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Someone to Live For: A Keeperverse Story (Chp. 9 3/27)


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OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER: this is my first story as well as my first post on this forum. I'm one of those long-time lurkers. I was so taken with the idea of the Keeperverse that I felt compelled to make my own contribution. This is a slowish regression, and in that sense is a deviation from the universe as we know it. Feel free to consider this non-canonical.

Like any first attempt at fiction, I'm sure the marks of an amateur are all over this one. But with any luck, someone here might enjoy it anyway.

Chapter One


The sudden ring emanating from my pocket ignited a flicker of hope in me. In the past week alone I’d filled out twelve different job applications. Not one of them had received a response. Maybe this message contained good news.

I wanted to check right away, but there was an obstacle I had to contend with first. The use of cellphones behind the checkout counter was strictly forbidden, and the manager always seemed to be lurking around the corner. In spite of the threat of reprimand, I knew there was no way I could withstand the anxiety until my next break. This would require some finesse.

I scanned the store as well as I could and strained my ears for signs activity. After a moment the manager came into view. All I had to do was wait for him to become distracted. A customer approached him to ask a question, but that was no good - he still had a direct line of sight to me and could turn around at any instant. Eventually he disappeared behind one of the shelves and struck up a conversation with a co-worker. This was my chance. After fumbling with my phone's lock screen, I saw that there was a new email. The subject read, “Thank you for your interest.” 

So much for good news.

Working at the bookstore was fine most of the time. It had a certain dignity that other low-level jobs lacked. Some might call it arrogant, but things like that were important to me. But even though I felt better about myself working here than I would in a fast food restaurant, I lived in perpetual fear of the moment when an old acquaintance would walk in wearing something expensive, and I'd have no choice but to compare my life to theirs. At thirty years old, I’d gotten no further in life than most teenagers. It was a depressing thought.

I was shelving books from a recent shipment when a voice surprised me from behind.

“Excuse me, I – oh! I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just wonder-“

She stopped speaking the moment our eyes met. I realized I was looking at the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. To say that I was attracted to her would be an understatement. I was fascinated by her. She seemed to radiate an aura of pure grace. In that moment, I would've had no trouble believing that she was the only person on the planet who truly mattered.

It occurred to me that we had been staring at each other for several seconds. I decided it was up to me to break the silence somehow. I had every intention of saying “How can I help you?” but the experience of love at first sight was interfering with my diction. What came out of my mouth was a strange, nonverbal sound, somewhere between a cough and a hiccup.

She giggled slightly at this, which I supposed was a reaction I could live with. Then she looked at me quizzically.

“Have I met you somewhere before?” she asked.

“I don't know… I don't think so.”

“Strange, you look so familiar.”

I scoured my memory for occasions when we might have seen each other, and came up with nothing. In spite of that fact, I had a peculiar notion that this person was, or world come to be, someone extremely important to me.

“Never mind,” she said. “I'm sure I'm just imagining things. I was wondering where I could find travel guides?”

“In the lifestyle section, right next to the cookbooks.”

“Thanks,” she said and walked away.

And then she was gone.

I made a mental note to slap myself later. I could've asked where she was going, struck up a conversation about travel, and who knows where that might have gone? I could have even PRETENDED to be someone she knew. But I missed my chance. Another entry on the list of today's failures.

I went back to work, completely unaware of the change that had just been set in motion.

Chapter Two
I slept poorly that night. My bedroom was uncomfortably hot, even after foregoing sheets and a comforter. And yet my thermostat continued to insist that the temperature was a cool 68 degrees. I wondered if I might be coming down with a fever, perhaps brought on by some seasonal virus.

My suspicion was compounded by the way I felt after breakfast. I treated myself to a pair of brown sugar and cinnamon pop tarts, and within an hour my stomach was throwing a tantrum. I might have suspected food poisoning, but I was fairly sure that Pop-Tarts couldn’t go bad.

I spent most of the workday feeling sorry for myself. My current physical condition combined with the events of yesterday left me in a decidedly dejected state.  I found my thoughts turning to the woman who came to me looking for travel guides. The prospect of never seeing her again made me genuinely sad. Was it possible to miss someone after only one day?

I tried to console myself with the thought that she couldn't possibly be as perfect as she seemed during that brief encounter. I'd been through enough ill-fated High School crushes to know that idolizing someone in such a way was bad for everyone involved. I thought of the song “She’s So High” from the nineties. Had I really become that pathetic?

I decided that a little self-medication was in order. My companion that evening would be a certain Evan Williams. Fortunately, my tastes knew how to adjust to suit my budget.

A few hours later, I was walking out the sliding glass doors of the grocery store, my recent purchase in hand. And then I saw her. Standing in the parking lot was the woman I had met the day before, the traveler. I felt excitement and anxiety welling up inside me. Both of these feelings intensified considerably when I realized she was walking towards me.

“Hello again,” she said, smiling.

“Hey.”

“I wasn’t expecting to run into you so soon."

“It must be fate.”

“Must be.”

There was a brief pause.

“I'm Sandra,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Dylan,” I replied, and took her hand in mine.

The moment our hands touched, a warm feeling to spread throughout my body. Her expression suggested that she had felt something too.

“Did you find what you were looking for yesterday?” I asked. It wasn't a great icebreaker, but it was all I had to work with.

“Yup. I'm planning a trip to Italy. Have you ever been?”

“Years ago with my family. Don't spend more than a day in Venice, it's not worth it.”

“Good to know.” We were both silent for a moment .

“Do you want to get coffee somewhere?” she asked. “There’s a Starbucks just down the street and – Oh, you probably have food you need to put in the fridge.” She glanced at my shopping bag.

“No, it's just-“ I stopped, thinking that I might not want to reveal that I was buying cheap whiskey on a Wednesday evening. “It's nothing perishable. I can meet you there and-“

“I can drive us both there. No sense wasting gas, right? I'll take you back here when we’re ready to go.”

I followed her to her car. Once we were both inside, she did something I never would have expected. Without a moment's hesitation, she reached across to my side and fastened my seatbelt.

Her face turned red. “I'm not sure why I did that. Can we pretend that never happened?”

“No problem. I guess you're concerned about my safety,” I said jokingly.

“I guess so.”

And then we were off.

We approached the counter and ordered our drinks, hers about Earl grey and mine a decaf latte. Before I could ask the barista to split the bill, she handed over her credit card. I mumbled a couple words of gratitude, but in truth I felt a little uncomfortable. I was beginning to wonder how she saw me. Part of me wanted to protest that I could buy my own drinks as well as I could buckle my own seatbelt, but saying something like that meant that something like that needed to be said. In other words, the very need to make such a protest undermined my status as an independent, fully functioning adult.

“I don't normally do this,” she said as we sat down at the table. “Asking someone out so abruptly, I mean. I was debating whether or not to tell you this, but when I saw you yesterday - I had this strange feeling that I was supposed to meet you. Does that sound totally crazy?”

I took a sip of my latte. It was stronger than I would have liked. “No,” I said, “I think I felt it too.”

“Is that so? Well, seeing as fate or karma or whatever has brought us together, we might as well get to know each other. What do you like doing outside of work?”

“I play a lot of video games. I also like to draw, but I’m not very good.”

“Aww, I bet you’re not as bad as you think. I’d love to see one of your drawings.”

“I’m actually pretty shy about showing them too people.” I took another sip. The bitterness of the drink was really overwhelming.

“That's no fun. What's the point of making art if you can't show it off to anyone?”

“I guess it’s sort of an escape. If I had to worry about people judging what I made, it wouldn't be an escape anymore. It’d be another source of stress."

There was a sudden, uncomfortable stirring in my stomach. Had this morning’s illness returned for an encore?

“I never thought about that way. I still want to see one though.”

“What about you? What do you do?”

“I'm a marketing coordinator for a publishing company. We’re sort of in the same field, come to think of it.”
“That's a very generous way of putting it.”

The churning in my stomach intensified. Was there something wrong with the drink? Would it be rude to send back a drink she had paid for?

“Are you feeling alright? You look kind of uncomfortable.”

I tried to reassure her that I was fine. But the sensation was getting stronger.

“If you're not feeling well, we can do this another time. It's really not a big deal.”

I was hit by a wave of gastric turbulence. I could tell that this wasn’t going to end peacefully. “I need to excuse myself for a moment,” I said, and made a beeline for the bathroom.

I won't bother trying to put this delicately - once I made it to the toilet, I proceeded to puke my guts out. And it hurt. I coughed and gasped for breath as the contents of my stomach were forced out of me. There was a knock at the door.

“Everything ok in there?” It was Sandra's voice. She had heard me! My  shame reached a critical level.

“I'm fine,” I shouted back, “I'll be out in a minute.” No response.

After the worst was over, I took a moment to reflect on how horribly things were turning out. I was sure she would lose all interest in me now. Maybe I should just apologize and disappear with what little dignity I had left. Whatever happened, I knew I couldn't avoid facing her, as much as I would have liked to. I summoned up my remaining courage and walked back to our table.

“Sandra,” I said, “I am SO sorry. Let's just go back to my car and I won't bother you anymore.”

“It's fine! Really, these things happen. I’m a little concerned, but you don't have to feel embarrassed.”

“Thanks,” I murmured.

“That said, if you're feeling sick, I probably should take you home.”

“You mean to my car.”

“Yes, right. To your car.”

Neither one of us said much on the ride back. After we pulled up next to my car, she took out a small notepad. “I’m going to leave you my number,” she said, “And I want you to text me so I have yours. I also want you let me know how you’re feeling later. I'll worry if you don't. Can you do that for me?”

“Sure,” I replied meekly.

“And one other thing. I saw what was in your bag, and I don't think you should have anything to drink tonight. Promise me?”

“I promise.”

“Then I'll see you soon.”

On the drive home, I had an intense internal debate about where all this was going. The thought of disappointing Sandra was devastating to me. And yet she hadn't seen that all shocked or disgusted – just concerned. And that made my feelings for her grow even stronger.

My body betrayed me one more time before I made it home. When I was just five minutes away from my apartment, I suddenly noticed that my bladder felt extremely full. It was like I had been holding in for hours. But I was sure hadn't felt the slightest urge a moment ago. How could it just kick into emergency mode with no warning?

Holding it in took effort. Driving while holding it in took even more. I tried to clamp down and realized I wasn’t sure which muscles to clamp. I grew tense all over, desperate to fight the growing pain just for just a couple more minutes.

Once I had parked my car, I practically sprinted to my front door. I couldn't recall whether I remembered to turn off the headlights, but there was no time to worry about trivialities. I made it to the bathroom with mere seconds to go. As I basked in the feeling of relief, I wondered what the hell had just happened. Could this be related to the episode at the café? Was there some kind of disease that caused nausea AND an overactive bladder? Whatever it was, my life was going to get a lot more difficult if it didn't stop soon.

I retrieved the bottle of whiskey from my car and took it inside. I stared at it longingly and contemplated whether I ought to go through with my original plans for the evening. I was really looking forward to drinking my blues away. But opening that bottle meant breaking my promise. Breaking my promise meant displeasing Sandra.

 And that was a price I could not pay.
 

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This is really interesting and different take I like how the characters have time to process what's happening.

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Chapter Three


Sandra wasn’t just worried about Dylan. She felt guilty, like she was abandoning him. Over and over again she tried to tell herself that he was a grown man who could take care of himself. But the feeling refused to go away.

Why was she so fixated on him? He wasn't her usual type – she liked men who were independent and ambitious. Clearly Dylan was neither of those things. Then again, were her feelings toward him necessarily romantic? And if not, what were they? All she knew was that she wanted to be near him and she wanted to make sure he was ok. Was there a word for that?

***

I had the following morning off work, which was extremely fortunate for two reasons. For one thing, the previous 24 hours had left me with a lot to think about, and work was not a great place for thinking. More importantly, I was afraid to get more than a few feet away from the nearest bathroom.

I'd skipped my usual morning coffee. After the incident at the café, the smell of the stuff was enough to make me sick. My appetite, however, remained unchanged. If anything, it was stronger than normal. Everything in my kitchen looked so good. I was never much of a cook, but this morning I decided to experiment.

Perhaps because of the lack of caffeine, my physical coordination seemed to have degenerated significantly. In contrast to the smooth, dexterous motions of an experienced chef, everything I did was awkward and clumsy.  I sloppily broke two eggs into a pan, leaving behind bits of shell and yolk on the counter. I grabbed a couple of slices of ham, ripped them up with my hands, and threw them in with the eggs. I knocked over a salt shaker, which spilled most of its contents before I recovered it to season my dish. And as a grand  finale, I dropped a plate before successfully getting my impromptu omelet out of the pan and onto the table.

I surveyed the damage. It looked like my apartment had just survived a natural disaster. I made a solemn vow to “deal with it later” and sat down to enjoy my creation. One of the joys of being an adult is that there's no one around to critique your lifestyle.

My phone rang and I saw that it was Sandra. I answered immediately.

“Hello?”

“You were SUPPOSED to text me last night.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I got distracted."

“I guess you did. How are you feeling now?”

“Better. I think I'm over it, whatever it was.”

“That's good. I had something I wanted to give you. If you give me your address, I can drop it off after work.”

On some level, I knew it wasn't normal to just invite yourself to the house of someone you met two days ago. But Sandra wasn't just someone. And I would happily accept any chance to see her again.

“Fine. Come over whenever, I'm free all day.”

When the knock at the door finally came, I leapt up from the couch, certain that this visit would be the best thing to happen all day. She greeted me with a hug, as if we were old friends.

“You certainly don’t look as bad as you did yesterday,” she said.

“Did I really look that bad?”

“Not as bad as you sounded.” She reached into her purse and produced a small, cardboard box.

“This is ginger tea,” she explained, “good for upset tummies.” She playfully poked me in the stomach.

That poke apparently set off some kind of  chain reaction, because I immediately received another distress call from my bladder.

I hurriedly excused myself and made my way to the bathroom. I felt disheartened - I had really hoped that this trend would stop after a night of rest.

Upon my return I found Sandra standing with arms folded, wearing a stern expression. “Dylan,” she said flatly, “What happened to your kitchen?”

“I… was cooking?” I said, not fully understanding her question.

“Your technique could use some work. It looks gross. Don't tell me you were planning on leaving it like this?”

“I'll get to it later.”

“I'm not sure that you will. You left it messy this long, after all. Tell you what – why don't you take a few minutes to take care of this. I can wait here until you're done."

“I don't see why this is such a big –“

“Dylan,” her tone was now incredibly harsh, “Letting your home go to waste like this isn't just unsanitary. It’s disrespectful to the people who come here. You don't want to disrespect me, do you?”

“No,” I said truthfully.

“You don't want me to go away, do you?”

“No.”

“Then quit being lazy and fix the problem. It'll be over before you know it. If you don't complain.”

My mood darkened and a heavy gloom descended upon me – I had let Sandra down. I had made her upset with me. I knew I had to make it right somehow, the feeling was unbearable. Without saying another word, I got right to work. I washed all the dishes, wiped down the counters, and swept the floor. Satisfied with my work, I approached her to tell I was finished.

“All done?” she asked upon seeing me.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure.”

“So if I come over there now, I'll see a clean kitchen?”

“I think so.”

“Well let's see."

I watched with nervous anticipation while the surveyed the results. Then her posture relaxed and her expression softened.

“Good job. Doesn’t that feel better?”

And then it was over. The weight was lifted. She wasn't angry anymore. She even said I did a good job! Somehow that simple word of praise filled me with joy.

“Do you have a kettle?” she asked, “I want you to try this tea.”

The flavor of the tea was strong, almost spicy. I drank mine with a generous amount of honey. I couldn't tell whether it was making be feel better, but it certainly wasn’t making me feel worse. We made small talk as we drank.


“So apart from wrecking your home, have you been doing anything to keep busy?”

“TV mostly. I just started the new season of Lucidity.”

“Oh, I have a friend who's really into that. I usually don't agree with her taste though. Do you think it's worth checking out?”

“I'm not sure yet. It's hard to follow. But I'm a big fan of the director, so I feel like I need to stick with it for a bit longer. It’s like my duty as a fan.”

“A lot of people seem to really like her. I've never seen any of her films myself.”

“We could watch one tonight,” I said, a little surprised by my own boldness.

“We certainly could. Show me your favorite.”

I settled on Julia's Escape, a thriller which I had seen at least five or six times. The scariest scene showed the heroine sneaking through a haunted asylum. Even though I knew everything that was going to happen, I began to tense up when the scene started. I practically leapt out of my seat when the big jump scare came. Sandra, of course, was completely unphased. 

“I thought you said you'd seen this before?”

“I have, it's just… really effective directing.”

She reached an arm around me and pulled me close to her. “It's just a movie,” she said, “It can't hurt you.”

Without really meaning to, I slid down so that my head was resting on her shoulder. She didn't seem to mind. As if to confirm that I’d been accepted into her personal space, she began to run her fingers through my hair. The sensation was electrifying. My body tingled all over and I sank into a state of euphoric bliss.

“Oh my God,” she said, “did you just purr?”

“No,” I said, my face turning red.

“No need to be ashamed,” she said with a sly grin, “Purr away, kitty cat.”

I should have been embarrassed, but the warm glow that enveloped me was too strong for me to pay attention to anything else. I snuggled up against her, basking in her attention and affection. 

The next thing I knew, I was looking at the ceiling. My body was being shaken slightly – I figured that I must have dozed off. I saw Sandra's face looking sudden down on me and realized that my head was resting in her lap.

“Sorry to wake you, but my legs are falling asleep.”

I blinked and saw that the credits were rolling. “It's already over?”

“You looked too peaceful to wake up. Besides, you already knew what was going to happen.”

Reluctantly, I sat up and stretched. 

“I guess we'd better call it a night,” she said, “You look like you're ready to get drift back off at any second.”

“I guess so,” I agreed and walked her to the door. She paused for a moment in the doorway and looked back at me. My heart began to pound. Were we about to kiss? Was I supposed to be making a move?

She didn't lean in for a kiss. She reached out a hand and patted my head. 

“See you later, kitty cat.”
 

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I really like the slower pace of the attraction. It is great! So different from the other keeperverse stories. I also think it is interesting how he seems more effected than her. Looking forward to more.

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1 hour ago, SGTbaby said:

I really like the slower pace of the attraction. It is great! So different from the other keeperverse stories. I also think it is interesting how he seems more effected than her. Looking forward to more.

same

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I really think you are doing a wonderful job with this. I particularly liked how you are using the symptoms of a bonding to alert them that they have bonded. I look forward to reading more. 

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This is an embarrassingly short update, but I thought it would be worth sharing now as I expect the next chapter will take a while to write. I have plans for a very "action-packed" chapter in mind, and I hope I'm up to the task. I REALLY appreciate the words of encouragement I've received thus far.  

Chapter Four

Sandra couldn't believe the way she had acted. She had scolded and ordered Dylan around like a child! Like a child. That thought had occurred to her before. Since the day she first met him, she had begun to feel an almost maternal affection towards him, though she had no idea why. Now, another piece of the puzzle had revealed itself. She liked having power over him. When she told him to clean the kitchen, he had only put up the slightest resistance. But that alone was enough to awaken something inside her. She found herself thinking that he had no right to disobey her. And she needed to put him in his place.

She struggled think of a framework that could explain her connection to him. Was this a BDSM thing? Had she been harboring latent dominatrix tendencies, just waiting for the right subject to come along? What was she supposed to do the next time she saw him? She knew of only one place where she could extract a meaningful answer from such vague, ill-defined questions. And that place was Google.

Her first entry into the search bar was simply “Am I a domme?” A silly question perhaps, but it was a start. The top result was a quiz that offered to reveal whether she was a “top” or a “bottom.” Fairly confident that she could rule out being submissive at this point, she scrolled on.

Below that were a handful of articles and blogs about “exploring your dominant side.” Now she was getting warmer. It came as no surprise to her that this kind of relationship came in a variety of forms – top/bottom, domme/sub, master/slave… But none of them seemed to really capture her feelings towards Dylan. Most of them were simply too cruel – she didn't want to humiliate Dylan or make him suffer. She just had a sense that she would need to "correct" him from time to time.

After skimming through a number of pages, a recent news article caught her eye. The title read: “Human Pets? A New Trend in the Fetish Community.” 

***

Layla wears a collar, sleeps in a cage, and eats from a bowl on the floor. Child-proof gates keep her from roaming freely around the house. She never leaves home by herself, and when she is allowed outside, she is kept on a leash.

Layla is a twenty-seven year old woman.

For the past six months, she has been kept as a “pet” in the house of Richard M., who refers himself as her “Keeper.” It may sound like a bizarre case of kidnapping, but both Richard and Layla insist that theirs is a loving, healthy relationship. And they aren't alone. A growing number of adults are adopting this unique lifestyle.

Needless to say, this trend has generated tremendous controversy, as people question the morality of keeping a human as a pet. Layla is not allowed to own property, and all important decisions in her life are made by her Keeper. Even though most Pets express a fervent desire to remain with their Keeper, many believe that no one would agree to such an arrangement unless they had been coerced or manipulated in some way.

Adding to the confusion is Layla’s response when asked if her role in the relationship is consensual: “Of course he didn't force me to be a Pet. But I didn't choose to be one either – it just sort of happened. From the moment we first saw each other, we both knew that from now on, I was his. And then the changes started.”

The “changes” Layla referred to seem to be common to all Pets – after bonding with their Keeper, pets claim to suffer a number of mental and physical impairments that render them completely dependent on their Keeper. These include a lack of fine motor control, reduced capacity for planning and organization, and an inability to digest processed food. Perhaps the most striking of these ailments is a complete loss of bladder control. Layla wears adult diapers 24/7, and relies on Richard to change her.

Among the few doctors who have examined Pets, most agree that these symptoms are psychosomatic…

*** 

Sandra's heart beat faster and faster as she read on. If she had read the article a week ago, she would have found it completely insane. But now, so many of its details were eerily familiar. She thought of his mess in the kitchen and his stomach problems – those were both predicted here. He didn't have a bladder problem though, at least not that she knew of. Was that going to happen next? If so, what would she do? Could she really change a grown man's-

He’s not a man.

The reply came from within her, swift and certain. Was it possible to be startled by your own thought? "He's not a man." It was such a cold, harsh thing to believe - and yet she couldn’t bring herself to doubt that it was true. For the first time, she worried that she might be changing for the worse. She didn’t like where this train of thought was going – perhaps she had better disembark for the evening. She took a deep breath, closed the web browser, and went to the fridge to get a beer.

After an hour of reality TV and a second beer, she was able to reassure herself that this pet business was a step too far. She liked the idea dominating Dylan, there was no denying that. But there was no way she could be a Keeper. Still, she was glad she had read the article. It somehow made her feel less alone to know that people could make such tremendous discoveries about themselves so late in life.

As Sandra retired for the evening, she reflected that she had gotten pretty far in life by trusting her intuition and never holding herself back. She went to bed confident that the nature of this mysterious connection would become clear to her in time.

 

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12 hours ago, Jugemu said:

This is an embarrassingly short update, but I thought it would be worth sharing now as I expect the next chapter will take a while to write. I have plans for a very "action-packed" chapter in mind, and I hope I'm up to the task. I REALLY appreciate the words of encouragement I've received thus far.  

 

The “changes” Layla referred to seem to be common to all Pets – after bonding with their Keeper, pets claim to suffer a number of mental and physical impairments that render them completely dependent on their Keeper. These include a lack of fine motor control, reduced capacity for planning and organization, and an inability to digest processed food. Perhaps the most striking of these ailments is a complete loss of bladder control. Layla wears adult diapers 24/7, and relies on Richard to change her.

Among the few doctors who have examined Pets, most agree that these symptoms are psychosomatic…

 

Interesting but if it's psychosomatic why is it suddenly appearing in multiple different people seemingly at random? ? I think we need to get the CDC in here. ?

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43 minutes ago, YourFNF said:

Interesting but if it's psychosomatic why is it suddenly appearing in multiple different people seemingly at random? ? I think we need to get the CDC in here. ?

I imagine this story as taking place at a time when the whole Keeper phenomenon is fairly new and most people don't understand what's going on. People are trying to find ways to rationalize what's happening, even though their explanations might not add up in the end.

That having been said, I think the doctors are imagining something akin to the nocebo effect, in which people hear about becoming Pets and then perceive themselves to be showing the same signs.

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22 minutes ago, Jugemu said:

I imagine this story as taking place at a time when the whole Keeper phenomenon is fairly new and most people don't understand what's going on. People are trying to find ways to rationalize what's happening, even though their explanations might not add up in the end.

That having been said, I think the doctors are imagining something akin to the nocebo effect, in which people hear about becoming Pets and then perceive themselves to be showing the same signs.

Interesting.... ?

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  • 2 weeks later...

Things get a bit spicy in this one.

Chapter 5

I didn't actually remember hitting the snooze button several times, but one look at the alarm clock confirmed that I must have done so. Once the haze of sleepiness cleared, it hit me that I had no more than twenty minutes to be at work. I leapt out of bed and frantically threw on my uniform - no time to shower, no time to shave. I didn't really have time to eat either, but I was so hungry that I knew I wouldn't make it through the morning without some kind of sustenance. I ended up taking a box of cereal to the car, which I ate by the handful while driving.

I made it to the front door of the bookstore with exactly three minutes to spare. From behind the checkout counter, the manager regarded me with a sour expression. He adhered to the philosophy that “early is on time, on time is late.” But HR policy didn't allow him to reprimand us as long as we weren't technically tardy. It was the one moment in my life when I was actually grateful for company bureaucracy.

“I was wondering where the hell you were,” he grumbled. “It's not like you to show up thirty minutes late without calling.”

“But I'm not late!” I protested. “My shift starts at 9am on Saturdays.”

“And what day is today?”

It was Friday. On Fridays I came in at 8:30. How had I forgotten that?

My body language must have signaled that the realization had sunk in. “I've got to go interview an applicant,” he said, “but we'll talk about this later.” As he walked away, I tried to mentally prepare myself for a severe scolding. I’d need to be on my best behavior for the rest of the shift. I had the foreboding thought that this morning’s interviewee might very well become my replacement.

My morning went from bad to worse when I felt another spontaneous jolt from my bladder. Only then did I remember that I hadn't been to the bathroom since waking up. Given my recent problems, that was dangerous. I weighed my options. Asking for a break so soon after coming in late was bad, but what choice did I have? I nervously shifted from one foot to the other, trying to distract myself from the hot pressure that kept building inside me.

There was a short spasm, and I thought I felt a drop leak into my underwear. That settled it – I had to get to a toilet. I could live with getting chewed out for abandoning the register, but I couldn't bear the alternative. It wasn't a long walk, I could be there in less than a minute.

But of course I was too late.

A warm, wet feeling spread from my crotch and down my legs. Urine leaked onto the carpet, leaving a noticeable stain. The apron of my uniform hid the damage somewhat, but anyone who looked for more than a few seconds would know what had happened. I stood there stunned, helpless to stop the flow.

I bolted towards the exit. From somewhere behind me, I heard a co-worker’s voice exclaim, “Where the hell are you going?”

“I – I have to go! I'm sorry!” I shouted, not bothering to turn around.

The drive home was a blur. I struggled to see the road through my tears. I heard multiple cars honking along the way, but I didn't have the presence of mind to know why. It was a miracle that didn't encounter any police on the way home.

By the time I made it to my apartment, I was thoroughly immersed in self-loathing. I hurried to my bedroom, stripped off my urine-soaked clothes, and put on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Then my phone began to ring. It was work, of course. Though it may have ruined any chance I had of keeping my job, I just couldn't bring myself to confront the voice on the other end of the phone. I let it go to voicemail and contemplated what the hell I should do with myself now.

I decided that what I needed most was a distraction. I could see about visiting a doctor later to figure out why my bladder was misbehaving, but first I had to calm myself down somehow. I turned on my PlayStation and picked up a controller. But or some reason, it felt strange and unfamiliar in my hands. As the game began, I discovered with growing despair that my muscle memory was almost totally gone. My fingers were slow and clumsy, and I couldn’t make any progress in the level. Even after setting the difficulty embarrassingly low, I just couldn't keep up. In a fit of frustration, I hurled my controller against the console. There was a loud beep and the screen went blank. I began to sob. Why was my life falling apart? Why was I falling apart?

Sandra. I wanted Sandra. Sandra could make things better. She could could save me from a complete breakdown.

Sure, I was being needy and pathetic. I just couldn't help it. I needed to Sandra like I needed to breathe. No amount of shame could have stopped me from picking up the phone and calling her.

“Hey you,” she said cheerfully, “How's it going?”

“Not good,” I replied, “I think I just lost my job.”

“You what? What happened?”

“I don't really want to say, but... Listen, could I... See you? I could really use a friend right now.”

“Of course. I'll be at work for at least a few hours, but I can usually leave a little early on Fridays. You just relax and try to take care of yourself until then, okay?”

“Ok.” I put down the phone. Her voice had an almost medicinal effect on me. Knowing I was going to see her soon made the day seem a little less horrible. Still, I had the rest of the afternoon to get through.

As I peered around the living room looking for things to do, my gaze fell on a beat up cardboard box sitting in a corner. I knew that it was full of old sentimental keepsakes – the kind of thing you never use but can’t bring yourself to throw away. I’d never bothered to unpack and put them away, and I couldn't quite remember what was in there. I tore off the masking tape and began to dig around inside.

The first object I produced was a small wooden box with a number of levers that could be slid along grooves etched into the wood. It was a puzzle - if you positioned all the pieces in the right way, the box would open. I used to be able to open it effortlessly, but now the solution eluded me. I spent a few minutes struggling with it before nonchalantly tossing it aside and reaching in for the next item.

I ended up spending the next couple of hours that way, pulling one trinket out after another and examining them. A model train, a postcard from Germany, an old action figure. Who had given me all these things? Their faces were all fuzzy now.

When I finally got the text telling me that Sandra was on her way over, I could barely contain my excitement. I couldn’t stop myself from checking the window every few minutes to see if a car pulled in. After a painfully long wait, I saw her leave her car and come up the stairs.

“Hey,” she said, greeting me with a gentle embrace. I practically melted into her arms.

“Thanks for coming,” I said, still holding her.

“You sounded so upset over the phone, today must have been really awful for you.”

“It was,” I replied. I lingered for a moment, savoring her scent and the warmth of her body. Then she broke off the hug and looked at me blankly.

“Um… Dylan?”

“Yeah?”

“You smell.”

An uncomfortable fact came rushing to the surface of my mind. I hadn't even bothered to take a shower before changing into clean clothes. I probably reeked of urine!

“I… didn't have time to shower this morning,” I said, which was technically true.

“If this is you after missing one shower, I'm a little worried about your lifestyle. Anyway, you've had the whole day. I know you're upset, but I promise you - you'll feel a lot worse if you don't take care of yourself.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I wasn’t looking for an apology, I just… I wonder what would happen if you didn't have someone checking in on you. Look, it's only been a day and now there are toys all over the floor” I cringed internally at her use of the word “toys.”

“But I'm not like this!” I protested, “Not normally, anyway…”

She relented. “I'm sorry, I'm sure you don't need someone lecturing you right now. Here’s what's going to happen. I’m going to draw you a bath. You need to get clean and it'll help you relax.”

“What are you going to do while I'm in there?”

“You don't need to worry about that,” she said and went about her task. I wasn’t sure whether she wanted me to follow her, so I just stood there awkwardly until I heard her beckon me into the bathroom. The tub was full, and she had a look which suggested she was deep in thought.

“I don't do this for everyone, you know,” she said.

“Do what? Draw a bath?”

“Draw a bath, critique your hygiene habits, let you fall asleep in my lap… It's not normal to do these things for someone you met a few days ago. I know it isn't. But for some reason it feels completely natural with you.”

“Yeah, I think I might actually know what you mean.”

“Something is happening here that neither one of us really understand. It's like there's this force that's pushing me forward and telling me what to do. Somehow I just know you need to be looked after and I just know that I'm the one to do it. And you know what?”

 

“…I don't want to fight it.”

 

Before she finished her sentence, hands were on the hem of my t-shirt. Though I was completely taken off guard, I lifted up my arms and allowed her to pull off my shirt. Scrambling to think of something to say in response, I weakly muttered, “I – I can do this myself.”  

“I know you can,” she said dismissively. Then she knelt and tugged down my sweatpants in a single, fluid motion. In spite of my shock, I was obviously aroused. “I guess I should have expected that,” she said with a grin, “In you go.”

I stepped into the tub and and gently pushed me down until I was in a seated position. She took a bath sponge and began to lightly scrub me all over. Just like she had said, I knew this wasn't normal. But the experience of being bathed by her was nothing short of euphoric. I went into a trance, drinking in all of her attention and affection. I almost didn't notice when she made contact with my now active member.

"You like being taken care of, don't you?” she said, caressing my shaft and balls. “You love the feeling of me undressing you, bathing you. That's okay. You can just relax and enjoy.”

She gripped me lightly and started stroking. I laid back and closed my eyes, feeling waves of pleasure and desire well up inside me.

“That's right. Just relax and let me take care of you.”

Her grip and speed increased. The sensation was overwhelming.

“It feels good to give in, doesn’t it? Isn't that what you want? To be my good little boy?”

Her hand moved faster and harder until I was at the point of now return. I let out a loud moan as my body reached climax and released. Time seemed to stop as one cascade after another coursed through me and out of me.

When it was over, she let the water drain out and pulled me to my feet. I was shivering from the drop in temperature. She wrapped one of my towels around me and led me by the hand into the bedroom. I took a step towards her, intent on kissing her, or perhaps helping her out of her clothes myself.

“Stop,” she said, putting a hand in front of me. “You may not approach until I give you permission. Do you understand?”

I was taken aback by her sudden shift in tone. Confused as I was, I nodded.

“Now, sit.” With no chair nearby, I sank to my knees, resting my backside on my heels.

“Good boy,” she said with a smirk, and patted my head. Those two simple words filled me with a mixture of humiliation and elation. I'd never given much thought into submissive role-play before, but I sure as hell was into it now.

To my surprise, she began undressing in front of me. “I'm going to give you a chance to show your appreciation for the little treat I gave you earlier,” she said as she slowly disrobed, “You had better do a good job, or I might not be so generous next time.”

Once she was totally naked, she laid down on the bed. “You may approach,” she said. I understood what she was asking me to do, and I was happy to oblige. The prospect of a future reward was certainly motivating, but more important was the chance to finally do something to please her. For too long it had only been the other way around.

With my lips and tongue I explored her, timidly at first. The wetness that resulted welcomed me, invited me to come in further. I continued with increasing fervor, careful not to go too fast too soon. Letting her vocalizations and gyrations guide me, I studied her, tried to learn what gave her the most pleasure. Eventually I felt her whole body tense and release, and I knew I had accomplished my goal.

I crawled over to where she was laying. She took me in her arms and cradled my head between her breasts. I’d never felt so ecstatic in my life. In a single evening she had brought me from the pit of despair to the peak of human happiness. And I loved her for it. I loved her with an intensity I never knew was possible. These were the thoughts which occupied my mind as I dozed off in her arms.

The first thing I saw upon opening my eyes was Sandra standing in front of me, fully clothed.

And the bed was wet. 

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1 hour ago, Jugemu said:

We're definitely getting there! Though maybe I should pick up the pace a bit...

Well, actually the slow pacing is what makes this story so good, at least to me...

 

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  • 2 weeks later...

Once again I have to commend you on the job you are doing writing this. It’s no secret that this type of story isn’t on the top of my favorites list but again the way you are presenting it I can accept. With the other stories like this a keeper meets the pet and immediately the pet looses everything. The slow transformation and the explication of what is happening almost makes it okay in my mind. I dread the time when both realize one is a keeper and the other a pet and the pet turns over his life for the keeper. I was very pleased I could give this a like and with some deep seated reservation, I look forward to reading more. 

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  • 1 month later...

Not sure if anyone remembers this story, but if so, allow me to make up for my absence with a nice long chapter.

Chapter Six

Sandra did not fall asleep, but looked on contentedly as Dylan drifted off. It occurred to her that this was more or less the same position they’d ended up in on the previous night. How much sleep can one person need? she wondered bemusedly.

This thought was interrupted when she noticed a small dark patch on the sheets that was growing rapidly. Realizing what was happening, she slid out of bed before it could get to her. Remarkably, this did not wake him, and she had the strange experience of watching Dylan soak the bed. She had no idea how she should respond to something like that, but knew she probably shouldn't let him stay lying like that for long. She was about to rouse him when she spotted a hamper containing a pair of clearly stained khakis.

Her heart began to pound. This is exact what the article said would happen. Did that mean it was all true? Had he really transformed into something not quite human?

She knew she had to tell him. Impossible though it seemed, they had to at least consider it – together. She wondered how he would take the news. If he truly was a Pet, he might never be able to take care of himself again. Life as he knew it would be over completely. And what did he get in return? A life with her? She couldn't imagine sacrificing her independence for another person, no matter how much she liked them.

But of course she couldn't. She was the Keeper.

She gathered the clothes she had discarded earlier and began dressing. Somehow it seemed wrong to have this conversation while they were both naked. Once she was fully clothed, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and gently shook him awake.

***

I was both horrified and disgusted by the sight I awoke to. Embarrassing myself in front of Sandra had become a distressingly frequent occurrence, but surely this was over the line.

“Sandra, I-“

“Shh, it's okay,” she said, holding a finger up to my lips, “I know it was an accident, I'm not mad. Let's just get you clean and into something dry.”

There was something so gentle and soothing about her voice. I could listen to her talk like that for hours. Together we took the sheets off of the bed and dropped them in the hamper. Then she stopped and looked me over.

“Hmm. You've already had a bath today,” she said. “I don't think you really need another one. I’ll just get the worst of it off you. Come with me.”

With that, she led me by the hand into the bathroom. “Now, I want you to stand in the tub for me,” she said. Once I was in position, she ran a washcloth under the faucet and began sponging me down all over my lower body. While I relished the sensation of her touch, there was a notable difference between now and the bath from earlier. “Businesslike” was the best way I could think to describe it. There was nothing special or unusual about her giving me a sponge bath – it was just what she did.

“Now that you're all clean, we can get you dressed,” she said. She was so confident and natural in her role that I felt I could completely surrender myself into her care. I didn't protest when she grabbed a pair of boxer briefs from my dresser and held them out for me to step into rather than handing them to me. After pulling them up, she did the same with a new pair of sweatpants (my last clean pair).

“Arms up,” she said, holding out a t-shirt and pulling it over me. The experience of being dressed was making me feel incredibly childish, but I found something about it pleasant and relaxing as well. The embarrassment I might have felt a few days ago was beginning to wain. Why would I need feel ashamed of myself if she wasn't ashamed of me?

“There. I'll bet that feels better, doesn't it?”

“Yeah,” I said, blushing slightly. “Thanks.”

“Come have a seat here next to me,” she said, patting a corner of the now bare mattress. “There’s... something we need to talk about.”

I didn't like the sound of that. But I sat next to her as she asked.

“I think I know what's been happening to us.”

“You do? Do I have some kind of disease? Is it curable?”

“I wouldn’t call it a disease exactly. Think back to when we first saw each other - we both felt this undeniable sense of connection, right? And then we both started to change. You wouldn't know this about me, but I haven't always been some kind of dominant, caregiving type. I just sort of fell into that role, like you did into yours.”

“I didn't understand how a chance meeting could have such a drastic effect. So I started doing some research, and what I found was a story of two people having the same experience as us. And they weren't alone – people all over are starting to bond with complete strangers. And the relationship they form - it's something that humanity has never had a word for until now.”

I was fascinated by her words, but also nervous and confused. She took out her phone and held it out to me. I saw several pictures of a couple engaged in what looked like some kind of dom/sub roleplay. In one picture, a woman was wearing a collar, with a leash that was being held by an older man. In another picture she was sitting in a small cage. Was that a diaper she was wearing?

“The article refers to this woman as a Pet,” she said, “And that man is her Keeper. They say they didn’t choose to live like this – but they also say that they're happier this way.”

I felt my pulse quickening. What I was seeing felt somehow strange and familiar at the same time. “What are you saying?” I asked, “What does all this mean for us?”

“I think it means that I'm a Keeper. And you… You’re my pet.”

A jolt of electricity shot through me when I heard the word “pet.” It was like a balloon had popped in my brain.

“This is going to sound weird,” I said, “But could you say that one more time?”

“Say what? That you're my pet?”

I was overtaken by an indescribable surge of emotion. I wanted so badly to be close to her, and she had just claimed me as her own. I didn't understand exactly what being a pet meant, but I knew it meant I’d be able to stay by her side. And like any ordinary pet, I had an unbearable urge to nuzzle up against her, to be held by her. Not really knowing what I was doing, I threw my arms around her and buried my face between her neck shoulder. She was obviously startled at first, but she hugged me back, running one hand slowly up and down my spine.

“That's right. That's exactly what you are,” she cooed, “You're my pet. My precious, darling pet…

 

 

…And I'm going to take good care of you.”

 

 

“So… What happens now?” I asked.

“First of all, you’re going to come home with me. Pets don’t work, so your job isn't a problem. If you have any money saved up, we'll use that to pay for your apartment. If that money runs out... Well, we'll worry about that then. But before we do any of that, there's something we need to do. And we’d better do it soon.”

I listened on, with some trepidation.

“I want you to tell me honestly – you wetting the bed wasn't the only accident you've had, was it?”

“No.” I hated having to admit that. “When was the last time?”

“This morning.”

“Is that what you were at upset about when you called me?”

“Yeah,” I muttered quietly.

“Right. There’s no easy way to say this, but the problem you're having - it's not going to get better.”

“What? How could you know that?”

“I read it while I was learning about Pets – it happens to all of them. After bonding, they all develop urinary incontinence.”

“That's impossible!” I protested “To get something like that just from meeting someone? It’s like some kind of magical curse.”

“I don't know how it happens, but it is happening,” Sandra replied. “I agree that it all seems like a fantasy, but we can see it and feel it for ourselves.”

A lump formed in my throat. “Th-this isn't fair!” I said, voice quivering, “I didn't ask for this!”

“I know you didn't. And I'm sorry you have to go through it. But it's something neither one of us can change. So we'll just have to manage it.”

“Manage?”

“Before we go home, we’re going to stop at a store and get you something… absorbent to wear.”

I knew what that meant. “No,” I said, “There has to be something else we can do-“

“Dylan, you've had two accidents today alone. Do you really think I'm going to let you go around unprotected after that? Look, I'm not saying you can't use the bathroom – the next time you have to go, if you can make it in time, that's great. We’re just taking precautions.”

“I don't have any choice in this, do I?”

“No, you don't. Now, seeing as you just went, I don't think you're likely to have another accident soon. But I don't want to push our luck, so we should get going.”

I grabbed my phone and keys, and followed her out the door. After I locked the door, she put her hand over mine and took the keyring from me. “I'll be hanging onto these,” she said.

I was surprised, but I not exactly upset. It was a potently meaningful gesture - I wouldn't be able to return to my apartment until she allowed me to. The thought of surrendering myself to her so completely was strangely alluring - possibly even arousing?

We pulled into the parking lot of a nearby store. There seemed to be quite a lot of activity there. Running this kind of an errand while the place was so busy was downright mortifying.

“Can I wait in the car?” I asked.

“Don’t be silly, you'll need to be there when we pick something out. Come on.”

I kept my head low, wanting more than anything to disappear. The incontinence aisle was strategically placed in a back corner of the store, for which I was grateful. For a moment the two of us just stood there, surveying our options. I noticed that among the various products was a pull-on brief, designed to look and feel like normal underwear. Hoping for a compromise, I pulled a package of my size off the shelf.

“H-How about these?” I asked, face slightly red.

She looked the package over. “These look pretty thin. I'm really not sure if this is going to be enough…”

“But we can at least try them, right?”

It felt strange to be negotiating what kind of absorbent underwear I would wear. Stranger still was the knowledge that it wasn't my decision. No matter what I said, Sandra's word would be final. And if today was truly the start of a new life together, that was an idea I’d have to get used to.

“I guess so,” she said with audible reluctance, and took the package from me. “Let's go check these out – I want to get them on you as soon as possible.”

I had trouble bringing myself to move from where I was standing. I didn't want to stroll through the store with my new “briefs” on display.

As if reading my mind, Sandra said, “Honey, nobody is going to know these are for you. They might even think they're for me. Come on.”

I tried to look as natural as I could while the clerk rang up our purchase. Sandra paid, of course. I just stood there silently, trying to avoid meeting the gaze of anyone in line.

“There should be a public restroom here somewhere,” Sandra said, looking around.

“Can’t we do this at home?” I asked.

“And risk you leaking in the car? I don't think so. This'll only take a minute.”

Praying that nobody was watching, I entered the bathroom with her. She knelt down and began untying my shoes. In a single motion, she pulled down my pants and underwear, which I stepped out of. She left me standing in just my t-shirt while opened the package, revealing several identical gray briefs. They had a cloth-like covering, but inside they looked just like an ordinary diaper. Seeing this made the feelings of humiliation really set in. But there was no way I could avoid going through with this.

“In you go,” she said, holding the brief open. I placed one foot in in one hole, then the other. It made a sound like rustling paper. She then slid the brief up my legs until it landed snugly in place around my waist.

“There,” she said, “That’s not so bad, is it?”

It wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but the added bulk would be hard to ignore. It was an embarrassing reminder of the predicament I was in. I wondered whether people outside would notice a bulge in my pants. Sandra helped me back into my clothes and we made our way to the car.

“Since you're going to be staying with me, we should establish some rules,” she said as she drove, “You're only allowed to eat the food or drink that I give you. We need to be careful about your diet until we figure out what that tummy of yours can process. I also don't want you leaving the house without me, ok?”

“Ok,” I replied sheepishly. I wasn’t expecting to have so many restrictions, but of course these things would be standard for an ordinary pet. “Pet” wasn’t merely a playful term of endearment – I had truly lost my status as a human. I thought of all the things I might never do again – drive a car, drink at a bar, apply for a job. Life as I knew it was over.

What if I didn't want to be a pet?

It was the first time this thought had occurred to me since she first proposed the idea. It was true that I was hopelessly in love with Sandra, and the thought of spending every day with her made me feel wonderful – but how long would I go on feeling that way?

We pulled into a suburban neighborhood with countless rows of identical white buildings. In truth it all looked a bit dull and sterile. Still, it was nicer than anything I could afford. We pulled into her driveway and approached the front door.

“Welcome to your new home,” she said, “For now, anyway.”

I had to marvel at her homemaking skills – not only  was her living room immaculate, it was masterfully decorated. Stylish, modern furniture was augmented by an array of elegant wall hangings and ornaments. Was everything she did this perfect?

“There’s something I need to get for you. Wait right here.”

She disappeared into another room and came back holding a black leather collar.

“After I first read about Pets and Keepers, I felt an urge to get one of these. I wasn’t sure whether I’d ever use it, but it seemed right somehow. I think this will make it feel more official, don't you?”

I gulped and looked at the object she was holding. I wanted to wear it.

“Kneel,” she said. I obeyed. “That's a good boy,” she said. There was that warm, tingling sensation again. I was beginning to think I’d do anything to hear those words.

“When I put this collar on you, you will become my pet. You will obey my commands and live by my rules. In return, I will protect you and provide for you. As long as you are in my home, I will do what I can to make you feel safe, comfortable, and loved. All you need to do is be good and obey your Keeper. Do you understand?”

I nodded. She wrapped the collar tightly around my next and fastened it into place. Then she smiled mischievously.

 

 

“Now you’re mine.”

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