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Even The First - PART THREE
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START Even The First - PART THREE
[quote] The condition of the slave is to wait. [unquote]
I know that Paul will be back soon and need to have my work finished. He'll take some pleasure in the meal I'll place on his table. Whilst he eats it I'll kneel at his feet, waiting in case he needs anything. He might permit me to suck his cock while he eats. He might find fault with my work or behaviour. Whether it not, I'm sure to be punished. I expect it like a child expects it and I want it too, like only a slave wants it.
I feel ridiculous, knowing now as I do what a fool I've been, accepting Paul's diktat and demands whilst my own interests go by the wayside. I should have been protecting what is mine. Building my own resources. Instead I have towed the line, his line, his dray horse, his donkey, his beast of burden, his animal. Paul has always been in charge, but I was never given the choice. Even the first time we met, when we first met in the railway station café, when he told me to phone my mates and tell them I'd miss my train so I could go with him, and he could please his prick with me, he said. That's what I wanted more than anything, so I made the call and apologised when they were angry and when they said I should be sorry I said yes I was and I'd make it up to them for not having me to fuck around around with and suck their dicks at their party.
I came back from the call box frustrated by a feeling I could not identify. It wasn't sadness, though my mates had not been understanding - how could they understand when the explanation I had given them for not completing my trip was itself so incomplete and I'd broken my promise to them? I felt guilty, I suppose.
We had been intending to meet in Newcastle, where most of us lived before entering the forces, and we'd do like a boozy, sex-and-party weekend. Some like me had served their term and opted to return to civilian life. The rest were between assignments having signed another five years over to Her Majesty. It was a kind of celebration of survival, except that I wouldn't be there.
Nor would Squigger.
The guys were amazed to believe their mascot cocksucker, would not relish one more round for old times' sake. I had been marked for a marathon banging by the gang and they had been joking how I wouldn't be able to stand, how my intestines would bleed with their cum, how the imprint of their cocks would bruise my face and my anus would smart and drip for days after. They had the idea to ruin me for other men if by their group effort they could rip my sphincter permanently. "She'll have to wear a nappy!" they quipped.
But I wasn't scared cs I knew my mates and they knew me. They might not respect me as a man, exactly, but they respected me as a cocksucker and pigslut and they even admitted they thought of me when they fucked their wives, girlfriends, or other women. They said they'd miss my tight soft sensitive lips. They took to violence when they thought of me with any other man, they said, especially some poof - especially so some homosexual I might meet up with in a railway station café could use me to please his prick.
Paul let me have his hard wood in my mouth so my jaw hurt, all that night after we met.
He had his house in the suburbs.
When I'd made the call I came back to the table. Paul was staring off somewhere and when I got back he looked up at me like he'd forgotten all about me.
"Right let's be off," was all he said.
He stood up and pointed to his luggage which was on the floor beside him. "You carry that."
I picked up his suitcase and grabbed my bag which I slung over my back. It felt good to be useful.
Pauls car was in a carpark nearby. I followed him all the way there, never taking my eyes off his back. Paul walked purposefully ahead never once turning to see if I was following or keeping up. When we got to the car he popped the boot and left it open for me to load, then still without speaking he got into the driver's seat. I pushed the boot shut and went round to the passenger door and got in. Paul hadn't spoken so I didn't either. Paul sat for a moment and then he said, "Right, I'm going to show you something."
I wondered what it was.
I waited for him to speak.
Paul started the engine and backed slowly out. We drove out of the car park and onto the street. As we hit some traffic on the bypass Pail said, "Right, I want you to open my trousers and get it out."
I twisted awkwardly in my seat and prised his trousers open. I had to keep clear of the arm he used for changing gear. Paul said, "It's important you do as I say quickly. You can't afford to wait about."
I found his prick and pulled it, like a suitcase handle, free of his underwear.
"Have a care, son! I didn't say yank it."
I paused and then proceeded more carefully.
"Right," he said.
He pulled over to the kerb. People were walking by and I'm sure they could see it had they looked - but people never look, do they? Busy lives of course.
"Right, I want you to bend over here and gently - gently - just lick the tip. Get a flavour of it."
I did as I was told. There's was a bead of precum secreted on the tiny lips of his rose-coloured cockslit. I licked it off - "gently, there" - and swallowed it and the licked it again and kissed it. Paul's wood was thick and rock hard, with veins winding round it like vines. The purple glans slipped clear of his foreskin without my having to touch it. I felt strange just tapping it with my tongue and my lips, unable to put it completely in my mouth and fully enjoy it.
I put my fingers round it, just to support it, and felt the straining tissue holding it up protrude mechanistically along its dorsal. On its underside its throat was soft and smooth like throat of a young girl.
After a moment or two, Paul said, "Right. Leave it out."
I returned to my upright seating position without thinking.
"That's good."
Paul slipped the vehicle into gear and drove me to his home.
"You want to keep looking at it," Paul said as we drove. "Just learn it."
I didn't take my eyes off his penis for the entire journey and when we got home, his home, he stood in the garage for me to kneel and cocksucker him for a while. He didn't let himself cum though at one point he was fucking my face hard and nearly did. When he pulled my head away I was chocking and sweating and wanted to continue to serve him with a kind of mindless hunger that never got satisfied because he wouldn't let it. Ever.
"Stand up," he said. "Strip."
He watched steadily as I removed first my singlet, then my boots and socks, then my combats and briefs. I stood before him there in the garage completely naked. My penis was standing completely up and my balls were hanging from it in their silky bag.
"What are you looking at?" he said.
I was looking at his beautiful cock and I said so.
"That's good. Now look at me, look at my eyes."
I did as I was told. Paul was leaning back on the side of his car where he had been whilst I was blowing him. Now with a quick jerk of his hips he stood up and, keeping eye contact with me, stepped closer. He gripped my jaws and inspected my face and my head. He looked down and flicked my hardon with the back of his fingers. I tried not to react.
"Feel that?" "Yes Sir." "Good. Next time don't flinch." Had I? He flicked it a good many times until I didn't shake involuntarily each time. Then started to grope my balls and the space behind them between my legs. He was breathing audibly but gently.
"Like that. Right. Turn around so I can see your back side."
I did so.
"Bend forward and spread your legs."
I did as I was told.
"Spread your cheeks."
I grabbed my arse with my hands and pulled the two halves apart so that he could see what kind of arsehole I had.
"On all fours. Open your cheeks."
I obeyed him, exhibiting my arsehole to him by spreading my legs, pressing on my knees and toes, arching my back and lowering my chest. Opening. I felt him touch it with his fingertip and press it, but he didn't go in, though now I wanted him to do it. My hole was begging for his prick.
"Right," he said after a short pause during which he squatted behind me, held my buttocks apart and stretched my hole open and shut.
He stood and paced around me.
"You stink. There's a shower downstairs. Follow me."
There was a door connecting the garage to the rest of the house - the house where I was to spend so many years, cleaning, decorating, preparing meals, being Paul's slave, and being Paul's sexual machine. From that day in my life on I did not have a say in anything that I did, or felt, or knew. I was fully owned - though I thought I was just Paul's friend... I thought that everything I did was me choosing to please him on the grounds that pleasing him maximised my pleasure. Wrong. I was controlled and directed and conditioned by Paul in a long term and systematic way so that I was unaware of my obedience to every whim he had, every taste and every fantasy, and my pleasure was never part of it; that was just the bait. When I was fully enslaved I was no longer thinking about myself and I didn't matter. Paul didn't show much mercy. He didn't show any. I was broken for him to own, control, and humiliate. That was for his pleasure. And that was to come later.
There was a door in the hallway which led down to a basement room. In the dark I could not see what it was. Light from outside came through cracks in the ceiling and an air-brick glowed like a street lamp. Paul picked something up, a tube of some sort and did something, cs then water came out and he pointed it at me. Christ!! It was freezing!!
"Take it," he said, handing me the streaming hose. "Give yourself a good wash."
I took the hose from him and he stood back so as not to get splashed. He watched me squirt the freezing water over my body; snorting with cold I cleaned off the musk of travel. I made sure to wash my pits. I lifted my arms and rubbed my hands well into my hairy underarms. And my bush. I directed the jet over my pubes at my still cockroot and kneaded my hairy balls. It was exciting so much. I was used to discomfort and hardship in the army and the exhibitionism of the shower block, the towel flicking and fooling around, and I'm used to a cold shower, and it did nothing to soften me. In fact I was showing him my body like an exhibitionist and proud to feel his eyes upon me following my hands as I wiped them over my glossy rippled skin. All the time as I washed I was conscious of Paul looking at me. I wanted to show to Paul that this was something I could easily endure. The water made me laugh as it splashed over my chest and back. I rubbed it into my arms and tits and abs.
When I was thoroughly done I stuck the hose up my sphincter. I turned so he could see it. I knew he wanted to see me do as I'd been told. I filled my rectum several times to clean out the shit in there, not that there was much. The dirty water fell on the floor, which was tiled and slippery, and into a hole. I could just about see now though the rest of the room was still lost in darkness. I squatted to push out the last of it then washed down my legs and feet once more. I sprayed the water around the floor to clear up.
Paul was stroking himself, the pole and fondling his scrotum.
When I was finished Paul pointed to the tap and told me to switch it off. Then he stepped towards me and told me to hold his cock while he kissed me and told me that I had done alright so far. I was glad. He let me put my tongue in his mouth, and taste his saliva.
I was so happy.
I thought, 'He is going to fuck me soon now', and stuck my arse back when I felt his hands caress it, begging him silently to fuck it, to fuck it.
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END OF Even The First - PART THREE