Francis, my Cock Master by Guichi (guichi777@excite.com)
The following fictitious story is copyright by me, Guichi. This story uses graphic description of sexual acts between two consenting adult males. Do not read if such material is illegal in your country or state. Also, you should be no younger than the age of majority in your country. The names of characters and their actions in this story are fictitious and any resemblances to real life are coincidental.
This story may be reproduced in any way without written permission from the author, but authorship must be accredited to me the copyright holder, and my email address must be included.
I had been seriously detained more than 30 minutes due to a signal failure on the railway line. I knew my master was going to be very angry with me, and I was really worried. He had warned me that if I ever kept him waiting I would be in for real trouble. I was well over an hour late. It would be no use talking about signal failure. I should have taken the earlier train, even if it meant standing in the rain for an hour before my appointment time. That would have been his indisputable remark.
I hated the idea of failing my master. He was a very good man, but not when he was crossed, and the person who crossed him was treated as a wretched slave. You must understand that I was only a Friday-night slave. I had met him on the internet, and had been fascinated by the pictures he sent me of his cock, his bollocks, his arse. They were supremely beautiful and I had blown them up and pasted them on the walls of my room. When I photographed my walls, crowded with pics of his cock, and sent him a copy he knew he had a passive slave in me. When he learned I had been with no other man he offered to induct me into the life of a gay man. Of course, he gave me vivid accounts of gay sex, and how thrilling and exciting it always was. Never a blip in the dazzling happiness of gay sex, which would guarantee I would be in a constantly on cloud nine!!
He invited me to his house, where he lived alone. He was an incredibly beautiful man, and he knew it. His personal arrogance knew no bounds, and he proudly told me that he was Narcissus incarnate. He spent hours on attention to every detail of his hair, cutting, shampooing, combing. He studied every detail of his handsome face in the mirror every day, ensuring that not a hair was out of place, whether on his head, his eyebrows, his nose and ears. He applied oils to his face. his neck, down to his privs, two or three times a day. He said that perfection needed to be constantly toned!!!
He also wanted his slave to be the same, and if I arrived without very careful grooming I knew I would be in trouble. Often there was little one could do about it, for the travelling to his place required an hour on public transport for me. By the time I got there my hair would need careful attention, as also many other details. He would allow me 15 minutes in the bathroom to arrange any defect. He disliked body hair, and had at my first meeting with him shaved mine off, including and especially my pubic hair. He himself had pubic hair, but it was very well groomed. Not a hair out of place, nor too long. He shaved his ass hole every morning, so he told me. I don't know why since no-one was ever allowed to enter that cavern.
My punishment for a hair being out of place was three lashes with a whip. I took it "like a man" as he encouraged me to do. The first five times I cried and yelped at each whiplash, but by now I was so accustomed to it that it did little to harm me physically or emotionally. It was what a slave would accept as routine discomfort, no more.
In any case it was worth it all for my weekly dish of cock. To suck that grand cock was my delight. I spent the week dreaming and thinking of Friday night, when I would kneel at his feet, recite a prayer he taught me in honour of his cock, promising to dedicate my whole effort to making his cock happy. I would then take it gently in the palm of my right hand and kiss it slowly and thoughtfully. He taught me to think what a great honour he was bestowing on me to allow me to serve his cock, and I think I really did believe him, for it was a glorious rod. Not a wrinkle on it. Pictures of men's penises on the internet often show the veins sticking out in an ungraceful manner. When off-duty they are usually limp, but his nearly always seemed to be expecting duty, looking to be `at the ready' for action. On such occasions as they were off duty they looked rested and beautiful.
During Friday night, when I always slept at his side, I was allowed to hold his limp cock in my hand. Not to stroke it, excite it, but just lay there holding it, and/or his balls. I was flabbergasted by this singular favour he was granting me. His scrotum seemed to me silken to the touch, and glowing with health to behold. He would often say that you can tell the state of a man' health, mental as much as physical, by the beauty or otherwise of his scrotum. I don't think on that score that he could have considered mine to be healthy.
But now I was late. More than 1/2 hour late, and when I arrived and rang the bell he yelled for me to let myself in. The door was unlocked, I came in sheepishly, and there he was at the foot of the stairs, sitting, with a growl written all over his face. I could tell he was mad. "Come here, you little rat," he screamed, and swung me a punch to the right cheek which knocked me to the ground. My ears rang for a few seconds. As I got up slowly, he told me to strip. This done, naked, he grabbed me, forcibly placed me across his lap, and proceeded to administer a series of swats, first with his hand and then with a paddle. I gritted my teeth and took it all like a man, which always met with his approval.
But he had a worse suffering for me that evening. Not a physical one, a sexual, mental, psychological, penis-shaped one. I only understood the full force of this as the punishment progressed.
He took me to his basement, a superbly arranged place, a large living room with en suite facilities, a special room for grooming one's body, kitchenette, the works. One important corner of the room had a bondage set-up, and to this he now conducted me. I had only ever looked at it before, now I was to be subjected to bondage as punishment. He had me stand against a wooden frame, rather like a cross, except that the arms of the cross pointed downwards, at least giving the victim's arms some comfort. needfully as one might be there several hours. He now fixed me to this frame with leather thongs round my ankles, my belly, my wrists and elbows, and my neck. I was totally immobilized except for my head, but even this was restrained by a kind of horse's blinkers fixed over my head so that I could only look straight forward, which rooted my gaze on the place where he stood in front of me. Of course I could shut my eyes, but he solemnly warned me that if I did so my penis would be thrashed. On the only occasion I closed my eyes in sheer exhaustion, at tiny whip snaked my penis head. Man, did that ever sting!
He stood before me now wearing a black pair of trousers and a white t-shirt. He looked physically stunning. He was, of course, groomed meticulously, behind his head a superb colourful picture of his penis photographed from different angles. I was conscious I wouldn't be able to see anything else for three hours, just my master and his superb rod. Not that that was at all bad, but the message was that I would only see his rod for the next 3 hours, but not be allowed to touch, fondle, kiss or suck it. I was to be deprived of my sole reason for being in that place.
His eyes stared into mine, piercing mine intently, almost searching my soul. He read my anxiety to perfection. "Poor Johnny," he murmured, "Going to be deprived of his prime joy in life. Spending the whole week longing for this moment, and now rejected. Get a load of this tonight, you horrible little maggot, and just possibly you'll be reinstated as my Friday-night cock servant."
He stayed there motionless, while I absorbed every detail of his magnificent face. I noticed for the first time how steel blue his eyes are, how his eyebrows were plucked and groomed to perfection, never a hair out of place. His ears called my attention, strangely peeked at the top, like an elve's. A delightful touch that, I longed to fondle those ears. His nose was aquiline, adding its quota of beauty in the very centre of his exquisite face. His lips were graceful, gentle, his chin slightly jutting out and demanding adherence to his desires. I longed to take that face in my hands and kiss it, or at least be kissed by it. But that was denied to me. His right hand thumb was hooked into his trouser belt, while his left hand was hooked into his left pocket, both hands near to that special area which providence had designed for my delight.
Slowly he took off his t-shirt, revealing that premier torso, the nipples I had so often sucked, the gentle wisps of light hair above them, the superb abs with three rows of strong muscles which instinctively lead the eyes toward his abdomen. My mouth impulsively sagged open, and his mouth and eyes responded with a sinister smirk. He wanted me to suffer deprivation. Since I had deprived him of a whole hour's sexual indulgence, he would now deprive me of many hours of enjoyment. He was set on torturing my mind, my whole thinking pattern, which had become so fixated on my Friday night craving for cock. His was a total cruelty.
I noticed that his hand had moved and was now settled over his trousers on top of his crotch, obviously preparing for his next move. But each move was taken very slowly, so that I would be forced to absorb every element of what I was being denied.
Slowly he moved, his face twisting to an even more sadistic humour. His eyes laughed at me, humiliated me, tortured me. He unhooked his belt, paused, grinned at me, let his trousers fall to his feet, removed them, sat on the couch dressed only in a brilliant white pair of large briefs. His right hand slipped into the briefs and touched his cock, which was now large and clearly standing out in the folds of his briefs. I say his briefs, for I never knew anyone who could wear a pair of large briefs so wantonly as he could. He knew that for me this was a massive turn-on. As I hung there in my nakedness, my cock twitched excitedly, while I began to pant with desire. Maliciously he took a small whip and hit the top of my cock with superb accuracy. It stung like mad and it was as much as I could do to suffocate a whimper.
All the same I concentrated my thinking on his figure. This did something to alleviate the pain and the humiliation he was subjecting me to. I noted the extraordinary gracefulness of his neck. I noted for the first time in my life the five lines of muscles holding up his head. I gazed at that neck and longed to be allowed to kiss it. His movements were timed to perfection as he now moved his left hand to the centre of his upper abdomen, placing his thumb between his nipples and spreading the palm and the fingers over his lower chest. It was gracefully and erotically performed, giving me the viewer an idea of what was to come. He sat like that for five minutes watching every movement of my eyes and mouth. The slightest suggestion of sorrow, sadness, frustrated desire or anger would increase the malign smile which at all times was haunting his lips and eyes. Yet what else could I do, but reveal my distress.
I had to keep reminding myself that this man, the cruel man, is my master, and merits my love and subjection. It is very difficult to remind oneself of this when subjected to such cruel torture. My master now stood up, perched his mag bum on the arm of the sofa, and slowly pulled down the top of his briefs, revealing half of his cock sprouting upwards.
I gasped audibly. He frowned at me. He knew this was the tantalizing moment I waited for each Friday night, but he was fixed on making this in every sense a punishment, not an enjoyment. He said nothing, indeed, to the end of this cold-blooded exercise he said nothing. I forced myself to be silent, but for 60 seconds my eyes never left his rod. That contemptuous smirk never left his mouth. He was needling me, letting his cock be seen very slowly, so that I would not take my gaze from it. Also he moved a little to the right so that the picture of the multi angles of his gorgeous penis would be displayed to my famished eyes. I felt so very sad, so lonely, hanging there from my "cross", wanting so much to engulf that member in my mouth.
Then suddenly he moved his briefs down from the middle to beneath his balls, where the strong elastic had the effect of pushing his dick upward, straight upward, so that it stood out in all its glory. I almost wept for joy, but equally for frustration. I drooled at the mouth, and spittle ran slowly down my chin. He saw it and laughed, a coarse triumphant laugh. Yet he said not a word. But now his face had become dead serious, with a glint of cruelty in his eyes. He stepped over to me and slapped me several times cross the mouth. I bit my lip and stifled my desire to cry.
He seemed satisfied with himself. He sat for about 5 minutes, just staring at me, trying I thought to make me close my eyes, so he'd have further reason for punishing me. But it was not to be. Then a bright idea seems to have come into his head. He picked up his briefs, the briefs he had worn all day, waved them at me and came over to me. He held the rear inside part to my nose, so I'd get the full odour of his crotch, no doubt thinking to make me smell an undesirable stench. Far be it from me to think such a thing of my Master. I drank in the odour, which I had more vaguely smelt before, and absorbed it right into my mouth, my nostrils, my eyes. As he pulled the briefs back he looked astonished at my shining, thankful eyes. So he hung the briefs on my face for the next half-hour, while he went into the kitchenette and got himself a beer and some pizza. He removed my `veil', sat on the couch and consumed these so that I would see his contentment at having food, while I had none. Actually it was my practice on Fridays to abjure eating anything after breakfast, as a kind of fasting for the coming sexual feast. So by now I was ravenous. He made a great thing of slurping his food, holding it up for me to see. I was disappointed at this, not because I was not eating, but because I thought his actions childish. Of course, I never told him so.
After his food, he leaned back on the sofa and began to masturbate himself. This was agonised suffering indeed for me. He did it slowly, rhythmically. He stopped, went over to the hi-fi and put on some waltz music. Came back and settled on the sofa again, grinning at me he began the masturbation to the tempo of the music. Slowly he closed his eyes and became absorbed in his wank. I took the opportunity to rest my eyes just a little but opened them fairly quickly. To get caught would have been disastrous. I watched intensely as his face contorted under his thrusts, one hand stroking fiercely, the other fondling his ball bag, which had become tight as the semen built up. Then he exploded and I watched in hypnotized fascination as his semen shot all over the place.
Here I broke down. I had been here so many times before. at this point he would always indulge me with extra affection, and I would have the honour of bringing him to a glorious climax. Often taking his cream into my mouth. He would stroke my body, kiss me tenderly, and thank me profusely. I would defer and insist it should be I who thanked him.
He opened his eyes and saw the tears rolling down onto my chest. He was genuinely pleased at that for it was what he wanted his actions to achieve, a broken slave, overwhelmed by the lust for his Master's body, unable even to get near him.
He went to the bathroom both to relieve himself and to shower. While there he primped himself, came out looking so pleased with his achievements, and the enjoyment of his orgasm. He now released me. I had been there more than two hours, and might have assumed to have a rest, but not so. I was immediately to clean up the basement thoroughly, only then could I have a morsel to eat. He put emphasis on the word `morsel'.
The next hour was miserable. I was naked, not permitted to dress in anything. He lounged out, naked also, on the sofa, and watched me work. Told me he loved this part because he could rest after all his hard work, and could delight in watching me working and sweating.
After I had finished hoovering, cleaning, dusting, I was told to go to the kitchenette and serve myself whatever'. There was little whatever' in the fridge, but I did find a couple of slices of bread and three eggs. He immediately insisted that one boiled egg and a slice of bread was all I needed, since I had just stood around watching him working his meat hard, sweating profusely.
I timidly asked him whether I was permitted to stay the night. He replied affirmatively, but said I would not be sleeping in the bed with him. I was to rest at the foot of the bed, on the floor, my hands tied individually to one leg of the bed, with some amount of freedom but not enough to reach my cock, while one of my ankles was tied to the other bed foot. I would sleep on a rug with a blanket thrown over me.
The next morning for breakfast I had another boiled egg and one slice of toast. When it was time to leave he sat me down and explained what was to happen next. I had been his favourite slave, which was why I had the Friday night slot. He was always more relaxed then, he explained, and could give more attention to the slave. However, you have forfeited that privilege for a whole month. The next three Fridays you will be standing where you stood last night, but instead of me wanking myself silly as I did last night, I shall have another guy sharing my sofa. You will watch everything, and be deprived of everything. If it breaks your heart, I shall be satisfied. You will go through the same routine of sleeping at the foot of my bed while the other guy shares the inside of my sheets. What is more, you will not be given anything to eat, and will leave the house in disgrace.
And so it happened. The first week he had an afro guy come and cum in the house. He too had a gorgeous cock, but to see his mouth engorged by my Master's made me cry inwardly, though I tried to stifle it outwardly. Master watched my contorted face as I stifled my cries, and gloated over my discomfort. To see that cock, my rightful possession on Friday nights, plunging deep into this foreign arse was excruciatingly cruel. I looked into my Master's eyes pleading for my rights, but I had no rights, and as he rode his new horse he screamed it at me, "Here you have no rights, Johnny, you have only responsibilities, and those you have abused." The night was even worse as I lay at the bottom of his bed, while the black guy shared his sheets. They made love three times during that night, making as much noise about it as possible, laughing at the fate of the "doormat" at the bottom of the bed. Their deep breathing as each one reached climax was very painful to me, as I imagined myself in there.
True to his word, I left that house Saturday morning, ravenously hungry, though he had permitted me water to drink.
The next Friday he had a very handsome Ukrainian immigrant. He later told me that immigrants were sitting ducks for inducement to gay sex, but were novices who hadn't much of a clue as to how to respond. "Very different from you, Johnny," he said, "though passive, you are very responsive, and that makes sex with you a pure delight." He didn't say that at the time. He said it some weeks later when I had been firmly reinstated, or rather more than reinstated, as my reader will find out.
The Ukrainian really did bungle the whole affair, and I was left crying for my Master, tears coursing down my face. He got rid of the guy after about 1 hour. He then released me. As he did so I expressed my sorrow at his frustration. His reply was to smack my cheek very hard. "It was all your fault," he screamed, "If you had been a good slave, I would never have had to resort to that trash. Tonight I am going to lock you into a cage. You will not even have the privilege of listening to my breathing from the bottom of my bed." And with that he gave me another swot across the face with his open palm. I bit my lip and stifled a cry. I consoled myself thinking, well he'll know that the only time I cried was on seeing his frustration. So I slept that night in a cage, naked, with only a flimsy blanket over me, though the room was warm enough. It was not big enough to lay down in, so spent the night constantly moving my aching joints. By morning I was exhausted.
Sadly Master slept in on Saturday morning, so my discomfort was prolonged another two hours. When he came and released me, I said what I knew was my duty to say. I thanked him for allowing me to spend the night in his lovely home. He extended his hand, which I took and kissed respectfully. To my surprise he looked sadly at my exhausted figure and contorted face, took me into his arms and pressed his warm body against mine. He took my cock in his hand and wanked me. I was too exhausted to respond much, but he seemed to understand. I dressed, he set about preparing bacon and eggs in the kitchenette, and as we ate it he was very friendly toward me. "After breakfast," he said with a warm glint in his eyes, "we shall lay down together, and you shall explode your semen over my chest, lick it up, and promise to be a good boy." An immense sense of relief spread over my whole being, and he reached over, drew my face to his and kissed me deeply, lovingly. "I know you want to be a good slave, Johnny, but you've much to learn, and obedience, unswerving, whole-hearted obedience, is the main ingredient." "I want to do that," I whispered, and again he kissed me deeply, sucking my lips into his mouth.
Sex that morning was enjoyable in the extreme. But I made one huge mistake. As I was leaving I asked if I should come next Friday "as usual". His face took on a flash of anger. "I told you your punishment would last a month," he said, "and that includes next Friday. What is more next Friday is the climax. I am laying on something superb for me, not you, an orgy. Some of my close friends are coming. We shall eat and drink well, and indulge our sex constantly. However, you will not be taking part, but watching everything. The guys will be told they can only punish you. Not stroke your cock but twang it, pull your scrotum down, stick things up your arse, fill your mouth with anything but food, stick things in your ears. There will be a prize for the one who is the most original in expressing contempt for you. If you take all this in a good spirit, Johnny, you will be reinstated. If you react weakly in tears, or badly in anger, you will be finished. Think about it during the week ahead, and make your decision whether to come next Friday evening or not. If you do not you will never again be received in my house, not ever." And with that he propelled me out of the house.
I did not have to fight with my decision that week. I knew the moment I stepped out of my Master's house that that was where I belonged. It was an uncanny sensation that I was meant to be for this man, but I knew that only time could tell. I thought about this quite bit, measuring up the pros and pros (not pros and cons!). I was 20 years old and had no ties in the world. I lived in a small bed-sit and earned a meagre living stacking shelves at a supermarket. I doubted whether I would ever even have my own car.
My Master on the other hand was financially comfortable with a large house in a prime residential area, just outside the M25 on the south side, and a Jag which I greatly envied him. I judged him to be about 40, a tall man with a commanding presence. What is more important was that I really did feel he liked me. Age wise he could have been my father - but then I never knew my father, grew up in an orphanage from the age of two. Perhaps in him I was looking for a father-figure! The thought plunged me into depths of longing. I needed him, that I was sure of. I fantasized during the week of sitting on the sofa with him, his arm round my neck, gently pecking me on the cheek, while we watched a comedy on the box. Togetherness was what I longed for. On the other hand, I had to be honest with myself. Probably the best I could hope for was to be his house and cock slave. Cleaning his house by day as he went to his international business concerns, yielding my body to him at night, every night, inside his sheets! I had to shake myself out of my daydream and banish such stupid thoughts out of my mind. I was only his Friday night slave. He had many other sexual interests and adventures, among which I was an earthworm, nothing more. I sighed often, which my fellow employees noted and commented on, but I was telling nobody anything.
Friday night came. I was outside his door an hour before the normal time so as not to enter with his honoured guests. He sensed I would get there early, so ushered me in and told me to get undressed and stand at the foot of the frame.
He left me there in my nakedness for the next half-hour. Then he came, tweaked my balls and tied me to my martyrdom. "The next three hours are going to be hell for you boy, but I want no tears, no anger, understood?" "Yes, Master," I replied. Just to warm up my hell he proceeded to turn the frame round, leaving my bum cheeks exposed, to which he now delivered twelve lashes with a many thonged whip. My mouth sagged open, but I managed to stifle a cry. He then faced me, looked piercingly into my eyes, sternness written all over his features and proceeded to punch me in the solar plexus, two heavy blows. With what little freedom the frame allowed I was writhing all over. Tears threatened my eyes, but I sniffled them away, gritted my teeth and waited for more.
Instead he moved his body toward me, put his hand behind my head, pulled it against his open chest, having released the buttons, and murmured: "Sorry, Johnny, I had to do that as part of your punishment. You'll never be late again for me, will you loverboy?" At that moment I had to cry. What he couldn't achieve with brutality he had achieved with that simple gesture of affection. He wiped my eyes, said, "It's o.k., Johnny, there are better days to come for us both, if you conduct yourself well tonight. I shall tell the guests I have punished you severely. They will see the lash marks on your bum cheeks, and the redness on your guts and will know you have been punished. I shall then tell them they are not to hurt you." And with that he kissed me lovingly on the cheeks, both cheeks. Physically pained I was, but my heart sang for joy. For the first time since I knew him a year before, he had shown me real warmth. "Look at my guests with laughter in your eyes. Entertain them with smirks, grins and beautiful reactions to whatever they may do, whether among themselves or to you personally. If they ask you questions you may answer, but not direct questions at them."
They came, they saw, they conquered! Actually I heard them say that they liked me, that Byron (that was the first time I had heard his name) was to be complemented on such a catch. I would certainly be a total pussyboy (whatever that meant), and perhaps Byron would rent him out from time to time.
I cannot describe that evenings events, it was all too complicated. There must have been a dozen of them, but the whole thing was a kaleidoscope of images. They wined and dined with exuberance to high-pitched music, indulging each others sexual appetites to the full. I could only watch with unbelief, and react with smiles. Frequently one or two would come over to me, pinch my tits, twang my cock gently, and pull my scrotum down, though this was done so slowly that I felt they were enjoying the feeling of fondling my ball sac. Some went behind and fondled my ass, and if they were out of sight of my Master would insert their fingers in my arse hole and finger fuck it for a few seconds. I enjoyed that, even whispered my thanks. They would immediately go to the bathroom and wash their fingers. Bless them!
When the fun time dimmed it was announced that I could be fed, like a baby. Some of them did that and also gave me wine to drink. Then I was released but was not permitted to mingle with the guests. Instead I was taken to the bedroom, where I was tied to a chair, my ankles, my hips and my neck tied so that I was virtually motionless.
There I sat for a couple of hours before my Master himself came in, stripped for bed, lay down naked and waited. Six guys came into the room, two of them climbed onto Master's bed and lay on either side of him. After a short conversation he reached out and fondled their cocks. Needless to say I watched jealously. They began to masturbate, proceeded to indulge in threesome sex, whilst two guys on either side of the bed sucked and fucked each other. I had a halter on again which allowed me to take in the whole area of the bed and the two side areas where the others were sexing. After 1/2 hour the two on the bed with Master got off and were replaced immediately by the two on the left of the bed. These six indulged for the next two hours, the sound of their groans, moans, screams and mutual exhortations to unrestrained sexual acts filled the air. Then they all stopped, went off for food and drink. 1/2 hour later the other six came in with my Master and the actions were repeated.
To cut matters short I was treated to a night of unbridled sex, but not permitted to indulge in it for 60 seconds even. This torture was worse than the physical beating Master had given me. It was mental, psychological and sensual. My cock was at full mast all night. It leaked pre-cum constantly, but never reached climax. Sometimes I thought it would but just as it seemed to reach the jet of semen my mind changed gear and refused to permit ejaculation. It would have meant punishment.
Morning came, the guests disappeared. My Master saw them out without serving breakfast. He came in and untied all my ligatures. He helped me stand up, I was so very stiff. Slowly he took me to the bed, rather like a nurse with a patient, so very gentle. He told me to lay down on the bed, covered me over and told me he'd be back in a moment. He returned with a cup of hot sweet chocolate for me, which I drank down feverishly. He took it from me, bent over and engaged my mouth in a tender kiss. He then laid down with me, covered us both with the sheet and drew me to him. Our bodies met, his so warm and juicy, mine throbbing with pain. Our bodies physically one, he massaged me, my neck, my back, my bum cheeks, my thighs. His hand found my testicles and fondled them gently, found my cock and stroked it. "Johnny," he said, "I think I could love you. Those guys are filled with jealousy for my find, my catch, whatever you want to call yourself. Real proud of me they are. But I'm proud of you sweet Johnny. You have behaved so courageously through these weeks. I'm gonna have you suck my rod and receive it into your boy cunt now. Then I'm gonna suck your cock till you shoot your semen into my throat." I gasped with astonishment, This was not the normal way to act with a slave. He did all he promised exuberantly. Throwing himself into making love to me, yes, just me! I was amazed that he could do it after such a wild night as he had had. But then, my Master is a man's man, who can discharge ten+ times in a night.
Over breakfast, which he made of eggs and bacon, he joked merrily, took me into many of his confidences his eye sparkling over every little anecdote of his life. I was gob-smacked at the ease with which he was talking to me, almost as though I were his equal. Then he sprang his very pleasant surprise. "Johnny," he said, looking intensely into my eyes, "I don''t want you to come on Friday nights any more." He watched my crestfallen face, then grinned and said, "Instead I want you to come and live with me. I will employ you as my personal valet, looking after my toiletry, my clothes, my appearance, y bed, but you won't be required to clean the house or cook, nothing like that. I will make you what earlier English kings did, they appointed a `Gentleman of the Bedchamber'. You shall be my very own Gentleman of the Bedchamber. Then I shall be able to make love to you whenever I want to. I will pay you well, have you trained professionally, and will pay for any further studies should you so wish."
He was amused by my astonishment. "Johnny," he said, I've had a lot of sex this month, part of which you've seen last night, but you're the only one who has won my affections. Honestly, I think I've fallen in love with you. You don't need to to make a decision now. Think it over seriously, but you must decide by Friday." We stood up and I fell tearfully into his arms. "Master," I said, "I just want to go home, pack my things and come to you TODAY." I screamed `TODAY'. He kissed me, said, "Do whatever you think best, Johnny. I need you badly."
Personally, I think this a lovely story. Let me have your reactions. It is of course entirely fictional. I have a number of other stories in the pipeline. I might like to try them out privately before going public. Would you be willing to read one for me? Will send it straight to your email. guichi777@excite.com