The door fell shut behind me and I stood there in the near-darkness, with the figure of a naked man before me, kneeling, hands behind his back. There would be no romantic evening, after all. All my hopes dashed. My dreams come to nothing. He had made his wishes clear. I nodded, not specifically to him, but more to myself, nodding to accept the situation. Slowly I walked around him, his eyes following me on each side. I could feel his anxiety, his insecurity, but also his lust. He must be frantic, not knowing if I will accept the offering. How could there have been so much quiet understanding between us to make him do this? How could he have known I would accept? I patted him on the head, touched the soft black hair, and he nuzzled his face against my palm like a dog. He had tied his own wrists together behind his back with a sock. His eyes gleamed with moisture, his mouth stood half open. He shifted on his knees. Clearly, had been kneeling here for some minutes in silent anticipation of his master. The rough carpet of the hotel room must be cutting into his delicate skin. I thought of the pain dull and---pleasant maybe? How much was he into this? As I completed my circle, I thought of all the things one could do to a submissive male. All the things I had done in the past.
From his hair, I let my hand glide over his ear, caressed it, then his neck, pressed it hard, until he groaned, then around the other side and towards his mouth, and over his face. Again, like a dog, he pressed up against me, nudged me, his tongue flicked out and licked my hand. He was a complete submissive, to be sure. A handsome, able-bodied, moderately hairy, willing and very clearly experienced slave-boy. I stood before him, and his eyes looked up, begging me to take him. I nodded again, this time in assent. His head came forward and his mouth touched my trousers. But instead of using his mouth only, he turned his head sideways, left and right, and rubbed against the fabric. He felt my bulge, growing quickly, with his entire head, now with the left ear, now with the back of the head, when he slid almost between my legs. Dog-boy, I thought, deciding on an epithet for the evening. Dog-boy will be your name. I will use you and make you happy. I will fulfill your fantasy. The same fantasy you have been spinning all afternoon. The fantasy that made you stumble over words in your presentation. Which made you apologize to me, and lower your head, and show me your exposed neck, like the loser bares his neck for the alpha male in the pack. Even though these aren't my dreams. Even though I don't want you that way. Not today. I had other plans. With my cock in my trousers, so rose inside me a sudden anger. He had taken away, with his submissive posture and his declaration, all chance for romance. Now, I was sure, we would fuck, and fuck hard, and have a hell of an evening together, and probably a whole night. I would use him, mouth ass and all his delicate body, and he would take me and all my liquids and all the punches I would dish out. My spit in his face and my hand up his arse. But there would be only a soft kiss at the end, and a sweet good-bye, and that's it. Another notch in the bedpost. Did French bottom, 23 Nov 2010. Another hot memory for lonely nights and old age. But no lover. No cuddling. No daily routine of having coffee and---ah! yes, with him---croissants and pain au chocolat together. I slapped him hard. I was suddenly so angry that he had removed all chance for a romantic encounter by stripping naked and kneeling before me, so vulgar, so unexpected, because unarranged. How dare he preempt my wishes like that! We hadn't spoken before. We hadn't introduced a common predilection for role play into a long chat. I slapped him again, wishing to hurt him. You should have asked me, you slut! You should have made sure...you...! I hit him again, full force. He moaned, ---Oh, yeah, fuck, oui! The bilingual banker was back. I slapped him again, hard across the cheek. ---Oh, yeah, fuck, oui... thank you, Sir! Oh the insolence! He enjoyed it! That was to be his line for the evening, mostly. He said nothing else, but varied on the word order. From 'Oh, yeah, oui, fuck,' to 'fuck, oui, yeah,' I made him groan different grammar with each move. Ah, yes, there was one more, the double 'oui.' It went 'oui, harder Sir, oh oui.' How dare he! For now, I just looked him in the eye, and punished him. I hit him again. ---Thank you, Sir. The print of my palm on his face glowed red in the dim light. His eyes were watery, but happy. Desire flowed from them: the animal spirit. We hadn't agreed on anything by exchanging profiles on a website. We hadn't met in the S&M chat room, or divulged our preference in a sequence of SMS messages. And yet... he had declared himself clearly. He had, in the conference room, apologized, and hoped, submissively, to have satisfied me. He had, I realized now, before the four-hundred in the audience, said, exactly that: 'I want you to dominate me, I want to submit to you, Sir,' although, of course, not in so many words. ---Is that what you want, you piece of shit, I said, regretting the vulgarity almost immediately. It hurt me to abuse him. Only minutes ago I had pictured him as my lifelong companion, my lover. Now he was on his knees. I hated him for it. ---Yes Sir. ---So you are a sub? You like to have an Asian master? ---Yes Sir. Another slap. He dived into the palm as it hit him. He loved this. ---You want to be my slave tonight? ---Yes Sir. I looked at his face: flushed, my fingers printed on his skin. His eyes sparkled wide. His cock---small, as I had predicted---was hard, tight against his taut hairy stomach. He had no visible abs, not in this semi-darkness and kneeling position, and not discernible under his fur, but his body was hard and wiry. I found his nipples and pulled hard. ---Oh yeah, oui. I twisted them. He groaned. My cock was now fully erect and pushing out the fabric of my expensive suit. He hadn't even given me the pleasure to undress him. The whole afternoon, I had admired his clothes, the elegantly dressed young male. He hadn't even let me unwrap the package. The back of my hand hit him on the right cheek. He winced, but his eyes said 'thank you.' He saw the tent in my trousers and moaned again. I opened my belt and reached down to align the cock on my thigh again, so he could see its full length. He gasped and swallowed hard. ---Oh, fuck, Sir! ---You didn't expect that, did you? On an Asian? He swallowed again before he spoke. ---No, Sir. ---But you love it! You love big cock? ---Yes Sir. ---You are a French cock-whore? ---Oui. On the tip of his own member, a drop of precum had formed, as large as a marble. I reached down, scooped it up with thumb and forefinger, and placed it on his lips. ---Here, dog-boy. Taste yourself. His eyes lit up, opened just a few millimeters more. A gestured that was with us through the evening: every time he found something really hot, his eyes flinched like that, and his mouth fell open. I smeared the transparent pre-cum over his luscious thick lips, until they glistened. Then I said, ---Open wide, and spat a wad of saliva down his throat. He swallowed eagerly. ---Oh, yes, fuck, that's hot. Just like in the morning's presentation, once again his speech danced between the accents. The 'oh, yes, fuck' could have been spoken by an American porn actor. But the 'that's hot' was so clearly French, even without the initial 'h', that I giggled. He was cute, and approachable, and sublime, even on his knees, in the throes of erotic passion. I opened my zipper, then grabbed his head and pushed it into my groin. He licked me, the fabric of my trousers, and tried to let his tongue go over the outline of my cock, but I held him by the hair. The wonderful black hair, not curly but deliciously wavy, not long enough to have a lock fall over his elegant forehead. I took his face in the grip of my hand and spat on him again. The eyes flinched, and he thanked me. My God, what a sub! A dream come true for a dominant top like me. And yet, I was furious, still. Was I never to find even a chance for love? Was it all sex and one fuck after another? He had promised so much. Once more, the anger welled up inside me. I pushed him back, slapped him hard, then took out my cock through the fly. It stood proud and hard and long and thick, and he looked at it as if there were two cocks instead of one. His mouth hung open, saliva ran out at the side, and he stared until his eyes couldn't take the sight any longer. He closed them, and opened his mouth as wide as he could.
He was a sub, maybe, but he was no slave. He clearly signaled with every move what he wanted. I gripped him by the hair again, and forced my cock in. Most take it half at first try. But when I hit the throat wall, expecting to spend some minutes to get him acquainted with my size, the throat unexpectedly opened, and my whole tool slid in, unimpeded. His head was tilted back, and the neck extended, and my cock-tip slide down his gullet, effortlessly. It was...amazing. I have never been taken like this, so quickly, so deeply. His face turned red, and then purple, but he did not fight. He would have passed out, probably, if I hadn't pulled out, and when I did, he gulped for air with a gasp so loud the whole hotel must have heard it. And again, he groaned bilingually and with his mixed accent. ---Oh, fuck yeah, oui, thasso'ot, Sir! Before he finished the 'Sir,' however, I plunged back in again. The feeling of his soft throat was amazing. I touched his neck again, and found my cock-tip. No idea how it was possible, it was as if he had no voice box. That miraculous, sonorous voice of the morning's presentation, that singing sound, that melodious, sometimes erroneously nasal, sometimes intentionally cute pattern of words, that mixture of American and French accent, where had that come from. Now it was no more. In its place was my turgid cock, sliding in and out of the hungry mouth, making the cheeks darken with blood, and the eyes wet up so much, a tear dislodged itself from them every few seconds and tumbled down his happy cheeks. But as he came up for air again, he only thanked me. ---Oh, Sir, this is ... I had no idea! he said, sounding perfectly American. ---Yes. You didn't expect that. What did you expect? A little romantic evening? A glass of champagne, and a long kiss? I knelt down with him, and pulled his blotched face towards me, kissing him fully on the lips. Suddenly, his French accent was back, and even, in the excitement, some wrong grammar. ---I didn't know, Sir. ---You didn't know, what? ---At first, what you wanted. You looked at me, while I give the presentation. ---And. ---I felt you. ---You felt me? ---I felt you are...a top. And then you spoke, so...demanding. You say, 'I owe you an explanation,' and ... ---And you submitted to me. He nodded. ---I have never done this before. ---What? Have sex with a man? Play the bottom? ---No, no, that I 'ave. There went the 'h's for good. ---No, Sir. I mean, strip naked and... I thought first, maybe we could 'ave a drink in the bar. ---So? Why didn't we arrange to meet in the bar? Why did you ask me straight up, and strip naked? ---I don't know, Sir. It was your voice, on the phone. ---Nonsense. I didn't give you any orders. It's all in your head, boy. All in your head. And with that, before he could object, I plunged my cock down his throat again and made him choke. Carried away by my voice. Go figure. There was a problem, however. He was making me so fucking hot, and his throat was so soft and warm, and I, by nature, so easy to explode, without problem several times and evening, that, with two, three, four more plunges down his gullet, I was close to climax. I pulled out, ordered him to close his mouth and eyes, and erupted all over his face in a violent orgasm, then collapsing over him. I held on to his head, and pulled his hair.
And then I had a brilliant idea. He opened his eyes. I could see his own cock pulsate. More precum had collected. I picked it up and fed it him again. ---Get up! He did. I kissed him on the lips, then removed the sock from his wrists. It was amazingly well tied, and I wondered how he had done it. He must have held the ends in a vise somehow, in a door or drawer maybe, then pulled the knot tight. ---You are mine now, I said, spreading my juice over his cheek, nose and brow, evenly. Go, get dressed. Don't wash your face, Just let it dry. I will wait in the bar for you. You will come down in ten minutes, and you will pick me up. You will act as if we've never met. And then we will talk, and you will seduce me. And you will...when is your flight tomorrow? I assume you are leaving tomorrow. ---I have a car for the airport at 5:30 am. First flight to Hong Kong. ---Excellent. He looked puzzled. ---If you seduce me right, I will come up with you again, and I will fuck you until your car arrives, all night. And you won't be able to sit, not in the car, not on the plane, not in your Hong Kong office for the next week. Is that clear? He nodded. ---Do you want that, you little slut? I grabbed his dick when I said this, very hard, squeezed, without jerking or rubbing, just squeezed it hard, and instead of an answer, I got a load of his dog-cum all over my hand. It wasn't much. He didn't shoot wide. He doubled up, and clenched his wiry body: now I could see the abs. ---Well, I guess that's an answer. When his breathing slowed, I raised my hand and wiped it off over his face, adding his own semen to mine, slowly drying. Some I rubbed in his hair. Then I kissed him. When our lips parted, I smiled. ---I will be waiting in the bar. Don't wash. And with that, I let go of him, and walked out the door.
Part 4 is coming up. For more of Marten Weber, go to www.martenweber.com -- www.martenweber.com http://www.martenweber.com