In your dark bedroom, you fall onto your bed, not even bothering to remove your clothes in your weariness. Your eyelids are heavy. Just as you're about to nod off... a knock comes on the apartment door. Groggy, you slide out of bed and slouch to the front door.
"Hi..." A man idles nervously on the doorstep, casting furtive glances down the corridor as if expecting somebody to be watching him, his hood turned up to obscure his face. "I knocked earlier but nobody was in."
"Shit. Matt. Hey. That's... that's this weekend, isn't it," you state dumbly.
You'd completely forgotten about the arrangement you held with your, well, client for lack of a better word. Every second Friday of the month he turns up on your doorstep, stays for the weekend and leaves for work on the Monday morning. Shy, quiet, and submissive, he pays you quite handsomely to be his keeper for the weekend, to keep him safe while he takes a vacation from his dingy, human existence. You're expected to care for him, keep him fed and watered if necessary, and assist in changing him back on the Monday. There are times when he asks you to satisfy his rather... unusual quirks and there are weekends when you come away feeling strangely used, but he offers money you can hardly afford to refuse.
Matthew ducks his scrawny body beneath your arm and enters your apartment before you can stop him. He's a few years older than you, with a rather pale, lanky body. Blushing red, as he always does, he begins to strip out of his clothes. Not so much as a how-do-you-do. This has become routine by now. He kicks off his jeans eagerly, and you politely ignore the obvious boner tenting his boxers. He really gets a kick out of this stuff. You haven't slept with him yet, that's never been part of the deal, but he still manages to makes you feel sullied, like somehow you're the one whoring yourself out to him by being his occasional owner.
"Look, Matt, is there any way we can do this next weekend? I've got a whole shitload of work to do this weekend. It's not that I don't like having you round, but... well... I'm kinda busy."
He pauses with in the process of pulling off one sock, wobbling on his other foot. His excited smile falls away, and he looks crestfallen. "B-but- but we had an arrangement. It's today! It's always today. You can't... Please, I can't change it, it's not easy for me to get time away. I'll be good, you won't even know I'm here, I promise."
He is such a pushover, you know if you force the matter he'll back down instantly, and he'll still show up next week with money in hand. Yet you feel kinda bad for him. "Okay, fine, but I want you on your best behaviour."
"I promise! Thanks, Mike," he says, reaching into a satchel slung over his shoulder and pulling out...
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