Danger Twink Chapter 1
Danger Twink
by Randy MacAnus
© 2023 All Rights Reserved By The Author
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This is fantasy. I try to make my stories seem at least plausible. For example the depiction of Greenwich Village in the late 1960s is as accurate as my memory allows. But none of this ever happened. At least not to me. I should be so lucky.
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Chapter 1
“You're sure that's him?”
“Not a doubt in my mind, Mike. That's the bastard that mugged
me.”
I took a picture of the guy with the telephoto lens on my 35mm
SLR camera. If this was the right guy, he had mugged and/or
raped a half dozen gay men—that I knew of. Men who were my
friends. He had taken their wallets, and later, with their addresses
in hand had likely been the one who robbed their apartments.
My name is Mike. I'm long since retired, but back in 1967, I had a
little side business, finding, whoring out, and enslaving gay
bashers, who took advantage of the gay community in New York
City.
This was before Stonewall. Gay men were very vulnerable. Being
outed would often cost them their jobs. We never went to the
police for anything. The police in Greenwich Village (and the city
as a whole) were predators, as far as my friends and I were
concerned.
So unless hospitalization was required, we never called the cops,
if we were robbed or assaulted. A gay man in the back of a squad
car could expect to have to bribe his way out of a trumped up
charge, with cash, and often with a blow job. And servicing a cop
was never fun, back then.
And there were criminals who knew all this, and took full
advantage. If they didn't beat you bad enough to put you in the
hospital, they were just about guaranteed to get away with whatever they did.
So I decided to do something about it. It was risky. I had to make
myself vulnerable. And since I was a twink back then, people
thought I couldn’t take care of myself. But my friends knew better.
It’s why my nickname at the time, was Danger Twink.
This particular piece of shit would either pretend to be a hustler, or
just come on to someone who was clearly gay. Once they were in
a reasonably quiet place, he might get himself a blow job, then
either knock the man out, or pull a knife and demand his wallet.
Guys fell into the trap, because he was so damn beautiful. He was
over18, but I figured under 21. He often picked up his victims in
gay bars. This wasn't a problem for him, because at the time, the drinking age in New York was 18.
He was a classic young stud. Six feet, 180 pounds, defined but
lean, with black hair and big blue eyes. Didn't have to shave yet.
He was very masculine, without having to work at it.
He clearly thought of himself as straight, and the blow jobs he
received may well have been a power trip for him. He was almost
never passive, preferring to fuck his victim's throat brutally, before
knocking him out and taking his wallet.
I knew that he had accepted a couple of blow jobs passively from
young, good looking tops, who would never have tolerated having
their throats fucked. These were men who always insisted on
being in control. But they paid a price. They were the ones who
were beaten the worst. He had even risked putting a couple of
them in the hospital.
We followed the little bastard for a couple of hours, until he went
to his apartment. Now we knew where he lived. He was staying in
a weekly rent hotel in the village. Good. No one there would care,
or be especially surprised, when he simply “moved out.”
I continued to watch him over the next two weeks. He didn't have
a job. Not a surprise. He also didn't seem to have any friends.
Certainly not a girl friend (or boy friend.) I saw him rob an
apartment of a friend of mine he had mugged about a week before.
This was the guy.
As good looking as he was, he would have been remembered, so
he never went to the same bar twice. And he rarely went to a bar
in the village. Instead he went to gay neighborhoods in other parts
of Manhattan, to reduce the risk of being recognized.
I wanted him in the village, so I was going to have to approach
him on the street. He often ate at the diner on Sheridan Square,
and his walk home took him down Bleeker Street, past Marie's
Crisis and the original Duplex.
I was a very good looking young man myself, back then. I was a
21 year old muscle twink. Not bulky, but great definition.
Strawberry blond hair, big blue eyes about 5 foot 8 inches and
perhaps 140 pounds. Not an ounce of fat on me (then). I may
have looked vulnerable, but when it came to Gay Bashers, I was
pure predator. Very similar to the men he had been passive with.
I was and am, a total top. I was very well dressed, as were
virtually all of his victims.
I figured a big stud like that wasn't likely to feel threatened by a
little guy like me. And I was pretty darn adorable. It was easier for
his type to be passive with someone he didn't see as a true
challenge to his masculinity—or health. Plus, I actually looked
younger than he did.
I stood in the doorway to the Duplex waiting for him to walk by.
When I saw him coming, I made like I was just leaving the bar,
and heading to Marie's for a nightcap.
I made eye contact with him, and said, “Hey good looking, how
about I buy you a drink, before I fuck your brains out?”
I got just the reaction I wanted. A flicker of anger, maybe even
rage in his eyes, before he got that under control.
He looked directly down into my eyes and quietly said, “I don't do
anal, and I don't give head. I might let you blow me, if you make it
worth my while.”
“Well, what do you know? The pretty teen stud is a top.” (Another
flash of anger in his eyes.)
“I tell you what, sweetie. I will blow you, and you won't have to
do anything in return, but I will be in total control of our
encounter. You will be passive. If you try to fuck my throat, I'll
kick your ass. (He smirked at that. He wouldn't have, had he
known I was a black belt.) And you are going to be naked. And
my hands and mouth are going to roam your entire body. And you
are going to hold a nice display position throughout our little adventure.”
I absolutely loved the cold stare I was getting from him! He took a
very long moment sizing me up, before responding.
“I don't think you can afford what I would charge for that.”
“Try me.”
“$100.”
Keep in mind, that in 1967, giving a good looking teen a blow job
would typically cost five bucks.
But I didn't bat an eye.
“Sure. You still want that drink?”
“Or two.”
I grinned, put my hand on his shoulder, and led him into Marie's.
It was a quiet Tuesday, and still early, before the piano player
started, so the tables and stools were out.
“What do you drink?”
“With you buying? Remy Martin.”
I laughed. “Sure, kid no problem. Just don't tell me you want to
screw up a fine Cognac with a coke chaser.”
The kid actually smiled. Too bad he was such a shit. He had a nice
smile. I returned with the drinks, and we sat in silence for several
minutes. Apparently, he wasn't used to his marks being quiet,
because he was getting a bit antsy.
Perhaps as a result of his obvious anxiety, he drank his two drinks
a bit too quickly. His pretty blue eyes were now slightly glazed.
Finally he said, “I don't know about this. Being naked with a
stranger. And what's a display position?”
“You keep that hot studly body of yours fully open to me. You
keep your hands behind your head, elbows out to the side, and
your legs at least shoulder width apart at all times. What will
make you more comfortable about being naked?”
“Not at your place or mine, and not in public. And what if I forget
to hold the position?”
“You follow all my rules, then no problem. If you disobey me, you
will either accept whatever painful punishment I choose, or you
won't get paid.”
That brought him up short. He clearly had no interest in any form
of pain... at least not pain for him. He also had no interest in not
getting paid. Ironic, as he intended to steal whatever I had in my
wallet anyway.
“I'm not into that.”
“If I'm going to pay top dollar, the last thing I'm going to care
about is what you're into. But I tell you what. You wear a spreader
bar between your legs, and a collar with wrist restraints to prevent
you from grabbing my head, and you won't be able to leave the
display position or have to worry about punishment. And I
promise to get you off twice.”
“Naked?”
“Of course.”
“Now I want $200!”
It was a test. I didn't bat an eye.
“Deal. But not a hotel. The adult book store down the street has a
basement where guys go to fuck and suck. I know the guy who
works the night shift. There is a private room we can use. More of
a closet really, but the door locks. And he has the restraints, so I
won't have to go home to get mine.”
“I gotta think about it.”
“Don't take too long.”
With that, I pulled a pill case out of my pocket, took out a pill, and
pretended to swallow it. I palmed it and put it back in the pill case
then took a drink of my water chaser.
“What was that?” He seemed very interested.
“It's a muscle relaxer called Soma. Mellows me out.”
“I want one.”
“Okay.”
I handed him the pill I hadn't taken, and the rest of my water
chaser. He swallowed it right down. I had about a half hour before
it really kicked in. You see Soma is a muscle relaxer, used to
relieve spasms. And it reacts with alcohol. In about thirty minutes
the kid's muscles would turn to rubber, and he would be as woozy
and confused as he would have been after at least a half dozen
drinks.
Kids... Am I Right?
“Okay, but no restraints.”
“If you hold the position, fine. If you fail, and you want to avoid
considerable pain, you will submit to restraints.”
After a long pause, during which we never broke eye contact:
“Okay.”
“Let's go.”
It wasn't a question. I wasn't asking permission. It was already
clear the kid could be dominated if he thought there was
something in it for him. In fact, I began to suspect there was a
strong submissive streak that he was trying desperately to bury.
Sure enough, he got up and allowed me to put my arm around his
waist and lead him out the door.
I brought him to the back door of the book store for two reasons.
First, I couldn't have brought him in the front. In 1967, you could
drink at 18, but you couldn't go into an adult bookstore until you
were 21. Then, as now, laws and regulations can be more than a
little inconsistent.
Second, I didn't want him to be seen. As good looking as he was,
he would be unforgettable in this environment. There was always
the chance someone out there might report him missing. If that
happened, I didn't want a trail.
My buddy let us in. I told him what I needed in the way of
restraints and toys. He grinned, led us to the closet, and went to
fetch what I had asked for. He had been expecting us, of course,
but I didn't know what, if any gear I would need, until things had
played out.
The building was over a century old and very well made. The play
area was in the basement. The basement walls were solid rock, as
was our little room. Everything was painted black. The high closet
ceiling had a single bare bulb hanging overhead. The closet was
separate from the play area. It was on the first floor, in the back.
The closet had a shower head, a drain in the floor and a slop sink,
but nothing else. The cleaning stuff was kept in a separate closet.
As the kid looked around, more than a little spooked, my buddy
knocked on the door and left. Sitting outside the door was the
gear I'd asked for. I grabbed the items I'd described to my teen
victim, and left the rest outside the door.
“Hey, I'm not too sure about this. This place is really creepy.”
“$200.”
“I want the money now!”
“My wallet is with my friend, for safe keeping. Assume the position.
If you hold it, you won't be wearing these restraints.”
He relaxed a little when I said that. Except for the shivering. I
began by kneeling in front of him. With me on my knees, he
relaxed a bit. This was less intimidating for him. Slowly, I began
to undress him. By the time I stood, it would already be too late
for him.
I removed his shoes and socks. He lifted each foot for me. He
leaned back against the wall, and seemed to relax a bit. I still had
about ten or fifteen minutes before the Soma kicked in.
I unbuckled his belt, and unbuttoned his 501s, pulling them down
to his ankles. He started breathing harder, and did not lift his feet
for me. So I pulled his white briefs down to his ankles as well. He
still didn't lift his feet. He just leaned against the wall, his eyes
closed, and let out a little moan. I wasn't going to force his feet up.
“Lift your right foot.”
There was nothing to be gained by resisting me. He lifted his right
foot, and I pulled his jeans and shorts from his ankle. The process
was now repeated with the left. At that moment, the only thing he
was wearing was his white tee shirt. It was the last piece of
clothing he would ever wear, and the last moment he wore it.
I looked up into his pretty blue eyes, and said, “Remove your
shirt.”
Slowly, he complied. I took his clothes, and placed them all in the
slop sink.
I got back on my knees in front of him, and sure enough he made
the mistake I was waiting for. He grabbed my head. Force of habit,
perhaps. I removed his hands from my head and stood.
“I warned you what would happen if you failed to hold the display
position. But I will cut you some slack. If you agree to restraints
instead of severe pain, I will only use the collar and wrist
restraints. You kept your feet shoulder width, so I won’t use the
spreader bar—yet.”
After a long hesitation, he agreed. I turned around and grabbed the
collar and wrist restraints. Looking into his eyes, I ordered him to
hold out his hands. He swallowed hard, then complied. I attached
the wrist restraints, already locked to the collar, then slowly
moved the collar to his neck, and padlocked it in place. We never
broke eye contact. It was very satisfying, watching the look in his
eyes transition from lust to fear.
“Stand up straight. Keep your hands behind your head, elbows
out to the side at all times. Failure to obey will mean severe pain
or further restraint.”
His eyes flashed anger, but he wisely chose to say nothing. He did
as instructed. He had a magnificent body, and clearly felt he was
still the one who was really in control. His overconfidence in his
physical dominance, and the fact he knew my wallet was with my
buddy, were the only things that kept me in control without
resorting to violence.
He had a good looking circumcised dick, slightly above average in
size and girth. It wasn't hard yet, so I would have to wait and see
what arose. To his surprise, I remained on my feet. If he was
expecting that I would just drop to me knees and blow him, he
was going to be very disappointed.
I remained standing, with my hands slowly rubbing his six pack,
while my mouth and teeth were working his nips, one at a time. I
heard a sharp intake of breath, any time I nibbled. He was
breathing harder now, still holding the position, and looking at me
in surprise. Perhaps no one had actually worked his nips before.
Finally, the Soma kicked in. I saw his eyes glaze over. Balance
had become an issue for him, and he could only lean against the
wall. I went to the door and retrieved the bag with the rest of the
toys.
“Open your mouth wide.”
He looked dazed and confused, but complied. I inserted a ball gag
and buckled it behind his head. As he was no longer in a position
to object, I placed the spreader bar between his ankles.
He panicked a little at that, but a hard look from me settled him
down. He realized he was helpless, and no one but me and my
buddy had any idea where he was, or cared. He began to
whimper. I found this amusing.
His hard, helpless, naked body was now on full display, for my
personal pleasure. Other than pits and pubes, his body was
hairless. He didn't even need to shave yet. Soon the pits and pubes
would be permanently removed. Pussy boy sex slaves don't get to
have body hair, if I own them.
“You need to listen very carefully to what I am about to tell you.
You have a decision to make. It will affect the rest of your life. Are
you listening?”
His eyes had grown wide as I spoke. He nodded his head at my
question.
“My friends and I know who you are. We have been following you
for the last two weeks. It’s bad enough that you have been robbing
my friends. But you have also been beating on them. In a number
of cases, they’ve wound up in the hospital.”
I could see the panic in his eyes. Good. There needed to be no
question in his mind, that he was in deep poop.
“You’re a loner. As far as we can tell, we could do anything we
want with you, and no one would know or care. And we believe
you will richly deserve whatever happens to you. You have no
good options. You don’t deserve any options. But we are going to
give you options. You will hate them all. But you will have to pick
one. Do you understand?”
He nodded. I saw both terror and hope flickering through his eyes.
This pleased me.
“You have been careful to pick victims who would never report
your crimes, because they are vulnerable to losing their jobs and
being beaten and harassed by the police, and other gay bashers
like you. It’s the only reason you’re not in prison, where you
belong. And a young pretty boy like you in prison, would be gang
fucked daily. You know that, right?”
He nodded.
“I took your room key and storage locker key out of your pants.
My other friends will soon be cleaning out everything in that
weekly rent room of yours. And because we’ve been following
you, we know where your storage locker is. By this time
tomorrow, everything you have will be gone. It’s all stolen, so
where possible, the stuff you took will be returned to the rightful
owners. By this time tomorrow night, you will have nothing.
You’ve never had a job or friends. And you won’t have money,
belongings, or even clothes. Your only asset will be that hot naked
body of yours.”
The look on his face was priceless!
“You are going to suffer for your crimes. But we can’t just call the
police. They would shut this place down, and likely arrest
everyone here. That’s the kind of thing you’ve been counting on to
keep you out of prison. But there are other ways to punish you.”
It amused me to see that his dick was getting hard. Did our total
top, gay bashing thief really have a submissive streak?
“No matter what choice you make, you will find yourself at the
mercy of others. I should add that actual mercy will be in very
short supply.”
His dick got harder.
“Choice number one: We put you on the street near The Anvil, just
as you are—naked, bound and gagged. We call the police, to
report a naked pervert. They arrest you. If you are lucky you won’t
be beaten. It will be a surprise to me, if you don’t have to suck off
at least one cop on your way to jail. You will be charged with
indecent exposure, and lewd conduct at the very least. You will be
sent to Riker’s Island prison. Depending on the judge and their
mood, it could be for anywhere from 30 to 90 days. You can
expect to be taking a whole lot of cock in both ends.”
He started to hyperventilate.
“When you are released, they will give you something to wear. It
may not include underwear and socks, and it probably won’t fit
very well. You will have no money and no place to live. If you’ve
been beaten and bruised, or you are fucked out, you won’t even be
able to get a pimp. Your picture will have been posted in every gay
bar in town. Your scam won’t work any more.”
He began to moan softly.
“The police will take your fingerprints. You will have a record as a
sex pervert. If you are wanted elsewhere, they will find that out,
when they run your prints. You will have no money, so you won’t
even be able to buy a bus ticket out of the city. Any time one of my
friends finds you, they will strip you naked and leave you for the
police all over again.”
A tear began to run down his cheek.
“Do you like that Option?”
He shook his head no.
“Option number two: I leave you here in the custody of my buddy,
to be trained as a submissive whore. The men in the basement will
have use of you, until the consensus is, that you have become an
elite cocksucker, and an excellent pussy boy. You will remain
naked, collared and restrained the entire time you are here. When
your skill levels are where we want them, you will be sold to a
pimp.”
He began to tremble.
“You will be his property. He will house and feed you, but you
will receive no money. If he gives you anything to wear, it will be
minimal and very slutty. Once you are too old or too fucked out to
earn your keep, he will dump your ass in the street. Depending on
how good a whore you have been, he might give you something to
wear. Or you could find yourself naked on the street, and facing
option one. Do you like that option?”
He shook his head no.
“Do you prefer it to option one?”
He nodded. Good. Progress. He’s willing to make a choice.
“Option 3: I train you to be a sex slave. You agree that you are my
property to use in any way I please. My friends and I will use
you. Whether you get used by the men in the basement of this
place, will depend on your attitude and how fast you are learning
to be a bottom bitch boy. If you are not learning fast enough, I will
bring you here, where there are a lot more cocks for you to
practice on.”
He whimpered, then nodded. And his dick began to drip!
“You will remain naked and bound. Once you are trained to my
standards, instead of selling you to a pimp, I will sell you at
auction to an individual. You will belong to the highest bidder, no
matter who he is, and no matter what he plans to do with and to
you. No one will ever see you again. The bidders I invite are
wealthy, and all live overseas—mainly in third world countries. In
those countries, slavery is technically illegal, but if you were to
escape somehow, the police would return you to your owner, for a
reward.”
His eyes went wide, as he realized there would be no possible
escape. The reality of a lifetime of slavery was sinking in.
“Your owner will probably not be white. An Arab, or a Black
African are the most likely possibilities. The Asians who bid will
not be buying you as a personal slave. They will give you female
hormones, and tits, to turn you into what they call a lady boy. You
ill work in an Asian whorehouse for years, before being sold off. I
ave no idea what your new owner will want from you, and I don’t
care.”
Tears were running down his cheeks. I found out later, that in
addition to being a homophobe, he was also a racist. Not a
surprise, and very satisfying.
“If you are purchased by an Arab, he will almost certainly have
your cock and balls cut off. That way, when you no longer interest
him, he can make you an attendant for his harem, without you
being able to fuck his wives. Even if you get to keep your cock
and balls, you won’t have any use for them. In fact you can expect
to be severely punished, any time you have an orgasm. Do you
understand?”
His eyes grew very wide, and he began to tremble. But he
eventually nodded.
“That’s a lot of information to process. I will give you a few
minutes to think everything through, while I get rid of your
clothes.”
He whimpered as I retrieved his clothes from the slop sink, and
walked out the door. I gave them to my buddy, (whose name is
actually Buddy,) and updated him on the situation. After about ten
minutes, I returned to the closet.
“I am going to remove the ball gag. If you scream, no one will
hear you, and no one here would care or interfere if they did. But
a scream would annoy me, and there will be severe punishment if
I hear one. Understood?”
He nodded. I removed the ball gag and he remained quiet.
“Do you have any questions?”
“Could you maybe just sell me to an American White man?”
“Not a chance. As far as I’m concerned, any of these options are
still better than what you deserve. And I don’t really care which
one you choose. Any other questions?”
He shook his head.
“Have you made a choice?”
He nodded.
“Which option will you take?”
“To be your slave.”
“Why?”
“At least I’ll have a roof over my head and food. And I figure if a
an is going to pay money for me, he’ll probably at least keep me
healthy.”
“Do you have any family or friends that would look for you?”
He shook his head.
“Very well. From this moment you are, at your own request, my
property. You have no rights. You no longer have options. From
this moment you will address me as ‘Master’, and all other men as
‘Sir’. You will remain naked and collared, quite possibly for the
rest of your life. No matter what I, or any future owner does with
you or to you, I expect you to submit without hesitation or
attitude. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Master.”
I lowered him to his knees. He did not resist. I pushed his head
back, warned him to maintain eye contact at all times, pulled out
my rock hard seven inches, and placed the head in his mouth. He
took about half of it into his mouth and sucked on it a little. I was
not amused. I grabbed the back of his head and shoved my man
rammer down his throat. He panicked and began to struggle.
“If you’re a good boy, and satisfy me with your mouth and tongue,
I’ll pull back into your mouth and let you breathe.”
He nodded compliance.
He sucked—and by that, I mean he was awful at cock sucking.
Not really a surprise. He had never done it before. And were it
not for the mess he had gotten himself into, it’s likely that he
never would have. He made the mistake of looking down, so I
took the opportunity to pull out my Polaroid camera.
“Look at me!”
He looked up, and I took a Polaroid of him naked, restrained, and
on his knees, with my dick in his mouth. A man losing his oral
virginity should have it documented!
He pulled back, and said, “What the fuck?!”
“Didn’t you want the moment you became a cocksucker
documented for all time?”
“Fuck no!”
“Too bad. You’re a slave now. And you clearly need training, boy.
Your lack of skill and interest are very disappointing. At the rate
you’re going, I’ll either have to fuck your throat, or do without an
orgasm. Ask me to fuck your throat, or I will take you into the
play room, and give you to anyone and everyone who wants use
you.”
His fate was beginning to become reality for him. I could see it in
his eyes. The panic and despair were palpable.
He gulped and pleaded, “Please Master, fuck my throat. I’ll work
hard and learn to be better for you. I promise!”
“Prove it!”
And finally, he began to make an effort. Unskilled, but
determined. I gave him about 30 seconds before I penetrated his
throat. He gagged of course. I gave him instructions for getting his
gag reflex under control. It took him some time, but slowly he
made adequate progress. This pleased me. I didn’t want him
barfing on my dick.
And now, when I pulled back into his throat, he was making a real
effort to use his tongue to please. I continued instructing him. He
listened and learned. It took him a good twenty minutes, but he
finally got me off—and swallowed without being told to.
Apparently, getting gang banged by 20 or 30 strangers in a public
playroom was not at the top of his list of favorite pastimes. Maybe
that would change once he’d had that experience—not that I
cared.
“Better. Not good enough, but you’ll get plenty of practice. If you
listen to the instructions you receive, and act on them, as you did
just now, you will reduce the number of cocks you have to suck
during your training. In any event you are now officially a
cocksucker.”
He blushed furiously, and looked down at my feet.
“Did I give you permission to break eye contact slave? That’s
twice now! Clearly, you need to be punished.”
His head snapped back up, and gave me a frightened and pleading
look. He had the good sense not to speak. I put the ball gag back
in his mouth, raised him up, then bent him over the slop sink. As
he quietly whimpered. I pulled a paddle out of the toy bag, and
went to work on that amazing ass.
Personally, I wanted him to hate everything I did to him. He was
being punished after all. Hate it, but always obey. (Or better yet,
hate it until he likes it!) He would eventually figure out that no
matter how awful he thought things were, they could always get
worse.
After twenty smacks to each cheek, he was a sobbing mess. I had
he pleasure of pointing out to him that his dick was hard. (Turned
out he was shower, not a grower. 4 inches soft, 4 inches hard.) If
he found pain erotic, it would make it easier and more enjoyable
to fuck with his head. I enjoy that almost as much as fucking a
hot body! And speaking of fucking…
“Slave it’s time to turn your butt hole into a boy pussy. When I
remove your ball gag, I expect you to ask me very politely to fuck
your ass.”
I removed the gag, interested to see how much push back I would
receive. But he was learning fast.
“Please Master, may I have the privilege of being fucked by your
amazing cock.”
I didn’t really think he meant it, but I heard no sarcasm in his
request, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt—and the benefit of
my cock! I put the ball gag back in his mouth.
I didn’t want to wreck that fantastic ass. I was costing myself
enough money, just by taking his anal virginity. People pay more
at auction for virgins. So I began with lubed fingers, until his boy
pussy was relaxed. Then I lubed my cock and slowly entered that
wonderful ass.
His whimpering turned to a sustained moan of agony as my cock
penetrated his sphincter. And I never stopped slowly pushing. By
the time I was balls deep he was back to whimpering. I gave him
a good two minutes to adjust. And I gave him instructions during
that time.
“Your only purpose in life is to give pleasure to your owner, and
anyone he tells you to please. Do you understand?”
He nodded as he whimpered.
“That pleasure could take any form he wishes—from serving his
cock, to performing humiliating tasks, to causing you pain. And
you will always do your very best to please, won’t you?”
He nodded again, as tears streamed down his cheeks.
“When being fucked, your only thought should be how best to
please the man using you. To do that you will never fight the
penetration of a cock into the body your Master owns. You will
relax whichever hole is being used, to show your enthusiasm at
being penetrated. When a cock in your ass is pulling back, you
will squeeze down as hard as you can. This will increase the
intensity of pleasure for the man you are serving, and prove how
grateful you are to be filled with a real man’s cock. Do you
understand?”
Again, he nodded. He even made a feeble attempt at saying, “Yes,
Master” through the ball gag.
I slowly pulled back, and was pleased that he was making an
effort to squeeze down. As soon as I started to push back in, he
relaxed, allowing easy penetration. He wasn’t as good as he was
going to be when my friends and I were through with him, but it
was a good beginning. And it showed real progress in changing
his attitude.
I had fucked his throat first, because I wanted the ass fucking to
last. And I wanted him to cum. If he reached an orgasm without
his dick being touched, that would really fuck with his head. And
it would give him motivation to continue learning and improving
his skills.
I slowly picked up the pace, and my newly minted pussy boy
began to moan. I was hitting his prostate with every stroke, and
his cock was once again, rock hard and dripping.
As I began to really plow his ass, he began to push back hard with
every penetration. And as he reached his orgasm, he let out a
satisfying wail of ecstasy and regret. I later found that he believed
that having an orgasm, from being fucked by another man, and
with nothing touching his dick, meant he had to be a gay bottom
boy—something he had almost violently denied to himself since
puberty. He knew nothing about the prostate. And I chose to leave
him in the dark on that subject!
I had him return to his knees, and lick my cock and balls clean. He
wasn’t exactly enthusiastic, but he didn’t hesitate, and did a
workmanlike job.
“So how does it feel to officially be a submissive little pussy
boy?”
A small sob escaped his lips. He couldn’t look up at me. I decided
he needed more training. Buddy had been very helpful in getting
this bastard off the street, and I figured he deserved a treat.
“You need more practice, slave. You remember my buddy, who let
us in? Well, he’s going to use you next. If he is satisfied with your
efforts, I may, or may not, decide to let you sleep for the rest of the
night. If he is not satisfied, your next stop will be the play room.”
Clearly, the thought of a trip to the play room was a real motivator
for my new slave.
“I’ll do my best, Master.”
Part of Buddy’s salary was free rent on a small studio apartment at
the back of the store. I covered the store for him for the next two
hours, as he made good use of our new slave. When he returned he
looked tired and happy.
“That boy has potential!” Buddy enthused.
“Do you think he needs to be sent to the playroom?”
“Of course, but not tonight. He has a lot to figure out. Before I
used him, I put his clothes in the fireplace and burned them, while
he watched. I’m pretty sure that broke him. He’s still got a lot to
learn about giving real men pleasure, but he’s trying, listening and
learning. I fucked his throat first, then his ass, then went back to
his throat. Toward the end, he got his gag reflex under better
control, and buried his nose in my pubes. I figure you should use
him again tonight, then let him sleep. I’m pretty sure he’ll be
completely compliant when we take him down to the playroom
tomorrow night.”
“Did he cum when you fucked him?”
“Oh, hell yes! No way I was going to cum before he did. What
better way to get him addicted to cock?”
I grinned and nodded, then headed to Buddy’s little apartment.
That nasty-ass gay basher was looking positively delicious! He
was lying face up on Buddy’s bed, collared, with his wrists
restrained to the D ring on the back, and his legs held wide open
by the spreader bar. He was ball-gagged, and holding his elbows
out to the side, as instructed. And as I opened the door his cute
little dick went hard.
“I’m going to fuck your boy pussy again. I expect you to maintain
eye contact the whole time. The punishment you received the last
time you broke eye contact will be doubled if you fail again.”
His eyes went wide at the thought, and he nodded understanding. I
had fucked him while he was bent over the slop sink. Buddy had
fucked him doggy style. Now he would be on his back with his
legs up by his ears. I grabbed the spreader bar, and pushed it up
above his head.
I had lubed my cock before entering the room. So I was able to
enter my slave immediately. He drew in a deep breath when he felt
my cock touch his entrance. And he relaxed and pushed back, as
he had been taught. I made a slow steady penetration until my
pubes were touching those hot, tight butt cheeks.
That took his breath away, and caused a moaning whimper. It also
caused his little cock to plump up. I was sure, by the time his
training was complete, that our former gay bashing thief, was
going to be an enthusiastic, submissive cock hound.
I looked into those pretty blue eyes, and saw a whole range of
emotions. But as his fucking progressed, his eyes glazed over into
a state of pure lust. I varied my pace over at least a half hour. By
then he was begging me to fuck him harder, never forgetting to
call me Master.
I’d had him on edge for at least 15 minutes, when I finally decided
it was time. I began pounding his ass relentlessly, powering my
man meat in and out of his boy pussy, as he moaned and begged
for more. As he got close, I rolled his ass up higher, so that his
cock was directly over his face. Finally, he shot his load all over
his face and into his mouth.
As I shot my load into his guts, he whimpered and said, “Thank
you Master.”
I fed him the cum that had landed on his face, and he ate it without
complaint. His facial expression indicated he didn’t like it one bit,
but he made no effort to avoid it. He also made no effort to avoid
cleaning my cock and balls with his tongue, as I sat on his face.
I came away feeling that good progress had been made in training
the pretty punk. Buddy, myself, and a couple more friends would
use him during the day, tomorrow. His progress would have to be
remarkable, if he was going to avoid a trip to the playroom
tomorrow night.
I inserted the ball gag. Then I attached a strap around his ball sac,
and a leash to the strap. It was truly enjoyable watching him
waddle down the hall, because of the spreader bar. I led him back
to the closet by his balls, and chained his collar to a leg of the slop
sink. The chain was short. He wouldn’t even be able to sit up.
“This is where you’ll sleep tonight. You will be locked in. Slaves
don’t deserve to sleep in a bed.”
He nodded, a defeated look on his face. I turned out the light,
leaving him in total darkness, and locked the door. Today had been
a painful and terrifying shock for him. Tomorrow would be worse.
**********
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to write. And I certainly don't mind constructive criticism. It's how I learn.
Ideas and suggestions are also welcome.
You can email me at: rmacanus@email.com
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