This is a work of fiction. It includes scenes of sex and humiliation between men. No resemblance to persons living or dead is intended. If you are underage, or if possession of this text is illegal in your area, leave now. Some of the activities described in this story may cause injury or transmit diseases, including HIV.
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Using Tyler
Tyler's big thing, right now, is "working through it." He's a Psych major, so he's been reading all these books about it, and telling me shit like, "You're working through your anger at your father," or "You're working through your poor self-image," or "You're working through being forced to cut the lawn for your allowance"--that sort of crap.
Okay, so maybe I am. So what? I'm "working through," and he's getting off on it. Wonder what he's working through.
It started a few months ago. He got all squealy about some chick on TV, and I said, "Stop being such a fag!" and he said, "Oh! Make me, you big bruiser!"
Now, don't get me wrong. We're both queer, and we both know it, and we'd been messing around together all year, since we met during freshman orientation. Tyler's a junior, this year, so he was part of the orientation team when I started on an athletic scholarship.
Anyhow. We'd been what they call "vanilla" through my freshman year, nice, wholesome boy-meets-boy stuff with cuddling and all, but there was this little part of me that wanted ... I don't know how to put it, exactly--a little rough stuff, say. But I wasn't about to risk hurting Ty. He's the best thing that ever happened to me! Well, the best thing since I found out jocks could be queer, anyway.
But then he said that thing about me being a big bruiser and making him stop being such a fag, and something clicked. For both of us. Which is why I'm sitting on this big leather recliner in his apartment, wearing my construction worker gear (hard hat, faded tight jeans, lace-up work boots, a sweatshirt with the sleeves ripped out, and a tool belt) while he's busy cleaning out his ass in the bathroom. We have this little ritual bit we start with, and then...
"Hey! Who are you? How'd you get into my apartment?"
I turn to face him, still sitting, real slow. "What's it to you, faggot?"
"Get out, or I'll call the police."
"Your phone's out of order, faggot!"
"Huh?"
"Your fucking phone's out of order. I put your faggot phone out of order."
"Get out of here!"
"Fuck you! Get me a beer, pussyboy!"
"Are you out of your mind?"
I stand up then, and intimidate Ty into a corner, spin him around and put him in a choke hold with his right arm behind his back. "What if I am? What are you going to do about it? Huh, pussyboy?"
"Let me go! What do you want? Don't hurt--"
"If I want to hurt you, I will--not a damn thing you can do about it, faggot! Now get me the goddamn beer." And I half throw him toward the kitchenette.
He scrambles across the room, grabs the beer and turns toward me. "Here!"
"Huh-uh, asshole. Open it and bring it to me on your sissy knees. And call me Sir!"
He sinks to his knees, then quickly gets up and grabs an opener, opens the beer and drops back to his knees.
"Fucking queer! Where's my goddamn beer? You're really a loser, butt-boy!"
"I'm sorry! I--"
"Who are you talking to, faggot?"
"Huh?"
"God, you are stupid. Call me Sir! Screw up again and you'll be limping for a week! Now crawl over here with my goddamn beer!"
"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir."
"Move it!" He crawls toward me and I slowly move back to the chair, forcing him to follow me. I sit, then point to the floor between my knees. "Bring it, faggot. Right here!"
"Yes, Sir. Here you are, Sir."
"'Bout time, loser." I take a drink. "You're a little pussy fag, ain't you?"
"Hey! You can't--"
"Ain't you?" I growl, and I make like I'm going to punch him.
"Yes! Yes, Sir."
"You want to suck my cock, don't you? He doesn't answer right away, so I grab him by the hair. Don't you?"
"Yes, Sir."
I press my boots onto his thighs. "Why should I let you suck my cock, faggot?"
"I ... I want--"
"I don't give a flying fuck what you want, asshole! You any good at cocksucking?"
"I ... I think so, Sir."
"Tell me about it, dumbass!"
"Sir? I don't--"
"Look at it, faggot! Look at my crotch. You like that, faggot?"
"It's ... it looks big, Sir."
"Yeah. And you want it, don't you?" I grab his hair and push his face against my fly. "Don't you, faggot?!"
"I ... I like--I mean you have a beautiful cock, Sir. I want to please you, Sir, and make it big and hard, so it feels good, Sir. I want to ... worship your cock, Sir."
I pull off my toolbelt and wrap it around his neck, which makes it harder for him to move his head. "Put your pussy hands behind your head and open my fly! Use your pretty little mouth, pussyboy!" He goes to work, while I urge him along with my boots. "Come on, faggot! I thought you wanted to worship my cock! Get on it!"
"Yessir!"
It takes a while (and a little help from me) but eventually, there it is. "Not so fast, bitch! What do you see?"
"Your cock, Sir."
"Yeah, dumbshit! Your Master's cock! Tell me about it!"
"Your--my Master's cock is beautiful. It looks huge, and thick, and it's ... there's beautiful black pubic hair all around the base, and big balls--Master has big balls ..."
"Don't stop, faggot!"
"Yes, Master. It--"
I grab his hair again. "What'd you call me, faggot?"
"M-master!"
"I told you to call me Sir, didn't I?"
"Yes, M-Sir!"
"Listen up, pussyboy! I own you! You're nothing but a piece of meat. You're a goddamn fucktoy, got it? You do as you're told or I'll beat your faggot ass!" I squeeze his cheeks, forcing his mouth open. "Say it! Say 'Yes, Sir, I'll do what I'm told!'" He tries, but "I can't understand you, faggot! Say it!" I'm still squeezing, of course. He tries again and I push him away, stand up, and straddle his chest. "Say it!"
"Please don't hurt me, Sir! I'll do whatever you want, Sir!!"
"That's more like it, pussyface! Now get your faggot face up here and lick my goddamn balls!"
"Yessir!"
"And don't you dare lose that toolbelt!"
"I won't, Sir!" He gets into position and I enjoy his tongue for a few minutes. I know he's struggling to stay in position and keep track of the belt and all, which adds to the fun. And I can sort of see our reflection on the TV screen, which is nice. I can tell he's really starting to struggle, so I push him back to the floor. "You're a weak little faggot pussy, ain't you?"
"Yes, Sir."
"What are you?"
"A weak little faggot pussy, Sir."
"You're a fucktoy."
"I'm a fucktoy, Sir."
"Take off the toolbelt and kiss it. Lick it good, like you licked my nuts! Kiss it! Fuck that pouch with your little prick!" He untangles himself and starts poking at the nail pouch. "Your prick getting all hard, like a man's cock?"
"Yes, Sir."
"You want to do something with that little thing?"
"Yes, Sir! I like fucking the pouch, Sir."
"It's not your prick, pussyboy. You don't deserve a prick. Leave it alone!"
"Yes, Sir."
"That little thing belongs to me. I'll tell you when you can touch it! Understand me, faggot?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Now put your little fairy hands behind your back and get your pussy mouth back on my balls, faggot!"
His position's better, now, so I ease my way back to the chair while he follows and enjoy the feeling. "Yeah, faggot! You're learning. May actually let you worship my shaft, if you're a good little pussyface."
He makes a sound that could be "Thank you, Sir." He keeps his mouth on my balls, so I let him get away with that. It's the power. It's having someone do exactly what I want to my nuts, of course, but it's having the power to control it, too. He is a fucktoy, a perfect little fucktoy, and I own him. I sink into the feeling of that for a bit, actually stroke his hair, like petting a dog, or something. "Lick the bottom of my dick, fagboy!" I whisper, and he does. He slides his tongue along the underside, trying to keep the pole more or less centered on his tongue. It slips to the side of his nose, just at the end, and he loses it.
"Hey, shithole! Pay attention. Keep your pussy tongue on the bottom of my goddamn cock!"
"Sorry, Sir!" He frantically gets his tongue back into position and goes at it again.
I can tell he's desperate to use his lips. "Now lick the side, pussyface! Just the tongue, faggot!" He does this thing with the side of his tongue that I really like, so I keep him at it. Practice makes perfect, like they say. I switch him from side to side for a while, but at last I relent. "Take the head in your mouth, faggot! Just the head. Let me feel your faggot lips right on the head. Yeah, slutboy. Tongue my slit! Maybe you can get a drop of piss!" I can tell he really wants to take it deep. He's breathing fast, his fucking nostrils are flaring! "You love my cock, don't you, fucktoy? You just love serving your owner's cock, you little fairy! You belong down there on the floor, servicing a man's shaft. I should keep you there all the fucking time, so you can suck me while I drink, and take my piss, and I can just use you like the little slut you are!"
He moans. I love that moan.
"Okay, pussyface. Take my cock. Yeah, take it nice and deep. Just take it all the way in and hold your fuckhole tight against my crotch. Deeper! Work that goddamn tongue of yours, faggot! Now ease back, nice and slow. Slowly ... all the way to the end--don't you lose the end of that cock, slutboy! Now suck back down, nice and slow. Don't forget the tongue, dumbass! Atta boy, fuckhole! All the way down. Keep those lips tight! Make it feel good, fucktoy! Think I'll have that tattooed on your forehead: 'Fucktoy.' Ease back, now, like before. Keep that tongue going! And back down, not too fast. Yeah." I let him take over for a while, let him do that thing where he sort of twists his head as he goes back and forth, even gives me just a hint of teeth. And then, I push. I force his head down and drive my cock as deep as the damn thing can go. And he moans again--I can feel the vibrations-- and squirms because he needs air, but he also needs to know how helpless he his. "Take it, cocksucker! Take my man juice! Take it all, you worthless little faggot fucktoy!"
And he does, and I ease back and watch him gasp and pant and try to get his throat working again. There's actually tears! "Get me another beer, faggot!" I growl. I don't actually need one, yet, but no matter. He needs a task. He needs to know it's not over, yet.
He's not done yet, either: I can tell by the way he scurries around the kitchenette and hurries back on his knees. I take the beer, grab a big mouthful, and set the bottle aside. I grab his tits and lift him to his feet. I grab his head and press our mouths together and force the beer in. "Drink it, fucktoy!" I go back to his tits. "Hands behind your back, faggot! What're these?"
"My tits, Sir!"
"Who owns them, faggot?"
"My Master--I mean you, Sir. You do, Sir. I'm your fucktoy, Sir!"
"Good, faggot. You're learning!" I twist and squeeze and pinch and pull and watch his face as he grimaces, and I get another of those wonderful groans. "Hold my pants up, faggot!" He grabs the waist so I can walk him back to this support post at the end of the kitchenette counter. I slide the belt from my jeans out and strap his hands over his head to the post, then I grab the toolbelt and strap his waist in place. There are some tit clamps in the tool belt, of course. I move slowly, holding them up so he can see what's coming, and one by one I clamp his nipples.
Another moan. Another kiss. This time I pull his tongue into my mouth and nibble it a little. Then I slap him--just lightly. Arms, face, sides, belly--he has a nice set of abs coming, I'll give him that. Slap his belly, get it nice and red, then turn the tit clamps ninety degrees. Kiss him again, repeat. Slap his dick. "Hey, faggot! You must be liking this, you little queer! You like this?"
"Y-yes, Sir."
Slap. "Thank me, fucktoy!"
"Yes, Sir. Your fucktoy thanks you, Sir."
Flick the tit clamps. "You a silly little faggot?"
"Yes, Sir, I'm a silly little faggot."
Slap the dick. "Do I own you?"
"Yes, Sir, you own me!"
Slowly turn the tit clamps again, one by one. "I can come here any time I want, can't I, faggot? Use you any way I want!"
"Please, Sir. Yes, Sir. You can do whatever you want to me, Sir. I'm a faggot fucktoy, Sir."
Grab his nuts and pull. Get another moan. A drop of precum hits my hand. I raise it to his lips. "You dripped on me, faggot. Lick it!" He does, of course. I press my body against his right tit so I can push my armpit into his face. "Smell it, faggot! Lick it!" I let him work on it for a bit, then switch to the other armpit, and the other tit clamp. When he's done a good job, I step back. "Gonna hurt you now, faggot. Which tit first?"
"Whatever you want, Sir."
"Pick one! Beg for it!"
"My left one, Sir? Please hurt your fucktoy's left tit, Sir!"
I take the clamp in my fingers. "This is going to hurt, faggot. I can hurt you, can't I?"
"Yes, Sir!"
"Why?"
"You own me, Sir. I'm your queer fucktoy."
"Yeah." I pull the clamp off and watch him hold back a yell, eyes closed. "Ready for the next one?"
"No, Sir. But it doesn't matter, Sir. I'm your whore, Sir!"
"Yeah!" I move my hand really slow, then grab the clamp and yank it off, and he's in agony for a few seconds, gasping and whimpering. It's about the power. I give him a minute to recover, then release him from the post. "Strip me, faggot!" He undresses me carefully, worshipfully. "Put my boots back on, fuckface!" He kneels and obeys. I lift him to his feet again by his supersensitive tits, and lead him to the chair. "Get the footstool!" He grabs the footstool and sets it behind the chair. "Get your ass in position, buttboy!" He leans over the chair from behind and braces himself on the chair arms, legs spread. I can stand on the footstool and his hole's right there for me. But not quite yet. "Your ass is cold, buttboy!" I grab my belt from the post and walk slowly back to him, tapping the strap on my leg. "Gonna warm you up, boy!"
"Yes, Sir!"
"Do you deserve this? Have you been a bad faggot?"
"Yes, Sir. If you say so, Sir."
"You've been a good little cocksucker, fucktoy. But I'm going to spank you anyhow. Know why?"
"Because you want to, Sir. Because I'm your fucktoy, and you own me Sir."
"Good boy!" I give him the first swat. "Thank me, fucktoy!"
"Thank you, Sir!"
Whack! "I'm showing you your place, fucktoy!"
"Thank you for showing your faggot fucktoy his place, Sir!"
Whack! "You're not a he, you're an it, fucktoy!"
"Thank you for showing your fucktoy its place, Sir!"
Whack! "How many is that, faggot?"
"Four, Sir. Thank you for showing your fucktoy its place, Sir!"
Whack!
"Five, Sir. Thank you for showing your fucktoy its place, Sir!"
Ten, altogether. Nice round number on a nice round ass. Power. "Going to rape your hole, faggot."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
It's good. God, it's good. He's got a fine, tight hole, and he knows how to use it. Hell, it's all I can do not to shoot after the second plunge. But I hold out, because shit! He deserves a good fuck. At last, though, I can't wait any more and it feels like he's taking all of me into him. I rest, panting, on his back for a few seconds, then slowly pull back. "If you came without permission, faggot, I'm going to rip your little pecker right off!"
"I didn't, Sir!"
"Good! Get out of the way!" He scrambles aside and I sit back down again. "Shoot your faggot cream on my boots, fucktoy!" He does, of course, pretty quickly. "Now lick it up so we can get to bed!"
We're spooning later, in the bedroom, and I lick the back of his neck and whisper. "Love you, fucktoy."
I get another moan.