Chapter 52 – Adventures of Fag Dad
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Disclaimer: This story contains explicit descriptions of adult men. These men engage in sexual activity with other adult men. The intent of this story is entertainment for adult male readers. All characters depicted having sex are over 18 years. You also must be over 18 to read about them. Thank you.
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Please check out my other Nifty.org stories:
Born http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/born/ Dad Likes to Watch http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/dad-likes-to-watch Downward Spiral of Jim http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/downward-spiral-of-jim Growing Up Naked http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/growing-up-naked/ Naked Whore http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/naked-whore Put Out to Pasture http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/put-out-to-pasture Santa's Slave Training http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/santas-slave-training Special Product Design http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/special-product-design The Trunk http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/the-trunk Tommy the Catcher http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/tommy-the-catcher
Chapter 52
Life went back to normal, or so it seemed for Paul. Ever since Kevin entered Paul's life, Kevin knew what was best for his man. Kevin demonstrated his knowledge first by being Paul's secretary and manservant. Each step in the process of their relationship there was Kevin ahead of the game.
Kevin brushed off his showing of weakness around Paul as part of the growing pains to their next level. He determined Paul's wanting to go to it' status was a fantasy. He saw Paul had in him the desire to work on a conscious level instead of an idiot, which it'-slaves are. They are fucking idiots.
During this period, Kevin was plotting how he would proceed with Paul. There were several options open to him. The first action he took in Paul's new direction was to instruct him he could work the lunch shift (10-2). The ordering, the planning, the scheduling of the slave shifts, everything required finishing no later than 2 PM.
Paul was to make Kevin's breakfast every day, and the private evening meal for Kevin or special guests (buyers) of the ranch.
Between breakfast and the start of his shift, Paul would complete extensive workouts five-days per week. Kevin wanted Paul bigger and more muscular. After Paul's shift ended, he was to go home, eat, and sleep.
"Paul, how's your new schedule going?" Kevin asked on a lazy Sunday morning with his big man holding him tight. He looked down his body to see Paul's massive forearms and hands gently tweaking Kevin's nipples. Kevin was rock hard, and so was Paul.
"Stick your cock in my hole and fuck the shit out of me right now." Paul rolled flat on his back for a moment to grab the lotion lubing up Kevin's fuck palace. He entered with a large sigh and appreciation coming from Kevin.
"Fuck me, asshole. Now. I want you fucking cum in my hole. Fuck me. Fuck me. Yeah. You fucking faggot. Fuck me. Rip it open. Make me scream. Yeah, fucker. I control you including when you are fucking me. You are over twice as big as me. You could kill me without breaking a sweat. But, I own you asshole. Your mind wants nothing more than to please me in any way I want.
"Cum in my god damn ass now," Kevin screamed.
Paul shot a huge load in Kevin's bowels. Paul could shoot when Kevin said, and at no other time.
Joe was in seventh-heaven. Joe carried Sinclair over the threshold. While it should be the other way around, Joe was the average size guy with the muscles. Sinclair was the average size guy who maintained a perfectly toned body with no accentuation. He wasn't physically strong enough to pick up Joe. Regardless, they kissed each other and laughed at the juxtaposition.
The flat came furnished in French provincial.
"Here baby. The dining room table seats 12. Look at the kitchen; room for several slaves to work. Let me show you a room you which will bring a smile." Sinclair motioned.
Joe thought it was going to be their bedroom, but instead, Sinclair opened the door to the bedroom with two sets of triple-bunks and one set of double. Sinclair was beaming.
"See. This is the slaves' room."
"Wow, Sinclair. This room is wonderful. Thank you. Thank you for doing this for me."
Sinclair slowly started to undress Joe right in the middle of the slaves' room. He unbuttoned each button of Joe's shirt revealing his nipples and muscled chest. Joe maintained his body with a trainer during their romp through Europe. His abs were in peak condition. As the shirt dropped to the floor, Sinclair leaned over sucking each nipple for an extended period moving to making love with his tongue to Joe's stomach muscles. He was quite the stud slave for his age.
Joe stood in position feeling the love of Sinclair allowing him to lead the way. While making Joe's abs wet, Sinclair unbuckled Joe's pants with them falling to the floor. Sinclair got on his knees untying and removing Joe's shoes and socks, which allowed Joe to step out of his pants and underwear.
Joe presented his naked self to a clothed Sinclair. His cock was hard as Sinclair spent some time sucking it on his way back to kiss Joe on the lips.
There was no surprise when the tenderness changed with Sinclair pushing Joe up against a wall forcing his tongue down Joe's throat. Joe knew where this was going with excitement beyond belief. There had been no good opportunity to feel Sinclair's hands around Joe's throat.
He never understood why this was such a turn on, but Joe could never contain himself over the excitement of his breathe and life controlled.
"You like this baby? I know you do. I could end it all right here, couldn't I? The love of my life strangled in the slaves' room. A slave dies a slave. It feels so good touching and pressing my fingers around your larynx. Oh yeah, baby. Feel how hard your dick is. Would it be fun to spurt it as you lose consciousness? You know I can go dark. You know this about me. You know I can destroy you. I could sell you. I could stand in the audience waving goodbye as the goons take you away.
"Huh? I can't hear you, baby. You like this edge, don't you? Makes you hot. Remember, I'm your master. You are never to predict what can happen. I'm giving you all this and I can take it all away."
Joe was beside himself in heat. He knew Sinclair was right. Anything could happen. What kept it fantasy was Joe knew nothing would happen to him because of the boys (who were coming towards manhood). However, if it wasn't for them, Joe knew any of the things Sinclair was suggesting in the heat of passion were on-the-table. He was willing to risk his life for Sinclair. Joe never felt any other way. If Sinclair wanted to kill him; fine. If Sinclair wanted to abuse him; fine. If Sinclair wanted to sell him; fine.
As magical as their life was together, Joe learned to maintain his slave mentality. He got the message when he and Sinclair first got to Paris over a year ago dropping the kids off. The scene between Sinclair and him in the dungeon and the long recovery from it made Joe aware he was a slave; a well-taken care of slave, but still a slave.
Sinclair threw Joe on the bottom bunk of the double, jumped on him, throttled Joe's throat and yelled, "Masturbate fucker. Jack your cock as if it was the last time for this incarnation. Fucking masturbate your cock now."
He couldn't hold on long. Joe could not breathe. He was light-headed and shaking. He stroked his cock hard, rapid, and with force. He saw stars as the room got dark.
"Cum. Cum. Cum right now!" Sinclair screamed.
Joe shot and passed out. His body shook as he went limp with jizz spurting load after a load of cream on his six-pack abs and chest.
With Joe passed out, yet breathing (Sinclair checked), Sinclair licked Joe's spunk off his body tasting the fluid swallowing each last drop. Joe's neck was bruising. Sinclair applied Anise cream to minimize.
Sinclair knelt down on the floor, clothed, leaned over to kiss his passed out partner, and saying out load, "God, I love you, Joe."
Sinclair grabbed the smelling salts from the bathroom. He forced Joe to breathe in awakening his sleeping beauty. "Come on, baby. Let me take you to bed." Joe staggered his way to a bedroom he had never entered. Sinclair laid him down rubbing more cream on the wounds. He undressed, pulled back his side of the covers, crawled in, and spooned Joe to sleep.
Next morning Joe was awake bright and early; long before Sinclair. He made breakfast with a whistle. He admired the bruises on his throat laughing at how perverted he could be. He sat at the table having a croissant when Sinclair sleepily entered the kitchen.
"You like?" Sinclair asked.
"What? The kitchen or the sex?" Joe smiled.
"Both, asshole."
"There are both beautiful and so are you."
"Good. I'm glad. Your first slave arrives this afternoon, and the rest will filter in this week. Last night was your respite. Now it's time to be a slave who is also a slave-owner and a trainer. Enjoy."
Sinclair left the kitchen with a cup of coffee. Joe could hear Sinclair showering and dressing. The footsteps led to the front door with a "Joe, I'll see you later. If you need me, text me. I'll get back to you as soon as possible."
This quick departure meant one thing. Sinclair was going to fuck over a man who would not be a man within the next few days. Joe sighed as a good wife would when his man misbehaves. He laughed, `Well, at least he doesn't drink or something awful like that. He picks men up in bars and restaurants and ruins their life.'
Sinclair left for several days, which was not normal, but he did check in with Joe several times a day, so Joe was not concerned. Besides, the first houseguest showed himself at the front door of the walkup promptly at noon as expected.
"Hello, Sir. My name is Andrew. I am your new slave."
"Hi, Andrew. Come in." Joe checked out the latest conquest. He had no idea where Andrew or the others were coming from, nor did he care. Sinclair was responsible for acquisitions. Joe was the teacher.
"Andrew. I am not a Sir. Please do not address me as such. Sinclair is the Sir/Master of this house. When he returns, you are to address him as "Sir." He is not your master. Nor are you mine. You are here to learn. There may be a time when Sinclair will be your master, or you will have another, or you will decide this life is not for you.
"Regarding how you should address me. Call me Slave Joe."
"Yes, Slave Joe. Where should I put my stuff?"
"Come with me." Joe showed him to the slave room where less than 18 hours earlier Joe and Sinclair had amazing, if not dangerous, sex. Joe had a smirk on his face as he opened the door.
"You are the first here. Take this lower bunk next to the door. Take everything out of your suitcase now. Let's have an inspection." Joe ordered.
Andrew took everything out of the suitcase. Joe went through each item. In the trash went the memorabilia. Andrew could have three dress shirts, two dress pants, three underwear and socks, one sport coat, one winter/spring/fall coat, two pairs of shoes. Everything else Joe threw in the trash. Andrew took the garbage out with the intent given to Ken when he had to watch the garbage truck take his life away. Andrew shed a tear as his prized possessions fell into the dumpster.
"Take your clothes off. I want to see you naked." Joe said.
Andrew hesitantly disrobed. He was slender, young, semi-attractive. He had a big cock, which got plump from exposure.
"Take my clothes off," Joe ordered.
Andrew slowly unbuttoned Joe's shirt and followed the same pattern Sinclair used on Joe the evening before. "This is what my body looks like after years of being a slave. My first master made me workout. I got as big as my average body would allow. He tortured my nipples and did the initial work on the scars all over my back and chest. Sinclair did the rest."
"Why is your neck bruised, Slave Joe?"
"Sinclair and I played a little game last night. We initiated the slave room with him strangling me while I masturbated. I passed out as I shot my load." Joe said with a smile.
"That seems dangerous," Andrew said.
"Andrew, the danger is the point. It's not any more dangerous than what you are doing. While this will not happen, we could turn on you and send you off to auction. You do understand when you turn yourself over to be a slave, those events can occur, and you have no control. What is different between the danger of auction and the danger of strangulation? Each gets you to the same place." Joe asked.
"Yes, Slave Joe. I didn't think about it like that."
"Come over here to the dining room table. Here is your contract you agreed to with us. You may read it thoroughly. We have nothing to hide. If you finish and want to leave, you may. If you stay and sign the document, you are expected to obey what you signed for as well as us. And, we do have the power over you to make it tough. I suggest following the rules would be of advantage."
Joe had practiced a lot with the men he mentored during the European tour. He was direct and to the point. He didn't tolerate fantasy boys. He wanted ones willing to do what it took to improve their lives through slavery.
"You will see here all the money from your job will go into an account you will have access to only if something happens to either one or both of us. All your needs will be provided to you by us. We are not taking any of your salaries.
"In exchange, you get to learn from me, work your fucking ass off learning how to be a proper slave. If you wish to continue in this line of work for the rest of your life, we will make arrangements to find the best Master suited.
"More than anything, the reason we are doing this is I want to teach men like you. I want a lot of men and slaves around. Our natural family is scattered. Sinclair created this opportunity for me. You are the recipient of his idea and generosity. Don't fuck it up.
"Now, let see how your kitchen skills are."
Joe followed Andrew naked into the kitchen. Joe thought, "I'd fuck that."
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