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When Master Rob says "Let's talk about" anything, what he really means is that I sit -- or kneel -- look into his eyes, pay very close attention to what he is saying and definitely do not interrupt.
"OK, fag, Obviously any Super Bowl party needs appetizers, and no, they don't all have to be healthy. But I also expect a real meal. My guests know I have a faggot and know I will get treated differently, so burgers with all of the toppings, fresh-made fries and a salad will do for them. I want my Sunday usual."
Makes sense. Super Bowls are played on Sundays. I also knew that meant I would be eating the same meal as Master Rob would be eating. Well, sort of, but we'll get to that.
"And I want that bar stocked. They know not to expect anything too exotic, but if they want a good Scotch or a top-shelf margarita, they must have one. And both my beer and a good light beer are musts."
My shopping list now taken care of, it's time to take care of Master Rob. But as usual with him, first things first.
"Open up, faggot." Already kneeling and looking up at him, I open my mouth as wide as I can and wait. He unzips and pulls out his beautiful dick. Not the biggest I've sucked, and certainly not the biggest to rape my faggot ass, but just a perfectly proportioned cock that never ceases to make my mouth water. But not yet. He aims his dick high and starts to piss in my direction. A little hits the floor, a little hits me, but soon his aim is true and he is filling my pussymouth with his hot piss. Often he will just stick his dick in and unload his bladder, but sometimes he enjoys watching me take it, and when that happens, the next is inevitable.
He stops his stream, hocks one up and spits a juicy one into my mouth, still filled with his piss. "Swallow that shit, fag." It takes me a couple of tries to gulp it down, but I take it, leaving my mouth with the flavor of his liquid waste. "Open again." And here comes the rest, a high arc of sweet piss that, more than anything else, reminds me of my place in Master Rob's world. When he is done, he moves closer and shakes the drops onto my face. "Now swallow it, fag, and when you're done enjoying that lick up the drops on the floor. And while we're talking about that, this place better be cleaned for my party. Anything I find not ready will result in punishment -- and just remember, I'll have help inflicting punishment on your faggot ass tomorrow."
There's that excited and scared combination again. I truly want nothing more than to please this man, my hero, my god, who single-handedly made moving to New England worthwhile for me. I met Rob (he wasn't Master Rob then) just a few months ago, within a few weeks of settling into this apartment. I didn't even know he had dom in him, but on our second meeting, when I offered to drink his piss, it slowly started to kick in. Within the month, he was saying every degrading thing he could think of while I sucked his dick or while he pounded my hole. Having been strictly a cocksucker for most of my life -- even my original master never fucked me again after that first time -- to be suddenly turned into a hot man's fucktoy was amazing.
After I was done licking his piss droplets off of the floor, I called to him. "Master Rob, is this satisfactory?" He walked over, and as he was barefoot I moved to kiss his feet. "You're finally learning, you stupid fag. I shouldn't have to tell you everything. And yes, that's fine. For now. It still needs to be cleaned before the party. But you also have shopping to do. You'll find your underwear for today and tomorrow in the bag on the table. Pink is for tomorrow, black is for today. Put them on, present yourself, then go get dressed and get shopping. You have a lot to buy."
The underwear was typical feminine things, something I NEVER did before I met Master Rob. It's strictly to degrade me, he doesn't get off on it. But it makes him happy to treat me like even more of a faggot than I am -- and that's hard to do -- so it never occurred to me to protest. I put the black panties on and go back to him in his recliner. "Not bad, at least not for a fat-assed fag like you. Turn around." I turn around and, knowing what he wants, I bend over. "Back it up, bitch." I back up closer to him and I feel his strong hands on my ass. WHACK. Suddenly he smacks my right cheek hard. Master Rob never spanks me. I don't move a muscle, half in pain and half stunned. "I can do what I want, faggot. And I think I'd like to show off a bit for my friends just how hard I can discipline my fagslave." "Yes, Sir."
"Get dressed and get shopping. You have a lot to do."
I turn and head for the bedroom, my ass in flames from the hard spank. I get dressed, grab my wallet and return to the living room. "Is there anything special I can get for you today, Sir?" "Not this time. You have enough to get already. Now, kiss good-bye." Obediently, I dropped to my knees and opened my mouth for his "kiss." He didn't have anything more to hock up, so it was just saliva that he planted on my face. I know he liked to miss more than he liked to hit my open mouth. He took his finger and guided his spit into my eager mouth, then slid the finger inside. I sucked on it eagerly, as I always do. And he patted me on the head. "You're doing well, fag, but tomorrow will be very different. I hope you don't screw it up."
I hoped so, too, not because I feared his punishment, although I did, but because I genuinely wanted to please this awesome man and wanted to show his friends what a good faggot he has.
Part 3 coming soon ...