This story is dedicated to all the men who knew what I was before I did, and taught me to live the life you'd want to write about! If you enjoy reading Nifty as much as I'm enjoying telling my story, please make a donation to the website: http://donate.nifty.org/
I welcome feedback from other men, and I will respectfully respond to any and all messages. Please say hello! Humbly, Danny. mrkonigssub@gmail.com
Chapter 6
By the time I started college, I'd made a thousand dollars as the Comencky's personal cocksucker. Mr. Comencky and his son Joey made four more visits that summer I was seventeen, dropping by to face fuck me while on work calls. They always paid me the same rate: a hundred dollars a load. I used the money they gave me to buy supplies for the coming school year, plus protein bars, vitamins, and some dumbbells. I passed the last of that summer working out, walking around the house naked, and waiting for the hot Dad and son to return. Hearing their van pull into the driveway would make my dick leak precum. Seeing them strut into the empty house made me shudder with excitement. Sometimes I'd begin sucking their cocks the moment they'd closed the front door. "You're turning into a real cock slave, Danny," I remember Mr. Comencky, Sr. saying one hot afternoon. He was rubbing my shoulders as his son Joey rammed his cock deep into my throat. "You're going to be valuable property one day." I was enjoying existing to make the two studs happy. I felt like I could exist that way forever. That was six years ago.
After Mr. Comencky had made sure I'd swallowed every drop of Joey's Marine cum, he told me to lie on my back. I did as I was told. He straddled me as if he were doing push-ups, and shoved his beautiful cock in my mouth, face fucking me with abandon. Joey stood by watching and smiling as always. "Pump him good, Dad!" he barked. "Good, boy, Danny! Take my Dad's load!" Mr. Comencky roared and thrust his meaty cock deep into me, and a flood of Daddy cum filled me. "Hoo-rah!" Joey shouted as his father's nuts drained.
Those were the last feedings they gave me in that house. I was leaving the next day to finally start college. My boyhood home had sold. I'd never stay there again.
Joey gave me a friendly good-bye hug and went out to the van, his cum now deposited in me. Joe, Sr. zipped up and patted me on the back and said, "Good-bye, Dannyboy." He handed me my usual two hundred dollars. "Take your money, son. And take this." On top of the wad of paper bills was a brass token. I looked at it. On one side was a circle pattern, a ring of thick chain. I flipped the coin over. On the other side it read THE BROTHERHOOD.
"What's this for?" I asked.
"For good luck," the handsome Marine Dad said. He gave me one last fatherly smile. "Be a good boy, Danny."
Sitting on the floor of Mr. Koning's house, in what has been my quarters for the past five years, I realized I would now be about the same age that Joe Comencky, Jr. had been the summer he and his father made me their whore. I wondered where the strapping stud was now. He'd be into his early thirties. Would he be growing up to be as hot as his Dad? And where was Mr. Comencky, Sr.?
I had looked for men like the two Marines to service when I started school. It was a tall order. I cruised the university gym, played with some college boys, looked at the ads in the town's gay newspaper, went on "dates." Nothing I did made me feel like I did when I was the cock sucking slave of those two alphas.
There were a few gay bars in my college town, but at 18, I was too young to go in. I spent a lot of time walking past them, hoping to see hot daddy types coming and going. I did the same outside of MASTERS OF MUSCLE, the men-only gym I'd heard about. I spent a lot of time wondering what it would be like to be sexual in a public space, in a bar or a gay gym, what it would be like just to go in and look around, even. I met Mr. Stark, the owner of Masters of Muscle, when I pretended to be asking about a gym membership I couldn't afford. Having the hunky older bodybuilder turn me away was the closest I'd got to meeting a daddy as hot as either of the Comenckys. If I were old enough to get into a gay bar, maybe I could find a man to serve.
Towards the end of my second semester, I got my chance. There was an ad in the gay newspaper for Chuck's, a seedy gay dive in the warehouse district. People jokingly called it Upchuck's. "Go-go boys wanted. Must be 18 or older," it read. Guys under 21 couldn't drink legally, but they were allowed to be dancers in the bar! I called Chuck's to inquire about a job, and they told me to come by on Wednesday night. I was super nervous, but I was glad for the chance to be in a gay scene. And, for a natural-born slut, the idea of getting a few dollars stuffed in my shorts was a turn-on.
I got to the door of the bar and a rough looking doorman eyed me up and down. "Dancer?" was all he said. I nodded.
"Got a g-string?" I shook my head. "No, sorry."
"There's a lost and found in the back. Pick one out and be on the bar in ten minutes."
"Am I hired?" I asked, stupidly.
"You're hired, kid. Wednesday's College Boy Night. It's Wednesday. You're a college boy, right?"
I didn't bother to tell him my grades were so low I'd probably get kicked out by the end of the semester. "Yes, Sir," I said.
"Get to work."
By the time the night was over, I had a bar sink-washed, threadbare, red thong and twenty-four dollars in wet one dollar bills. By the time the calendar said August I was a regular dancer. I was also a former student. I'd failed out of my spring semester classes, and the university put me on probation. No student privileges. To make matters worse, my parents cut me off financially, since I didn't get passing grades. I'd thought about taking some summer school courses to make up for it, but I wasn't making enough to pay for school myself.
Since I was no longer a full-time student, I couldn't use the school gym, and I was too broke to join one. I worked out in my tiny apartment that long hot summer, and worked at the bar a couple nights a week. I fell behind on rent. I was beginning to feel pretty lost. Training my body for the bar was my only real pastime, besides dreaming about alpha men and jacking off.
The customers at Chuck's weren't the kind of men I fantasized about, and the other go-go dancers at the bar were all young and straight. Gym-built and handsome, they had hot bodies and knew it. The bar catered to gay men who drank a lot and worshipped straight guys. The dancers knew lots of the customers would not only tip to stare at them up on the bar, but pay to get a closer look, too. They earned extra money doing "privates," getting blown after the show. After making their money as straight trade, they'd go home to fuck their girlfriends. I kept my distance, not talking about my own experiences as a gay cocksucker, and I was never that interested in getting blown for money.
The other dancers were okay guys, we just didn't click that much. We could discuss working out, or which patron was a good tipper, or who had cocaine to give out. Lots of the guys did drugs to keep their mind off the fact they didn't really want to be there. Every now and then one of the dancers would offer me a bump of cocaine. I tried it a couple of times, but it made me too jittery. I was already raging with testosterone by then, and I didn't need any motivation to get half naked and dance on a bar. I mostly kept to myself, and I had never done private shows.
There was one dancer I liked to work with, though. Gino. Hot, hot, Gino. A handsome, dark-eyed stud, he always smiled at me and called me "little bro." He had an amazing body, and an easy-going swagger that was irresistible. He was in his late twenties. and he'd sneak me a shot from the bar at the start of our shift. We'd clink the little glasses and toast to a profitable night. When it was his turn on the bar, I'd watch him from behind the stock room curtain, in the dancers' waiting area. Tall, jacked, and ripped, I loved seeing his abs and legs in the red light of the bar. Gino had a huge cock, and he drove the customers crazy by making the pouch of his g-string flop to the music. He'd give me a high-five when he came off the bar, his dick half hard, his waist lined with a laurel of sweaty dollar bills. "Go get `em, little bro!" he'd say, and slap my ass. I'd do my best to match his performance, but at the end of the shift, his stack of wet bills had fives, tens, and twenties in it, where mine mostly had ones. He'd get me one last shot from the bar ("Just one, little bro") and we'd head home.
I knew Gino didn't do private shows. Whenever a customer asked him to hook up after his shift, his standard reply was always, "Sorry, I got a kid at home." Then he'd flash his sexy smile and wave his huge baby maker in their faces. The customers loved his teasing and his friendly, young, straight dad swagger. I did, too. After a few shifts together, I developed a huge crush on him. My attraction to him was heightened because, when we worked together, we always left the bar as a pair, and he'd give me little commands. "You can't walk home with money in your gym bag, little bro. Get in my car," he told me the first time we shared a shift. I was happy to, and followed him like a puppy. Street-wise but kind, he'd drive me to my apartment building in his rattling car, heavy metal music blasting on the radio. "I need to hear something besides gay dance music," he'd joke. "Find us a good song, bro." He'd talk about his baby daughter on the way home, or ask me how I was doing without school to keep me in line. I told him I'd skipped this summer to save up, and I would start up again in the fall, probably. I don't think he believed that lie anymore than I did.
The truth was I could never focus on my studies because my mind was always on serving an alpha. I wanted to be a slave, not a college student. I avoided being personal about my sexuality, and just told Gino that I didn't think school was my thing. He nodded and said, "Then you gotta find your thing, little bro," and rubbed his hand on my head. His big brother energy made me crazy. He always dropped me off at my apartment building, then pulled away, honking good-bye, loudly. I'd go up to my dingy rental, count my money, and jack-off, thinking about Gino.
One night after our shift, as he was taking me home, he surprised me by asking, "You ever suck a cock, Danny?" I froze. We were stopped at a red light. I looked over at his face as he stared ahead at the intersection. After a moment, I mustered my courage. "I have before," I said, quietly. He nodded without looking at me, his thick lips pressed together. "I thought so."
The light turned green and he pulled ahead. We sat in awkward silence all the way to my street. He pulled in front of my apartment building and cut the engine. He leaned back in the driver's seat and looked at me, his face lit by the dashboard.
"There was a customer there tonight. Latin guy in a suit. He was asking about you," Gino said with a thoughtful expression on his face.
"What do you mean?" I asked, nervously.
"He asked about a private."
"With me?" I asked.
"No. With me and you."
I just stared at Gino, my mouth slightly open.
"He wanted to pay to watch you suck me off," Gino said from his bucket seat.
Instantly the image of Gino's cock in my mouth came to mind, and I could feel my own dick twitch. "Oh. Huh. What-- what'd you tell him?" I asked, trying to sound indifferent.
"I said I don't do private shows," Gino said.
"Yeah," I said, my stomach dropping. "I never have either."
"I know, little bro." Gino said, and reached over and rubbed me on the head, smiling with his sexy white teeth and warm brown eyes. "But I think we should this time."