the Duval estate.

By 17, however, as the stress built up, Armand had started to show less respect to his hero. He called him names, and was bordering on verbally abusive- just like his father. He’d thrown tantrums, and shouted profanities. He had far too many responsibilities. And one night, he could no longer deal with his butler giving him restrictions.

“Shut the fuck up! Who the fuck do you think you are, anyway?!” snarled the spoiled brat. “You work for me! You don’t get to tell me what to do. I’m not throwing a stupid dinner party, and be all fancy for a bunch of snobs still weeping over my father,” he growled. “If you hadn’t worked here for so long, I would fire you. You trouble me.”

Put a kink in my ask box and I’ll write a starter on it.

Claquesous had really piled on the crimes, and he knew he was in trouble with his Dom but he couldn’t wipe the smirk off his face. He had gathered the requested items without complaint, but he would probably struggle a little once they were used. On the bed, he set down a leather belt, his wooden hairbrush, n unopened box containing a bar of soap, and a ginger root, peeled into a plug just as he had been instructed. Apparently talking back to his Dom among other things had very large consequences.