[The story that follows this warning is completely fictional. The characters and situation are entirely imaginary, as are the explicit descriptions of adult males' engaging in consensual sex and role-playing. Nonetheless, if the law or your own tastes put homosexual erotica off limits, please do not read further.
[The story is also about 17 pages or 8,000 words long. If you download it, you can decide where to take a break as you read. I hope you will enjoy it and respect the author's copyright.
[Thank you. Park517@aol.com]
"Are you ready, boy?"
"Yes, Master John."
"Are you scared?"
"Yes, master."
"No one will hurt you here, boy. Not unless you let them. You know that, don't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"You haven't forgotten your safe word, boy?"
"No, Master."
"Then let's go. On your knees."
"Yes, Master."
I get on all fours. He pushes open a door. Holding my leash, he walks through it, and I follow into an unfurnished, carpeted space so brightly lit that I blink against the glare. In the middle of the room, he stops, reaches down, and grabbing a fistful of my hair, he yanks my head up.
"Kneel up, boy," Master John orders me sharply. "Spread your legs wide. Hands behind your back."
"Yes, master." I whisper.
"Speak up, boy. Have you lost your voice? These men want to hear you."
"No, Master John." I try to use a normal tone. "Yes, master."
But I can't see any men. They must be in the deep darkness at the far end of the room. They can see me, see my nakedness, my fear and my longing. But I cannot see them.
"This boy, gentlemen," Master John speaks and he smoothes my hair back, "seeks a master. He is 25 years and three months old. He is HIV-negative, in perfect health, unmarked, no tattoos, no piercings. He is five foot nine and a half inches tall. He weighs 146 pounds. His eyes are hazel. His hair is light brown. His penis is uncircumcised. It is three inches soft and almost seven and a half inches hard. It is just under two inches around.
"The boy has no family. His last relative, a grandmother, died eight months ago. She left him a solid trust fund. The boy is quite intelligent. He has a college education. He worked as a junior systems analyst for a major company until he resigned two weeks ago. He gave up his apartment. He left no forwarding address. He told his friends he was going to travel in Europe.
"The boy jogs and swims and does tai chi exercises. He is a vegetarian. He does not smoke. He has never used drugs. There is no history of major illness in his family. He plays the piano and used to sing in his church choir and the college glee club. He has been used, but he has not been properly trained.
"Under the terms of his agreement with my service, he offers himself to you for instruction -- provided that he may choose among those who might want him and that his first contract will be for just one month. If he rejects all of you, as you know, he forfeits his entire deposit and you get two-thirds of yours back.
"For the rest, I will play you a videotape of part of his application interview. You will see one other thing about the boy. He is somewhat naive and quite shy. He blushes like a girl." Master John drops my leash and walks away. After a few seconds a light flickers in the darkness in front of me and to my left. Just as he comes back to stand beside me, I hear his voice.
"When did you start having sex with men, boy?" the voice asks. Immediately, I know what is coming. I cringe. I did not know that Master John would let others hear what I had told him. I blush. I start to shake my head. But Master John gives a sharp tug on my leash. "Hush, boy," he whispers angrily. "Slaves have no secrets from their masters."
"I was 15, sir." I hear myself speaking. I remember that I had been standing naked and collared and cuffed in front of Master John, and he had been using a long, black flail to toy with my penis and testicles as I answered his questions.
"What happened, boy?" I can't see the screen so I don't know how much the men to whom I am being displayed can see of me. But I hear my voice.
"It was the choirmaster at my church, sir. He asked me to stay behind after rehearsal to work on my solo. Then he started asking me about girls. I got embarrassed, master. I had had a few dates, but nothing happened. Then, then ... well, he put his hand on me. And it felt nice."
"Go on, boy. No secrets."
"Yes, master." There were tears in my voice. I had never told anyone about this. "He pulled down my pants and my underpants, and he put me in his mouth. And I got stiff and I came, master. I came inside him. And I was so scared that he'd be angry. But he wasn't. He kissed me, and he made me feel him. He was very big, and I guess he wanted me to suck him, but I didn't want to. I said my parents would be worried. I got away."
"Did he ever suck your cock again, boy?"
"No, master."
"Why not?"
"I moved away. My parents were killed, and I went to live with my grandmother. I never saw him alone again."
"How did your mother and father die, boy?"
"In a car crash, master."
"Were you with them?"
"No, master." I hear myself start to sob.
"Why are you crying, boy? That was ten years ago. Was it your fault?" There is no audible answer.
"Don't just shake your head like that, boy. Answer me."
"Yes, master. I thought ... I thought God took them to punish me." I was wailing in the misery of what I remembered and what I still half believed.
"To punish you for what, boy?"
"For being queer, master." I was still crying, but I had my voice nearly under control. "I tried to stop."
"To stop what, boy?"
"To stop the thoughts, master. To stop looking at other boys and imagining."
"Imagining what, boy? I can't read your mind." Master John was irritated. "I can't help you if you hold things back."
"Yes, master. Thank you, master. Imagining making love to them. Imagining taking their penises in my hand and putting them in my mouth. Imagining licking their bodies and kissing them and having them play with my body."
"Have you done that, boy?"
"Yes, master. In college. The spring of my junior year. A guy on the swim team was in one of my classes. He asked me to come to his room after practice to help him with homework. I went, and while he was down the hall getting drinks from the machine, I looked around. There was a magazine lying on a desk. A picture in it showed a man standing and another man kneeling, and they were naked and very good-looking, and the kneeling man had his mouth on the other one. He was sucking him. I got embarrassed, master, and excited, too, and my friend found me like that."
"Like what, boy?"
"Hard, master. I had unzipped my pants. I was looking at the picture and playing with myself."
"What did your friend do, boy?"
"First, he laughed, master. Then he asked me if I did things like in the picture, and I said no. Then, he asked me which of the men in the picture I would like to be, and for a while I couldn't answer. And then I said I'd like to be the kneeling one. And he locked the door and told me to take off my clothes, that he would make me happy."
"Did he, boy?"
"Yes, master, oh, yes. He was very handsome and very strong, and he let me kiss his balls -- he had a lot of pubic hair, master, but none on his testicles, I was really surprised -- and then suck him. He held my head in his hands, master, and he showed me how to do it. It was wonderful. I hadn't dreamed how good it could be."
"Did you swallow his cum, boy?"
"No, master, he shot it on my face and in my hair, but not in my mouth."
"And did he suck your cock, boy?"
"No, master. He told me to jerk myself off, and he sat and watched me while I did. And when I came in my hand and on the floor, he told me to lick it all up."
"Did you, boy?"
"Yes, master. And then he took me to bed, and we held each other, and we kissed. I loved him, master."
"Did he fuck you, boy?"
"No, master, not then. His roommate did. Later."
"When was that, boy?"
"Two days later. My friend -- his name was Henry -- told me to come to his room, and when I got there, his roommate, Asa, was there, too. I tried to leave, but they wouldn't let me. My friend said Asa liked pretty boys like me. They made me get naked and kneel on the floor, and Henry sat on the bed and held my head in his hands again while I sucked him, and Asa put his cock in my behind. He was very big, and it hurt, and I tried to get him to stop, and he wouldn't. I cried when it was over, but they both petted me and said I had been a good fuck. They said they liked me a lot and it wouldn't hurt so much the next time."
"Were there more times, boy?"
"Yes, master. At first, I didn't want to go back. I knew it was wrong, but still I wanted it. They were handsome, master, and nobody like that had ever wanted ... wanted to make love with me before.
"The next time it was Henry who fucked me while I sucked Asa. That was better. Henry was not so big. A lot of times they were nice to me. When they were finished, they would jerk me off and let me lick my cum from their hands. Once, Asa even picked me up and lay down with me in his bed and played with my hair and let me kiss him all over. I remember that because usually he was very rough with me."
"What do you mean, rough, boy?"
"He liked to hit me. He had a paddle, and he'd make me lie in his lap while he spanked me. He put my underwear in my mouth so that I wouldn't scream. He said he liked my ass to be red, like a baboon, when he screwed me. And he used to pinch my nipples, master. Hard, so that I'd cry. He said I looked cute with tears on my face."
"How long did you stay with Asa and Henry, boy?"
"Just until school ended, master. We all spent the summer in different places."
"What about when school started again?"
"They had found another boy. I guess they liked him better. He was very beautiful. They took him and me out to the woods one day and made us undress and kiss and pet and suck each other while they took pictures. But after that they left me alone."
"Did you like being alone, boy?"
"No, master. I was very unhappy."
"Why didn't you find other men?"
"I was frightened, master. I wanted people to ask me, but at college no one else did."
"What about after college, boy?"
"I lived in Boston, master, and a friend from work took me to a bar one night. He knew a lot of the men there, and when an older guy hit on me, my friend said he was all right. He was, but we just did it once. He didn't ask me again."
"Did you start seeing other men after that, boy?"
"Yes, master, but usually only for one night, maybe two."
"Usually, boy? Didn't you ever fall in love? Didn't anyone fall in love with you?"
"There was one man, master. He fascinated me. He was so strong and decisive, and his body was like a god's. I moved in with him. He made me shave my body. Everywhere, master. And he made me wear very skimpy clothes. He took me to bars like that, with a collar on my neck, and he made me have sex with him where other people could see. Once, at a party on the beach on Cape Cod with a lot of people watching, he even made me suck another man -- a black man with a very big cock I could barely get in my mouth -- while he fucked me."
"He sounds like he understood you, boy. Why aren't you with him any more?"
"He whipped me a lot, master, and not just my behind. And he put weights on my balls that hurt and on my nipples. And when he said he was going to have my nipples pierced and maybe later my penis, I got scared. I told him I didn't want that, but he said I belonged to him and he could do anything he liked with me. So I ran away."
At that point, the room goes silent. The tape must have come to an end. Master John puts a hand on my shoulder. "Stand up, boy," he said.
I try, but I have been kneeling so long that my legs don't work very well. Master John puts his hands in my armpits and hauls me upright. Once I have my balance, he pushes me firmly toward the dark end of the room. When we are about two feet from the line where the bright light ends, he makes me stop. Then he takes a blindfold that had been hanging on his belt and ties it tight around my head.
"What can you see, boy?" he asks.
"Nothing, Master John."
"Good," he says. "Stand still. Gentlemen, please come forward if you like and examine the boy."
I hear feet shuffle. Then hands touch me. Everywhere. Hands roam up and down my body. Hands grab my buttocks and tweak my nipples and jiggle my testicles and stretch my penis. How many hands? How many men? I can't tell. I know I am scarlet with the humiliation of being pawed like this, but it is my master's right, and one of these men, I pray, will be my master. Master John had told me they would want to feel me. That is why he scrubbed me so hard in the shower and oiled my skin and brushed my pubic hair so it would look full and soft.
"Bend over, boy," Master John orders me. He pushes on the back of my head to make me obey. "Spread your legs wide and pull your cheeks apart."
I do. The men must be inspecting my rear end. I am glad Master John shaved it.
I hear a whisper. "Sure," Master John says. "Go ahead. He's been lubed." A finger pokes at me and pushes into me. Another finger follows. They spread my asshole open. They test it. And then one of the fingers hits my prostate. I twitch and gasp.
"He is a responsive boy, gentlemen, as you can see." Master John said. "If you are finished, I will show you his erection. Please sit down again."
Master John waits a while, then pulls me up so that I lean back into him with my head on his shoulder and my legs wide apart. He caresses me. His big hands stroke my chest and my sides and down to my hips and then come together in my crotch. I get hard.
From the first moment I saw Master John, I felt myself falling in love. He has a blonde beard and beautiful blue eyes, and he is so tall and big-shouldered. He told me to trust him, and I do. He also told me that he already has a slave, and he loves him. So there is no room for me. I have to find another master.
As Master John works on my penis, skinning back the covering from its head, I try to imagine the masters in front of me. Will even one of them want me? I am not beautiful. I am slight. I am limber, but my muscles are not big. Neither is my penis. Lije, the man I lived with for a while in Boston, said I had a bubble butt and a girl's mouth. I still think about him. I can still taste him, but I can also taste the blood in my mouth from the times he beat me and I bit my tongue to keep from screaming.
Thinking about the pain and about cuddling with Lije after the pain, I have gotten very hard. I stick out a little to the left and I curve upwards. Will the masters like a boy with a cock that isn't straight? If Master John doesn't stop, I'll shoot. I try to signal him, but he knows. He lets go. He just holds me out to the masters, and then he says to me, "Boy, one of the masters wants to finish you off. Is that all right?"
"Yes, master. Please," I say. "Thank you, master."
A pair of lips clamps on my tip. The feeling is so nice. I strain to stand up straight, but Master John holds me so that my crotch pushes forward. "That is Master One," he says. I am not allowed to know their names. Only numbers.
Master One swallows my cock. I think he has a mustache. Maybe a beard. I feel bristly whiskers tangling with my pubic hair. And he is putting his finger in me. He is rough. Does he chew his fingernails? Is that why he scratches me? I want to tell him he's hurting me, but I can only speak if I am asked a question. "A well-trained boy does not make a sound," Master John told me, "unless his master tells him to." Maybe if Master John would train me, I would make a better impression. What if no one wants me?
In a way, Master One wants me. His lips stroke tight and wet up and down my cock. His tongue slaps at the sides. His finger finds my prostate. He is pressing on it. Hard. It hurts. It hurts so good. "Oh," I say, my voice rising. "Oh, oh, yes, master, yes." And I shoot and I shoot, and I feel this wonderful glow go all through my body.
"Thank you, master," I say. I mean it. It might be wonderful to belong to a master who would do that for his boy. Maybe I could get him to take better care of his nails. "Thank you," I say. "That was really great."
"Enough, boy," Master John gives me a stinging slap on the cheek. "You talk too much for a slave. If you were mine, I would put a muzzle on you." The masters laugh, and I wince with shame.
Master John pushes me back to my knees. "Gentlemen," he says, "unless someone needs to see or hear more, I suggest that now is a good time for a break. I will take the boy away and come back shortly to see who wants to go on. If anybody does."
I feel a tug on my leash. Master John wants me to follow him, to crawl out the way I crawled in. But this time blindfolded. In the next room, he tells me to lie down on my back and put my hands up in the air. He puts leather cuffs on each wrist and clips something to the cuffs. Ropes. No, chains. He pulls my arms up and my body follows. Then he puts cuffs on my ankles and chains on the cuffs and he spreads my legs so that I barely balance on the balls of my feet.
"It will be okay, boy," Master John is slipping a band over my balls and my prick. It's a cock ring. He fastens it with a snap. "I think some of them liked you. You have the makings of a good slave."
Master John puts clamps on my nipples. There is a light chain between them. He reties the blindfold. Very tight. He punches me in the stomach. Hard. I cry out. "Do you trust me, boy?" he asks. "Do you love me?"
"Yes, master," I gasp. "Yes, master."
"Good boy," he says. He yanks the chain, and I scream from the hurt to my nipples. "You are sweating now, boy," he says. "That's good. You're beginning to look the way a slave should look for his master. Terrified. Work on it. You want to make a good impression." He swats me hard on the ass. Twice. And the muscles in my arms and legs are in agony as I swing helplessly in my chains.
I hear the door close. Master John has gone back to the others. I am alone. And I sweat with fear, but also with desire and craving. I want so badly to have a master, to be owned and used and cherished. But maybe none of them wants me. Maybe they have all taken back their deposits, less the viewing fee. If that happens, Master John has told me, I will have to wait at least a month to be exhibited again. Master John will send me away, too. I will be alone, again. It will be worse than ever.
My arms hurt. So do my legs. Please, please, somebody, anybody, come and undo these chains. I want to yell, but I know I must not. I wait. The pain is so cruel. Tears come. And I hear the door open.
"I am Master Seven, boy. I am going to test you."
"Yes, master," I whimper. Seven? Does that mean that six others left because they didn't like me? What happened to Master One? Did my cum taste sour?
Master Seven takes hold of my penis. He strokes it, and it gets hard. "That was quick, boy," he says. "You like having a man play with your little weenie, don't you?"
"Yes, master." I want to say how much I like it, but I am not allowed to. Still, he must see how eager I am to be touched and held, even when my arms and legs hurt so bad.
"I am a doctor, boy," Master Seven says. "A successful doctor. I live in Atlanta, Georgia. Have you ever been to Atlanta, boy?" Now he is rubbing my nuts in his palm. Oh, that feels so nice.
"No, master." He has a light accent. Is it Southern? I don't know many people from the South.
"I have a big house and a pool and a big garden. Have you ever taken care of a garden, boy?"
"Yes, master." Should I tell him it was a little garden?
"I have a summer place in Idaho, boy. Do you know how to fly fish?"
"No, master." But if you would teach me, I think, I would be so grateful. If you would put your arms around me and guide mine to hold a rod and to cast a line, I would try so hard to please you.
"Do you know what geriatrics are, boy?"
"No, master. Not really."
"Old people. I spend all day with old people. Sick old people. They are dying, and their bodies have collapsed. Their skin is wrinkled and droopy. They have pain, and they expect me to stop it. And I smile at them, and I try to make them feel better, and by the end of the day I feel old and droopy and wrinkled and dying myself, and I'm only 41. Do you know why I want to own a boy? Can you guess, boy?"
"No, master." He sounds so sad. Smart, but sad.
"I want to come home and have a strong, young body, naked and waiting for me. I want to run my hands over firm, smooth skin and muscle. Like this." His hands caress my body and he pulls on my hips so that there is more strain on my arms. I moan.
"Am I hurting you, boy? Are you weak and flabby?" He pinches a little roll of skin on my stomach, and I wince.
"No, master." I ache, but I like what he is doing. My cock is very stiff and throbbing.
"I want a clean, healthy, happy boy in my bed who will smile at me when I wake up. Let me see you smile, boy."
I try. But I know I don't do it well. I hurt too much.
"Do you have a lot of pain, boy?"
"Yes, master." If he only knew. I want to be cheerful, but it is so hard when you are alone and not beautiful and no one wants you.
Master Seven steps up to me and reaches up above my head. He must be tall. He does not seem to be straining. He unclips the chains on my wrists. My arms drop to my sides. He massages them as the blood comes back. It is painful but nice. He has strong hands. And he has a nice smell. I want to touch him, but I know that is not allowed. He bends down and frees my ankles. He pushes my legs together and holds me around the waist.
"Smile for me now, boy," he says.
I do. It is better, I know. He holds my head in his hands. His fingers comb through my hair. His lips touch mine. He presses our mouths together and his tongue pushes in between my teeth. I put my tongue out to meet his. It feels so good, so right. I grin. He breaks off the kiss.
"You are smiling, boy"
"Yes, master."
"You have a lovely smile, boy. You should smile more," he says. "Now turn around and put your hands together behind your back."
I do. He clips my wrists together. He caresses my behind. "Let's see what else your mouth can do, boy," Master Seven says. "Get down on the floor."
I can't see. I have nothing to hold on to. Slowly, I put one leg out behind me and bend it and manage to get on my knees. Master Seven hits me so hard on the side of my head that my ears ring and I fall over. I am shocked more than hurt. Still, I draw my knees up to try to protect myself in case he is going to hit me again or kick me.
He grabs my hair and yanks it and yells into my ear. "Boy, you have to be quick around me. When I tell you to do something, you don't hesitate. You do it. Do you understand me, boy?"
"Yes, master." I try not to snivel. But now I am scared of this man. Maybe that is the way a boy should feel about his master. If I knew him better, maybe I would know how to keep him from getting angry.
"Take off my shoes, boy." Master Seven's voice is normal again. It is up above me. He must be standing. I can't keep him waiting. I put my face on the floor and push it blindly to where I hope he is. I run into his foot. I feel my way up his shoe. It is laced. I put the laces in my mouth and feel with my tongue for an end. I find one. I grip it between my teeth and gently pull. It comes. The knot comes loose. I am doing it right.
"Good boy," the master says. "You're not stupid. Keep going."
I use my teeth again to pull the two sides of the shoe apart, but as long as he is standing in it, I can't tug it off. He raises his foot though, and I scoot around to the side and bite on the back of the shoe and pull it down. It comes off in my mouth. I lift my head to show the master, and he pats my hair. He chuckles.
"You look sweet," he says. "Good doggy. Put it down. Do the other one."
The second one is easier. I put it on the floor, hoping for another pat.
"My socks, boy. Make it snappy," he says. "We haven't got all night."
The socks are hard. I hold the toe part between my teeth. I pull. Hard. But the material just stretches. I use my nose to raise his pants leg and I try to get a hold on the top, but his socks are high. His trousers keep falling in my face. I am panting from stress. I am failing his test. I take the heel of a sock in my mouth, and I tug down and then forward, down and forward, and finally it moves. He lifts his foot just enough and now I can pull from the toe, and I have it. Oh, thank God. Now I know how. The second sock is quick.
"Wash my feet, boy." I lick the top of an instep. Long, hard strokes. His foot is clean. There is a little bit of that nice smell again. What is it? I lick his heel and between his toes and when he raises his foot, I lick under them. He didn't tell me to, but I take his big toe between my lips and I suck it. Not too hard. "The other foot, boy," he says. "This isn't a game."
But he doesn't sound angry. And when I finish his other foot and suck that big toe, he doesn't say anything. I think he is amused.
"Good boy," he says, "but that's enough. Now come up and undress me."
Cautiously, I raise my head along his leg and pull my own leg under me so I can stand up. But he grabs my shoulders and shakes me. "Stay on your knees, boy," he says fiercely. "I thought maybe you were bright, but I guess you're a simpleton. Stop fucking around. Undo my belt and my pants."
He presses my face into his waist. I taste the metal buckle of his belt, and I know what to do. Lije taught me how to pull the tongue through the buckle and back far enough to free the pin. Lije would make me pull his belt all the way off and hold it up to him in my mouth. And he would take it and double it over and whip me on the legs and the ass and sometimes my balls. If Master Seven uses his belt on me there, I will say my safe word.
Soon I will know. I start to pull the belt by the buckle through the belt loops. He stops me. "No, boy. Just undress me. Take my pants off."
His pants have a button. I can feel it with my tongue. It is not a fastener. I cannot snap it open, and I cannot figure out a way to push it back through the button hole. I am going to fail the test. I will lose this master, and he is so alive and strong and sad and he smells nice. I don't want to lose him. I panic. I grab the button in my teeth and pull it till I can bite on the threads and saw through them. My head bobs up and down and sideways. Sweat is pouring off my face. The threads are so tough.
"Stop, boy." I let go of the button. He takes my chin in his hand. My face is tilted up. He twists a little. I guess that he reached into a pocket. He has a handkerchief. He puts it on my face and he mops away the sweat, even under the blindfold. I love him. If he wants to beat me with his belt, even on the balls, I will let him. Will he let me love him? Lord, please, I have found my master. Let him want me. Please, Lord.
"Do the zipper, boy," he says. His voice is gentle. He has unfastened the button himself. The zipper is easy. And when it is down, and I am still holding the metal pull in my teeth, he presses gently on my head, and I lower it, and his pants drop around his ankles, and he steps out of them. I raise my head.
"My shorts, boy. Take off my shorts." His voice sounds a little husky. Is he excited? I am. I find the hem of his boxers and pull down a little on one leg and then on the other. It goes very quickly. The boxers just slip off, and he steps out of them, too.
Now I can show him what a good boy I can be. I have learned to suck cock really well. I am proud that I can make men like me that way. I'm sure I look good when a man puts himself in my mouth. Like that picture I saw in Henry's magazine at college. I will be like that now naked on my knees with Master Seven. And he will like me. He will want to be my master.
He has my head in his strong hands again. He draws my face between his legs. My lips touch his balls. They are big. With my tongue I can sort of measure them. They are plump, full, heavy. It is so exciting to hold them one at a time in my mouth.
But now he raises me a little more, and his penis is resting on my lips. I open them, and he slides in. Soft, not very big at all. I am disappointed, but I don't want him to know. It doesn't matter. Everything else about him is so wonderful. I swirl him around in my mouth. My tongue chases him to one side and then to the other. And he is growing. He is getting hard. And bigger. A lot bigger. I do love him. Such a big cock, and straight, and he is leaking. He is excited, too. He wants me. He has to want me.
Not many men have sucked me, but I know what it is like to put the most special part of yourself into another person's mouth, between his teeth. Where it could be hurt. You don't have to love the man who sucks you, but you do have to trust him. Master Seven trusts me. That could be the beginning of love.
He pulls his cock out. Shit! He doesn't want me. I did something wrong, and I don't know what. I try to find him again, to pull him back inside where I can make him happy. But he puts his hands on my shoulders. "Lie back, boy. Lie down," he says.
I do. I stretch out my legs on the floor, and I arch my back because my arms are pinned underneath, and they throb from the strain. Where is Master Seven? Is he getting dressed to leave? I hear the rustle of his clothes.
"I'm putting on a condom, boy." His voice is husky again. "I'm going to ride your cute, round, white ass. Pull your knees up to your chest, boy."
I do that. I am fit. My knees come almost to my shoulders. But my shoulders and arms hurt. I grimace, and I make a little moan.
"You don't tolerate pain well, do you, child?" Master Seven must be kneeling next to me. "You need toughening up. Real life is full of pain."
"Yes, master." I know a lot about pain. I just don't know about happiness.
"Roll onto your side, boy." He helps me by lifting one of my shoulders off the floor. Then he unclips my wrists. My arms are free. I want to put them around his neck and hold my body tight to his and kiss him and kiss him. But I know better. He can do whatever he wants with me, and I cannot do anything he doesn't tell me to do.
"Lie back now, boy." He pushes my legs to the floor and straddles me. "Open your mouth," he says. He puts his dick on my lips. It is soft, and he has a rubber on. I don't like that taste, but I know what to do. I kiss him. I suck him into my mouth. I curl my tongue around him, and he gets big and hard again. He holds my head and he fucks my face, and I take him all in, all the way to my throat.
He pulls out and backs off. "Now that's what I call a nice smile, boy," he sounds pleased. "You like sucking cock, don't you?"
"Yes, master." Your cock, master, I want to say. But I must not speak.
He is between my legs. He raises my knees to my chest and pushes them wide apart. I hold very still. His fingers poke into me. He has put lube on them. Master John had already prepared me, but Master Seven adds more. That is so nice of him to do. His nails are smooth. He stretches my hole. He puts his hands under my ass and lifts it, and his dick pushes at me. That first part always hurts a little, but I don't mind. I want him in me. I want him to fuck me and fuck me. I moan a little, but it is from pleasure.
"You want me, boy?" Now his voice really is rasping.
"Oh, yes, master. Yes, yes. So much, master."
"Then take me, boy." He shoves into me. Deep, hard. One strong push and I feel his scratchy pubic hair on my ass cheeks. We are glued together. It is thrilling and a little painful, and it is so amazing that this strong, brilliant man wants to be inside me.
"Oh, take me, master," I whisper. "Fuck me with your big, hot, thick rod. Plow my ass, master. Please fuck me hard. Please love me."
I shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't have said anything. But he isn't angry. "Put your arms around me, boy," he says urgently. I reach my hands around his chest and put my palms on his back, under the shoulderblades. I press hard. I want to hold him tight. I can hear him. He is panting a little. His breath is on my face. We are so close to one another. Please, God, make him love me.
He drives into me, and I slide back and forth with his strokes. Not too fast. Make it go on and on. He is so fierce in my ass. I don't want it to end, but I feel his tension. Rising. I try to slow him down, but he pounds at me. His balls slap against me. I hear our breathing hoarser and hoarser. And the silky, slippery sound of his cock pumping in and out. He clutches my ass cheeks, tight, so tight. He shouts. He is coming. He is pulsing inside me, shooting, shooting, gasping.
He lets go. He withdraws. He lies next to me. And he puts a hand on my cheek, then behind my head. He pulls my face to his. He kisses me. I am so happy. I cry a little.
"Are those tears, kid?"
"Yes, master."
"Did I hurt you, boy? I'm sorry."
"No, master. I'm happy. When I'm happy, I cry sometimes."
I mustn't talk. I stop. He sits up. He puts his hands under my arms. He lifts me into his lap. He cradles me against his chest. He strokes me. He fondles my penis. It gets hard. He bends down. He kisses it. I love him. I love him so terribly much it hurts.
"You're a pretty little thing," he says. "If I ask you two questions, will you answer them?"
"Yes, master."
"What do you fear the most, boy?"
I think. Pain? Loneliness? No. I know. "Losing my independence, master. I am afraid of letting someone have the power to hurt me."
"And what do you want more than anything else, boy?"
That's easy. I've thought about that for so long. "To give myself to another man, master," I say. "Completely. In full trust. Forever."
He is silent. He unsnaps the clamps on my nipples and I writhe as the blood comes into them again. He holds me tight. He bends his head and kisses my chest. He sucks a little at my nipples. "You poor kid," he says. "You poor, scared, lonesome, little boy."
He knows. He understands. But does he pity me or does he want me?
"You have the right to ask me questions, boy," he says. "Do you have any?" I think. What do I need to know about this man that I do not already know? He is strong. He is not happy. He is kind, and I think he can be loving. He expects obedience. I can give him that. I want to. "Master?" I ask.
"Yes, boy."
"Master, you have a very nice smell. What is it?"
He laughs. First, a chuckle. Then he is roaring. He has a wonderful, warm laugh.
He stops. He hugs me to him. It's a squeeze. Tight, but it doesn't hurt. And he kisses the back of my neck. I love being kissed there. I wriggle with pleasure.
"Sandalwood, boy. I use sandalwood soap." He pauses. But he doesn't let go of me.
"Don't you have any other questions, boy?"
"No, master."
"Then I have one. Boy, will you come live with me? Will you be my boy, only mine?"
"Oh, master," I am crying again, crying hard. My body shakes. "Oh, master, yes, yes. I will make you happy, master, I promise. I promise. I was praying you would want me. And you do. I can belong to you. That's so wonderful"
"I love you, boy. I want you. Are you ready for me to take off your blindfold?"
"Yes, master, please." I try to stop crying. I bend my head as he unties the cloth that Master John put on. I open my eyes slowly to adjust to the light. He tilts my face up to his.
I look at him. His eyes are kind, so kind. They are brown, deep brown. They have lovely crinkles at the corners. His lips are full, red. His cheekbones are high. His chin is strong, but there's a little crease in it. A dimple?
His shoulders are broad. So is his chest. Powerful, deep. His stomach is tight. I put my hand on it. Firm.
His skin glistens with a light sweat from our love-making. I put my mouth in the crook of his elbow and dry him there with my tongue. I love him.
"Oh, master," I say, "you are beautiful. Strong and very beautiful. Thank you, thank you, for wanting me."
"Then, you don't mind?" he asks.
"Mind what, master?"
"That I'm black, boy. I'm a black man."
"I'm a white boy, master. What matters is that you are a man and that you want me to be your boy and that I love you. I will love you always"
"Goddamn," my master says. He hugs me again. He kisses me and kisses me. He is laughing. He is happy. "Goddamn. Master John got it wrong. You don't talk too much, boy. You say just the right things."
Now I am laughing, too. With joy. He stands up. "Slip me those shorts, slave boy," my master orders me. He pulls them on. He takes my leash. "On your knees, boy. I'm going to show you to the other masters who wanted you. But I got you first. You're mine, and I want to show you off."
He pushes open the door and I crawl behind him, behind my beautiful black master, joyfully into the bright light.