I know I talk a lot about my travels. Between my work and my appetite, I’m constantly bouncing from city to city, leaving broken-in boys across the map. People ask if I even have a home.

Of course I do. I’m there about half the time. The rest, I’m on the road.

Well, I got home late two nights ago, exhausted after a long trip, only to walk into something completely unacceptable.

My neighbor Ben, a gay little sub I’ve used a few times, had moved himself into my apartment. His place apparently flooded, and while the landlord works on it, Ben decided to squat in mine. Now, he has a key. I’ve let him housesit. Feed the fish. Water the plants.

But what I walked into?

Ben. Naked. Sprawled on my fucking couch. Jerking off to porn like it was his living room. I dropped my luggage inside the door and went straight for him. Grabbed his ear, yanked him up, and shoved him to the floor.

He knows better. He fucking knows.

Now, Ben loves when I peg him. But that’s a privilege. This night was punishment.

I took off my shoe and shoved my sweaty, travel-worn foot in his face. Told him to lick. He gagged a little, but he got to work, like the obedient little hole he is.

Then I grabbed a cane off my wall (my place is covered in toys and tools) and turned his ass into a mess of welts. He cried. He screamed. He begged. And I didn’t stop until I was satisfied.

Eventually, I let him curl up on the floor, sobbing and wrecked.

He’s allowed to stay. He already rubbed his filthy ass all over my couch, so fine. But he has rules now. He’s cleaning the apartment top to bottom. He’s cooking for me. Running my errands. Worshipping my body if I let him.

And when he finally crawls back to his own unit? He’s paying to have my couch steam cleaned.

So yes, I have a home. And when I return from travel, I expect to walk into serenity… not the jizz-slicked shame of a needy little trespasser who forgot who owns the key he carries.

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