Disclaimer: This story contains graphic sexual scenes between males of consenting age 18+. It involves domineering, rough sex that both parties, at some point or another, consent to. It contains strong language and other adult situations. If the material of this nature offends you then you should not read this story.
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Bitch Boy Breaker - After-care 101 by AlphaSpirit
With a satiated groan, I pulled my semi-hard cock out of the seeded, fucked-out boy hole. The twink bitch's ass gaped and the bubble butt cheeks were a holocaust of handprints, grip marks, and sweat. The faggot moaned, but was too thoroughly fucked out to stir much more than that. A complete mess from the hours and hours of non-stop use, abuse, and substances, when the boy came around, he was going to be feeling downright miserable. And he'd be aching for more before he knew it.
Not going to lie, I was pretty worse for wear, too. And I'd been the one doing the fucking!
"What time is it?" Feeling like I'd just been through a battle, I was thoroughly unaware of how long I'd been fucking and abusing my most recent boy conquest.
"Time 6:49PM, Master." Charm, my obedient Thai bottom bitch, had had a long one, too. Still, his service hadn't been as arduous as my mastering. The effeminate Asian stunner had been at my beck and call all day since the wee hours of the night. He was waiting patiently for me, but had already anticipated my needs. Without a word, he had a bottle of water for me (and one for the boy nearby), and some pills: just good old aspirin at this stage. Charm began to towel my sweat off, massaging my muscles as he did so. A change of clothes and a sandwich were also nearby.
So, this is after-care. It doesn't matter who takes care of whom. A lot of times, the lazy or inexperienced hold misconceptions about after-care, or just don't do it at all. Sometimes, people think it's this emasculating process wherein the top/dom/master cuts off his balls and starts subserviently catering to the bitch's needs. Well, that's not me; that's not my style of after-care. I'm a man who takes care of his responsibilities, but I don't overcompensate.
"Thanks." I ruffled Charm's hair after he was done with the light massage and I was done with the water bottle. That was it: that was Charm's after-care for almost a continuous 24 hours of nonstop servitude.
"Thank you for include me in break this new boy, Master," Charm replied demurely, smiling. "You really break him good."
Charm and I worked well together because he was largely self-sufficient. He didn't need much care. In fact, caring for freshly cunted bitch boys, twinks and fags who'd just been put through the most arduous fucks of their young lives, was Charm's calling, a therapeutic practice that helped him, too; it was good for him and good for the boys. Best of all, it meant I didn't need to play doctor or daddy once the fun stuff was over.
"What happened to the recording?" Getting back to business, I inquired about my instructions to record the redheaded muscle bitch's first fucking. It wasn't like Charm to not follow through on a task, even if it necessitated hours of work.
"No more space on phone." Charm didn't apologize, and it wasn't needed. I had been fucking the boy for hours, after all.
Jerking a thumb at the used 19-year-old still lying on the floor, I gave Charm a look that said everything I needed to say. I pulled on some clothes and left the two boys in the basement of the apartment building, taking the stairs back to the lobby.
So, you might be wondering what this has to do with after-care. I just left the boy with another faggot? Yeah. Well, truth is, I'm a bitch breaker. I'm not an after-care specialist. Charm was going to handle a majority of the initial work, and that's the majority of any leader's success story: proper delegation. While it was unwise to leave one bitch in charge of another in most cases, I knew I could trust Charm, and I knew he would take care of Red. If there were any problems, he would come and defer to me. As far as Red, the 19-year-old gym rat redhead whose anal cherry I'd just popped, it was impossible to know all the after-care he'd require.
See, after-care is different for everyone. That's the second most important thing I could tell you about it. Charm was going to assess it, deliver it, and, if suitable, let me know if there was any responsibility or action I needed to take care of.
Red... well, yeah, the kid was going to require a lot... He'd never bottomed before; I'd dosed him hard with several substances he'd never taken before; I'd fucked him for... for almost 10 hours? Was that right? Jesus... And, the kid had considered himself a 'man's man', been in ardent denial of his natural underlying disposition to be a subservient faggot...
Well, like I told you, this wasn't my forte. Red was in good hands with Charm, for now.
Waiting for the elevator in my apartment building lobby, I was so lost in post-fuck bliss that thoughts were hard.
Ding.
The elevator arrived and, not expecting anyone to be there, I started entering before the doors were fully open. However, there was someone inside, and, when I saw who it was, I jumped back several steps and, in an old habit, brought my right hand up on a diagonal at my forehead, saluting. The man in the elevator gave me a disapproving look that said a few things, one of which was: I thought I told you never to salute me in public unless it was some military or bullshit government function.
"Heh," I chuckled, rubbed the back of my head like I'd meant to do that all along. "Didn't see you there, Colone-... uh, Hiro."
"I know." Hiro was one of 'the gang', a group of buddies, if you'd call us that, from way back. I'd invited them all over to fuck my newest boy (shortly before going out and encountering the one I'd just left in the basement). I hadn't really thought Hiro would show up, though. Guy was sort of somebody important now. "Be more aware," Hiro chastised me. "Life is cheap."
Half-Japanese, half-American, Hiro had always been a straight forward, no-nonsense type. Military life had suited him well, especially once he'd gotten over his predisposition to be an absolute psychopath... Well, actually, more like he'd become too valuable to the higher-ups for them to get him in trouble for the sadistic things he did. Hiro, me, and all the gang had first met in the 195 Conflict, which you can't just go and look up, because, officially, it never happened. Nowadays, Hiro was one of the higher-ups himself.
"Especially mine," I nodded, let him off the elevator first.
Hiro was a handsome dude. Not the kind of guy that turns heads, but in a nondescript, manly way. Dark hair and taller than average, he had some of that baby face Asian guys have, but he was solid muscle through and through (although you couldn't tell much with clothes or a uniform on). Hiro wasn't gym muscle, he was field muscle: strength for action, not for show.
"You on your way out, I guess?" I stated the obvious.
"Wife." Hiro was one of those examples of why you don't marry young, even if she is a powerful politician's daughter. "Everyone else is still up there. That new boy was a piece of work. I owe you a cigar." We didn't need to say anything else. I got on the elevator, but, before the doors closed, my old pal turned and said: "You could use a shower."
It was true. This was one of the things about after-care: you needed to take care of yourself, first and foremost. That's what a lot of guys get confused, what a lot of needy subs don't understand. The man provides, takes care, but you need to take care of yourself before you take care of others. I really needed a shower... hell, I could probably soak in the bath... except I was so tired I might fall asleep in it... More water, a massage, and some good, clean food, simple stuff. Maybe a cigar, too.
Anyway, that's the other thing about after-care. Take care of yourself, especially if you're the alpha. For the fags, and this shouldn't be rocket science, understand that your man is more important than you, and his needs come first.
My needs were going to need to wait a little bit longer. As I got off the elevator on the top-floor of the building, I heard some voices from my apartment's direction. There were only two units on the top, and I owned them both but only really lived in one. That's where I was heading, and that's where the voices were coming from. In the hallway just outside my door, two people were just exiting.
"Father Maxwell, how are you?" It was always easy to tell Maxwell: you didn't see a lot of relatively young men in a robe and priest collar these days.
"Yo. Sup, you devil?" Maxwell had always been one of my favorites. Officially, he'd been a chaplain during the conflict, but his real expertise had been, and continued to be, espionage. A product of the orphanage system, he was impossibly irreverent and devious: the exact kind of guy who became a priest in this day and age. "Sad to say, everyone is just about to head out. Duty calls: on my end, I have to hear confession, then I was going to say a rosary for that blonde faggot in there. He's been through some trials and tribulations, man. Trials and tribulations..."
Maxwell smiled, a wicked, impish grin. "Looks like you could use a shower though, my old friend. Let me not hold you back. But, if you need anything, or have anything to confess, you know where to find me." In addition to having taken the cloth, Max was an active member in local charities and outreach programs all around the city. It was a great way to run a drug and sex trafficking ring.
"Actually, Father Maxwell, I must confess that I have just been sinning."
Maxwell's devilish grin spread like malice, and his eyes flashed with something otherworldly. "Ohhh." His voice full of false concern, Maxwell nodded. "Pray tell where." Subtly, he made a gesture to the person next to him, a child. "My acolyte and I will attend to him."
"A pleasure to meet you, Sir." The boy was dressed in a white button-down shirt, black slacks. He was fair skinned and had dark, ruddy brown hair like Father Maxwell's, but his eyes were gray instead of dark green, glazed over, blind. The boy had a short cane, but he reached out exactly to where a boy his height would need to place his hand for a proper handshake with a man my size.
"Nice to meet you." I shook the blind boy's hand, then turned to Maxwell. "In the basement, last door past the laundry rooms. Charm's giving him some after-care; can't say he's in any shape for much... could use some... assistance."
Maxwell gave me a genial look and shook my hand as we parted ways. "That Charm of yours is a treasure, isn't he? I was wondering why he was coming and going so much while we were... indoctrinating that blonde homosexual." I shot Maxwell a look that said to keep his hands-off Charm, but the priest was defensively gesturing, "Oh don't worry, don't worry. I'll just render assistance. Assistance! As God wills."
"As God wills." Maxwell's acolyte repeated. Assistance was our code-name for drugs. After all the soma, ketamine, ecstasy, amphetamine and Viagra Red had taken, he'd likely need some minding. Maxwell's black robe was full of everything you could imagine, hidden away in folds and compartments in the frock.
"Adieu." Maxwell and his attendant departed.
Entering my apartment, I was greeted by the final three members of the gang. Quite the trio, head turners for all very distinct reasons. There was a gigantic, towering black man, shirtless and rippling with sweat, muscled like he had been carved out of dark stone. There was a shorter blond man, unnaturally good-looking and youthful, dressed in designer clothing but with a humble, good-natured atmosphere about him. Finally, there was a scowling Asian man in a traditional Chinese outfit, a long black ponytail pulled back uncompromisingly tight, tapping his foot impatiently.
"Barton, Winner, Chang," I addressed the three in order. "Good to see you guys." A flurry of activity in another room told me that at least one of them had brought somewhat of an entourage with them... and where was blonde Justin?
"Likewise." Barton, the massive black man, was the one who undoubtedly had not brought anyone. Over 7 feet tall of pure muscle, Barton was the kind of figure that haunts Klan members' nightmares: a strong, smart, independent, black man. Barton had actually joined the circus after leaving the military, and he was a genetic freak of a muscle god. Now he was a performer in whatever film, play, or troupe was lucky enough to land him. Barton shook my hand with so much strength I had to bite my tongue not to cringe.
"It was very kind of you to invite us over. I'm sorry to say I can't stay long- business to attend to in the capital." Winner was the blonde. Honestly, he had been a twink when we were all younger, prototypical blonde bombshell, soft features and blue eyes. Winner, or Q, as Maxwell had dubbed him, was the most even-keeled of our outfit. Polite, good-looking, and insanely wealthy, he was the financial power and an international political connection. I hugged Q, and he squeezed my shoulders (but wrinkled his nose) bromantically. "You know I still owe you dinner, right?"
Finally, Chang just bowed to me. Chang was intense, the kind of guy who takes himself way too seriously. I guess that was to be expected, being from Chinese nobility, but, yeah, I didn't care for Chang. He was cruel and severe, an authoritarian who ran a series of martial arts gyms in various cities worldwide. Chang was tall for an Asian, and had ripcord muscle that was lean and mean. He was a lethal, nasty, not-to-be-fucked-with kind of guy. Chang's bow to me was short, so I gave him a shit bow back.
"You stink," Chang spat. "I have three vassals here with me, attending to your boy now. Two will leave when they are done. One of them will stay here with you for three days to repay you for your hospitality today."
I was intrigued, but also dog tired. "You don't need to do that," I replied. "There's nothing to repay."
"Indeed, I have already done so. I also must leave, but I believe it only proper for your boy to see us off before I do so." Chang was all about formality, pride and honor. God, I couldn't imagine what kind of after-care he required... talk about high maintenance... Irritated at having had to wait in front of his host, Chang shouted to his 'vassals' in the other rooms, something in Cantonese that might roughly have translated to, "Hurry up; if you keep me waiting another minute, I'm going to have your entire village sold into slavery."
The bustle of activity in the guest wing intensified. While we waited, we made small talk.
"Hollywood next week." Barton was going out of town. "I'll be working with Cirque Sole when they come here in two months. You should catch a show or two, if you're interested." He was a generous dude, and the young gymnasts he always was surrounded by were exquisite. He did things to boys that required that kind of physical flexibility. I told Barton I'd take him up on his offer.
"I'd actually like to talk to you about taking Justin with me when I go out of town." It made sense that Winner had an interest in that boy; at that age there had been quite a resemblance. Also, Winner was more than a little vain, despite being otherwise a solid guy. "Take care of him; he's a good kid." His domain was that of the mind, manipulating subs into altering their objectives, abandoning their old values. It was true that you wanted Winner to like you, but he had a way of bending boys to his will that wasn't all Don Perignon and sports cars.
Chang avoided eye contact while he waited impatiently. Chang wasn't as sadistic as Hiro, but he was second. A sociopath, Chang treated his subs like they weren't human; which, to him, they really weren't. A lot of stuff he did went beyond kink, it was gruesome.
Finally, the door to the guest rooms opened and out came Justin, along with three nearly identical teenage Asian boys. Everyone was clad in white; Justin's was a bathrobe. Chang's three boys bowed to him and, unsure of what to do, Justin did the same.
Young Justin, 18 and blonde, had been through the ringer. His golden hair was freshly washed, but he had a massive black eye and shiners coming through the makeup the attendants had put over his marks. The boy's neck was red from vigorous scrubbing, and undoubtedly from some choke fucking, collars, and whatever else the gang had thrown at him. The boy was a little unsteady on his feet; he'd been gang fucked by five of the wildest men on the planet. It was testament to Chang's attendants' after-care that he was on his feet at all.
"Thank my friends for showing you a good time, boy," I ordered the blonde faggot.
Justin brushed his golden locks out of his face, bandaged at the wrists where he'd been bound and manhandled. "Thank you very much, Sir." Barton nodded, pulling on a shirt. "Thank you so much, too, Mr. Q." Winner smiled back at the boy. "It was an honor to be in your presence, Master Chang." Justin bowed again to Chang, who scowled. The tallest of the Chinese boys grabbed Justin by the wrists and pulled him lower into a deep, proper bow. "Thank you," Justin said through gritted teeth.
He seemed to be doing very well. Honestly, that was great news, because I was so beat I needed some serious R&R before I could pay anyone half a mind, let alone fuck the kid again. Barton and Winner left, then Chang and his two attendants. The Asian boy he left with me escorted Justin back to the guest wing, and I was, for once, grateful for Chang's extravagance.
Honestly, my final piece of advice on after-care is this: if you're not good at it or just too busy for it, get a boy who enjoys taking care of the others. Wait, wasn't that my first piece of advice? Maybe the second?
It was time to take care of myself. I cut on the water in the shower, too exhausted for a bath. While it warmed, I made my way through the living room to the kitchen. I wasn't hungry, the substances took care of that, but I knew it was a wiser move to plan ahead and put something of sustenance in my body. It was sunset, and the fading orange light through the windows illuminated a room that you'd have no idea had just hosted a raucous gangbang. Chang's boys had cleaned up well. I went into the darkness of the kitchen for something light to eat.
"Two boys in one day, quite the boon."
I nearly jumped out of my skin as the calm, quiet voice from the darkness startled me. I went for my sidearm, but, of course, I wasn't wearing one.
"Didn't mean to startle you." The voice in the darkness was familiar, but I hadn't expected it. Hell, 'everyone' really had meant the whole gang. I turned on the lights and there stood Miliardo. "I want you to consider selling Red to me, directly," he said.
Miliardo was a ___________, part of _________. That was why he knew about Red; he had undoubtedly used his ____ access to hack into the cameras in the basement, probably also Red's cellphone, likely mine, too. Taller than me by a few inches, Miliardo was a massive hulk of a man, broad shoulders and thick thighs. He had ____ hair that was finally graying, ____ eyes that missed nothing.
"God fucking damnit, Miliardo! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
Miliardo didn't show up often. Hell, he wasn't even an official member of the group... I couldn't tell you all about his past, because he would likely just delete this entire document before I could upload it, but let's just say this: Miliardo was on the other side for a good portion of the conflict. He had turned at the end, actually right before the conflict that followed the one me, Hiro, Maxwell, Barton, Winner, and Chang had all been a part of. Anything else I could tell you, he would probably have redacted from this document. That's what happens when you're a former _____________ from ____ during the middle of ________ in________.
"Pardon my intrusion. I didn't want to bring up the topic of Red while the others were here, although Maxwell knows about him now." Miliardo was a polite guy, never showing his emotions or real agenda, the truly dangerous type of guy.
"Red's yours if you want him. Now get out of my kitchen." I was honestly a little uneasy with just the two of us, thought it better to just agree to what he wanted and be done with it.
"No need to be so hasty," Milardo was deliberate, some would call his style 'slow'. "Think about it. Obviously, you're the one that found him, so..."
"It's fine. He's yours. He's gonna be too high maintenance for me, anyway." I hadn't really thought of it in that way, but that was true.
Miliardo's silence gave me the time to get some food, another glass of water. After I had taken a few bites, he asked me, "What kind of maintenance?"
So, this was the thing about after-care. It needs to be done. Don't get me wrong: a real slut you can just fuck and chuck. But if you're talking about breaking them down, gaining mastership of their body and spirit, you've got more responsibilities to handle. It's different for everyone, but it needs to be done. If you break a boy and don't put him back together, it'll come back to be a problem. The kid could misdiagnose what transpired, spiral into jealousy or obsession, maybe hurt himself or even try to come after you. Breaking is fine, but breaking apart is what needs to be avoided.
"High maintenance. Kid thinks- thought that he was a top, had never bottomed before," I told Miliardo. In such a case, someone like Red might even misremember the events and come back with a police case and charges. "He's a denier, doesn't admit what he's feeling."
I sipped my water. Miliardo said, "I gathered that already." A pause, then. "But, he has potential, more than just a toy, possibly." Oh boy, I didn't know what the tall ______ had in store for Red, but it wasn't anything I wanted more details on. "As you had initial contact with him, I would appreciate any more insight you have into his requirements."
Groaning, I tossed my glass in the sink and said, "Dude, I don't really know. Ok? Red's a muscle boy; he needs regular exercise, physical dominance, challenge, male approval, self-image correction, chastity training, reassertion of his worth upon extreme exertion, and, oh, he's probably been cycling steroids." I scowled; fucking spilling the wehole beans there...
"I appreciate it. I will send an initial handler to the boy's dormitory on Monday." Miliardo already knew more about the kid than I did... "Do you think he would respond well to being abducted, or better to approach him civilly?"
I thought about it for a moment. "Abduction."
"Excellent. Thank you again. Just one more thing..."
Miliardo pointed to a nondescript brown box on the kitchen table. It was likely a _____.
"Good to see you again, Miliardo."
"Same. Enjoy your shower."
-end Bitch Boy Breaker- interlude- After Care 101-
This is a reference chapter. Following a little bit of consideration, and taking into account feedback from readers, I would like to include a few other top/dom participants in future installments. As such, this chapter is mostly an introduction to those characters. I would consider reader requests as to which characters to involve in the future. Obviously, the lead character will still be the focus of future installments. I also take commissions.
Send your thoughts and opinions to alphaspiritNY@outlook.com Also, don't forget to donate to Nifty.