Want Ad – Patreon Story

Some stories just write themselves.  I was listening to the radio, and a blurb about this came on. And I’d been thinking about writing something for Fae Apoc, sooo….
The ads weren’t working, and, worse, Richie’s last ad had gotten pulled as being “borderline obscene” — and without a refund.He had tried the newspapers, the online apartment sites, the personals, the dating sites — and all he’d gotten was a sternly worded e-mail from gregslist and a small hole in his budget.For rent: 3-br, 3-bath house, all but 1-br. $5/month, contingent on your willingness to treat me as your slave.

I do not seek an intimate/sexual relationship, but I prefer being under the control of another.

He hadn’t thought it was all that unreasonable. It wasn’t prostitution; it wasn’t illegal; there was nothing directly against gregslist’s TOS in the ad. The site’s morality police had apparently felt differently. And nothing he’d posted anywhere else had gotten so much as a peep.

He could go to one of the underworld places, of course, bend knee there and let them find him a placement. He would be, as far as he understood it, a pretty good pick.  Someone would pay good money for him.

The thing was, Richie liked his house and he liked his job. It had taken him the better part of a decade to find a place that would just give him orders and leave him alone to follow them, and he couldn’t expect — or even hope — that some master or mistress who bought him on auction would let him retain either thing. Renting out the house, making it a trade of goods services, had seemed like the perfect solution.

He deleted the e-mail from gregslist. It stung, being scolded, even if he’d followed the rules to the letter. And if even gregslist wouldn’t work…

His doorbell rang. Richie jumped, then managed an awkward scramble to his feet. Nobody ever rang his bell, except on trick-or-treaters and Girl Scouts. He hadn’t done anything illegal with his ad, had he? He’d looked into all the regulations… He swung the door open with his heart crawling into his throat.

His first impression was of tallness; the person on the porch was a good head taller than Richie. Then elegance: a perfectly tailored suit with a bit of cockiness to the cut and the brilliantly purple tie.

Female,  Richie thought, a woman, probably, and gorgeous. And she was smiling at him, almost apologetically.

“They took down your ad before I could contact you by conventional channels, and so I had to track you down by, ah, other means.” She bowed to Richie, her eyes never leaving his face. “I hear you are in need of a Keeper? And I, in turn, am in need of a place to stay.”

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