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I don’t know what it was that made me say “OK”: perhaps it was the relief of having survived the session with Mr Hawthorne. But as they sat there, I moved across the floor and took Andy’s dick in my mouth, just as I had Mr Hawthorne’s. It was different – like me, his pubes smelled of the soap used in the slave shower, not the expensive lemon stuff that Mr Hawthorne had. And it was bigger – much bigger: I had to really stretch my lips to get around it without touching it with my teeth, and after the head was in, I stopped. Andy reached down and started to push me down further on to it, and I started to gag and pulled away.
I knelt there, spluttering, and both young men burst into laughter. “Steve, you’re never going to make much of a cock sucker if you can’t take a dick like mine!”, Andy chortled. Shall we show him, Amos, how real men suck dick?”
His brother nodded, and the reached down and pulled me onto the couch between them. Their bodies felt hot against mine, and Amos put his hand around my head, pulled my face to his and began kissing me deeply – his tongue was hot and wet, and with his other hand he started to pull at my nips so that had my mouth not been blocked I’d have cried out with the excitement this caused me. At the same time Andy’s head went down into my crotch and he began to slide his mouth up and down my dick – he slid onto the floor so that his body was between my legs, and I revelled in the sensation of his shoulders against my thighs. Then, as he sucked, he began to gently scratch my balls, and gradually moved his finger back towards my asshole. I wanted to tell him to stop, but Amos’s tongue was still deep inside me and I couldn’t – but then I realised that I didn’t really want to: once his finger started to explore my hole, I began to writhe with that fantastic sort of itching, tickling, sensual feeling that you get when your sphincter is gently breached.
In spite of Amos’s tongue, I realised I was moaning, and moaning loudly. The sound came from deep within me, and I’d never known feelings like this before: the attentions of the two men to my nips, ass and dick coupled with the sheer sensuality of having two naked bodies wrapped around my own nude form was driving me to places I’d never been before. And then my whole body arched upwards, and I was crying out with the sheer thrill of pure pleasure as Andy’s finger found my prostate, and began to toy with it. At the same time his sucking at my dick became ever more insistent, and I knew I was cumming – cumming in a way I’d never done before, being efficiently and totally “drained” by Andy’s vacuuming and the action of his finger deep inside me.
Andy pulled away and came and sat on the couch again, and all three of us sat there laughing, with our arms around each other. That laughter that means complete and utter enjoyment and satisfaction for everyone. That laughter that always seems to come after deep, gratifying sex. We were all breathing hard and the sweat was running off us.
“Wow” was all I cold say finally when my breathing went back to normal and my heart had stopped racing. Amos and Andy just sat there with the smiles still on their faces. “That was fan-fucking-tastic!”, I went on. “Where did you learn that?”
“Oh, us slaves here in the house have to know all the tricks – Mr Hawthorne and his guests like a slave to be able to give them a good time.”
“But your finger… Up my ass…. What did you do?”
“Just found your prostate, Steve. And gave it a little rub”, Amos told me, still smiling. “I needn’t have sucked you at all, except that I like the feel of a dick in my mouth and having a guy cum – if I massaged you enough inside, you’d have cum without me even touching you.”
I sat there for a moment, taking all this in. Andy actually liked sucking dick. And there was clearly a lot more to this sex stuff than I’d ever dreamed of. I was about to ask them to tell me – or show me, even – some more stuff, when Amos and Andy scrambled to their feet, dragging me with them. Their ears must be tuned to listening for others, as Stryker came in, looking grim.
“OK, you two – back to your quarters. And you, Steve, come with me!”
He turned and stalked out of the room, and I went to retrieve my shorts from behind the couch. “Hurry up!”, he barked, “And leave those shorts, for the slaves to clear away. You won’t be needing them! Follow me, now, before I decide to punish you!”
He walked away with that assurance that only a man used to ordering slaves around, and of being obeyed, can have, and I trotted meekly after him through the dark house, my bare feet slapping on the polished wooden floors. I felt vaguely foolish going along through the rooms in the nude, but what was I supposed to do, following Mr Stryker’s order?
We went down a side passage and Mr Stryker stopped and opened a door with a key. He reached in and turned the lights on, and I followed him so that he could shut the door after him. “These are my quarters”, he said, as if some explanation was necessary. “I live here in the house, so I can keep an eye on things as Mr Hawthorne is away so much.”
I looked around, and saw what looked a bit like one of those “half suites” you see in some motels for business men: as well as a big bed and a TV, there was a bar with a few simple kitchen appliances behind it, a table with a couple of chairs, and a desk with a PC on it. It was evident that the furniture had been rearranged somewhat, though, as there was one of those big multi-gym machine bristling with pulleys, dials and weights occupying a prominent position against one wall.
Mr Stryker saw me looking at it, and said “Why do you think my body’s so big and powerful, Steve? That’s the reason – hours every night pounding away on that thing. You slaves think you work hard, but that really tests a man’s strength, and builds him up.”
As he said this, Stryker almost unconsciously moved his body into one of those “poses” muscle guys use, to better display themselves. He always wore short sleeved shirts anyway, and khaki pants that seemed a really tight fit, but as he flexed himself I could see the fabric straining to contain him. “Impressive, isn’t it?”, he asked me. “Better than your daddy?”
Well, what was I supposed to say? I thought his pumped-up muscles were pretty gross, and they were in no way as good as dad’s: his were the hard, stringy flexible muscles you get from genuine hard work, not these artificially inflated things! Stryker didn’t wait for me to answer though, fortunately, and popped the buttons on his shirt and let if fall to the floor. “Come over here, boy, and get a look at a real male”, he ordered.
I went over, and now he flexed his arms to make his muscles all kind of strain and stand out. I couldn’t help noticing that he was completely hairless on his upper body- his pits were shaved clean, and three wasn’t a trace of hair anywhere on his chest or his belly. He carried on flexing and stretching, and said “You can touch, you know…. See if you can get your hands around my biceps, and really feel the power…”
It seemed vaguely disgusting to me – it was as if he wanted me to worship this artificial body of his, but I did as I was told and was a bit repelled by the feel of his baby-smooth skin. His pecs were all puffed up, too, but he had big, dark brown aureoles with quite prominent tits, and so instead of continuing to feel his muscles, I began to gently rub at his left tit, then when it became firm and hard under my touch, took it in my fingers and began to squeeze it, as Mr Hawthorne had done to me. Stryker reacted in the same way as I had – he moaned gently, then tried to pull away. But I held on, so that it elongated, and as it did, I squeezed harder and harder, making Stryker begin to moan, louder and louder.
“Let’s see the rest of you, then”, I almost commanded him, and whether it was because he sensed my mastery of him as I’d dared to tweak his nips like that, or because he was so fucking vain and wanted me to see his butt and legs, he kicked off his boots, then undid his pants and let them fall to the floor.
He’d shaved his legs, too, and they were thick and solid as he stood there in just his socks and tiny white briefs – but briefs which revealed really huge butt muscles, and the outline of a most impressive dick and balls. Stryker stood in front of me striking more “muscle” poses, first from the front, and then with his back to me – and I have to say that the sight of his powerful hard ass, barely concealed by the tiny briefs, was turning me on: I wondered what it would be like to force those cheeks apart and fuck it, and felt my dick starting to go hard at the thought. It seemed somehow almost bizarre for me to be standing there naked, with this big guy determined to show off his muscles to me.
Stryker turned around to face me again, and muttered “Like what you see, boy?”
“It’s pretty impressive”, I said, neutrally, not wanting to lie.
“Lie over the end of the bed, boy”, he commanded. “It’s time you had a real fucking from a real man, a man with muscles…. Mr Hawthorne has said I can use you as a fuck toy now, and it’s time we got better acquainted.”
I’d guessed this was coming, and I was a bit scared that it was really going to hurt – as I’ve told you, his dick was, as far as I could see, really impressive. I decided to try to delay what seemed to be inevitable, and as I went past him towards the bed, I ran my hand lightly down over his muscled body. He grabbed hold of my wrist and guided my hand so that it lay over his left pec, then slowly moved it so that I was again stroking it.
“You couldn’t resist, could you, boy? The sight of my body, in all its glory. You liked what you saw, didn’t you, boy, and you just wanted to touch it?”
Actually, as I’ve said, I much preferred the “natural” muscles of dad, not these pumped up things. But I made myself sound deliberately sexy, and muttered “Oh yes, Mr Stryker….”
He closed his eyes almost in ecstasy as he said this, and released my wrist. I carried on stroking my hand over his pecs, feeling his nips jutting up sharply, and decided to see whether he would continue to react as I had done when Mr Hawthorne played with me. So I squeezed one nip with each hand, and he gave a low moan of pleasure again. Emboldened by this, I began to tug and pull at them, and then, as his little cries of pleasure increased, I twisted and tweaked them, causing him to start to gasp “Yes, yes, yes….”
Still keeping one hand on his left nip, I slid my other hand down his back and let my fingers stray under the thin cotton of his bikini briefs. His ass crack was hot and moist, but completely hairless, and I slid my finger as far down it as I could, against the stiff resistance of his big butt muscles. With some determination I managed to get all the way down, and scratched my finger nail over hi pucker, and now he really was enjoying it: I could almost feel his body respond to my touch, and I began to “play” him, noticing his reactions as I continued to really twist his nip and scratch his hole.
The more I did, the longer I knew I was postponing getting fucked. So it occurred to me that I might be able to avoid getting fucked all together if I was to get him to shoot his load – after all, I’d quite enjoyed Amos and Andy’s dicks, so it wouldn’t hurt to suck at his, even though it was a monster, would it?
I already had one hand down the back of his briefs, so before he knew what I was doing, I let go of his nip and moved my hand down to grab the front of them, and then yanked them down to his knees. He stopped his moans of pleasure instantly, then realising what I’d done, he lashed out at me – the back of his hand came across with all the force he was capable of and hit me firmly on the side of my head, sending me sprawling onto the floor in front of him. I just lay there, half dazed, my ears ringing and my face stinging, not really understanding why he’d reacted like that.
And then I saw it: his dick was tiny, and I could hardly see his balls at all as they seemed to be all shrivelled up and hiding behind this poor little thing! The giant outline I’d seen through his briefs, proportioned to be in keeping with the rest of him, was made by a plastic mould which he had been wearing inside his briefs, and which now lay on the floor in front of me. I just couldn’t help it – the sight of this huge over-muscled man with that tiny dick and shrivelled up balls was just too incongruous, and in spite of hurting a lot, I began to laugh.
Look, I know it’s not a nice thing to do. And I’d never laugh at a guy in a wheelchair or anything, but the thought of this big strong guy using a plastic mould to make his shorts bulge out properly was just hysterical, and I laughed and laughed. I mean, it’s not as if you can help having a small dick, is it? But then I remembered some stuff I’d read on the internet about the things that guys who are obsessed with their bodies and who really work at the weights and stuff do: Stryker must have been taking steroids to bulk up his muscles, and the side effects had really kicked in and caused his tackle to shrivel up! So as his body grew, so his balls and dick shrank. He must be an absolute idiot to have got into that state – as I said, I thought his body was gross – it’s fine for a guy to work out, of course, but to do it so that you’re turned into some grotesque parody of the male form is just ludicrous. And now he’d paid the price, in those parts that matter most to a man.
I slowly got to my feet, and as I did so, I stroked my dick so that it went to its full thickness and length. Mr Stryker just watched as I stood in front of him, my magnificent dick contrasting with his poor thing. I cupped my balls in my hand, squeezing them and fondling them, so he could see again their size, and the way that I had so much skin in my sac where they usually hang low, and I knew that he must be comparing my magnificent plums with the dried-up undersized prunes he now had! I hated the thought that he’d been going to fuck me, and hated the way he treated dad and me, and hated the fact that he’d just struck me so viciously. I suppose I ought to have been sorry for him, but instead I sneered at him.
“There’s no point me going to the bed – you couldn’t fuck me with that little thing. And even if you could, those dried up balls would never shoot anything….”, I taunted.
He seemed to lose all his confidence, and almost visibly shrank in front of me. I don’t suppose anyone had ever dared laugh at his tackle before, even if he exposed it to them – I thought that he’d probably have got me on the bed face down, and then stripped off so I couldn’t see him.
“You’re not going to fuck me!”, I told him, getting bolder by the minute. “A guy with a set of tackle like that wouldn’t dare fuck a real man, like me.” As I said this, I carried on massaging my dick and balls so he could see the contrast between us. “No, if anyone is going to get fucked, it’s you – you need a real man’s dick inside you, a real dick, like this one…. Now, you go over to the bed, face down, and spread those legs…”
“You fucking slave, how dare you….”
“I may be a slave, but at least I’m a man, a real man. And men give orders to eunuchs! Isn’t that what you are? Are you still capable of even producing real man seed?”
I saw Stryker almost cringe as I said this, and knew that I’ struck home. Becoming bolder by the moment and feeling the excitement of the rush that power gives you, I pushed at him and snapped “Now get over on the bed, fucker! Do as a man tells you!”
In spite of him being bigger and much more powerful than me, and a free man and not a slave, I felt a thrill of excitement when he turned and took a hesitant stop towards the bed: I felt almost drunk with the power I was exerting over this pathetic wimp. I slapped him, hard, on his ass and almost screamed “Move it! Down on the bed, and spread those legs!”
I looked at him as he lay there, shuffling uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, the dark tan of his legs contrasting with the creamy whiteness of his butt. “I told you to spread them!”, I shouted at him, and kicked viciously at his ankles with my feet, hardened by weeks of working barefoot, to emphasise the point. I reached in between his massive thighs and almost contemptuously felt for his shrivelled balls, and then had the wizened, tiny things between my fingers. “When my dad or me is bent like this, you can see our balls swinging low – do you like to look at that, when you’ve had us in the studding shed? Do you like to see how real men’s balls swing when they’re getting ready for sex? Do you know how pathetic you look with these raisins stuck up here?”
His head was pressed into the bed, and he gave what I thought might be a muffled sob. “Well, even though you’re not a real man yourself, you’ve got one thing that a real man needs when he’s ready for sex – I’m going to fuck you, fuck that asshole of yours hard, like a real man does. And my balls are going to pump my man cum right up into you. You want that, don’t you – a real man taking charge of you, and showing you how real men fuck? Is that why you like to watch us in the studding sheds, to see what real men do with their dicks and balls?” He lay there, and I almost felt sorry for him as I watched his body heave a little as he tried to control himself. “Answer me! Answer a real man when he speaks to you!”, I snapped, and to emphasise the point, I brought my open palm down really hard on his butt, causing the “slap” noise to ring like a pistol shot through the room. Actually, the next moment I wished I hadn’t done that, as my hand really stung – in fact, I guess it probably physically hurt me more than it did him.
“Answer me, or I’ll tan your ass again”, I told him. “You look as if you might need warming up before I fuck you, as no man wants just to fuck a piece of dead meat… Now, are you ready to take a proper man up your ass?”
I was sweating, and my heart was pounding. This was so exciting, to see how I could just control this man like this. But it was a bit of a relief when he muttered “Yes”, only just audibly.
“Reach back and pull those ass cheeks apart!”, I commanded, much more confident now. “I want to get a good look at your ass before I start to fuck it. I hope it’s not all shrivelled up and undersized like your dick and balls…”
Fascinated, I watched as, very slowly, his hands came around behind him, and he reached to pull himself apart. He’d shaved his ass crack totally, too, just like the rest of his body, and his light brown pucker was lying there, exposed to me. I thought about just forcing my way in, but remembered something that Amos and Andy had said about it hurting me almost as much as it would him, and with the painful stinging in the palm of my hand to remind me that some things were not a good idea, I decided I’d better at least try to stretch him a bit.
I moved between his legs so I was right up against him, letting him feel the scratch of the hairs on my legs against his smooth thighs and resting my dick on his butt, so he continued to recognise that I was still in control – I was really turned on by this, and my dick was almost hurting as it strained upwards. I lent forward, revelling in the feeling of the warmth of him against my belly, and put my fingers right by his face. “Suck these!”, I snapped. And, when he hesitated a little “I said suck these, fucker! Get them good and wet, as this is the only lube that ass of yours is going to get before my man dick forces its way into you.”
It really is sensuous to have a guy suck your fingers, I always find – he knows that you could just as well have made him suck your dick, and the physical sensation of his lips sliding up and down each digit is a real turn on, as was the tiny moans of pleasure he was giving as he suckled away. He worked up a good amount of spit, too, and when I decided I’d had enough, I pulled my hand away and almost immediately began to push gently at his hole. Then, once I’d got the tip of my forefinger in, I began to finger fuck him and churn my finger around to stretch him. He was moaning gently as I did this, so I guessed he was no stranger to the use of his hole, but when I forced the second finger in and really began to stretch him, his moans got louder, and eventually he muttered “No, please….”
In spite of my worries about hurting my hand, I slapped his ass hard again. “Quiet, fucker! I’m in charge. Would you rather I just stopped doing this, and rammed my dick home? Now, shut your whining, and take it like a man – not that you’ve really got a right to call yourself that!”
His noise subsided a bit then as I continued to work him, adding some spit of my own, and then it was time. I was already leaking pre-cum to the extent that as I stroked my dick a little it became slicked up, and when I positioned myself so that my head touched his pucker, I thought that I might shoot there and then, it was so exciting. I pushed at him, then pushed harder, and harder so that my dick almost buckled with the force I was using – you probably know how it is sometimes, it doesn’t matter how hard you push, you just can’t get an initial entry. I pulled back slightly, then using all the power in my thighs I slammed forward. He gave a cry of pain as my dick head breached his sphincter, and that indescribable thrill ran through me as his ass clamped down hard onto my dick. I just stood there for a moment, savouring the feeling of being inside him, then pushed forward, burying my dick in his ass. He cried out, but I just went ahead, not caring whether it hurt him or not – he was there for my pleasure, not his: I was a real man, a real man using a pathetic excuse for a man in the way that the strong always have over the centuries.
When I was completely buried in him with my thighs and belly relishing the sensation of his skin right against mine, I began to fuck him – slowly at first, then, as his moans and cries intensified, I speeded up to give lots of little short, sharp strokes as I found this gave me maximum pleasure.
It couldn’t go on for long, though – it wasn’t all that long since I’d last cum, but I found this whole thing so exciting that there was no way I could stave off my climax for very long. I slowed up in a desperate effort to prolong my enjoyment, but it was no good – I was right on the edge. Something in my brain told me that there was one more humiliation I could inflict on him, and just as I began to climax, I pulled out of him and just stood there, so that my big slick of cum shot along his back.
He was whimpering quietly to himself now, and suddenly, it was as if the world snapped back into focus for me – as well as the smell of my cum and our sweat, there was that nauseating odour of crap! I looked down, and saw my dick was stained brown by his ass, and felt disgusted – up until now, me, dad and Amos and Andy had all been “clean” inside from the enemas, and I didn’t much like this at all. “Stay there, and don’t move”, I commanded, and strode off into his bathroom and stood there and washed my dick clean of him.
Coming back into the bedroom I knelt on the bed beside him, then smeared some of my cum along his backbone, knowing that he would feel what I was doing. “Turn over”, I told him.
“No, please, the bed…. The cum….”
“Do as you’re told, fucker! I guess this is the only time your bed is going to get cum stains on it, as you aren’t capable…. Real men don’t care – they know that cum on the bed is the sign of a virile stud.”
Reluctantly, he rolled over onto his back, and I sprang astride him. I put my knees onto his upper arms, pinioning him there, and felt his ribs between my thighs – I’m not sure that he couldn’t have thrown me off if he wanted to, even though I’d put on a fair bit of muscle since I’d been at Manderleigh and was no lightweight now – but by kneeling there with my dick and balls right above his face, I knew I was psychologically in control of him.
“Now listen, and understand. The next time I fuck you, you’re going to clean my dick off. So you’d better be ready – if it’s covered in crap the next time, you’ll suck it clean anyway, so be prepared. Understand?”
He nodded, as best he could. I took my cum-slicked fingers and smeared them over my flaccid dick, and went on “So you’d better practice – clean my dick now, and my hands…”
I knelt there as he raised his head so that he could reach up and lick at my fingers. Then, when he’d done that, I let my balls and dick flop down onto his face, and I revelled at seeing this big tough man lapping away at me, and in feeling the ticklish sensation of his tongue tip on my most sensitive parts.
But it was over then, and I sensed the power flowing back to where it usually resided. I climbed off him, and stood there, as he sat up and looked at me. I handed him his tiny briefs, then picked up the plastic shaping piece and handed that to him, too. “Here, put these on – I want to think I fucked a proper man.”
He took the things from me, and I watched as he slid the thin cotton briefs over his big feet, then stood up and pulled them up his legs. He “settled” the shaping piece down the front, and it was as if he somehow regained his sense of manhood. I silently watched as he pulled on his pants, then his uniform shirt, then as he sat down to pull on and lace up his boots. He stood up, looked down at the bed where the cum from his back had left a damp line, then stared at me.
“You should be in your cage, slave!”, he said in his normal tone. “You’ll have to work hard tomorrow – really hard. As you can be sure the tawse will be ready to encourage you if there’s the slightest faltering in the effort you put in to it. And if I were you, I’d be certain not to talk, either – a slave who talks to other slaves isn’t working as hard as he ought, and will certainly get punished. Do you understand?”
“Yes, boss”, I muttered.
“Be sure you do! No talking, remember!” As he said this, he put his massive hand on the back of my neck in an unmistakable gesture of exerting control, and pushed me towards the door.
To be continued …
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