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Ctiard struggled to finish eating. Finally he had to admit, “I’m full. I’m sorry.”

Timaios frowned, and Ctirad’s stomach dropped. “Fuck. I hope you didn’t stuff yourself too much?”

“What?” Ctirad stared at him in confusion. “No, sir, you said ‘finish eating’ and…” He was panicking. This was mortifying. He swallowed and tried to get control of himself.

“Come here, please.” His voice wasn’t angry anymore. Ctirad dropped to his fours and slunk across the floor to Timaios, trying not to whimper and trying not to hate himself for the urge to whimper.

When had he started feeling shame again? Shame wasn’t something he had the time for or luxury of.

The table was too short. He was at Timaios’ feet far too quickly. He sat down on his heels and looked at his owner’s toes.

“Ctirad, I apologize. I keep underestimating how badly you’ve been brutalized, and I’m not sure how to reinforce actual free will without just giving you more orders. Do you have any ideas?”

“Sir?” Ctirad remained looking at Timaios’ toes. “I don’t have free will. I’m Owned. I belong to you.”

“Yes. But you are allowed to make independent decisions. That’s not outside the realm of being Kept. Are you with me so far?”

Ctirad nodded. “Yes, sir. Some Kept are allowed to make independent decisions.”

“All right. I’ll make you an actual physical list. But once I do that, it’s up to you to remember that that li- no, I’ll make it an order. You can ask if you want clarification, and otherwise you’ll know that those things you can decide on your own. All right?”

Being ordered into free will seemed just about on par with most of Ctirad’s experiences being Owned. “Yes, sir.”

“All right, if you’ve over eaten, we’re going to have to rest for a while before we can do anything entertaining. You comfortable in the public parts of the house like that?”

“Like- oh, without a shirt? Yes, sir.” He had pants. “How public is public?”

“This time of day, it should just be other staff, but sometimes we end up with someone coming by. If we do – are you comfortable playing sated boyfriend?”

“If you tell me the role, sir.” It sounded a lot like obedient boytoy from that title, but he was learning not to assume anything with Timaios.

“Lounge quietly against me as if you’re too sleepy and content to do anything else, speak when spoken to but as if you’re half-asleep or fucked senseless.”

Ctirad couldn’t help but smile. “Housecat, but human. I can do that, sir.”

“Good. All right, downstairs with us… stand up for that, Ctirad. I have faith in your ability to crawl down stairs, but you neither need to nor have to.”

Ctirad, who had not quite so much faith in his abilities when he was overfed and a little fuzzy about everything, was more than happy to stand and be led down another hall, down another set of stairs, and into a wide-open living room space. Timaios sat down in a large overstuffed chair – more of a small loveseat than an armchair – and considered Ctirad.

“Tell me the truth: would you be more comfortable sitting next to me or at my feet?”

“I-” Ctirad tried to come up with an answer and couldn’t. He swallowed a whine. “I don’t know, sir.”

“That’s a truthful answer, Ctirad, you’re fine. That’s good, my boy.”

Ctirad ducked his head and let the praise wash over him. “Sir?”

“It’s okay to not know. Preferences are not easy, I understand that, especially when you think there might be a right answer, especially when you have been trained to not express preferences, as I’m beginning to guess you must have been. So sit here at my feet, and I’ll turn the tv on and brush your hair. All right?”

“Yes – Timaios.” The name sounded strange still, like it ought to be forbidden.

“In public spaces, ‘Tim’ is fine. After all, that’s who I am.” Timaios’ smile seemed a little self-deprecating. It almost distracted Ctirad from the twist of guilt in his stomach.

“Sorry, sir… Tim.”

“No need to be sorry. You didn’t know.” Timaios sat down in the center of the big chair, and Ctirad sat immediately down, a few inches from his Owner’s feet. It was a pet’s position, a submissive position. If he could only lean back, it would be safe and comfortable, the way he hadn’t felt in quite some time. But he knew better than to try.

“Here, scoot back.” Timaios spread his legs. “Lean against the back of the chair so you can get some contact. I want to get you acclimated to my touch early, so you don’t get too mazed by it when we’re in public. You’re going to be getting touched a lot – I hope you don’t mind the contact.”

He did as he was told, feeling the knees on other side of him, the hand on his hair. Touched a lot. “I don’t mind at all. I… I think I might like it?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?” Timaios’ hand was in his hair, tugging it lightly. Ctirad let his head loll back into the touch. It was like fire, like sunlight, like being wrapped up in a blanket fresh out of the dryer. “So. Can you tell me something about yourself?”

Ctirad’s eyes had fallen closed; it took him a moment to pull himself back to the world around him enough to think of an answer. “I – um. There’s not all that much to know, not really. There’s… “ He blinked a few times. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “So much of it is gone.”

So much of the rest, he’d held in a quiet part inside of himself, where it couldn’t be tainted or taken from him.

Timaios’ hand was gentle in his hair. “All right. Do you know anything you like to do for fun?”

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