You don't have to spend money to read stories on Nifty but the people who write them like to know they're being read. It costs only a minute or two to send an email letting us know when you like one, so please spend that time.
Licensing: This story is originally posted on The Nifty Archive, www.nifty.org . It may be reposted anywhere the content is legal, so long as (1) none of the text (including this license) is altered or omitted, (2) credit is given by including the email address hackneyfagboy@proton.me , (3) anyone who reposts it emails to let me know where, and (4) no-one gets money for it (including ad revenue). Any use by, for, or in connection with artificial intelligence is expressly prohibited.
The Night Bus Chapter Six
'Sat 10am,' Charlie texted Thursday night. 'Dress like last week.' This would make the fourth Saturday in a row if I counted Imogen's birthday when we'd met. I'd have to start working Sundays to keep up with my cases if this went on but I wouldn't complain. I wanted it to go on. Saturdays with Charlie were worth it. Starting early this time, though; I wondered what that meant as I texted 'Yes, sir' in reply. Could I spend a whole day taking his cock in my throat and arse? Yes, I fucking would, I knew, and love every minute. Even if he shared me out like that first night, I'd take them all again to please Charlie, to show his mates how totally he owned me.
Dressed in trainers, jeans, and a t-shirt under an unzipped hoodie on the day, I walked from the Tube station to Charlie's block of flats. He was outside waiting. Other than the colours and brands we were dressed the same. Except the chains hanging from his neck didn't have an identification tag that said 'fagboy' and 'Property of Master Charlie' the way mine did. I dropped to my knees and kissed each of his trainers even before he pointed to them.
'Good faggot,' he said. He was grinning at me when I looked up at him. He beaconed me with a finger to stand. 'Come on.' He turned and led me through the estate. On the far side he went over the road and onwards for another block. He led me to a community centre on the corner. As we went through the door a group of kids crossed the corridor from right to left in front of us, heading to an open classroom. I recognised one of the boys from the morning I'd woken in the alley by the bins. The one who'd pissed on me.
'Hey, Charlie. Hey, fagboy,' he said nonchalantly as he passed us. The other kids looked at him, then at me as they went by. They all apparently knew which of us was Charlie and which of us wasn't. A couple of the boys snickered; the girls wrinkled their noses in disapproval -- but at the boy who'd spoken, thankfully, not me.
'Steven Carter! What did you just say?' a large woman standing in the classroom doorway said loudly in a Caribbean accent.
'Nah, Gemilla,' Charlie intervened. 'It's all right, it's not what you think.' He nodded to me. 'He likes his mates to call him fagboy. He's even got it on his necklace. Show Gemilla your necklace, fagboy,' he said to me. I felt my whole body turn crimson as I reached to my neck and held my collar out so she could read the side of the tag where 'fagboy' was engraved. She glanced at it, then scowled at me sceptically. 'He's not usually amongst civilised people, though,' Charlie said. 'Today we'll call him Simon. Don't want him being a bad example round the kids.'
'Callin' 'imself fagboy,' Gemilla muttered, shaking her head. 'What is the matter with these boys, Lord 'elp me.'
Charlie caught my eye and nodded down the corridor where the kids had come from, then led me in that direction. Farther along past several closed rooms there was a kitchen and dining area where I presumed the kids had just eaten. Beyond the kitchen was a large room laid out like a pantry and storeroom. The wall towards the kitchen was lined with shelves with tins, jars, cartons, and the like. Tables were folded and leaning against the wall opposite the corridor. The third wall had a roll-up door. Charlie took a clipboard from one of the shelves and raised the roll-up door. After a few minutes a lorry approached and reversed to it. The driver came round with a manifest and handed it to Charlie as they exchanged greetings and the driver opened the lorry. As Charlie began comparing the manifest with the papers on the clipboard and reviewing the contents of the lorry, two boys I recognised came in through the door to the corridor. I knew one was Freddie; the other's name I didn't recall but I knew I'd had his cock in my mouth and arse that night by the bins.
'Hey, Charlie,' the one that wasn't Freddie said. He looked at me, puzzled, obviously trying to remember where he'd seen me before. Then it dawned on him. 'Is that...'
'Simon, yeah,' Charlie interrupted, not turning from the clipboard and the lorry. 'He's here to help.'
'Simon?' Freddie asked. 'Since when is he called Simon?'
'Since Ste said otherwise in front of Gemilla,' Charlie said.
'Oh. Right,' Freddie said.
The other boy stepped over and held out his hand. Surprised, I shook it. 'Connor,' he said. 'Took me a tick to recognise you. You know, right way up and with clothes on,' he smiled.
Freddie rolled his eyes. 'Fuck sake, Con,' he said under his breath.
'What?' Connor shrugged. 'I thought he did a good job that night. He did for me anyway.'
'Yeah, but what was the job, dumbarse?' Freddie asked.
'So what? He's good at it. Nothin' wrong respectin' a craftsman, no matter the trade,' Connor said.
'Yeah, it's all good, Reg,' Charlie said to the driver. 'Right, lads, out and sorted,' he said to us. He put the clipboard back on the shelf and I joined him and the others as they queued up to unload the crates and boxes and put them on the floor by the shelves. They were full of food, I realised, and the crates full of tins were fucking heavy. I was the only one who struggled, though, I noticed. The others chuckled. 'Posh boy,' Freddie grinned and muttered, shaking his head, as we passed in opposite directions.
When the lorry was empty Charlie checked the manifest again, signed it, and gave it back to the driver, who went out and closed the lorry. Charlie pulled the roll-up door down. Next we unfolded the tables and lined them up in rows in the open space, then unloaded the contents of the crates and boxes unto them. Charlie took the clipboard again and walked along the tables pointing to various groups of items. 'This is for us,' he'd say, and one of the lads would put them on the shelves on the wall. I followed their lead. 'That's for the food bank,' he'd say, and one of us would move them to another row of tables, fresh fruit and veg on one end, tins and so on on the other.
After about an hour of unloading, sorting, and bundling, Charlie told the others we had to leave. 'I've got to drop off ... Simon ... before I take over from Gemilla,' he said.
'Yeah, no worries, mate,' Connor said. 'We can finish up.'
'Where you droppin' him?' Freddie asked as he eyed me predatorily.
'None of that,' Charlie said. 'Maybe later. He's got work to do.'
'Don't wave a steak in front of a tiger, Charlie,' Freddie said.
'Just gonna have to settle for Frosties this time, mate,' Charlie replied as he nodded to me and went into the corridor. I followed.
'Where are you dropping me, sir?' I asked outside the centre as he led me back towards the estate.
'Wherever the fuck I want, fagboy, 'coz you'll go where I tell you, won't you?' he said.
'Yes, sir,' I answered.
'Today you're workin' for Gav and Nige like you did for me a couple weeks ago, cleanin' and servin' during the football,' he said.
'You won't be there?' I asked.
'No, I'm helpin' the kids with maths,' he said. 'Gemilla does English, then I take over.'
'Gav and Nige don't like me very much,' I said. 'Sorry, Boss Gav and Boss Nige.'
'Likin' you ain't the point, fagboy,' Charlie said. 'You do what I say and I say you're fuckin' servin' 'em.'
'Yes, sir.' We walked the rest of the way in silence. Charlie led me into one of the blocks and up two storeys. At the far left end from the stairs he knocked on a door. Gav opened it.
'Your women gone then?' Charlie asked.
'Yeah, mum's at work and Bren's fucked off with that bloke from the co-op again,' Gav said.
'Is he all right or does he need sortin' out?' Charlie asked.
'Nah, she likes him. He's good to her,' Gav said.
'All right. Well, fagboy's all yours till I'm done down the centre,' Charlie said. He turned to me, 'You do what they say like it was me tellin' you.'
'Yes, sir,' I said.
Charlie turned back towards the stairs but stopped. 'Actually I need a slash first.'
'Sure, mate, come on in,' Gav said.
'No need,' Charlie said. He looked at me and pointed to the base of the wall.
Knowing what was coming I turned crimson again but knelt where he pointed without word. He unzipped his flies and I opened my mouth.
'Wait, is he...' Gav began.
'Yeah,' Charlie said as he put the end of his knob between my lips. 'He is.' I closed my mouth around him and stared compliantly up. He looked down smugly. He was just showing off now, we both knew, showing off his control over me and how much I'd debase myself to please him. But who could blame him? We both knew I was his, wanted to be his. And he wanted to show that I was his. I gulped as his piss flowed into my mouth, knowing that my bobbing Adam's apple showed Gav where it was going.
'Fuckin' hell, mate,' Gav muttered as he watched. It didn't last long, maybe a minute or two. Charlie didn't really have to go, not like the time in his bath or outside his flat. It was the performance, the demonstration, that mattered. When he finished and pulled out, I leant forwards, keeping my eyes on his, and licked the tip, then kissed it. He smirked as he put it away and zipped himself back up but I saw pride in his face, too. Pride of ownership. Pride that I'd not only played my part but hammed it up for Gav. Pride that I'd not only taken the humiliation but added to it because I knew he wanted it -- and I wanted it, too.
'Open,' he said. I did. He cleared his throat and spat in my mouth. 'Swish that round before you swallow it. Gav and Nige won't wanna smell piss on your breath.' Then he turned and walked away.
'Jesus, you really are a faggot,' Gav said shaking his head. 'We had a couple gay boys at school but none of them would have ever done that. Come on then,' Gav said to me. I got to my feet and Gav snorted. I followed his gaze down to my crotch and saw the small lump of my erection. Gav scowled with contempt and moved out of the doorway. I stepped past him inside and he closed the door.
The flat was the same as Charlie's, but everything was reversed so the lounge was on the right and the bedrooms on the left. There were three doors instead of two down that end as well; it made sense there'd be at least one more bedroom if they had a sister. Charlie had called their flat a tip but at first glance it was just a bit cluttered. Gav pointed me to the right, into the lounge.
'Grab me and Nige a couple lagers on they way,' Gav said, gesturing to the fridge as we passed the kitchen. I brought them into the lounge as Gav sat on the sofa beside his brother, who already had the television on for the pre-match commentary.
Nige looked up as I entered and scowled. 'What the fuck are you wearin', fagboy? You takin' the piss?'
'No, sir...' I began before Gav cut in.
'Leave it, Nige. You know whatever he's wearin', it's what Charlie told him to. Fuck, he just dropped to his knees and let Charlie piss down his throat right outside the flat. Gulped it down like he was parched and kissed Charlie's cock after. Got fuckin' hard doin' it. Hell, he'd probably eat a shit sandwich if Charlie told him. Wouldn't ya, fagboy?'
'Er, I don't...' I began.
The fact that I'd become a urinal might have surprised Gav but Nige wasn't the least taken aback. 'Yeah, I bet she would eat turds,' Nige said and gave me a wicked smile. 'Beg to eat 'em while some bloke pushed hers in for her.'
'Fuckin' gross!' Gav said and punched him in the arm. 'It's a fuckin' figure of speech!' He shook his head in disgust. 'Still, who the fuck knows with this one.' He turned to me. 'Well, fagboy? You know what you're here for. Get to it.'
'Erm, is there anything I need to know, sir?' I asked. 'Like Master Charlie didn't want me going into one of the rooms in his flat.'
'Yeah, his mum's room. She's up in Hull, lookin' after her sister with cancer,' Gav said. 'Probably nothin' for you to do in our mum's room anyway, except the hooverin' when you get to it. Might should stay out of our sister's room. It'll be the one with the pants and bras all over the floor.'
'Yeah, and don't go stealin' any or tryin' 'em on,' Nige added.
Gav chuckled. 'We should hold him down and make him smell them,' he said. 'Never know, a good whiff of gash might turn him straight.'
'Ergh!' Nige said. 'First, who wants to fuckin' touch 'em. Second, why would you want fagboy going straight off the smell of Bren's pants?'
'It was a fuckin' joke, dumbarse,' Gav said and pointed at me. 'Look, just the thought made his face turn green.'
'Yeah, mine too. Ergh,' Nige repeated. 'Now shut the fuck up, they're about to kick off.'
The boys turned their attention to the television and ignored me. I went to the airing cupboard where Charlie's cleaning supplies had been. There was a Henry Hoover on the floor but only rumpled linen on the shelves. I went to the kitchen and looked under the sink and found some liquids and old sponges and brushes. No mop, though, so I'd have to scrub the floors by hand.
The familiar scent of cannabis wafted from the lounge as I started loading the dishwasher to clear out the sink. I hadn't found a bucket so I'd have to use it to hold cleaning water instead. It wasn't until I began scrubbing on my hands and knees that I discovered the linoleum was white, not dappled beige as it appeared; I was realising now what Charlie had meant. The bathroom was worse when I got there. There was mould in the grout between the bath tiles and enough dried piss on the floor behind the toilet to make me think the boys never bothered to aim. The bedroom they shared was strewn with clothes; the sheets and duvet covers on the bunk bed were in an appalling state. Unlike Charlie's flat, it took longer than half the match to get the job done but I'd still managed to finish everything that wouldn't be too loud over the television, like the vacuuming, the laundry, and the dishwasher, before full-time. That's when disaster struck.
'Oi, fagboy! Lager!' one of them called for about the fourth time of the match. I went to the kitchen and grabbed a couple cans of Carling from the fridge. I inadvertently stepped between the television and the sofa when I carried them into the lounge, though.
'You fuckin' cunt!' Nige shouted. He leapt off the sofa, grabbed me by the collar of my t-shirt, and punched me in the face. 'You fuckin' blocked that goal!' He punched me again and I crumpled.
...
'Ow,' I said as I came to to the sound of distant arguing. I reached up and felt my face. My left eye was hot and puffy and a knot was rising on my left temple. My eye wouldn't open all the way but I could still see out of it.
'Look, she's awake,' Nige said.
'Fuck, I thought you'd killed him the way he went down,' Gav said. 'Now Charlie's just gonna fuckin' kill you when he gets here and sees this.'
'Where is Charlie?' I asked groggily. 'Master Charlie,' I added.
'He's still down the centre,' Gav said. 'You've only been out a minute. He'll be back in about half an hour.' He turned to Nige. 'Go get him a glass of water.'
'Fuck off, she can get her own water.'
'Do you not understand this will have fuckin' consequences?' Gav asked.
'Well his girlfriend shouldn't have blocked the telly,' Nige said.
'Yeah, keep that up when he gets here, mate. I think you'd better fuckin' scarper,' Gav said.
'I'm not scared of him.'
'The fuck you fuckin' ain't. And the fuck you shouldn't be!'
Nige stamped off to the bedroom and slammed the door. Gav went to the kitchen and came back with a mug of water. He helped me sit up and lean back against the wall.
He waved the mug slowly in front of my face and watched my eyes follow it before he handed it to me. 'Drink that. How do you feel?' he asked.
'Like I've been knocked down by a bus,' I said.
'You feel tired? Dizzy? Your ears ringin'? Gonna be sick?' he asked.
'No, it just hurts,' I answered.
'Then here, have some of this,' he said. He took a half-smoked joint from an ashtray on the coffee table, lit it, and handed it to me. I took two long pulls and passed it back as the warm blanket of serenity settled over me.
'So what did he do then?' I asked.
'Nige?' Gav asked as he eyed me anxiously for a moment. 'He fuckin' decked you. You don't remember?'
'No,' I shook my head. 'Master Charlie.'
'What do you mean?' Gav asked.
'The community centre. What's he on, rehabilitation order? Community sentence? What'd he do?' I asked out of both personal and professional interest.
Gav blinked. Then he turned red. 'You fuckin' cunt!' he shouted. 'You think he spends all this time there 'coz he got sent down? You arrogant fuckin' posh twat! He's the fuckin' best of us! Fuckin' hours is he down there helpin' people, since he was a fuckin' kid, too! And the fuckin' cleverest! I'd not have not passed my GCSEs if it hadn't been for Charlie, not me or Nige or any of us! He could be at uni now if he fuckin' wanted! He just met his offer to do a degree in engineering. That's all that matters to you toffs, ain't it? Degrees and money and class. You don't know anythin' about him, anythin' about any of us, you arsehole. That's what rubs me up. I'm not like Nige, I couldn't give a fuck who Charlie puts his cock in but why the fuck is it you?'
I stared dumbly. Since I'd met him, I'd thought Charlie and his crew were likely a gang of minor hoodlums on their way to growing up into proper villains. It was clear he was the leader -- that had been apparent the first time I saw him on the bus, even through the drink and drugs, from the way Gav and Nige deferred to him -- and I'd thought he'd probably got there through a combination of his obvious natural charisma and petty violence. But I'd got it wrong; that wasn't why he was the leader, it wasn't why he had all their respect. Charisma there definitely was and petty violence there may or may not have been, too, but he was the leader for a lot more.
'I'm sorry,' I said.
'You fuckin' should be,' Gav said resentfully. We sat in silence as Gav finished the joint. He didn't offer it back to me.
'I should finish cleaning,' I said after a few minutes.
'Leave it,' Gav said. 'It doesn't look like you got concussion but I don't want you fallin' over and makin' things worse.'
'I have to. He told me to.'
'He told you to do what we said and I'm fuckin' sayin' sit there,' Gav said.
I sighed and leant my head back against the wall. 'Please let me finish,' I said. 'The carpet's all that's left, really, apart from the dishes and laundry.'
'Why?' He sounded annoyed.
'I need him to know that I did what he told me. Please,' I repeated.
'Why the fuck are you like this?' he asked.
I shrugged. 'I don't know. I just need to make him happy. It makes me feel... I can't explain it.'
'Well you can't wash the dishes and the laundry at the same time anyway. The water won't do both machines at once,' he said.
'I can wash the dishes by hand.'
He rolled his eyes. 'Fuckin' leave 'em. They're already in the dishwasher. You can clear up in here if you have to. Don't bother with the hooverin', you can't do any of the bedrooms now anyway. Don't worry, I'll tell him you did it all.'
I looked sceptically at the patently filthy carpet but rose gingerly to my feet without protesting. 'You sure you're not dizzy?' he asked.
'No, I'm all right,' I said.
By the time I'd started the dishwasher and cleared up the ashtrays and empty cans in the lounge there was a knock at the door. Gav frowned and went to answer.
'First off it's not as bad as it looks,' I heard Gav say.
'What's not?' Charlie asked. He stepped into the lounge. I dropped to my knees. Charlie's face instantly turned to stone when he saw mine; his eyes were cold fury.
'I checked him out,' Gav said. 'He's all right. I can explain...'
'No,' Charlie interrupted. He spoke so quietly I could barely hear him. 'If you thought it was his fault,' he pointed at me, 'you wouldn't have started off the way you did. If it was your fault, yeah, you'd have the balls to meet me face to face but Nige would be out here waiting to see what happened. This only adds up one way so where the fuck is he?'
'In the bedroom,' Gav said.
'Fetch him.'
Gav walked down the hall as Charlie approached and squatted in front of me, tilting my head to see my face. 'What did you do?' he asked sternly.
I felt myself tearing up. 'I'm sorry, I was bringing in the lager and I accidentally blocked the screen when someone scored.'
'How long ago?' he asked.
'I don't know. It was the last couple minutes of the match.' I answered. He nodded and stood.
Nige stepped in, Gav behind him. Nige had a stubborn, defiant look on his face. 'I wasn't scared to see you,' he said as Charlie turned towards him. 'Gav told me to scarper.'
'I lent you a fuckin' Aston Martin and there's a smashed headlamp and a dented wing mirror when I come back to collect?' Charlie said. His voice was still barely above a murmur but the softness somehow only increased the menace.
'She...'
'I know what he did. There'd have been a fuckin' replay, wouldn't there?'
'Yeah but...'
Charlie stepped forwards and Nige snapped his mouth shut.
'Hit me like you hit him,' Charlie said.
'What?'
'You heard. Hit me like you hit him.'
Nige glanced back at Gav uncertainly.
'Hit. Me. Like. You. Hit. Him,' Charlie repeated, punctuating each word by jabbing his right forefinger in Nige's breastbone.
Nige cocked his fist back and let it go but faster than a cobra strike Charlie's open left hand flew up. The heel of his palm caught Nige's forearm just below the wrist and pushed up and back. Nige's fist hit his own forehead.
'Fuck!' Nige said as he staggered backwards.
'You hit him twice didn't you?' Charlie asked. 'From the look of his eye and the side of his head. Come on then, round two.'
'Fuck off!' Nige said.
'When I lend my mates something of mine, I expect to get it back in the same condition I leant it, is that fuckin' understood?' Charlie asked.
'Yeah, all right Charlie,' Nige said.
'Now apologise.'
'To her?' Nige asked incredulously.
'To me!' Charlie shouted at last. Everyone flinched.
'Sorry, Charlie!' Nige said. 'Jesus, I'm fuckin' sorry.'
'Did he finish?' Charlie asked Gav calmly over Nige's shoulder.
'Yeah, Charlie, he did great. Thanks for bringin' him over, mate,' Gav said.
Charlie looked back to me and pointed to the front door. I scurried to my feet. Fuck, I was hard again. This hadn't been a gratuitous display of power like when he'd pissed in me in front of Gav. This had been the real thing.
'I'm sorry, sir,' I said again as we were going down the stairs. 'I shouldn't have blocked the screen.'
'No, you shouldn't. You were careless and didn't pay attention. Makes me look bad. But it's for me to correct in my way, not him in his,' Charlie said.
'Yes, sir. I don't want to make you to look bad,' I said.
'Not wantin' it ain't enough,' he said.
'No, sir.' We walked the rest of the way in silence.
In his flat, he led me into the kitchen and looked at my face more closely under the light. I winced when he traced the ridge of bone around my eye socket with his fingertip. 'Nothing broken but they should have put ice on this,' he muttered. He turned my head a bit farther to look at my temple.
His face was so close, his nose only a few inches away. I could smell him and feel his breath on my skin. I'd been thinking of what I'd learnt about him from Gav -- him being on his own whilst his mum was away, him helping out at the community centre because he wanted to instead because he'd been convicted of something. I'd given into my prejudices and the stereotypes and underestimated him. I remembered how he'd been with the kids by the bins, how he'd been on the makeshift football pitch with the even younger ones -- like an older brother in how he looked after them and mentored them; in how they looked up to him. His puissance at Gav and Nige's flat, with his quiet composure and self-control wrapped round an iron will. Their fear of and respect for him. Everyone's respect for him. I don't know what part of all that made me do it -- the weed earlier probably helped, too -- but I turned my face towards his and leant in to kiss him.
He jerked his head back and put his hand on my chest before our lips met. He looked surprised, maybe incredulous. Then he moved his hand to my throat and backed me against the wall. His fist wasn't tight but the sides of his thumb and forefinger were hard as steel under my jaw.
'Did you try to kiss me?' he asked quietly. It was the same tone he'd used with Nige.
I tried to swallow but my mouth was too dry. I couldn't nod with his hand where it was so I squeaked 'Yes, sir.'
'Spread your legs,' he said. I didn't understand at first but I reflexively did what he said, as much as I could whilst pinned to the wall. He kneed me in the balls. The pain exploding in my gut drove the air from my lungs and my upper body struggled against his hand, trying instinctively to bend over and curl up. I clutched my balls with my hands.
'Palms against the wall,' he said. I reluctantly moved them out the way as I gasped for breath. 'Spread 'em again,' he said. I looked pleadingly at him as I panted but obeyed. He did it again and waited for me to recover after.
'I know what you are and what you're for and I'm happy to use you for my benefit,' he said softly. There was no anger in his face. He was like a patient teacher to a child with learning disabilities. 'I understand what you're worth and I'm gonna protect my property instead of using it up or pissing it away like those two twats. But don't forget: you're just property. Rare and valuable property, yeah, but property. And I'm your owner. I'm not your boyfriend. I'm never gonna be your boyfriend. I'm not gay. I prefer birds if they know what they're doing but I'll put my cock in whatever makes it feel good. If I wanna put my cock in you it's 'coz I know you can -- and it's part of your job to do it. And you're fuckin' good at that part of your job. Make no mistake, you're fuckin' good at it. Better than any bird I've had so far. That's why you've still got it. But if you ever fuck it up or don't do what I tell you, you're gone. I'll fuckin' toss you in a tip and not look back. You understand?'
'Yes, sir,' I said.
'You and I already know what the likes of those two don't understand: what you are is not just gay. I've known gay lads at school. There are gay kids on this estate, boys and girls, and I'm the only person some of 'em have told. You are not like them. You are something else. You are something different. I don't know why you are what you are. I don't care. But we both know what it is. I don't know if it has a proper word but for now I call it "faggot". We both know, too, there's a reciprocity here. You like offering me control over you and I like accepting it. I don't force it from you. That's not real power. Real power isn't taking by force. Real power is inspiring submission. You wanna submit. I wanna accept your submission. We both want me to use your holes and more. We both want me to humiliate and degrade you. This is what we each deserve 'coz it turns us both on: you to give, me to receive. Am I wrong?'
'No, sir.'
'What am I?'
'My owner, sir.'
'What are you?'
'Your property, sir.'
'What's your name?'
'Fagboy, sir.'
'And what's mine?'
'Master Charlie, sir.'
'Are there any more misunderstandings?'
'No, sir.'
'Good.'
I stared into his eyes for a moment. He was right, I realised. Everything he'd said was true. More true than I'd consciously understood before he said it. I slowly spread my legs again. He glanced down and smiled at what I'd done. Fuck! Fuck! Only then did I realise that I was fucking hard again.
'Ask me,' he said looking me in the eye again.
'Please hurt my balls, sir,' I said.
'How many do you think you deserve?' he asked.
'Three, please, sir?' I whimpered. I could take one more. I wanted to, despite the pain, to show I accepted my place as he'd described it.
'A nice round five? All right,' he said. Fuck! I meant three in total, not three more! I didn't contradict him, though. He took his hand from my neck. 'But you have to stand there and take 'em. You can roll round on the floor after the fifth, but till then you stand stock still with your hands behind you on the wall.'
'Yes, sir.'
'And if it makes you cum, you get five more after,' he said.
'Fuck,' I muttered. 'Yes, sir.'
He cocked his head. 'I knew exactly what you meant by "three", by the way. You did well not to correct me. Now I wonder, though, just how low will you go for me?' he asked.
'As low as you want, sir,' I said.
'No. Remember: you offer and I accept,' he said. 'Like that night you offered to become my piss drinker. Like right now when you're offerin' me your balls.'
'As low as you let me, sir.' I said.
'Better. We'll see. Now when you're ready...' he said. I nodded nervously.
He didn't hold back. After each of the next two blows I fought to hold position as the pain jolted through me. 'Thank you, sir' I panted each time. He waited after each for me to relax and nod that I was ready again. When he pulled his knee away the fifth time, I collapsed on the floor and sobbed. 'Thank you, sir.'
'Did you?' he asked. I shook my head. I hadn't cum. I was still hard though. 'Maybe we need to do ten next time then,' he said. He moved his left foot to my face. I knew what he wanted. I kissed his trainer. He swapped feet and I did it again. 'There's paracetamol for your head in the cupboard when you can stand up, then you've got cleaning to do.'
'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,' I said.
He rested his arse against the counter as he waited for me to recover. As I rose to my feet again, more gingerly even than at Gav and Nige's, I recognised the hungry look in his eye. A glance at the bulge down his thigh told me he was at least half hard, too.
'Sore?' he asked.
'Yes, sir,' I said.
'I kinda think they should be, really,' he said.' Just like your hole. To remind you what you're for. And what you're not.'
'Yes, sir,' I said. He pointed to a cupboard door. I opened it and found the box of tablets. I took one and washed it down with a handful of water from the tap.
'Take your clothes off,' he said. He watched as I toed off my shoes, stripped, and neatly folded and stacked everything on the floor. 'If that drips on my floor you'll lick it clean.' He gestured to my erection. 'You need to tie it off?'
'No, sir. I could put a sock on it.'
He smirked. 'Yeah, put a sock on it.'
I blushed as I took a sock out of the pile. It was only a trainer sock but still engulfed my small dick. My little balls were scarcely big enough to hold it on when I pushed them in, too. His eyes sparkled with amusement before he turned towards the lounge.
'Bring me a lager. Then you know what to do.'
It didn't take an hour. It seemed he kept up with the day-to-day tidying on his own, except for his own room; only the laundry really needed tending but I repeated the tedious chores like the bath, toilet, and floors even though they were still in good order from last time. He'd been sat in the recliner listening to headphones again. I'd seen him staring at my bare arse while I vacuumed in the lounge but his eyes were closed when I knelt in front of him once I'd finished all the work. He'd taken his shoes off and I kissed the each sole of his sock-clad feet in turn.
'You know what to do,' he said again without opening his eyes or turning off the music. I massaged them, alternating from one to the other in what felt like five minute cycles. After four iterations, he pulled each foot away, flipped the sock off with the big toe of the opposing foot, and put them back on the footrest. I took the right foot in my hand and began to lick the sole firmly as I'd done before, firmly enough not to tickle. His eyes were open now, slitted, watching. I held his eyes and gave a half-dozen licks up the sole, heel to toe, then slid the tip of my tongue between each pair of toes. His mouth was parted slightly and his chest was rising and falling gently when I sucked on each toe, one at a time. After I did the fifth, I shifted to the side and repeated the entire process on his left foot. I could see the bulge down his leg throb in my peripheral vision but never took my eyes from his.
When I'd given his left foot equal treatment to the right I sat back on my heels. He pressed the button on the side of the headphones and slipped them off.
'She doesn't do that for you, does she?' I asked. I regretted it instantly as his face turned once again to stone. What the fuck was wrong with me today?
'Get out,' he said with the now-familiar hush of his controlled fury.
I felt tears spring to my eyes. 'No, please,' I pleaded. I slid my legs behind me and prostrated myself on the floor in front of him. 'Please, master,' I said, 'I'm sorry. Maybe my head really is fucked up. I'm so sorry. I swear I'll never say anything like that again. I just want to make you happy. Whatever you let me do to make you happy is enough for me. I'll do anything. Anything!'
There was a long silence. I sensed that if I moved or spoke first it would all be over forever. If I ever fucked up, he'd toss me in a tip, he'd said. I don't know how long it lasted but I refused to give up. I started counting seconds in my head as they passed so I know it was almost five minutes; it felt longer.
'I wanna show you something,' he said at last. He sat the recliner up and stepped over me. 'Don't move.' I kept my nose pressed to the carpet as he walked to his bedroom and returned. After a minute or two of rustling and jostling noises he told me to kneel. He had stripped off, his clothes tossed messily to the floor, and hooked up his laptop to the television with an HDMI cable. He sat in the centre of the sofa and slid the coffee table away with a foot. He pointed between his legs.
'Take that stupid sock off now and suck me,' he said, gesturing to my cock after I crawled into position. His cock was mostly flaccid now and I devoured it; my own dick was rock solid again after it had softened during my panic at being dismissed. His was wet still with precum he'd leaked whilst I'd worshipped his feet, though, and there was more trapped in his foreskin. It took a few minutes but he hardened, then he pushed my head away. He turned on the television with the remote. 'Sit on it,' he said, gesturing to his lap. I first moved to straddle him, the way I'd often rode my ex, Jack's, cock. 'No, the other way,' he said.
I turned away and held his heavy, massive cock upright with one hand as I lowered my arse onto it. I yelped as its girth opened me, slickened only with my saliva, but slowly slid down until I was seated on his thighs. He toggled the television input and used a wireless mouse he'd put on the sofa cushion beside him to control the laptop. 'Ride it,' he said, as he opened a file. I began to move slowly up and down on his cock as a video started.
It began out of order. 'Oh fuck,' I said as I saw myself on my knees out in the yard, licking his trainers clean after he'd officiated the kids' football match. It was a brief clip -- an erotic amuse-gueule of degradation. After I'd cleaned the grime off his shoes, then looked up, stuck out my tongue, and received his spit, it faded out to the bus where we'd met.
'If I let you have this you're gonna treat it right, yeah?' the Charlie on the television asked the faggot that knelt in front of him in the aisle of the bus -- because "faggot" is the only word to describe the thing that had licked those shoes and was now drooling hungrily on its knees. Gav and Nige must have been stood exactly perpendicular to me based on their camera angles. The point of view alternated between their mobiles every few minutes as the scene played out. Their vertical angles cut Charlie off just at his breastbone but the profile of faggot's face was captured in crystal-clear high-definition.
The faggot on the television nodded.
'I mean you're gonna do whatever I tell you to do, yeah?' the Charlie on the television said. The faggot nodded again. The Charlie on the television reached down and smacked the faggot's cheek. 'No, say it,' he said.
'I'm gonna do whatever you tell me,' the faggot slurred.
'Say it right, fagboy,' the Charlie on the television said.
'I'm gonna do whatever you tell me, sir,' the faggot said.
'Go on then,' the Charlie on the television said.
'Oh fuck,' the faggot on the screen said; I said it, too, at the same time in Charlie's lounge -- the faggot on the screen had breathed in its first ever scent of Charlie's untrimmed bush. I remembered that first smell, too.
The Charlie in his lounge had wrapped his hands round my waist and was guiding the pace as I moved my arse up and down on his shaft. 'Don't cum,' he said. 'I'll tell you when you can.'
'Yes, sir,' I moaned.
The first course continued for several minutes but ended as Gav -- I'm pretty sure I could distinguish his voice from Nige's now -- said 'Stop's comin', Charlie' onscreen, which prompted the faggot to turn towards the camera with its cheeks bulging from the enormous testicle still in its mouth; its eyes suddenly recognised the camera and widened in shock. The video flashed to black but only for a second.
The entremets was a surprise to me because here in Charlie's lounge was the first time I discovered that the brothers had filmed as they followed me crawling shirtless beside Charlie on my hands and knees down the street and into the alley on the end of the lead he'd improvised with my belt. It was, of course, followed by the second course: the culmination of Charlie's blowjob as he skull-fucked the faggot against a bin in the alley. The faggot knelt on the filthy pavement with its arms tied behind its back; the faggot gagged and choked around the massive, unrelenting cock, spurting up spit and thick mucus each time the Charlie on the television -- shown only from the chest down again -- pulled his cock back.
In the lounge, my cock was throbbing uncontrollably as I struggled to impale myself violently on the Charlie whose cock was in my arse. His grip round my waist was still controlling my pace, though, slowing me down. I realised I was panting and muttering at the screen. 'Fuck that faggot's face,' I said. 'Choke me. Gag me.' And similar variations on the theme, alternating between referring to the faggot I was watching as me and what it was, as if they weren't the same thing.
The video captured the frequent detours the Charlie on the television directed the faggot to make down to his balls, delaying his climax to maximise his pleasure. Eventually the Charlie on the television told the faggot he knew where he was going to cum, then there were several minutes of uninterrupted throat-raping. When a stream of slime spewed from the faggot's nostrils and the Charlie on the television pulled out of its mouth and wrapped his hands around his cock, I knew what was coming next.
'Do not cum,' the Charlie in the lounge said sternly. I whimpered as the urge was building inside me. It took all my willpower to suppress the threatening crescendo as the Charlie on the television erupted onto the faggot's face, the first spurt into the faggot's eye and down its face, followed by three more dead on target that spattered into its hair, then coating its face, and dripping down onto its neck. Each shot was of a copious volume, even for porn, surprisingly prodigious despite the clue given by the size of his balls. Then the Charlie on the television grabbed the faggot's hair and plunged his cock back into its throat. The faggot gagged and choked again and coughed cum out its nostrils. 'Fuckin' A-star, fagboy! You've done well!' the Charlie on the television shouted. 'Fuckin' A,' he said again. Then the video flashed briefly to black once more.
In the lounge, my skin was gooseflesh and my body was quivering like a tuning fork. The main course arrived at last. It began with the Charlie on the television spitting on the faggot's hole. The brief interlude in my throat to moisten his cock and the accompanying belting by Freddie had been omitted. The words we'd exchanged before he entered me were too quiet to be intelligible. The faggot's long, high-pitched wail as the Charlie on the television claimed its hole with his cock was perfectly audible, though.
'You! Plug him up!' the Charlie on the television ordered. The video captured only a vague hint of motion at the faggot's face; the focus was on the cock slowly but relentlessly pistoning in and out of the faggot's arse, driven by Charlie's flexing leg and buttock muscles just in frame. The fucking was accompanied by muffled grunts, moans, and whimpers from off-camera in changing timbres and pitches as various forms took turns filling the faggot's mouth with cock and as the faggot reacted to the feelings in both its holes.
Captivated by what I was watching I couldn't understand how the faggot on the screen endured it; I didn't understand how I in the lounge was enduring the cock in my own arse either. The saliva from when I'd sucked on it was long gone now and the friction would have been unbearable if I hadn't been too distracted by the video to focus on it. Charlie's hands around my waist were matching the rhythm of the fucking on the television. 'Fuck me. Fuck the faggot. Oh please, please fuck me,' I chanted in the lounge as the scene played out in front of me seemingly without end.
'You know when,' Charlie suddenly said behind me from the sofa after a long, long time.
'Yes, sir,' I said. I knew now. He sped up the pace, just as he did onscreen.
'Who fuckin' owns you now, fagboy?' the Charlie on the television asked.
'You do, sir,' the faggot moaned.
'Louder. Tell them,' the television ordered.
'Master Charlie owns me,' the faggot said.
'Louder! Tell the whole estate!'
'Master Charlie owns me!' the faggot yelled at the top of its lungs.
'Fuck! Yes! I! Do!' the Charlie on the television grunted. He slammed his hips against the faggot with each word. Then he wrapped his other hand round the faggot's throat and pulled it up against him.
'Cum, faggot!' the Charlie on the television ordered. 'Do it now! Show them!'
And both of us did -- me in the lounge and the faggot on the television. Charlie behind me on the sofa ensured that I continued to ride up and down on his cock whilst I writhed and contorted, my hole seizing and spasming round his cock. The pace he demanded was vigorous now but not frantic, both on screen and in person. The faggot on the television sounded like it was crying. So did I in the lounge, my hole raw and battered. But the two Charlies came at last, the one on the television and the one in the lounge, and I felt molten steel fill my hole. The Charlie in the lounge hadn't had a blowjob or a mid-day wank like the Charlie on the television had; as far as I knew, this was his first load of the day. The Charlie in the lounge fired more than a dozen bursts of cum into my arse. When he finished he pulled my back to his chest and we panted sweatily together. He was going to break my throat, I remembered he'd said that night, then my arse, then my brain. Then own me. And he'd done them all just as he'd promised.
I watched the screen with perverse curiosity to see how much of the following gang-fuck that night by the bins would come next. It had last hours, I knew, because a handful of lads hadn't even used my mouth yet when Charlie waved them off before he fucked me, and none of them had used my arse until he'd finished in it. If Gav and Nige or the others had recorded any of my turning out, it wasn't on this video, though. It ended after Charlie walked naked to my face -- the camera followed him -- and I cleaned his cock with my mouth.
I eventually felt Charlie soften inside me in the lounge and I slowly lifted myself from his lap. Although I 'd been oblivious to fatigue in the ecstatic throes of riding him, my legs were aching and rubbery now. I could barely stand. I only needed to turn and kneel on the floor, though. I struggled to clench my tortured hole closed to keep Charlie's cum inside me as I lowered my face to his crotch and took his mostly limp cock in my mouth, licking and sucking it clean as I'd done on the television.
After a few minutes, Charlie pushed me away. 'Go get your phone,' he said. 'And get mine out of my jeans,' he gestured to the pile on the floor. I couldn't have stood anyway so I crawled to the kitchen to get my mobile from my pocket, then crawled back and got his. I handed them both to him.
'Unlock it,' he said, handing mine back to me. I did it and passed it back, eagerly anticipating that he was going to transfer to me my own copy of the hottest porn I'd ever seen and the only one I'd ever appeared in.
'Pick one person in here to get that video,' Charlie said, waving my mobile at me.
'What?' I asked as my heart stopped.
'She doesn't do this for me either,' Charlie said acerbically, referring to the comment I'd made earlier about worshipping his feet. 'You have sixty seconds. Every ten after that I add another person.'
[Continued.]