This contains references to graphic sex between males. If you are under eighteen, or the subject of an oppressive government that prohibits this material, don't read it. Practise safe sex. All rights reserved Any_mouse2003@yahoo.com
Collared
My relationship with William was completely different than that one that emerged between me and Mr. Obote.
William used me as his sex toy, and there was joy in the way we shared the pleasure of his cock. He was playful, and being my age, he was capable of ejaculating several times. That meant there was much to be enjoyed and savored, laughing at the warm jets that shot from him.
I loved sucking him, and the taste of him on my lips and face if he pulled out to spray me. Then, with the most immediate urge slaked, he enjoyed pushing me on my back, and placing my heels on his shoulders as he slid his way into my ass.
I had learend to lubricate mself before I came to his house, not that he was ungentle. He just was big, and the lube helped. That was the way way I liked it best with him, fbut Imust say that being flopped over the bed and taken doggie style, rammed hard from behind was almost as good. The pressure of my cock against the matress almost alwasy made me cum, and afterwards William would laugh in glee when I licked up the mess.
One image will always stay with me from that magical year with my Africans. Mr. Obote asked that I spend Saturdays at the house, and I arrangedit with my Mom as a sort of foreign exchange program. Ostensibly, the purpose was to spend time with William, and take care of his natural needs. But it was clear that Mr. obote was as alone as his son, and he needed me to care for him as well.
I remember it being a winter, early dusk, with dirty mid-western dirty snow on the ground. A fire in the fire place in the richly appointed library. Mr. Obote sitting in his desk chair, looking at me, his eyes reflecting the flames.
I'm nude, of course, since that is the way father and son liked me when I visited. I would be admitted by the servant, and taken to the little dressing room William and I had used to prepare for our initiation. There I would disrobe, and stand proudly naked.
I only wore one thing. It was symbolic in a way that I could sense but did not fully understand.
The first time I wore the collar, William and his Father were there to watch me strip. They both remained fully dressed, and I felt awkward. William embraced me, saying that I looked wonderful, vulnerable and proud. I could feel my cock twitch at that in desire.
Mr. Obote had something in his hand. It was a hoop of beaten metal. He raised to my face, saying that my nakedness was a thing of great beauty, but needed a ornament of submission. I looked at the hoop. I realized it was a collar, maybe an inch wide with a thin hasp to close it. There did not appear to be a lock, through there was a place where one could be placed. A single ring by which a tether could be placed was held by a welded bracket on the side.
"This is a symbol, Joe, for we do not believe in the corporal subjugation of your mind. Your submission to us is purely voluntary. You may remove this at any time, of course. But it would signify our relationship in a manner that I think will gratify us both."
I nodded, hesitantly. He smiled and raised the hoop, stretching it slightly to fit around my slim neck. He pressed it back together and I could hear the hasp click into place.
It was cold, though the heat of my flesh would warm it, I knew. When he removed his hands, the collar slipped down on my neck slightly, resting just above my collarbones. It was both light in weight, and the heaviest thing I have ever felt. My cock strained upward, and I shuddered when Mr. Obote caressed my ballsack, caressing my testicles before sending William and I off to play.
The end of the afternoon always came in the library. After William had fed himself to me, and taken me, he would walk me to the library. The taste of his semen was on my lips, and I licked them greedily to get the last goodness from his seed.
Sometimes he would clip a leash to the ring on my collar. Other times he simply allowed me to walk a pace behind him. Mr. Obote would be waiting there for me, sitting in his chair with the lights out.
The only illumination came from the fire. I would take up a position by the fireplace where he could observe me. My lithe dancer's body was highlighted against the dark wood by the flickering of the dancing flames. My only adornment was the black collar against my white skin.
Sometimes he would speak to me for what seemed like hours in his warm deep voice, telling me stories of his village. The dim red light danced over his massive torso. Sometimes William would get me off, or I would have the residue of both of our sperm on my lips and mouth. But in Mr. Obote's presence I always got hard again, fascinated by him like a rabbit before a snake.
I would stand half-engorged with anticipation. My soft brown eyes are downcast, in respect, but I could sense the urgency in him. It hung in the air between us like a sweet cloud.
With a gesture, Mr. Obote would eventually summon me to my place: my knees on the rich oriental carpet, between the massive ebony thighs. When given permission, hands at my sides in submission, I would began to nuzzle on his massive serpent, pressing back his foreskin with my tongue, savoring the musty flavor of him as he swelled, then suckling on its power and majesty.
I loved to look up to see the fire glimmers in Mr. Obote's eyes as he feels the darting tongue and insistent suck. Joe can only consume half of the mighty cock before he begins to gag. Still, I plunged on until it was fully lodged deep in my throat, almost choking me. I was proud of this particular skill I learned in my devotion to orally please this man who seemed carved of spice and ebony.
When the Nigerian's eruption comes, the rich river of man-seed is delivered direct to my stomach. I look up in gratitude for the reward, and when the master is clean, I return to his position by the fire, waiting patiently until he is ready to fuck me, or use me in any way that he wishes.
I was content that winter. I had found my place. Removing the collar when I dressed to go home was a wrench, but nothing like how I felt when they were gone.
Mr. Obote presented me with the collar after our last encounter, saying that it would signify a relationship that would last a lifetime. I almost wanted to wear it home.
Peace Corps Days next, if you ask nicely any_mouse2003@yahoo.com