Organization: Primenet Services for the Internet
Miguel asked me to dinner when we met at a discussion group I'd been attending in Phoenix the spring I moved there. He was a muscular, broad shouldered man, smooth skin, clean shaven, with dark eyes and hair, not unusual for a man of Mexican descent. We had careers in the computer industry in common and easily struck up conversation. He asked me out that first night and I accepted.
A week later, he took me to dinner and insisted on paying. He also drove and had been more into the idea of me coming to visit him at his townhouse than meeting me at a restaurant or coming over to my small apartment.
After dinner, we sat on his sofa talking. When we'd grown relaxed, he placed a hand on my thigh and began kneading my leg. I sighed and closed my eyes. Miguel soon pulled me to him. Though I am taller than him by several inches, he outweighs me by twenty pounds of muscle. With a hand on the back of my neck, he guided my mouth to his and almost immediately had his tongue in my mouth. His aggressiveness caused a rush of lust within me and I moaned as he kissed me.
He pulled my shirt over my head and appraised my lightly haired chest, pale skin, slim build. He pinched one of my nipples for a while, then drew me to him again, sliding a hand down the back of my shorts while pressing another kiss on me, in me. Soon his other hand was undoing the front of my shorts and he'd pushed them down to my knees.
Holding me against him, he slipped my legs off the couch and between his thighs so that I wound up kneeling before him, my cock straining at my bikini underwear. He kissed me a bit more, then pushed my head down his neck, his firm hands guiding me.
"Lick me," he said, and I lapped at his muscular throat. He pushed me off long enough to remove his shirt, then he directed me to lick his chest, his nipples, armpits, upper arms, then his abs. His upper body glistened from my saliva. He breathed heavily and chuckled darkly when he wasn't humming his pleasure with my attentiveness.
He undid his shorts and slid them to his knees. He hadn't worn underwear and his cock immediately sprang up, too hard to lie on his belly. He drew me down to his cock, directed me to lick it, and then to clean his crotch. Finally, he pulled me onto his cock and began humping my face, standing up to get better motion. His cock is thick and I love the way it fills my mouth, fitting so tightly into the back of my throat, though I've grown more accustomed to it since that first time, but the intensity of the moment helped turn the discomfort of his large head popping past my uvula into an erotic sensation.
When my hands strayed to my own groin, he placed them on his body, urging me to knead his buttocks, play with his balls, reach up to rub his stomach, to pinch his nipples. And when he came, he held his cock in my mouth until his spasms had ceased and his cock was softening.
Then he sat down and told me to cum in my hand as he lit a cigarette. I wasted no time pulling down my underwear and jerking off in my hand.
"Eat it," he told me, blowing smoke at me and grinning. I smiled at him and did.
Miguel had read me, had found some clause in the way I expressed myself in my day-to-day life and knew how to capitalize on it to his pleasure.
He called me often during the next few weeks. Each time, he wanted me to come over. If I wasn't busy, I did. It was always pretty much like the first time. After dinner, which he'd buy, he would treat me like his personal sex toy. I loved it.
Then the commands to suck him came before we went to dinner. And a few times in the car before we went into the restaurant, once where he came on my face so that I was self-conscious of having traces of his drying jizz on me, still pungent in the nostril he'd doused with one spasm.
I arrived one evening and was told to strip. He'd always undressed me himself, but now it was only a command. Yet it thrilled me, so I did. When I'd removed my clothes and folded them, he took them to his bedroom, which was off limits to me, then returned to get off in my mouth. After I'd sucked him off, he showed me to the kitchen and while he sat at the table drinking a beer and smoking, he told me what to do to prepare dinner. If I made mistakes or didn't know what he meant, he'd get up and show me roughly. I remained naked and hard, because he hadn't told me to cum when he'd finished using me. If my hand strayed to my crotch, he told me to keep my hands off my dick.
He kept me waiting on him while he ate and suggested it would be easier for me to get the things he asked for if I stood at the counter and ate, rather than trying to sit at the table. When he finished, he ordered the dishes done while he had a cigarette.
I began seeing him several times a week, usually three or four. He stopped taking me out and continued training me to cook for him. When he could tell me what to make without leaving the living room, he would send me in the kitchen and sit and watch television, never letting me dress. His townhouse was laid out so he could see the kitchen from his couch, so I couldn't jerk off to satisfy myself.
Usually, after dinner, he would have me suck him again. And only then would he tell me to jerk off and eat it. If I let any hit the floor, he made me lick it up.
This in itself became a game. He would order me to cum in various places and make me clean it up. At first, it was the coffee table several times, then it was on his feet, whether or not his shoes were on. Later, he liked making me cum on the kitchen floor and lick it up, but that was after he'd started telling me to clean his kitchen once a week, mopping the floors being one of my duties. It gave me incentive to mop well if I knew I'd be licking my cum off the floor.
One weekend, I arrived and we went through the normal strip and suck routine. When he finished, he tossed me a pair of skimpy white running shorts and a loose, white muscle shirt that didn't come down to my belly button. He also had a pair of light sandals for me. In the clothes, I looked like a slut. The bulge in my shorts left very little to the imagination, the dark patch of my pubic hair noticeable, the outline of my dick discernable without much effort. The muscle shirt's arm openings stopped only an inch or so above the bottom of the shirt. My nipples were easily viewable from the side. One or the other of the shoulder straps was falling down over a shoulder.
He led me out to his car, drove me to the nearest convenience market, then sent me in for some milk and waited, watching from the car. Many people looked at me, which is what he wanted. And on the occasions when someone would give me a hard time, he'd get out of the car after I'd sweated it a moment and talk to me like nothing was going on, which was enough to defuse the scene.
When we'd return to his apartment, he'd ask for the shorts, shirt, and sandals back, which he'd put away in his bedroom.
He continued this whenever I came over. He always ran an errand or two, sending me in to do anything he didn't have to do himself. His shopping list and dry cleaning, his mail, and dozens of other assorted errands I ran for him after he'd fucked my mouth. Dinner and the second sucking would come after the errands.
On a Friday night, he kept me waiting rather late for the second sucking session. Finally, when the program he was watching was over, he turned off the TV. My cock started to rise in anticipation, but he said, "Time for bed. Come on."
He led me into his bedroom, which I hadn't seen before. His king sized bed was mounted on a large wooden frame. He told me to get on the bed. He checked me out for a short while, ordering me into various poses. Finally, he told me to lay down on my stomach.
He climbed up behind me and began pushing fingers into my ass, lubing them briefly before pushing his way in. When he decided I was ready, he lowered his shorts to his knees, then pushed his cock in me with firm motions, waited a moment, then began humping me. He laid on top of me and fucked me as deeply and as slowly or swiftly as he wanted.
When he came, he lay still until he'd softened and caught his breath, then he rolled off me. "Go get a wet wash cloth, and use warm water." I did as I was told and cleaned him up. When I was about to stop, he said, "Is it clean enough you'd want to suck it?" I hesitated, then rinsed the wash cloth and returned to clean him more.
When I went to the bathroom, he insisted I leave the door open, which wasn't unusual, because he never wanted me jerking off without him okaying it and watching me while I did it. He told me to turn off the light and come to bed. I stood by the bed, not knowing what he expected. He'd pulled his shorts up again, I could see.
"Miguel, that was really hot. Can I come, please?"
"Not now. Get in bed and go to sleep."
I started to crawl across him, but he shoved me off the bed. "Go around, man."
I lay on my back on the other side of the bed, still hard. My ass was still tingling and my thoughts were still on Miguel in me, pounding my ass. I began to stroke myself, but Miguel must have been waiting for it. "I told you not to do that, you skinny pervert."
He turned on the bedside light, then pulled my hand from my cock.
"Please, Miguel."
"No." He leaned over the side of the bed and pulled something from under it. It was a box, which he hoisted onto the bed. It was full of ropes and straps.
"See this? If you won't listen to me, I'll do whatever I have to."
Rather than intimidating me, the sight of the nest of coiled ropes and belts, and a couple of rough, homemade restraint devices made me more excited. My cock began leaking a fresh stream of precum. I moaned and involuntarily held my cock.
Miguel slapped my hand, but I held on, so he pulled my hand away. He knew me too well to think this would have a different effect on me. He'd carefully maneuvered me this far and I knew he had more to unfold to me. Despite this awareness, I could only react in one way: cross the boundary and elicit the threatened response from Miguel.
"All right. So this is how it has to be, eh?" He pulled a broad strap from the box that had a loop in each end and a buckle at the end of the loop. A broader strip of soft leather lined the strap within the loops. Miguel sat on my chest and ran the strap behind two widely spaced bars bars in the heavy headboard. Each end of the strap was ran around a bar two or three times, then laid on the bed over a foot from either of my shoulders.
Without asking my cooperation, he held one wrist tightly, slipping my hand through the loop, then tightening it, buckling it firmly. He checked it quickly to make sure it wasn't cutting off circulation. Then he put my other hand in the second loop.
"See what you get when you don't do what I tell you?"
He pinched my nipples until I was gasping and thrashing my head about. To this, he grinned. I tried to press my groin upward, but when he felt the motion, he reached back and slapped one of my thighs so hard it stung. Miguel had never touched my cock in the several months I'd known him.
His own cock, though, was hardening again. He rubbed his crotch and moved closer to my face. Soon his shorts were down and he was rubbing his cock against my face. He pulled me down the bed until my arms were stretched above me, then knelt over my face, pointing his cock into my mouth. Holding onto the headboard with one hand to steady himself as he bent over to get a better thrust at my mouth, he placed his other hand under my head to control my motions and get better depth. Since he'd so recently cum, it was a long session. After he'd cum again, he climbed off of me, pulled up his shorts, turned off the light, and went to bed. My cock remained hard and I went to sleep unsatisfied and unable to even rub against the bed.
This became the new ritual, though he rarely made me suck him again right after fucking me. Whenever he told me to come over, he expected me to stay the night. He'd fuck me, then in the morning, have me suck him off again. He frequently left his shirt on, and sometimes his shoes, though he never slept with his shoes on. My nudity beneath him as he fucked me further strenthened his hold over me, which intoxicated me even more with lust. Legs spread wide, holding onto the headboard and moaning, I could only try my best to please him so that he'd feel sated and inclined to tell me to jerk off. When I'd cleaned him up, he'd tie me up, then go to sleep.
After a few weeks, he ordered me to the bedroom after television, but then took me to the bathroom. He stood in the doorway and nodded at the counter. "Shave your legs." A tube of depilatory sat on on the bathroom counter next to some disposable razors.
"Um, Miguel, I--"
"I can get the ropes and straps and take care of it for you."
I glanced at the razors. "Do I have to?"
"Yes." He stood with his arms crossed, in his favorite sweat pants and a white t-shirt, while I was naked as usual.
"I really don't want to, Miguel."
He turned and went to the box of ropes by his bed.
I looked at the razors and picked one up. Miguel returned quickly with several lengths of rope. He took the razor from my hand and placed it back on the counter.
"Turn around." He shoved me against the counter and pulled one of my arms behind me. I was surprised with how quickly he had both of my wrists tied together in an X, palms outward. He left a long leader dangling from them, then guided me into the shower. After taking a hanging plant down from its eyebolt high in the ceiling over the shower, he stood on the edge of the tub and ran the leader through the eye hook. My arms were raised behind me and soon I was standing on my toes somewhat precariously.
He turned on the shower to wet me down briefly, then began liberally rubbing the depilatory on my legs, using latex gloves to protect himself. My thighs, then my calves, the tops of my feet and toes, then my ass. When I hoped he was done, he produced a second tube and began rubbing it on my balls in between my legs. My pubic hair was soon matted down with it.
Chuckling to himself, he continued applying it on my stomach, on the patch of hair on my chest, then on my nipples. He even rubbed it up into my armpits. Finished, he took off the gloves, then smoked a cigarette while he waited for the most recently applied cream to have a chance to work.
With the shower, he rinsed most of it and my hair off. He turned me on the rope to get different angles on me. When he'd gotten most of it down the drain, he let me down and untied my wrists.
"Finish up and use a lot of soap. I don't want to smell that shit on you later."
When I was done, he checked me over and told me what to touch up with the razors. I submitted this time, since there was no longer any point. "You'll keep it that way. I don't like hair all over your ass. If you don't keep it off, we'll have to do it the hard way again. Do you want that?"
"No, Miguel. I'll take care of it, I promise."
"Good. Clean out the tub and do the floor too."
He went back to the television, where I later told him I'd cleaned up the bathroom. He had me stand before him and turn around, hands on my head. He grinned and chuckled at my smooth body, ordering me to spread my cheeks and show him my bare ass. Then he took me to bed and fucked me twice.
By this time, I he'd taught me to obediently ride him while he lay back and watched me perform for him. Sometimes he cuffed my hands behind my back while I rode him. Over the next few weeks, it became the exception that he didn't have me cuffed or tied up when he fucked me, but usually just my hands. He liked several variations: me laid over the edge of the bed, my hands tied behind my back, me kneeling on the bed and my hands tied to the head board while he either laid under me or knelt behind me, me on my back with hands strapped to the headboard while my ankles were over his shoulders and he fucked me.
Once I'd begun spending the entire weekend at his townhouse, he started in on a couple other activities to keep me occupied while he had other things to do. While he was out at the gym or visiting friends, he'd send me to the townhouse community swimming pool to lay out in the sun. He allowed me only suntan lotion, a towel, sandals, and a pair of speedos that he'd picked up for me. I was soon very tanned and used to people seeing my completely smooth body. He'd also ordered me to keep my hair very short, so I must have looked like a little boy, except for my height.
Several times, I'd still be at the pool after dark, waiting for him to come get me. Some of the residents befriended me once, inviting me to share their beer at the jacuzzi, but Miguel was not happy with this and once he'd gotten me home, he tied me to a chair at his kitchen table and left me there until morning, when he fucked my face, then released me and ordered me to make breakfast.
If he left me inside, he'd put me in my shorts and muscle shirt and handcuff my hands behind my back. He'd lock the bedroom door when he was gone, so I couldn't get my clothes or keys. He liked coming home from the gym pumped up to find me in my slutty clothing, cuffed and ready to be used by him.
While he was away, I wouldn't be able to do much but watch TV or some limited cleaning. But because he kept me from jerking off much, I was nearly always horny. And the three or four days a month that he sent me to my apartment because I would be inconvenient to have around, I usually wouldn't jack off. It felt weird to be doing it alone in my apartment, knowing that if I waited a day, I'd be back at Miguel's, kneeling before him, sucking. And when I thought of that, I'd get horny.
Mostly, the days away from Miguel were lonely ones. I'd established very little in Phoenix socially, so I most spent the time alone calling family and doing the essential errands I had to do, like paying bills, getting auto license tags, etc.
So, sitting alone in Miguel's apartment in my slut clothing and cuffed, knowing that he'd come home turned on from working out and ready to use me, I was often hard waiting.
I could reach around in the cuffs and stroke myself, but it was difficult to keep up for long. And I knew Miguel would be angry if I came while he was away. So I would wait.
And he would come from the gym sweaty and pumped up. Almost as soon as he was in the door, he'd start toying with me, like slipping the muscle shirt over my shoulders so that my chest was bare and he'd play with my nipples until I guessed what he wanted me to do for him.
Sometimes he wanted me to give him a tongue bath, like I'd done the first time he'd used me. Other times, it was as simple as sucking him, or riding his cock while he laid on the couch. Usually, though, he made it so specific that I couldn't guess, like sucking his balls while he beat off and then came on my face. Or cleaning his feet with my tongue before sucking him off. And when I couldn't guess at what he had in mind, he would tease me, getting in my face, making me avert my eyes.
"Well, what can you do for me, boy?"
"Whatever you like, Miguel. I'll do whatever you like."
This time, he was pushing me up against the wall just inside the door.
"And what would that be?" He pushed one of the straps of my muscle shirt over a shoulder and began rubbing my exposed nipple.
"Um, I could, I could lick your feet, then suck you, Miguel."
"No, you did that last weekend, and you didn't do a very good job of it, boy."
"No, sir, but I could try harder to make up for last week."
He twisted my nipple. "That's not what I want."
I guessed again, suggesting I could rim him, but he swatted the side of my head. When he did like the idea of me undressing him with my teeth and bathing him before sucking his cock, he laughed and pushed me into the wall.
From the moment he'd entered the apartment, though, I'd been hard. I didn't know what he wanted and he kept pushing me around, bumping me into the wall, slapping my nipples or twisting them hard, further undressing me while he stood very close to me, breathing in my face.
After he'd forced me to my knees, he pulled out his cock, which was only half hard and pushed it in my mouth. Holding my head tightly, he began pissing in my mouth.
"Don't make a mess, fucker."
I gagged a bit, but was determined not to spill any, because I'd only be licking it up. Thus began another duty for me. After he'd pissed, he stayed in my mouth and moved in and out slowly until he was completely hard. Then he'd laid me over the back of the couch and fucked me.
One afternoon, I couldn't get my mind off of the return of Miguel. Laying on the sofa, I started humping a pillow through the light nylon shorts. When that grew too frustrating, I reached around and hump my own hand awhile. I knew it wouldn't be good to cum, because Miguel might notice I'd cum, then he'd be angry. But I'd reached the point of no return and the thought of Miguel dominating me pushed me onward. Gasping and grunting, I finally came in my shorts while humping the pillow.
I lay still for a few moments, the intensity of the pent up orgasm slowly washing from me. Licking my lips, perhaps in habit of having eaten my cum for the last several dozen orgasms, I sat up and looked at my shorts. It was worse than I thought it would have been. My load had been enormous, especially because I'd been so excited and held from orgasm for three days.
I went into the bathroom and began trying to clean up. Sitting on the toilet, I had the shorts around my ankles and was cleaning them out with toilet paper when I heard the lock turn in the door. Panicking, I stood up and pulled on the shorts. I'd closed the bathroom door so that I'd have the extra moment if Miguel entered before I was done. The toilet paper I tossed in the toilet and flushed it.
I pulled up the shorts and looked in the mirror. They still showed a large damp area in the front. What made it completely noticeable was that the two thin layers of white nylon were stuck together and very translucent.
Miguel opened the door. He wore his sweats and tight t-shirt. His weightlifter's belt was still around his waist. He looked ten pounds of muscle heavier than normal in his torso alone, pumped up like he was.
"What did you close the door for? Always leave it open, even if I'm not here. Besides, who's going to see you?"
"I'm sorry, Miguel. Can I get you a beer?" I tried to hurry past him. He swatted my ass hard as I went by.
I trotted into the kitchen, hoping he'd sit down and drink the beer and relax before he started in on me, long enough to dry out. He followed me into the kitchen and held the refrigerator open while I awkwardly got out a beer.
Turning sidways to him, I held it out. He accepted it and popped it open.
"Why are you so nervous?"
I couldn't meet his eye as he looked me over. Without thinking, I turned slightly away from him. He spun me around and held me against the counter with a hand on my shoulder.
"What the fuck is this?" He pointed at my shorts. Setting the beer down, he touched my shorts, then sniffed his fingers. He pulled my shorts down and looked at my soft dick, milking a drop of cum from it easily.
He pulled up on my dick hard. "You fuckin' just came, didn't you?"
"Yes sir."
"Why the fuck did you cum, slut?"
"I can't help it, Miguel. I was thinking of you, I swear."
He slapped me across the face, continuing to hold my dick up with the other hand.
"Do you think you should have?"
"No sir."
He slapped me again, harder.
"Then don't."
He must have slapped me a dozen times. I was tasting blood before he was done. Then he led me to the bedroom by my dick. After he'd bent me over the end of the bed, he told me not to move while he got his box of ropes. He tied the end of a rope to one of my wrists and a second rope to the other. When he unlocked the cuffs, he told me not to move again, then tied one of the ropes to the end of the footboard so that my arm was stretched out. Then he tied off the other rope to the other end of the footboard.
Doubling a length of rough rope, he lectured me for a moment about doing what he tells me. I'd already fucked up enough, he said, and I knew it. He asked me whether I agreed, and I said I did. He said I didn't leave him much choice but to punish me. He'd tried gentler methods, like tying me up in the kitchen chair or in bed, but as soon as he trusted me, I'd dishonored him. The punishment had to be now, he said.
He stood back and slapped the rope down on my back. It stung, scraped, and burned, and I yelled. He put the rope down and pulled off his sweaty t-shirt. He pulled it across my mouth, ordering me to open my mouth, then he tied it off behind my head. Picking up the rope, he resumed whipping me.
After twenty lashes, I was sweating and panting. I yelled into the gag with each lash. He put the rope down and undid the gag.
"What have you learned, slut?"
"I won't ever play with myself unless you tell me to, Miguel. I'm sorry, sir."
He pressed his groin against my ass. His cock was hard and hot, through the terry cloth and jock strap. He walked to the nightstand and brought his tube of lubricant. After roughly lubing my ass, he pulled his sweats and jock down, the pushed his cock into me.
When he was done, he took a shower before he let me up and ordered me to make dinner.
On a Saturday in the fall, six months after I'd met Miguel, he took me on a trip of errands. I wore my normal white shorts and shirt. By this time, I was very tan and always smooth. We stopped for a few brief errands, then Miguel drove to a street he'd never taken me down before. We stopped in a small parking lot beside a shop and he led me in. The sign indicated it was a piercing shop.
My heart was pounding as Miguel escorted me to the counter in the plain lobby of the shop. He'd arranged an appointment for me and it was only a few minutes before they called us. Miguel escorted me into the back. The thought of the pain I was about to feel frightened me, but I was in public and didn't want to cause a scene with Miguel. And I still didn't know what piercing he wanted done to me.
He'd chosen two nipple rings, each about three quarters of an inch in diameter. They were the classic captured bead style. The technician had me lay back on the table. He was quick about it and the first one went in without much warning, but the pain was very, very smart. The second nipple happened quickly also, since I was focusing on the pain from the first one and didn't notice the preparations on the second nipple. After a brief lecture on the care of the rings, the session was over.
Miguel told me on the ride home that I'd made him proud, not flinching, not arguing. He squeezed my thigh and smiled at me.
At his apartment, he ordered me out of my clothes immediately. He led me to the bathroom and showed me my chest in the mirror. The pain was dulled now by the endorphines in my blood, released by the pain. It was a kind of high. Miguel, turned on by the sight of the rings, fucked me standing the bathroom so he could watch my chest while humping me from behind.
When my nipples had healed, he enjoyed twisting the rings while my hands were tied or cuffed. The rings made me look so much more the slut in my skimpy white muscle shirt.
Several weeks later, I awaited Miguel's return from the gym cuffed and in the tight sweat pants he'd switched me to when the weather had cooled off. I sat on the sofa, my cock hard, wishing he'd come home. As usual, the anticipation was excrutiating. He'd grown more physical in the after gym sessions and it was just as well that it was no longer practical to be sunbathing in the late autumn weather, because I often had bruises or welts. They were part of the territory of serving Miguel.
I heard voices outside the door before the lock turned. Miguel wasn't alone. He'd never introduced me to any friends or family, and now he was bringing someone in. Now, while I sat on the sofa cuffed, shirtless, and hard.
Miguel stepped in. "Come on in." He grinned at me.
A tall black man entered, dressed in sweats like Miguel. I guessed he was from the gym were Miguel works out. He was several inches taller than Miguel and probably forty pounds of muscle heavier. He looked around the room, spotted me, and smiled.