Dominus
by Mark Angle
Legal Disclaimer: This story contains explicit sexual content. If this offends you, or if it is illegal for you to access such con- tent, please do not read. This story is fictional in every way. The characters in this story are not based on real people, alive or dead, and the events in this story are not based on real life events that the author has been a part of or seen. Any similari- ties in names or descriptions are purely coincidental.
The author grants the Nifty Archive a non-exclusive, worldwide, royalty-free, perpetual, and non-cancelable license to display the work.
If you like this story and want me to continue it, let me know at markangle@hotmail.co.uk or at http://www.markangle.org .
I have written several other stories for Nifty. The most recent one was Worshipping Daddy at http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/worshipping-daddy/
NOTICE: Gentlemen, please keep in mind that this, like all of my works, is a work of fiction. It is not modeled on any actual events and it is not intended to be taken literally.
When I was fifteen, the man who owned me gambled me away. Until that time, I had mostly done menial work, mostly cleaning and carrying things, but my new owner had other things in mind. I was given a cell and no work to do. I was just encouraged to exer- cise. I didn't see the point of it at first. After a few days, I was sent to a room in the villa I'd never been into before. I was told to be there naked. My owner was wearing a leather harness. He told me to stay standing where I was. He came behind me, held me against him with his left arm. His hold was tight and control- ling, almost brutal; it felt good. With his right hand, he start- ed masturbating me. I could feel his strong and powerful body be- hind me and his energetic hand squeezing and rubbing me penis. I didn't know what the point of all of this was.
Eventually, I climaxed. I shot my semen across the room. I was a bit out of breath. When that was done, he pushed me towards a wall. There chains and metal wrist bands attached to it. He had me chained to the wall and whipped me. I knew I was not being punished. Why bring me to orgasm first if I were to be punished? He had given me no reason for his action. Just like when he had masturbated me, there was an energy and force in his whipping I had not expected. He didn't use a thin, sharp whip. I was more like a thick, flogging strap. Then he used an actual flogger. At each blast I was pushed hard against the wall. I could smell the moisture in the wall at first. Then, I started feeling the heat in my skin. Then, I could smell the leather. And finally, I could smell the manly scent of my owner. The next thing I expected to feel was my blood running down my back.
But there was no blood. Never. My owner flogged and whipped about once a week, and not once did I bleed. The other slaves said that our master loved us and cared for us and did not want to damage us. I could indeed see that all of them were in perfect health. That was also why he never whipped anyone more than once a week. He wanted the skin to heal. After each whipping, I was to kneel before him and kiss his feet. At first, it was just a motion I went through mechanically. I kissed his feet like I would have risen my arm. But after a few weeks, something started to change in my mind and I became grateful to him. I'm not sure why. Come to think of it, I really was treated well. My cell was comfort- able. At least it was as comfortable as I could expect. We were well fed. A tutor spent a few hours every day to teach us writ- ing, logic and geometry. And when I kissed my owner's feet, past the first few times, I felt genuine gratitude. I suppose that the way I kissed his feet changed because of that. I spent more time and more care on it.
After about three months, something else changed. One time, my owner did not masturbate me before whipping me. I did not know why. He flogged me for about an hour, interrupting the flogging to caress the flesh on my back. He held his palm against it to feel the heat he'd caused, without saying a word and without ex- pecting me to speak. Each time he ran the tip of his finger against my sensitized skin and quiver. He never seemed to even notice. He seemed to treat me like a instrument and not like a person. I didn't mind. There was some sort of pleasure in it. I was erect for most of it. Again, it didn't seem to make a differ- ence to him whether I was erect or not. After he was done, he un- chained me and took me to his bed. He held me in his arms and kissed me. It felt good. He spanked me and slapped me. I held him against me in gratitude. Then, he put oil on my anus and on his penis and possessed me sexually. That had never happened to me. But it felt good and natural and I was grateful to him.
I had a rather dark tone of skin, black hair and no body hair. I noticed that most of the other boys he owned were similar. All of them were between the ages of thirteen and sixteen. I asked them how come they were all that age. Our owner was in his forties and he seemed to have had his habits set for a long time. Surely they could not all have come to be his property that recently. I was told that he rarely keeps his boys after the age of sixteen. I was bought at the age of fifteen. That probably meant I would have to be sold soon.
Then, I realized something. A few months ago, I had just been good at cleaning and carrying things. Now, I could read and write a bit. I knew how to reason and I knew how to please a man. My worth had considerably increased. The next person who bought me would most likely treat me well to protect his investment. My current owner had given me a degree of safety in life. I loved him more for it.
Even though we were well treated and educated, our owner rarely spoke to us directly. The most he told us was usually instruc- tions on how he wanted to whip us, or how he wanted us to behave in bed with him. Not all of the ten or so boys in the household went to bed with him. That seemed to indicate that I stood out in some way.
Some time, our owner had guests. We were told to line up and he, as well as each of his guests, picked one of us to whip and flog. I learned to distinguished a skilled man from an amateur. When our owner whipped us, it felt good and safe, even when it hurt. When a less skilled man whipped us, it felt bad and unpre- dictable.
Six months after I arrived, still at the age of fifteen, I was sold to a fifty year-old man, my new owner, my dominus. He was very tall, very muscular, had blond hair and a blond beard. I was brought to him and my current owner while they negotiated me. I was surprised to learn that one of the causes of my price was my sharp mind, my youthful flawless body, my eagerness to serve, the pleasure I took in the presence of a man and my ability to quick- ly learn the techniques of the mind and the flesh. My new owner was recommended to keep both my mind and my body exercised if he wanted to make the best out of his transaction. I was sold for many times the price I had expected to be sold. If my old owner was not sincere, at least he was astute: he had made a gigantic profit in my person. On reflection, I think he was sincere and that, in the mind of men who had bought and sold me, the price was fair.
My new owner did not wait for a few days to use me, like the pre- vious one did. When we got back to his villa, he undressed me and immediately had anal sex with me. However, he forbade me to cli- max. He said that if he ever even suspected that I had climaxed without his permission, the consequences would be dire. He was a tall, big, muscular, hairy man. His threat felt real. It could mean anything being from imprisoned in the villa to being killed. It made me afraid enough not to try anything that was forbidden. But even though he had terrified me, I did not like him less for it, somehow.
His penis was very large. His movements when he penetrated me were a bit slow but more than made up for it in energy. Every time she pushed his penis inside of me, I felt the full force of his body against mine. He, unlike me, did climax. I was ordered to keep all of his semen inside of me. My own penis was as erect as it had ever been. He shouted at me when I just tried to touch it. He said that this penis was now his and if I touched it, he would have me beaten for theft.
I felt more aroused than I had ever been when he said that. I asked if I could lick his feet in gratitude. He petted my head and said I could. He sat on the side of the bed. I lay down on the floor by him and gently, started kissing and licking his feet. They smelled good. They smelled like a man's feet: a strong, rough, powerful, filling scent. I wanted to hump the floor, but I realized that this would most likely be forbidden as well. So, lying down on my side on the stone floor, I started humping the air as hard as I could. In my mind, I knew that I would gain no satisfaction from it, but I just needed to hump something.
My new owner said, "Transfer the desire you feel to perform pene- tration into your adoration of me. And use it to worship me by taking care of my feet, slave." And so I did. I rubbed my whole face on the palm of his feet. I slipped my tongue between his toes. I smelled them as deeply as I could and then regretted that I had licked them because that meant so much of my master's scent was now gone. I took small consolation knowing that their scent was still somewhere inside of me and I felt better for it.
But something else had happened. I cared and was grateful to my previous owner. But with this one, it was different. There was a stronger, deeper feeling now. I was grateful to my previous own- er, but I was more grateful to this one. It was something that defied reason. I felt that for this man, I would gladly sacrifice my life to save him if he needed me to. That I would cease to ex- ist if he disappeared. I didn't know where these notions came from, but I found my mind overflowing with them.
I started licking his feet kindly and lovingly. I took one in my hand and held it gently while covering it in small kisses. I whispered, "I'm grateful I'm your slave, Sir." And my master picked me up from the floor, lay me down on the bed against him and held me tight. So tight, in fact, for a second I thought he was going to break me. Then he fell asleep next to me, holing me with my back against his chest. I was too aroused to sleep, even though I was very tired, so I just stayed there, next to him. I told myself I was guarding him, protecting him just like I felt he was protecting me, and I concentrated on feeling the warmth of his skin against mine, wishing it could cover my whole body.
Do you want more? markangle@hotmail.co.uk