A story written by Pete Brown. (Part 14 of 21). Click here to see all the published chapters of the story.
I guess that my experience with Master Jed and Master Brett that led to my punishment did work to some extent – it reminded me that there’s more to being a slave than just lying there and letting a guy fuck you. You have to have the right attitude – some men want you to be completely servile and humble and to obey their every whim, whereas some men are prepared to treat you almost as if you are “one of them” and want a guy to behave in the same way as they are. Actually, it’s really hard for me to act in either of these modes (especially the first): when I’m having sex I want to be in control; it’s me who makes the running, who decides what we’re going to do and how we’re going to do it. When I was fucking the other guys during the rest of my training that was the easy part – when it was my turn to “top”, it was really fun and I did begin to wonder why I’d wasted all my life chasing after women! But when it was their turn to fuck me, it was actually much harder – having to lie there and do what the other guy said just didn’t come naturally to me.
Fortunately I had another session with Ray, kind, considerate Ray, who really seemed to like sex, and to understand guys. Half way through fucking me he suddenly stopped, looked down at me (he was taking me in the missionary position, and his body loomed over me), and said “Steve, you’ve got a real attitude problem, haven’t you? You’re lying there and not enjoying it at all.”
“I don’t have to enjoy it… I’m letting you do it, after all…”
“And that’s the problem, Steve! Any experienced guy can tell when the one underneath isn’t really enjoying it! I guess that’s OK in ‘real life’ when you do hook up from time to time with guys who don’t enjoy your attentions – actually, it’s quite exciting to carry on fucking a guy against his will. But we’re supposed to be pleasure slaves, to give the client a night of total enjoyment! How can we do that, if he senses that we’re not really turned on by what he’s doing to us?”
“But I don’t like taking it, Ray…”
“Well, tough! Look, Steve, at the end of every session the client is asked to rate you. If you fail to get better than an average of three over the month, then they punish you. A three is supposed to be ‘absolutely all right, nothing to complain about, a good performance’, and if the client senses that you’re just lying there, gritting your teeth and not really participating, you’ll be lucky if that’s what he’ll give you. ”
“So I’m OK then. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is, Steve, that we all have off days! There’ll always be a time when you’re tired out from working in the gym and get called to a client unexpectedly, or when your ass is sore, or when you really don’t want to do what the guy wants – suppose there’s a huge fat guy (and most of our clients are on the heavy side, as they don’t exercise enough) and he wants you to rim him, and it just makes you feel sick to have to try to get your face between the huge mounds of flabby ass cheek: then you won’t do a very good job. If he gives you a four, or, even worse, a five, then you’re in big trouble: you’ve got to make a two, or a one, to compensate and get your average back. Now it’s not all that hard to get a two if you’re really bright and enthusiastic, but ones are really hard to do – I mean, the definition is that the performance was perfect, and couldn’t be bettered: not many clients are prepared to give that. So if you ever get a five, in general you’ve got to make two twos to break even again, and that’s assuming you’re not already behind! So my advice is not to risk it – always aim to get a two, by being enthusiastic, rather than a three, by just hating it; that way, you’ll have some slack in the system and you won’t get punished.”
“But I can’t, Ray. I hate it when a guy is fucking me. And there’s no way I can make myself crawl to them, and do everything a client says…. I’m a guy, Ray, a tough, virile, guy, and I like to be in charge…”
“Well, Steve, you’re wrong: you’re not a ‘guy’ any more, you’re a slave! So you’d better learn to curb your feelings! Look, it’s only for a few months. After that time you’ll have some ‘regulars’ , and ‘regulars’ get to know the boys they like, and they take advice from each other Once it’s known that you like to be in charge, you will get more clients who want a big strong man to do that. But in the first few weeks, as you’re ‘fresh meat’ when clients want to try you out, you’ll get all sorts – the guys who want you to take charge, and those who are always in control. So be careful, be very careful, as otherwise those fours and fives will be coming thick and fast – and, believe me, you don’t want to be one of the guys lined up for punishment at the end of the month!”
“But Ray… I can’t do it. It’s not natural for me….”
“Don’t be so fucking stupid, Steve! You’re a slave, remember? So start acting like one, or be prepared to be punished like one! Slaves don’t have choice, slaves do as they’re told, and obey. When you were a free man you could pick up a guy in a bar and if you didn’t hit it off, where was the harm? It might be less than perfect sex, you might not both enjoy the experience, and there’d be that awkward exchange at the end, where neither of you really wants to suggest that you swap numbers or whatever…. You know how it is…..”
“No I don’t! I never picked up guys… ”
“Oh Steve, you really are stupid, aren’t you? You missed out on all that fun… What did you do at college and immediately afterwards?”
“So you wasted all that effort chasing women, when, with a body like yours, you could have gone to any bar in the city and had endless sex whenever you wanted it! But that’s not the point, really – there’s a lot of young guys who never even try out proper sex as they’re put off it by the endless propaganda from the breeders, and you were one of them; you’ll just have to accept that you wasted the best years of your life, when you were at your horniest. But you need to focus on the here and now…. Whatever you think, stop it! You’re a slave, and slaves don’t think, slaves ‘do’: ‘do’ as their owners tell them, and it’s as simple as that.”
“But Ray, I don’t like it… I don’t like being fucked….”
“Steve, I don’t care! And you shouldn’t, either. Slaves don’t ‘like’ or ‘dislike’ – slaves obey. Anyway, look, it’s just my dick in your ass, where’s the harm in that? What don’t you like about it anyway? I’m usually a pretty considerate guy, and I don’t usually hurt the guy I’m fucking….”
“No, Ray, you’re not hurting… In fact, it actually feels pretty good… I like the feel of your body against mine, and the way you slide your dick in and out, it kind of sends a shiver through me…. It’s the other thing…”
“What other thing, Steve?”
“Well, you’re fucking me, right? You’re taking away my manhood. A man isn’t supposed to take dick up the ass….”
“Stop right there, Steve! Where on earth did you get all that crap from?”
“Well everyone knows that….”
“No, Steve, everyone doesn’t ‘know’ that. It’s just the propaganda put around by the breeders and the churches and all that stuff. Look, nothing two guys choose to do together can demean either of them, or ‘take away their manhood’ or any shit like that! It really makes me mad when I hear guys talk like that, especially sane, educated guys like you! I almost expect it from Seth: before he was enslaved he was brought up in the backwoods in Arkansas or somewhere, but you’re supposed to be an educated, liberal kind of guy! You surely don’t believe all the juju in the sky crap put around by the religionists, do you?”
I shook my head, so Steve went on “Well then why do you believe any of the propaganda they put about that’s bout sex between guys? You’re just a typical product of our bigoted society, Steve – you missed out on sex big time until you came here: all those years jerking off alone and chasing women for the occasional fuck, when you were surrounded by buddies who you could have had a really great time with: mutual jerk off sessions at school, gang bangs at college with the other guys in the team, lots of fucking as a good-looking single guy on the loose in the city when you started working… You missed out on all of that, as so many young guys do, and now you still feel guilty about proper sex! It just shows how insidious all that propaganda is, and how deeply it’s engrained in you. The only mystery is why you still believe it – you’ve told me that you think all the religious crap is just that – well, I’d expect that, as you’re an educated guy. But you still believe the rest of it.”
“No, I don’t… It’s just that, well, I like to be in control, I like to take charge….”
“Well that’s the bit you’re going to have to curb, whilst you’re a slave! How old are you, and how long’s your sentence?”
“Twenty eight, and I’ve got ten years….”
“Well then, you’ll still be a young guy when you’re free, and then you can do what you like. In fact, with your looks, and a fit body, there’ll be a queue of guys who would just love to have that dick of yours in them…. But until then, you’ve got to smart acting – and thinking – like a slave, and if the client wants you to take charge, that’s fine. But if he wants you to obey his every whim, and just lie there whilst he fucks the shit out of you, then that’s got to be fine, too! You don’t have any choice in this, Steve – slaves don’t have choices.”
I would have gone on arguing with him, but as he finished talking he pulled his hips back and thrust his dick hard into me. That shiver of sensation, that unique mixture of pain and pleasure as a guy really rams you, ran through me, and I just moaned in delight. Then, with his usual skill, Ray carried on and my mind was so totally taken up with what my body was experiencing that I lost the ability to hold a line of thought.
There was another inspection and “trial” at the end of my month – Master Brett inspected my progress sheet to make sure that I had done all my training, and Master Jed did a more practical test – he took two hours to give me a really good working over, when I had to suck him, rim him, and then be fucked by him, whilst all the time he pinched my tits, and slapped me at key moments, to gauge my reaction.
I ‘passed’, anyway, and I was ready for my first client… And that was a bit of a surprise. In the last days of my training I’d been wondering what it would be like to be going to one of the fancy hotels to have sex with a guy I’d never met. They were pretty relaxed about slaves going out (escape in our society, where you can’t do anything without valid ID, isn’t really possible, after all), and so I used to go running in the city parks rather than on the running machines at base, and they thought that this was a good thing as the muscles you get from the sheer variety of natural running are better than those from always using the same artificial track, and as I ran past the other men who were out exercising, I always speculated on what it would be like to go with them. I mean, I was probably the only slave out running – you could tell that as I was the only one whose dick was almost exposed by the skimpy shorts he wore, and the only one whose cuffs, collar and nose ring glinted in the sunshine – as the rest of them looked like businessmen from the fancy hotels who were doing some sort of obligatory “work out regime”. Most of them were overweight, and none of them was actually running, as I was: no really fast pace, no sweat pouring off them, no real struggle to maintain the pace as they went up hill. No, they were ‘jogging’, and some of them even had enough breath to spare to be able to talk to their buddies.
Anyway, as these guys went past me, I tried to imagine how I’d feel if I went up to their rooms, had to strip my clothes off, and then stand there as they ran their podgy hands all over me. Would the want to kiss me, forcing their tongues in my mouth, or would they just order me to bend over so they could fuck me? Would I have to pretend to want to play with their disgusting bodies….. And so it went on. No one had ever thought to even mention this sort of stuff to me – I think they were all so used to fucking guys that it was “obvious” to them what to do, rather like ski instructors who have been born in the mountains can’t understand why you have so much difficulty skiing at first.
When Master Brett therefore told me that I was ready for my first client, I was kind of trembling inside. I’d got to really like having sex with my fellow slaves (well, as long as I could fuck them, and not the other way around), but now this was going to be totally different: the other guy wouldn’t be fit and strong, as they were; and, of course, I was going to be evaluated on my performance! It’s one thing to fuck away and occasionally have an off night, but quite another to always have to turn in a “perfect” performance as you’re being judged as you do it!
As it happens my first experience was worse even than I could ever have imagined. It was a Thursday night – our busiest, as a lot of businessmen on the road all week were really ready for sex by then – and so a lot of the “regular” clients were in town. As a change from straight sex, Master Brett had therefore arranged a “reception” for them – all those who were in town and who had expressed an interest in fucking the new stock had been invited to canapés and drinks, and the main reception area on our floor was buzzing with conversation as the guys milled around – many still in their conservative business suits as they’d come straight from meetings and so on.
I’d been told nothing of this, and had understood that it was just a “regular” assignment. I went through the proscribed process of shaving carefully (that stubble that no-one likes!), cleaning myself out thoroughly inside until the water ran clean, then lubing my hole thoroughly. Finally, I’d pulled on the normal shorts (which I was getting so used to now that I scarcely noticed that my body was obscenely on display through them), and put on the outdoor uniform. I haven’t told you about this before, but it was the practice to give us clothes to wear on top of the shorts so that if we were with the client in an elevator, or something, it wouldn’t necessarily be apparent that he was with a slave (except that not too many free men who can afford to stay at those luxury hotels have rings through their noses!). They were pretty basic – just a sweat top that you could easily strip off, and track pants – but with wide legs, so that they, too, could be easily kicked aside.
You went to the slave at reception to pick up the details of your assignment, so I made my way there, to find the crowd waiting – there must have been twenty guys in all. Master Brett saw me, clinked a knife against his glass to attract everyone’s attention, then announced “And so, gentlemen, as our special thanks to you all for being such loyal clients, here’s your first opportunity to see the exciting new property, Steve!”
Everyone turned to look at me, and I felt so odd just standing there being observed. “Up on the table, Steve…”, Master Brett hissed at me, pointing to one of the low tables that graced the reception area. “Everyone wants to see you, and if you get up there, it will be easier for our guests…”
I went to climb onto the table, but he snapped “No, idiot! Take those trainers of first….”, so I kicked my shoes off, and stepped up. I remember feeling the cold glass of the table against my bare feet – or perhaps it was the contrast between that and the heat I was experiencing from the flush of my blood, as I’d started to blush with embarrassment.”
“Now, Steve”, Master Brett went on, “Let’s let the clients see you properly…. Take off your outdoor clothes….”
Look, it’s normally no big deal to take off a sweatshirt and sweat pants, is it? I mean, even as a free man I’d done it hundreds of times before in the changing room at my sports club, and at the pool, and at places like that. But as I pulled the sweatshirt over my head, I just knew all those guys were looking at me – well, I guess at the pool or club there would be guys looking at me, too: I’ve got a nice body, and people have always naturally sneaked a look at me as I strip off – but this was different: these guys were completely open about it, not looking away if I glanced in their direction as normal guys would; and, of course, I knew why they were looking at me – they were sizing me up as a potential fuck toy! I felt my blush deepening, the colour spreading over my shoulders and my pecks.
There were mutters of interested comment from the watching men as my torso was revealed, and Master Brett went on “Now the pants, Steve – these guys want a look at those legs of yours!”
So I stood there, and pushed the pants down – and even with the wide legs, it’s awkward, isn’t it? You end up balancing on one foot whilst you pull them over the other, then have to repeat it. And, of course, I knew that these manoeuvres really exposed me to the gaze of the watching men – the shorts were so tiny and so thin that as I moved around undressing, they afforded me no protection at all – I felt a painful squeeze as the fabric tightened even further over my balls, and so I knew that my tackle must be totally outlined to the watchers, and I felt the cool of the room air on the top couple of inches of my ass crack as the already low waistband was pulled down further.
“So, gentlemen, do you like what you see?”
There was a chorus of whistles and shouts, and some of the men shouted “No, we want to see all of him!”
Master Brett held up his hands to quell the noise, and made a little speech as I stood there, with all their eyes on me. “Gentlemen, valued clients, thank you so much for coming here this evening. As you can see already, in the flesh Steve is even more desirable than he is in the pictures on our website, and I know a lot of you have tried to book him for his first time: he’s not a virgin, of course, as we pride ourselves in only offering slaves who have received the most thorough training. But there is something special, isn’t there, about being the first to own a new model car, or the first to see a play, or to get to a rave new restaurant? So I know you’re all eager to be the first to experience this unbelievable piece of man flesh, but, sadly, there’s only one of you who can be the ‘first time’ for a newly-arrived slave.”
“We were in a real quandary: we don’t want to upset any of you as you are out most valued clients, those regular customers who come to us week after week. But at the same time we can’t clone Steve – and we will not, of course, relax our rule about only one client using a slave before that slave is thoroughly checked out to ensure he is still clean, wholesome and healthy. We know that that is why most of you men continue to use us – your ‘user comments’ tell us over and over again that, like all men, you prefer the feel of raw dick on raw ass, and that you do not want to have to be concerned with attempting to protect yourselves with those disgusting condoms – real men, as we all are, fuck raw!”
There were shouts and cheers from the men as he said this. Master Brett allowed the noise to subside a little, then went on “So to try to be fair to everyone, tonight we are not going to hire Steve out to any one of you…. We are instead going to raffle him! We’ll strip Steve off completely in a moment, then he’ll go around the room so that all of you can inspect him properly and at least have a little pleasure immediately from this gorgeous hunk, and those of you that want to fuck him tonight should give him one of your business cards. We’ll then put all the cards into a bowl, and Steve will draw out a lucky winner – a winner who, gentlemen, will not only get first use of Steve, but will receive it absolutely free of charge, with our compliments!”
There was more whistling and cheering at this, and I was almost rigid with shock: I mean, it’s one thing to be sold, I suppose… But to be the prize in a raffle, it’s just not really on, is it? But there was nothing I could do about it, and Master Brett leaned towards me so that I could hear and said “Right, Steve – shuck those shorts, pose for a couple of minutes to let them get a good look at you, then get down and circulate!”
I didn’t have any choice, did I? I just had to stand there and push my shorts down and step out of them, as the men continued to clap and whistle as all my body was exposed to them. Look, I’ve never been particularly body shy, and after all the exercise in the past month my body was, if anything, better than ever. I knew I’d always had a dick most guys envied, and I have to admit that even I thought it now looked better after I’d been ‘skinned (although I still thought I’d lost out when it came to jerking off), and I’d spent a lot of time completely naked with a whole group of other guys in the past month. And, of course, after all that time on the sunbed, my skin was a rich dark tan, and the tiny Speedos had left a most interesting white area over my butt and pubes: I looked the picture of masculine health and virility. So why was I now so completely ashamed, embarrassed, worried, angry…. at having to expose myself to this audience?
I wanted to shout and scream at them, tell them they were all fucking perverts, that they had no right to do this to a guy. I felt a red mist of rage building in my head, and involuntarily my fists clenched at my side. I broke out into a sweat, all over me, and my whole torso and face felt as if it was on fire with the blood coursing through it (in anger, or in shame? I can’t really say.). I was going to do it, honestly I was – fuck the punishment I’d get, it would be worth it to tell these creeps something about themselves. But then I remembered the kinds of stuff Ray had said about slaves not having feelings, about how I had to damp down my natural instincts whilst I was a slave. I remembered how slaves could be ‘calmed’ by taking their balls. I suspected that an outburst now would mean I’d never get any clients, and then they’d sell me on – and I suspected a lot of slave jobs would be worse, much worse, than this.
It’s the mark of a civilised man, isn’t it, that he can control his temper and act rationally even when all his instincts tell him to do something else? I guess I’d always prided myself on being able to think my way through things, and not act like some hothead if someone gave me the finger in traffic, or whatever. So I made huge efforts, took a deep breath, told myself to calm down, and apart from the pounding of blood in my temples, I managed to keep myself in check. There was no point in messing up the rest of my life just for this, was there? I was a slave, and I had to learn to accept that sometimes slaves have to do things that free men probably would not.
It actually takes courage, I think, to be able to do what others might see as “yellow”. I’m sure that some of you are thinking that there’s just no way that you’d have got down off that table, “fluffed” your dick to free it from being stuck to our balls, and start to make your way around the room. It seems to you that I gave in, and you’d have told them to fuck off, and then taken the consequences, whatever they were. But that’s not my way – it was tough and difficult to do it, but I did: I made a decision, in my long-term interests, rather than just worrying about the “now”.
I’d been “inspected” before, when I’d first been sold. But these guys were experts, connoisseurs of the male form who knew exactly what they were looking for in a slave they wanted to fuck. I’d thought a lot of the men who came to my first sale were only there for fun, a bit of amusement; or sad guys who just wanted to feel the flesh of another man when they knew that in the ordinary course of events they’d never manage to handle such a fine piece of manhood. So at my initial inspection it had all been pretty cursory, and other than the shock and outrage of feeling all those hands over me, at having my balls hefted and my ‘skin rolled back, it had been pretty mild.
These men, though, knew what they wanted – they needed to assess the kind of fuck I was going to be. Of course they felt my muscles – all of them. And they ran their hands over my body generally, commenting that it was nice to have a bit of hair here and there. But they went further, as they tried to assess how I reacted to sex. It wasn’t enough to press their fingers into my pecs to feel my muscles: they needed to tweak my nips to see how I reacted. They didn’t just want to cup my balls in their hands – they needed to hold them, to tease them apart with their fingers, to squeeze them gently, whilst looking in my eyes to see how I reacted. My dick was erected, of course – after the first few seconds, I was hard for the whole of the rest of the time; but they wanted to really stroke it, to run a finger nail over my flange and watch as I tried to stop myself from pulling away from them. They scratched gently at my piss slit whilst running another finger nail lightly over my ass hole, so that shiny drops of pre-cum came out, which they could take between their fingers and smell. And, of course, they fingered my hole!
I was bent over clutching my ankles at least half the time, whilst fingers probed deep into me. And then, of course, they wanted to see how I sucked – so these very same fingers, with the lube and my sweat and ass juice on them, were gently pushed between my lips so that I could demonstrate how I could caress them with my lips and tease them with my tongue. Actually, I find something vaguely demeaning about this – I don’t know why, but having to kneel down whilst guy holds your head and proffers his fingers for you to nuzzle and suck is worse than actually sucking his dick! I mean, when you’ve got a guy’s dick in our mouth, you are at least having proper sex, aren’t you? But when he’s making you suck his fingers, he’s just demonstrating that he’s controlling you.
It seemed to go on for hours and hours. The guys were all drinking steadily – young Gary was there walking around with a tray of drinks, and clad only in a tiny loin cloth that barely concealed his oversized dick and which left the rest of him totally bare; I couldn’t help noticing as I stood there being subject to all my on indignities that most of the men couldn’t help but cup his bare butt in their hands as they took a drink, or pulled his loin cloth to one side to sneak a peak at him as he stood there. Gary’s stoic acceptance somehow made my own inner rage seem pretty futile. And as they drank, so the men got less and less inhibited, and soon the gentle stroking of my dick became a full scale jerk-off: one guy ordered me to kneel onto the table where I had been standing, then, as all the others watched, he quickly and efficiently jerked me off so that my cum shot in a long, white viscous streak all over the glass in front of me. A whole lot more cheering the, and I saw several of the men testing the consistency of my emission with their thumbs and forefingers, and nodding to each other as they evidently discussed its quality!
After a time, though, as these things do, interest began to die down, and Master Brett announced it was time for the draw. I had to walk around the men again, feeling my dick swaying in front of me, and collect their business cards, and Master Brett put them into a glass bowl and stirred them around.
“Right, Steve…. Come over here and choose a card: we’re all waiting to see which of these lucky men gets to fuck your ass tonight!” Even though I hated being “raffled” like this, I just had to do as I was told.
Actually, I had it easy that first time – although he was running to flab a bit, the guy who “won” me was fairly big and kind of handsome. Mind you, he’d had a lot to drink by the time the selection had been made, and it was agreed that we’d use one of the private rooms at base, rather than going back to his hotel. I had to half lead him, half drag him there, his arms wrapped around my shoulders for support, and once in the room I wondered what to do next. I was already naked, as there had been no time to put even my shorts on once the selection had been made, and I now felt very vulnerable somehow, in a one-on-one situation with this guy in his smart suit, silk tie and all the rest – funny, isn’t it: you can get to feeling OK about being naked, but change the environment, or have the other guy dressed whilst you’re nude, and it feels totally strange!
He wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t perform, though, as he reached down and grabbed my balls, and started to stroke my dick. I almost had to help him stand there to stop him from falling over, and I got the full force of the alcohol on his breath as his head came down and he started to kiss me, plunging his tongue violently in and out of my mouth. I pushed him away after a while, I led him to the bed and sat him down, then knelt in front of him to take off his shoes and socks. He reached out and pulled my face down into his crotch, and it was rather like that first day again with Master Brett – that distinctive smell of sweat and dried piss that always seems to hand around a guy’s fly. He was stroking my head almost desperately, and I could feel his dick twitching under his clothes. I moved my head away therefore, opened his fly, and let his dick break free: it was pretty nice, actually – big, like he was, and properly proportioned, if you know what I mean (some guys have dick heads that are somehow thinner than the shaft, and I think they look a bit ridiculous, personally).
Well, what else was I supposed to do? I went down on him, and started to suck and tease his dick with my lips and tongue, in the way I’d learned. At the same time, I felt his naked feet on me – the toes on one foot were probing around my asshole as I knelt there, and the other was almost caressing my balls, so as you can guess, I was rock hard, too.
He seemed to like what I was doing and made no attempt to stop me – in fact, he was pulling my head down on to his dick, and if I hadn’t been trained to take it, I’m sure I would have been gagging and spluttering. It didn’t take long, though, before I got that characteristic hint of salt as his pre-cum started to flow, and I carried on with renewed vigour for about a minute more, with him groaning in ecstasy as his climax approached, and finally he shot his load into my mouth. That seemed to exhaust him, as he just lay back then, his arms sprawling above his head on the bed, his dick still sticking out of his fly as it gradually subsided.
I didn’t really know what to do then. Was I supposed to have let him cum? I mean, he wouldn’t be able to fuck now, would he? I just knelt there, his naked feet now almost locked around my dick and balls, looking at his softening dick and wondering what the fuck to do. But fortunately the matter was resolved, as after a few minutes he sat up, looked at me, naked in front of him, and smiled. “Pretty good, boy! I’ll book you again, I think….”
“I think the prize is all night, sir…. Do you want to get into bed…? ”
“Hell, no! I’ve got a conference call early in the morning, and I need some sleep. I wouldn’t get much sleep with a stud like you in the same bed…. And, anyway, my wife doesn’t like me spending the night with a guy. A quick fuck with a slave is OK, but spending the night is too much.” He looked at his expensive gold watch, then muttered “Shit! And it’s eleven already.”
“Do you want to freshen up then… Shower?”
“You bet, boy – the thought of having that body of yours next to me in the shower is pretty appealing. But I’ve got not time. Get me a cab, will you, as I don’t want to risk walking back to the hotel this late – I assume there are muggers and stuff.”
I could hardly believe he could be so casual about the whole thing, even to the point where his wife knew! He seemed happy enough, so I left him there, went back to reception, and the slave on duty knew exactly what to do – the guy was a regular, after all, and it seems we had a special cab company who we always used for clients like this.
I went back to the room and the guy seemed to have recovered completely, in the way that some guys who drink too much can. Other than the smell of alcohol about him, he looked stone cold sober and as well as putting his dick away, he’d straightened his tie and combed his hair. Still naked, I led him out to the elevators, and as he turned to get in, he opened his wallet and took out a fifty.
“Here, boy, for you….”, he said, then looked at my naked body. “It’s traditional to tuck this into the slave’s pocket, you know… So in your case, turn around….” I wondered what he was about, but did as I was told, then I felt his hand on my naked butt, and the rolled up fifty was teased down my ass crack.
“There you go, Steve…. Treat yourself! I’ll see you again….”
The elevator door closed, and I turned around to see the reception slave laughing, as I fiddled around to get the fifty out of my crack. “Mistake number one though, Steve”, he said. “You didn’t get him to complete an evaluation form…. When a guy gives you fifty, he’s pretty pleased with you, and he’d probably give you a two, and who knows when you’ll need that!”
Pete Brown – the interview with the author
Pleasure Slave (all chapters)
Overview Pete Brown stories
Kinky Art by Theo Blaze