#uh oh spaghettio big day tomorrow

[echo-goes-mmm]

Second-Hand Goods #4

Masterpost

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Warnings: Groping, drugging, implied future non-con

The basement didn’t have a clock, but Emmett knew it was early when he woke to the sounds of Master on the stairs. 

The basement was still chilly, even with the space heater and bedding Master had given him. Emmett distantly wished Master had given him bedtime medicine, because he hadn’t slept well at all.

“Good morning, sweetie.” Emmett stopped himself from wrinkling his nose at the pet name. It wouldn't be received well.

Master was carrying something rolled up, a paper bag with the PetSmart logo, and a bowl with a spoon.

“Aren’t you going to say good morning?” Oops.

“Sorry Master. Good morning.” Master smiled at him, and put the bowl in front of him. Oatmeal; maple and brown sugar flavor. Emmett savored the hot food as he watched Master unroll the whatever-it-was onto the floor of one of the kennels.

A hint of discomfort tickled the back of his mind, but he dismissed it in favor of breakfast. 

“I’m going to pick up a guest tomorrow,” said Master, “So we’ll need to get your uniform on.”

“Uniform?” He didn’t like the sound of that.

Master picked up the PetSmart bag. “It’s nothing to worry about. I had it custom made so it’ll be comfortable.”

Oh. Master hadn’t lied to him so far, how bad could it be?

Master pulled out a muzzle. 

“Wha- why-”

“I was thinking,” Master interrupted. He crouched, patting Emmett on the cheek. The muzzle clanked in his hand. “You’re so sweet, and our guests can be so feisty. And you really want to come upstairs, right?”

“Uh huh.” He really didn’t see where Master was going with this.

“Well, they won’t be so troublesome if it looks like I’m making you help me out. So this handy little accessory will show them you’re friendly.”

That… made a little sense. He didn’t want to have to wrestle with a ‘guest’. He’d never been much of an athlete.

Master loosened the strap, pulling the wire frame over his head and onto his face. There was a padded barrier between the metal and his cheeks, and the actual shape and size still allowed him to open his mouth. It wasn’t so bad.

Master grinned at him, and Emmett didn’t like the look of it. But what choice did he have? He couldn’t stay in the cold basement forever.

Master reached into the bag again, and Emmett’s heart dropped. There was more? It was only a red collar with an engraved name tag, but still. He didn’t like all these surprises. 

Once the collar was fastened, Master grabbed his chin and tilted his head this way and that. A tiny voice in his mind wondered if this was really to help with the guests, or if Master was just pleased to see him looking like a pathetic dog.

It didn’t matter what the tiny voice said. Emmett didn’t want to die. He’d take a thousand days in a muzzle over an hour with his torturer. And he’d wear a collar forever if he didn’t have to work two jobs just for rent.

There was one more thing in the bag. A leash.

Master clipped it to the ring on his collar, the metal jingling. The tips of his ears burned as Master unlocked the shackle around his ankle.

“It’s a little chilly down here, isn’t it?”

Emmett opened his mouth to respond, but Master put a finger to his lips. “Ah, ah, ah! No talking when you’re in your uniform. Understand?”

Emmett nodded.

“Since you’re doing so well, I think we can have an hour upstairs.” He tugged on the leash, and Emmett followed for half a moment before Master laughed and stopped.

“You can stand up, silly thing. I didn’t tell you to crawl.”

His face burned as he got to his feet. 

Upstairs was much warmer, and Master had Netflix already running with the next episode of the nature documentary. 

“Want a coke?”

Emmett nodded. He hadn’t had a soda in… how long had he been missing? 

The coke was a fancy one, the glass bottle and made with real sugar. Master stuck a straw into it so he could drink through the muzzle. 

One hour, and he’d be back downstairs.

He couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

___________________

Maybe he was overdoing it with the drugs. Emmett didn’t protest when he put his arm around his shoulder. Didn’t react when Ander put a hand on his thigh.

He’d slipped part of a dose into the oatmeal and the second half into the soda, but it was clearly too much for him. He was half asleep. Damn.

Ander didn’t feel like fucking him when he was so out of it. No fun at all.

He took Emmett downstairs, keeping an eye out for stumbling. 

He ordered him to sit down, and even that seemed like a lot for him. 

Ander snatched Emmett’s allotted pillow and blanket, tossing them into the kennel. 

There, a cozy little cage for his favorite dog. 

He grabbed Emmett by the back of the hair, like scruffing a cat. Emmett whimpered, and shit if that didn’t make him a little hard.

“C’mon sweetheart. In you go.” 

Emmett crawled in with little resistance. Ander locked the door, and Emmett was already clutching his pillow, eyes unfocused and drowsy. Cute.

Maybe he’d get around to fucking him tomorrow.

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