The first chapter of this story was stolen and posted to at least one paid-subscription website without my permission. That site's administrator is cooperating with an investigation into intellectual property theft, and will be recording the sender's email and IP addresses for any story submitted to his site if the story was posted to the Nifty Archive first.
Most Nifty readers don't need a lecture about the fact that authors who post here do it for free, or about how digusting it is that someone would take another author's work and submit it to a paid-subscription site in trade for free access to that site. I appreciate the indulgence of those readers while I drive the point home to the thief: this story is mine, and I will decide where it will be posted. I expressly prohibit its republication without my permission.
I continue to invite feedback about the story, and again thank the reader who alerted me to the theft of the first chapter.
The Governor's Brother Chapter Two
I awoke hard. Jack lay curled beside me under the blankets, his head resting on my left shoulder and his left hand draped over my right side. I wriggled out from under him and, as he rolled forward onto his stomach, slipped on top of him. He groggily began to stir and I spat in my hand and smeared some phlegm onto my knob. When I rammed my cock into his still-sore hole, his eyes flew open and he cried out in pain. Sinking hilt-deep inside him, I grabbed his tousled hair in one fist and buried his face in a pillow. I moved my knees outside his thighs and pulled his legs in tightly together, clenching his cheeks for added friction.
"Squeeze down," I hissed into his ear as his muscles clenched in pain and surprise. "Point your toes to the side edges of the mattress and clamp your ass hard around my cock." I felt his ass tighten and began pounding into him, propping myself up on one elbow as I held his head firmly in the pillow. He writhed beneath me and grunted muted protests into the pillow, but I didn't care. I rutted inside my new bitch, my knob savoring the hot grip of his guts as it plowed its way in and out over and over again.
I took my time fucking him. It's not that his pain didn't matter to me. It did. It heightened my arousal. I took long, slow strokes to maximize the burning friction in his hole. I took short, fast strokes to jab at his prostate. I mixed between the two to keep him guessing, to prevent him from settling into any rhythm. I lowered my mouth to his ear and called him my fucktoy, my cuntboy, my slave. I told him that I owned him now. I told him that I'd use his ass and mouth whenever I wanted. And he sobbed his agreement after each epithet. I bit his earlobe and sucked and marked the back of his neck. Not just along the shoulder, but over the collar line, too. Where it would show. And then I slid my arm under his throat and pulled his head up to listen to his gaspy whimpering as I plowed him. I ordered him to uncurl his fingers from the sheet and pinch his nipples hard, with his fingernails. And he did it.
I came to the edge a few times but eased off each time. We were both drenched with sweat. I pulled out and ordered him to roll onto his back. I made him watch between his own legs as I held them up and shoved my cock down into his bright red hole. Even as he grimaced and groaned, he began to arch his back to meet my thrusts. His own dick, just about the size of mine, grew hard again and drooled shamelessly. I wouldn't let him cum. Not last night. Not now. Probably not the rest of the weekend. He obediently clutched his own knees and pulled them down to his chest when I demanded he do it, which freed my hands to abuse his balls. And I did. I wrapped my fist around the sack where it sprang from his crotch, forcing his nuts into the bottom. With the other hand, I alternatively smacked and squeezed them, watching the sensation ripple up his abs and resonate in his contracting ass hole each time. I lowered my face and marked the front of his throat as I had the back--dark, angry circular bruises spaced unevenly apart around the whole circumference of his neck.
His agony was intensifying as the moments passed. When I reached the edge and slowed my tempo again, he hunched up all the more frantically, anxious for me to cum and end his torment. I suggested he beg me to cum in his ass, to full him with my spunk, to declare to me how worthless and submissive he was, to thank me for undertaking the burden of showing him who he was. So he did, his voice breaking as I began to twist my cock in a corkscrew motion to ensure I scraped every bit of the surface of his abused ass lining while now tugging and squeezing on his nuts. And when the perfect combination of my pleasure and his pain brought me to the edge again, I gave in and erupted inside him, collapsing on him and thrusting deeply as my cock blew its snot into his guts. Each outstroke smeared some of my slick, glistening cum on his hole, lubricating my entry and exit, so I tried to minimize them as much as possible while maximizing my own pleasure. After all, his relief wasn't my concern. At last, I drained myself, closed my eyes, and relaxed, laying over him with his legs sandwiched between us.
The faggot thanked me. I lay there exhausted and sweaty from having done the work and he began to kiss the side of my face and neck, flexing his ass around my cock as it softened and started slipping from him. "Thank you, sir. Thank you for fucking me." I rolled off him and on his own initiative he maneuvered to take my cock into his mouth for cleaning. As he caressed it with his tongue, I realized he was expecting me to piss in him again. But I had other ideas for this morning.
"Get up and kneel in the bathtub," I told him. And I watched him go, his firm ass pulsing with each step and the bright red and purple marks of his whipping clearly visible on the back of his thighs. But I didn't follow him immediately. I wasn't in a hurry. I left him there, kneeling in the cold acrylic as I lounged comfortably in the bed. I dozed a bit, listening to the drone of the hotel climate control unit. Eventually I rose and stepped into the bathroom where he waited, hands clasped behind him.
"You're mine now," I reminded him.
"Yes, sir," he agreed.
"And I'm going to mark you as mine right now." I held up my dick and pointed at him. "Look down and open your mouth. Stick your tongue out." He obeyed and I aimed my piss right into his hair. It quickly matted, and then the hot yellow liquid began running down his face, neck, shoulders, back, and chest. "Look at me now, and keep your mouth open and tongue out." I aimed the stream right into his mouth, watching it overflow and pour off his tongue. When I finished, his upturned mouth remained fill of piss. "Close your mouth but don't swallow it yet." He did, his cheeks bulging a bit with its contents--my fluid waste.
I left the bathroom, collected my boxers from the bedroom floor, and pulled them on before opening the door to the corridor to pick up the morning paper. I flopped down on the bed and opened it, then took the television remote from the night table beside the bed and flicked the television on to the morning news. The press, with its more pedestrian understanding of politics, was more generous in its coverage of Tyler's speech than I had been, but even the local reporters could detect the absence of some unidentifiable element--a slight drop in Tyler's charisma while speaking, a slight drop in the appeal of his message. One of the closing sentences in the paper's article noted my presence and wondered how long it would take Tyler to beg me to come to his rescue. I didn't wonder, because I knew. He'd win the primary in five months, but it would be by only a percentage point or two. And it would scare him. And in the following month, I would be occupied with his phone calls and emails asking me to come back for the general election. I'd play hard to get until I sat for the bar in July, and then ride in again like the cavalry to save the day in August.
But, while my plan for securing my place in Tyler's world was in place, I now had Jack to deal with. I turned off the television and tossed the paper aside. Returning to the bathroom, I found him still kneeling, hands still behind him, head bowed, cheeks bulging. He looked up hopefully as soon as I entered. I told him to open his mouth and show me my piss. He did. And I let him swallow it.
"Get up and turn on the shower," I said, and bent over to shuck off my boxers again. "I know you've showered with other guys before in the locker rooms and crap like that, but have you ever washed another guy?"
"No, sir."
I stepped into the shower with him and slid the shower curtain closed. He may have been inexperienced, but he caught on fast. Of course, washing someone else isn't a quantum leap from washing yourself. But the trick is in the choreography--making sure he does what he needs to do without any instruction from me. He picked up the hints, figuring out what to do as I raised each foot to be lathered and raised my arms to expose my pits. After I'd been lathered, shampooed, and rinsed, I stepped to the back of the shower to watch him clean himself. "Turn off the hot water," I commanded. He hissed and grimaced, hastily smearing the soap over his body with the washcloth. He did a half-assed job, desperate to get out of the frigid water, so I made him do it again. By the time I approved of his job and let him turn the water off, he'd taken on an attractive bluish hue and shivered violently. I opened the shower curtain and tossed him a towel. Instinctively he moved to me and dried me first.
I stepped out to the sink where he'd laid his toiletry bag when he'd unpacked sometime the day before. I opened it and explored its contents. Too complicated, I decided. Too many hair products. Too many shaving products. Who the fuck needs three moisturizers? He may have been a jock twink, but he was still a twink. I began separating them out, discriminating between acceptable and unacceptable, lining them up on opposite sides of the wash basin. I filled the sink with water and shaved using his cream, razor, and balm. My own hair is pretty uncomplicated--medium brown, average length on the sides, parted on the right and combed to the left. I could go without product for a day after my spontaneous sleep over.
Jack had stood in the tub, watching me as I groomed. When I was finished, after brushing my teeth with his toothbrush, I left the bathroom, casually telling him it was his turn but not to use anything I'd put on the unacceptable side of the sink. I returned to the bed and looked for anything else of interest in the paper. Jack emerged ten minutes later, looking beautiful--just as he had in the ball room the night before, except he was naked now. Wordlessly, he walked to the bed and knelt beside it, and I idly reached over and stroked his back as I read.
Jack's appearance was not irrelevant to my decision to claim him. I had been able to tell from our first encounter in the ballroom that under the thin shell of ego and arrogance lay the submissive, uncertain, indecisive core. The core that needed discipline and molding. But I certainly wouldn't have wasted my time undertaking to provide that discipline and molding if he hadn't looked as good as he did. I would make some minor changes, some to accentuate his new status and remind him of his place, some just to tweak his look more to my liking. But I valued the role his vanity had played in keeping him fit and attractive because now that fitness and attractiveness was devoted to my pleasure.
When I threw the paper down for the second time, I could see he was hard. Gently stroking his back had revealed my fondness for him. And I was fond of him. He was proving to be smart enough to know what I wanted, submissive enough to want to please, and attractive enough to make me want to keep him. So I would. I stood and pulled him to his feet, wrapping my arms around him and kissing him. With some trepidation, he raised his hands to my hips and kissed back. His cock throbbed between us, drooling its prefuck. He could feel him tensing as I began fucking his mouth with my tongue--he wanted to grind against me, to hump up against my torso, but somehow suspected it would be a mistake and resisted the urge. Kissing him turned me on, too, and my cock began to fill. But hungry though I was for him to service me again, I was hungry for breakfast, too. And I wanted to take him downstairs for the first time as my bitch. So I broke the kiss and stepped back to turn away.
His speed took me aback as he quickly dropped to his knees and licked his prefuck from my crotch. His eyes turned up to me as his mouth hovered over my now swollen cock, his hot breath escaping onto it from his parted lips. The eyes begged. He wanted to blow me. And I rethought my plan and let him, giving permission with a shallow nod. He took my ass in his hands and engulfed me in one slow, smooth motion. I closed my eyes and rested my hands on the sides of his head but left him free to please me. There's nothing wrong with a slave taking initiative, so long as his purpose is to please his master. What matters is his motivation. And Jack was motivated to get me off, so I let him. He impaled his face all the way down to my pubes over and over again, and his tongue never stopped moving along the underside of my cock. It alternated between pressing firmly against my cum tube and swirling its way over my knob and digging into my slit. While his development as a slave needed more cultivation, his oral performance needed none.
He brought me to the edge once, then turned his head and feasted on my nuts, laving them with his tongue, slurping on them, sucking them into his mouth, as my prefuck and his spit drooled down and smeared onto his face from my cock. Finally, I had to take control. The morning buffet would be closing soon and, while he inevitably would be getting his protein in liquid form, I wanted mine from eggs and sausage. I yanked his head back to my cock and began to fuck him on my pace. A pace that very quickly brought me to climax again. And I exploded in his mouth as he greedily sucked my spunk down. My upper body glistened with a sheen of perspiration again as I caught my breath, my cock softening on his tongue. He sucked a bit, caressing with his tongue. My nuts yielded the last of their load to him, and I stroked his face. Looking down, I saw that his eyes still pleaded. I realized what he wanted. I flexed my ass, encouraging my prostate to shift gears, and then released a light trickle of piss. My bladder was all but empty, though. When there was nothing more to give, I slipped free of his mouth, eliciting a slurpy plop.
"Thank you, sir," he murmured, then prostrated himself and kissed my feet. I smirked. He was learning fast.
"Time to get dressed," I announced. My stomach rumbled.