The Sub-Student PART ONE By bamaboi2serve@charter.net
A Christmas present for my MASTER in Cleveland, who ordered me to write this for him.
I had been hired Jimmy to work around my property all Summer. He was a good worker, always doing more than promised and staying longer if needed.
I hired him because I spotted him working in a neighbor's yard, a yard that always looked well-manicured, and because he was a student in one of my classes at the local College.
OK, I won't deny that I also hired him 'cause he was cute...21 years old, about 6' 1" tall, 160 pounds, chestnut hair that hung in bangs over his forehead, a kinda lazy walk that allowed me plenty of time to watch his very shapely ass slide around underneath the always tight shorts or jeans he wore. He was also fond of either tank tops or no shirt at all if the weather allowed. He was mostly smooth, but had dark patches of hair in his pits that he showed off when he stretched, which also exposed slight evidence of a nice bush above his cock, though I had yet to see it all. His arms and legs were long, showing developing muscles and a light but noticeable smattering of hair.
I was glad the work he was doing for me was contributing to his muscle development! His tits showed promise...dark little mounds that I was sure would get larger and more prominent if exercised.
I may be fifteen years his senior, but I'm no slouch in the looks department either. I work out regularly and keep myself in shape. There were a couple of gray hairs in my mostly jet black hair, but just a few.
Oh, duh, I'm gay, which lots of people know about me, but I'm also into S&M, something only a few select friends and, of course, my sex partners are aware of. I'm a Master too...100%. When guys come home with me they know what position they're going to be in for the night...on their knees, on their belly, or on their back...serving and servicing me and my many needy body parts!
Jimmy had been inside my house any number of times to use the bathroom or get a drink, and I was pretty careful about not leaving toys and stuff lying around...but one Sunday I had carelessly left a pair of Japanese style tit clamps laying on the table next to the door that led to the basement. That's where my playroom was, a room Jimmy had never been in and which I kept locked. I had bought the house because of that big basement and because it was on a large enough piece of property that prying neighbors weren't a problem.
I had kept the tit clamps on the slave-boi I was playing with the night before and had kept them on him till he was leaving, enjoying the sharp pain I knew he felt when I removed them and the blood went rushing back into his tortured nubs. I knew he would still be hurting when he got back home, a nice reminder of me. When I did take `em off him, I had dropped them on the table, meaning to take them downstairs in the morning.
The best intentions and all that ended with me standing in the kitchen Sunday afternoon and Jimmy calling my name from the door...he had come in to use the bathroom and on his way out had walked past the basement door.
I turned and there he was, cute as ever, kneeling on the floor, head down, wearing my clamps on his tits. "i hope you don't mind if i use these, Sir?" he asked softly.
He had removed his cutoffs and was dressed in only a jock strap, Sweat was dripping from his body onto the kitchen floor.
I had NO idea how Jimmy had figured me out, but there he was offering himself to me, and he wasn't being bashful.
I walked over and grabbed the chain linking the clamps and gave them a tug..."Over here boi! Crawl!" I said firmly, pulling him along on his knees. He kept his eyes down, but I caught a glimpse of them briefly and they were as big as a house. The bulge in his jock grew even bigger and a wet spot formed.
If there is such a thing as a natural slave, Jimmy was apparently it. When I stopped, I pulled him up into kneeling position. Without being told, he put his hands behind him, just above his crack ...and he stayed in that slave-like position, keeping his eyes averted.
I calmly and casually flipped off my shoes and took off my shorts. I wasn't wearing any underwear, and my man-sized cock flopped out inches above his lowered head. A drip of pre-cum made it's way down into his hair. I don't know how he felt it, but he jerked his head an inch or so as if he had been burned by scalding water.
We were in really new territory for him now, live in the middle of his masturbatory fantasies. I didn't want him to bolt, so I used one hand to pet his head and his shoulders a bit, making sure my rod didn't make contact with him. His OWN prick was pushing out his sweaty jock like the proverbial tent pole.
In a way, his was also a new experience for me...while I had picked up guys new to Master/slave games, they had been older. Jimmy was just a boy!
"Easy boy, easy...I'm going to go really slow with you.." I told him. His reply could have been mistaken for a slight wind outside it was so soft..."Yessss Sir," he replied his voice shaking.
I pulled over a chair from the dining room table and sat down immediately in front of him, my legs spread wide, my cock now pointing at him like a sword, another long string of cum stretching downward to the floor between his knees. my large balls rested on the edge of the chair.
"I want you to look at my cock as I talk to you, boy...stare at it and memorize it's shape and contours," I ordered him.
His head moved up a couple of inches and he became the trapped furry animal looking at the cobra, waiting for a strike.
"We need some rules, boy, and I'm the one making em. These are the basics. I'll refine am later. Are you listening?" I asked rhetorically. Hell, I was sure my voice was inside his head by now!
"Number one is that I am a man, and you are a slave. I tell you what to do and you DO it! Repeat!," I ordered. He repeated each word correctly, but again, so softly. I'd have to work on his delivery later.
"Number two is your name. It's not Jimmy. It's Bob's Bitch Boi. Understand?" I asked, again, not really needing an answer. I had him now. I ordered him to repeat his new name three times loudly and he did, the third time with real force behind it.
"Number three is my name. It is Master or Sir. If I ever hear you call me something else, in private or public, I'll toss you to the curb slut!" That sounded a bit harsh, I thought, but he seemed to be thriving on it, his cock even harder if that was possible. I wondered if it would poke a hole through the jock cloth.
"Slip that stupid jock strap off boi, only a real man with athletic ability wears them, and no bitch of mine wears clothing in the house anyway!" I shouted, "And that's Rule Number Four!"
He stumbled as he pulled at the flimsy cloth, pulling it over one knee at a time, almost falling on his side but catching himself in time. In a moment he was done, kneeling naked before his new Master, still sweating despite the air conditioning, shaking and still hard, his six inch cock pointing out in front of him. His brown pubes were trimmed very short, and I made a mental note to find out why.
There was no hesitation in his movements. So far, the boi had done everything I wanted, but it was still early...in the evening, and early in what I was beginning to think was the opportunity of a lifetime.