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A story written by Pete Brown (Part 15 of 30). (Here you can find all the parts of this story.)


“You can’t be serious!”, Reb shouted. “You can’t want me to jerk the kid off? And make me do it too?”

I just looked at him, letting the expression on my face tell him that I was serious. I was not going to argue with him as that demeans the owner/slave relationship.

“I won’t do it!”, Reb then told me, defiantly but firmly. “I’m not jerking Greg off! Punish me if you like, but there’s no way I’m going to abuse this kid.”

Fuck me, I now had a problem. I’d gone too far. I’d pushed Reb over the edge into open defiance, and I’d have to punish him – but I didn’t want to have to order a whipping for him which such actions would normally merit. I was saved when the pony said, rather timidly “Please, master, I’ll jerk myself off, master. Please don’t punish Reb…”

“See, Reb? Do you see what you’ve done now? You’ve got poor Greg here to speak when I’d told him to remember his role as a pony and to remain silent. So I’m going to have to punish him, aren’t I?”

Reb went to say something but I cut across him. “It’s the best thing for Greg, Reb – when Jake sells him as a pony, his new owner will almost certainly expect silence, so you’re doing him no favours by encouraging him to speak now – indeed, in setting him a bad example of how a slave could defy his owner. It’s such a pity, too, Reb, as his back appears to be healing quite nicely – I think we ought to whip into him the lesson that disobedience doesn’t pay.”

“Please, sir. Please don’t do that.”

“You were wrong, weren’t you, Reb? Wrong to refuse to do as I said?”

“Yes”, he mumbled.

“I want to hear you say it, Reb. I want to hear you say that as my slave you’re totally and utterly wrong to fail to obey any of my orders.”

“Sir, I’m sorry, sir. I’m your slave, sir, and I was wrong to disobey you, sir.” Just as I thought I’d won a victory over Reb, I had a niggling doubt – were there too many ‘sirs’ in that, and was there just a hint, a tiny hint, of irony in how he said it? I decided to let it go, as it’s best to ‘bank’ some winnings before proceeding, isn’t it?

“OK, Reb. Now, as I said, I want to see Greg here in action. So you can strip off, too, then stand beside him and jerk him off. Then when he’s done that, you can do the same and it will be easy to see which of you two slaves can shoot the furthest, and the most.”

Reb’s peeling off of his clothes was not as smooth and unconcerned as Greg’s had been, but at least he did it – and I now knew from personal experience how humiliating this must have been for him. Standing alongside each other the two slaves were stunning, though – the physical differences between them serving to highlight the special character of each. Reb was taller, broader, more muscular, and his thick black hair and ‘five o’clock shadow’ made him seem ruggedly handsome – he was clearly a man, a big powerful man, and his long thick dick hanging between his thighs reinforced that view. Greg on the other hand was a real ‘fancy’ slave, a slave any owner would want to grace his salon: his mop of blond hair, caramel brown skin, and ‘swimmer’s build’ were perfectly complemented by his not over-prominent dick and balls, which in their setting nevertheless seemed perfectly right.

I nodded, and Reb put his big arm around Greg’s shoulder as if to hold him steady, then reached down and across his own body to take Greg’s dick in his hand. It was extremely gratifying to see how Greg’s dick began to swell the moment Reb’s fingers curled around it – I’d got so used to seeing porn where all the guys are erect from the start that I think I’d forgotten that a whole lot of dicks when erect are very much the same size (there are exceptions of course as there are some really tiny ones, and some massive ones like the nigga in the cage, but by and large there’s not an awful lot of variation), whereas when they’re just hanging around, there’s a much bigger variation. So a lot of guys who think they’re undersized when they look at their buddies in the locker room would be surprised if they were ever bold enough to get them all to jerk off together.

It didn’t take Greg long to shoot – I suppose he was only eighteen, like me, and I know I can have a bit of a hair trigger sometimes, and if what Reb had said about him not being allowed to jerk off, there must have been a lot of pent-up demand. Certainly when he did shoot there was a visibly impressive spurt of white flying through the air, and a very pronounced wet streak all over the paving in front of him. He’d reacted well, too – he’d thrown his head back and in spite of the rule of silence, he hadn’t been ale to suppress a great cry as he climaxed. Now he stood there panting, and with some remaining slimes of cum dripping from his dick.

“Pretty impressive! Now let’s see how you compare, Reb – your turn now.”

Reb glared at me, but reached down and began to stroke his own dick. I hadn’t noticed before, but seeing him standing there it was obvious that he was using his left hand. Another interesting fact to note down about Reb, I thought – I mean it’s well known that left-handers, like me, are more creative, more imaginative, more ‘driving’ than the mass of right-handers. So it was perhaps surprising that Reb had ended up as a ‘grunt’ marine where he’d have been constrained to obey orders, rather than use his initiative; but perhaps that might account for some of the difficulties I was having in getting him tightly under my control – it’s not at all natural for guys like us.

Poor Reb! It took him a lot longer to reach his climax than Greg had done. And when his dick finally did spurt the wet slash across the floor barely fell beyond the end of his feet, and there was nothing like the truly impressive quantity that Greg had shot. The effort had made Reb break out in sweat and there was that endearing sight of the blood vessels in his neck standing out because of the effort he’d been putting in to it. It’s perfectly understandable, when you think about it – there’s no way a guy in his thirties can really compete in cum shooting with an eighteen year old. There ought not to be any shame in it as it’s a natural consequence of ageing, and I suppose in compensation an older guy knows a lot more about how to use his dick for maximum pleasure – and, indeed, taking a long time to cum ought to make for a lot better sex. But as he saw me looking at the two slimes of cum, I could tell Reb was both ashamed and angry, and I knew he would be feeling that intense humiliation that a guy feels when his sexual prowess has been impugned. All in all I felt a sense of satisfaction at the outcome.

I deliberately decided to make no comment about their performance as I thought the physical evidence was sufficient, so I sauntered off, telling them both to use the gym and the pool, and that I’d be collecting Jake later to come and see progress. I couldn’t resist adding “And I think he’ll probably want to see a little contest like that, too – it’s kind of interesting”, which would keep Reb on edge all afternoon thinking about it.

There was a message on my phone when I got back to my room saying that Jake would be off by three, and I replied to him saying I’d collect him from Scabbard & Drass – the car journey would give us time to go over some stuff. I took myself off into town, deciding that trying to work out where the food for lunch was kept presented too much of a challenge – or, rather, that there were better things to do with my time. There were a few guys I knew vaguely at Dino’s where I had a burger (I thought I deserved a treat after all my recent efforts), and they had seen my updates and we chatted for a bit about the challenges of owning a hunk like Reb – it added quite a new dimension to our conversation, which otherwise would only have been about other people from school and parties and stuff like that.

Still with time to kill after lunch I went to my favourite underwear store A&F – they make the kind of stuff that a guy like me expects. Their ‘trademark’ is to have all the assistants be superbly muscled young guys – in their mid twenties, I suppose – mostly slaves, but the real excitement is that some are free guys – who all wear the same outfits: A&F’s bikini briefs, which are very brief indeed! I’d tried a pair once but I’m pretty much a boxer shorts type of guy as you know, as I like my dick to hang free, and anyway it was clear that you needed to trim your pubes in order to wear them even half-decently. I’d never wanted to trim mine, and didn’t think the briefs would look as good with a thick forest of hair poking out above the waistband – then the thought struck me that I could buy some now if I wanted to as I’d been shorn at the police station, and that was a most unwelcome thought. I wondered how on earth they managed to get free guys to do this, but then remembered what Jake had said about jobs being exceptionally hard to come by for anyone without a college education, so perhaps that’s the answer.

One of the salesmen recognised me and strode over – today’s briefs, as well as having the signature ‘A&F’ in big letters running all around the waist band, were clearly designed to be a bit of a teaser, something to make the woman stare as you revealed them as you stripped off before fucking her: they were snowy white fabric, cut in that artful way that’s not too tight and not too loose so that the outline of the dick is kind of enhanced, and starting at the ass crack at the back and ending on either side of the ‘pouch’ at the front there were broad read arrows, which couldn’t help but focus your eye right there!

He went to lead me over to where the boxers were, but I pointed at his briefs and said I was looking for a gift for a friend, and I’d like some of those. “Oh, so daring, sir!” he replied, giving me a wink as he did so. It’s stupid really, but I found myself having to fight starting to blush. Why should buying underwear be in any way embarrassing?

These briefs came in XL, L, M and S, and as the sales guy modelled them for me I knew that really strong, kind of ‘square cut’ guys like Jake and me really needed a L. But I said I’d take two pairs of the M size – I suspected that Jake would have to trim his pubes if he wanted to wear the L ones without stuff straggling out over the waistband, and with the M ones he certainly would.

Jake looked kind of embarrassed when one of is colleagues saw him getting into my car a short time later, and when I challenged him he sort of shrugged, then muttered “You just don’t understand, Steve – regular working guys like us, low wage, struggling to keep our heads above water, we’re naturally suspicious of rich kids like you. So I don’t want them asking me a lot of questions tomorrow about what I’m doing…”

“I’m not a kid!”

Jake leaned across and kissed me lightly “So you keep telling me! It all part of what makes you so funny, Steve!” It was my turn to be embarrassed now, as we were stopped at a traffic lights – what would happen if one of my school buddies had seen Jake kiss me, even though it was only a light peck on the cheek?

When we got home Jake was all for going and seeing the pony immediately, but I suggested we go up to my bedroom first so that he could change. He seemed surprised that the pony and Reb were not up there, and I told him that this was impracticable as dad would be

 

home and wouldn’t allow animals in the house and so I’d made other arrangements right from the start. I then stood and watched as Jake stripped off his uniform and went and hung up the pants as he had before, then he looked at his shirt and said “But I’ll have to go home tonight, as I’ve worn this for two days already and I need a clean one.” I was about to say “I’ll get Mrs Williams to wash and iron it now”, when I remembered she wasn’t there, so instead I told him we’d get Reb to wash it later, and then it could tumble dry and Reb could iron it.

“Are you sure?”, he asked. “Reb doesn’t look like the kind of guy to me who would wash another guy’s shirt for him. I’d better do it myself….”

“You keep forgetting, Jake, that Reb’s a slave. It will do him good to do some slave-like stuff for a change, instead of always exercising and swimming.”

I looked at Jake standing there in his thin little bikini briefs and wanted to go and start making out with him immediately, but the moment I tried he pushed me away. “For someone who’s not a ‘fag’, Steve, you’re very keen on my body” he told me, laughing. “But not now – find me some stuff to wear, and I need to go down and see that pony – we’ve got to make plans for doing something about his lameness… I need the money, you know.”

I found Jake some shorts and a polo shirt, then gave him the A&F bag. “You can change into these, too….”

He looked at the bag in amazement. “I can’t afford to have stuff from here – it costs a fortune…”

“It’s a present.”

Jake pulled the briefs out and pulled them on – I was almost drooling with lust as he looked so fucking desirable in them. He saw me watching, and burst out laughing. “Steve, thank you. But I’m not sure you shouldn’t be thanking me…. These are more like a present you’ve bought to please yourself, rather than a present to please me. I can’t wear these, you know…”

“Sure you can. We can trim your pubes a bit later on….”

“Well that’s reason number two, now you mention it. I can’t wear these as I sometimes have to change my uniform at work. What would the other guys think if they saw me wearing these…?”

“They’d think you were sex on legs, as I do….”

“No, you idiot! They’d know where they came from – look at the waistband – and they’d have a pretty good idea how much they cost. How could a guy like me possibly afford to spend more on a pair of briefs than I spend on a jacket? They’d know someone must have given them to me.”

“So?”

“…someone with more money than sense! They’d think I was being ‘kept’ by a rich girlfriend, or something.”

“Or a rich boyfriend?”

“Don’t be so stupid, Steve! Guys doing a job like ours are all straight.”

I didn’t like where this conversation was going, so I simply said “Well , for now, though….”

Jake smiled. “OK. Actually they are rather good – kind of snug, and yet gives a guy room to move!”

We went down and out to the pool complex, and into the gym. Greg and Reb were running on two adjacent running machines – and as I looked at the dials I could see that this was another contest Reb was not winning! Greg was pounding along, naked, with barely a sweat on him – the distance was eight miles, I noticed. Reb was in the very brief running shorts I had given him as I think he’s more sexy wearing those for exercise rather than being entirely naked, and a ‘running vest’ that left his shoulders and arms bare. It was soaked in sweat, sticking to his body, and I could see he was in trouble – his running was kind of ragged, with a sort of desperation, and sweat was pouring down his face – he looked near the end of his endurance, and plainly the pace that Greg was setting was not to his liking.

Reb saw us come in and turned down his machine to do some ‘cooling off’ running. “It’s OK, Reb – no need to stop because we’re here – It’s good of you to give Greg a good workout – a pony needs to keep in tip-top running condition. Why don’t you start again and give him an even ten miles?”

“Oh, I think he’s done enough”, Reb managed to say as he turned off his machine with an air of finality. “I don’t want to cause too much strain on some of his wounds…” He knew that I knew that the real reason was that Reb was about to lose, of course, and I smiled inwardly.

“I thought the pony was lame” Jake commented. “He’s running like that – he seems OK to me.”

“Oh it’s simple, Jake – they hadn’t clipped his nails! On his toes it was OK because as he runs the toes bend and the nails get worn down. But his big toe nail hadn’t been attended to and it had started to grow inwards a bit, so he was in agony and started limping. I soaked him in a hot tub and that softened it, and managed to cut it, and problem solved.”

“Reb, how dare you refer to Jake like that! He’s ‘sir’ to you!” Yet another example of Reb trying to stealthily break down the barriers between us.

“Sorry!” I could see Reb was going to have to be seriously corrected soon. Where was the sir?

Before I could start to discipline Reb though, Greg had stopped his running machine and came over and threw himself down to kneel in front of Jake, then he bowed his head as if to kiss Jake’s feet. His ass was thrust up into the air and I quite forgot about Reb, as like that it was even cuter than when he was standing. “Master, thank you, master”, Greg mumbled, as if not certain whether to be seen to be adoring Jake, or to be silent as a pony.

“See, Reb – that’s how a good slave behaves for his owner”, I told him. “Perhaps we ought to have you practice that a bit…”

Reb looked as if he was about to say something vile to me, but at the last moment he reined himself in and stood there dumbly. We both watched as Jake bent down to help Greg get to his feet, and I’m sure I heard Reb murmur “…and that’s the way a good owner behaves with a slave.” But it was only that, a low murmur, almost as if Reb hadn’t spoken it, or didn’t want me to hear. What the fuck was I supposed to do now? I didn’t want to make a ridiculous fuss with Jake there as I wanted him to see I was good at managing slaves, so I had in turn to mutter angrily to myself, but do nothing.

“See, Steve”, Jake now said to me “I was right this morning. A bit of care from Reb there – look, a lot of the whip marks are not as serious as they were – getting rid of the lameness – allowing the pony to rest up a bit…. It’s all worked wonders. You have to admit he’s a great looking guy. You wanted to ignore him, as I recall – and now I’ve got a lot of money coming to me, I reckon.”

I don’t like to be seen to be in the wrong, so I almost snapped back “You forget that whilst he may now look OK, there’s still the problem of his disobedience, the need to whip him constantly…. Who’s going to buy a pony that’s so much trouble?”

“Oh I can answer that”, Reb smoothly cut in as if he was a man with a right to take part in our conversation. “When he was enslaved at sixteen Greg was sent to a pony training farm – a good one – and for three months he got the full treatment: his hide toughened so he can work naked in almost all weathers, a lot of really hard physical training to build up his muscles and his stamina generally, the toughening of the soles of his feet so he can run for miles on gravel and stuff like that, and of course obedience training. He’s actually a very good pony, and folk will pay a lot of money for him once they know his provenance.”

“Shut the fuck up, Reb! We’re talking about the pony’s disobedience, not whether he went to a good school or not! Don’t interrupt Jake and me when we’re talking.”

“No, let him go on, Steve”, Jake said, being very disloyal to me, I thought. “He’s spent a lot of time with the pony today….”

Reb smiled at Jake and ignored me! “Well the problem is that he was trained as a ‘fancy’ not as a real working trap pony – look at the size of him: he’s only about five nine and has that slim build, whereas a proper trap pony is always over six foot and is a much bigger and solider build in total. Steve could be a trap pony, after proper training to build up his muscles, if you see what I mean.”

“And so could Reb”, I added. “And he’s even bigger and more solid, and being a slave already, arranging for him to go off to be trained as a pony might not be a bad idea. He’d be obedient, silent….”

“Steve, I’d like to hear this – it could be important” Jake told me, smiling as I’m sure he saw the problems I was having. “Go on, Reb.”

Reb nodded. “Well, ‘fancies’ are selected and trained for a particular purpose. They’re intended to really look cute – and I reckon Steve agrees with that…” I glared at him, as I didn’t want Jake to think I like looking at male bodies. “…and they’re intended to be sold to ladies, so that’s why they have nice tight little dicks and balls, so there’s nothing ‘frightening’ about them: no real big male dicks swinging around, you know?” Jake nodded.

“Well a lady uses her ‘fancy’ to take her in a light-weight trap to the stores, or to tea parties, or for a gentle jog around the park so she can meet her friends with their fancies…

Typically it’s two or three miles at the most, with a light load, and the emphasis is on ‘show’ – Greg can do different types of steps, like those German soldiers you see marching on the old movies, for example. Or can ‘prance’, bringing his knees right up to his chest, and all that sort of stuff that delights a lady owner and allows her to show her friends that she’s a person of taste and refinement. A guy like Greg is so well trained that he doesn’t need to be manacled to the trap, and although the lady has a very light carriage whip, she wouldn’t expect to have to be so indelicate as to strike Greg’s cute little butt with it, as he’d willingly run fast if it was necessary.”

Reb stood there kind of smiling and gesturing at Greg as he’d said all this, and Greg had done a bit of ‘running on the spot’ when Reb had mentioned prancing – it did look good, actually, as it really showed all Greg’s muscles off, and without a big long dick flopping around I suppose it was a bit sort of cute.

“Anyway, everything was going well. Greg was more like a pampered family pet than a real stallion that you need for a proper trap, and certainly totally unlike those huge muscled beasts you see on the drays – and indeed his owner even felt confident that her teenage daughters, only the same age as Greg, would be safe with him if they wanted to use the trap to visit their girlfriends. That must have been tough on Greg, having girls control him like that, but he was well trained, as I say, so no problem really. The problem arose when his owner ran up a gambling debt – she liked to play bridge on Tuesday afternoons, and enjoyed the thrill of the high-stakes rubbers at the tea party of one of her friends. She didn’t want to tell her husband about her losses, so instead she used Greg to pay off he prime creditor.”

Reb paused again, as if for dramatic effect, and he could see that Jake and I were both ‘hooked’ now. “Even then things would have been OK had this lady not already got a ‘fancy’ of her own – a tall, lithe Russian, with naturally grey hair and blue eyes, who…”

“Yes, Yes… This is not a pony sale catalogue. Get on with it”, I snapped.

“The lady asked her husband to help her sell Greg, but he was a fat oaf: literally! Three hundred pounds, and stupid with it. He decided that instead of selling Greg and getting hit with a capital gains tax bill, he might as well use Greg for his own business around town. The only problem is they live seven miles out, in the Lakewood Hills area – nice enough, very respectable, but hilly! So now poor Greg is faced with dragging an enormous weight, over substantially long distances, up hill! It’s not that Greg is disobedient – you couldn’t get a nicer guy – but that he was simply not physically capable of performing in the way his owner demanded. Even though he’s really nicely toned, his body hasn’t got, and never will have, enough muscle to deliver the power you need for that type of work. The oaf was too stupid to see that, so started to whip Greg to ‘make him perform’, and that only made matters worse – Greg was now losing blood. And he was incapable of keeping to time, so Greg was whipped harder and harder to ensure the oaf could catch the train, instead of allowing enough time for the journey.”

I saw Jake nodding, and indeed this did all sound credible. But I didn’t like the way Reb seemed to be in charge. “That’s all very well, Reb!”, I said. “But it doesn’t explain the holes in his hands. An obedient pony wouldn’t need those, in spite of all the stuff you’ve gone on about.”

“You’re absolutely right! Greg knows that a pony when he’s working never lets go of the shafts of his trap. And he never did, until the day he simply collapsed from sheer exhaustion as he arrived at the station with only a minute to go until the train – he’d been whipped and whipped, had done his best to go as fast as he could, and there was nothing left. As his owner got out, Greg collapsed onto the ground. The owner was furious as he had to call up a livery stable to get Greg hauled away out of the forecourt as traps can’t wait there, I believe. So he missed is train. And he decided that Jake would never let go again – so had the holes drilled trough Greg’s palms, the ‘sleepers’ fitted to keep them open, and in future Greg was always ‘bolted’ on to the shafts – his owner thought that manacles were too visible, and would reflect badly on the owner as people would think he was incapable of controlling a pony.”

“Poor guy”, Jake muttered.

“Anyway, he hadn’t fixed the problem – Greg simply could not do the work, however willing he was, and the owner got more and more angry, and whipped more and more… Finally, the owner decided enough was enough, and wanted to get rid of Greg: he didn’t want to sell him as his wife had acquired him through gambling, and he didn’t want the Revenue Service to see a sale transaction and no purchase one as they might start to ask all sorts of questions. So he left him at Scabbard & Drass saying ‘dispose’ of this useless animal….”

“Fucking hell!”, Jake exploded. “How unspeakably cruel! What a fucking stupid owner! Blaming the slave for simply being unable to perform stuff which he was incapable of!”

“I should think it’s quite common”, Reb added quietly. “There are some owners – especially unskilled ones as well as stupid ones – who get a slave and don’t think through what the slave is capable of… Or don’t take the trouble to find out… Greg has masses of good characteristics, but his owner didn’t see them. It’s a ‘lose – lose’ situation for owner and slave, whereas if the owner gets it right and understands the slave’s capabilities it’s ‘win-win’. Greg went from ‘win – win’ with his lady owner, where he could perform superbly and she got exactly what she wanted, to ‘lose – lose’ with that stupid owner who never understood what Greg could do. I blame the owner for all of this, not Greg.”

Fucking hell! I was really angry now. It was perfectly clear that Reb was getting at me, accusing me of not understanding slaves and what he, Reb, was capable of! The situation was not the same, not the same at all – I’d never asked Reb to do anything beyond what he was physically capable of, and anyway he was so big and tough and powerful he ought to be able to cope, even if I had issued such an order. I stood there seething, and to make it worse, Jake obviously picked up on Reb’s meaning and saw the reaction it was having on me.

“Hey, Steve – enough of this! At least we now know I can make a good profit from Greg. But what about dinner? I’ve been at work all day, I’m starving…”

“Oh… I guess we’d better go into town… Mrs Williams is away and there’s no food here.”

“Well I’d better go home, then – I don’t eat out.”

“You’re not some kind of crazy sect member, are you? Not eating out….”

“I can’t afford it, Steve!”

“Oh that’s no problem, I’ll pay.”

Jake looked exasperated. “Sure you can, Steve. But when can I then invite you out to a restaurant? I can’t afford to.”

“It doesn’t matter, Jake.”

“Not to you, Steve, but it does to me! You keep on about us wanting to be buddies, but you don’t understand that buddies do stuff together – you can’t have one guy always paying. It unbalances things, makes the other guy feel bad.”

Oh, fuck me! Things were going from bad to worse. Now I was upsetting Jake with my totally innocent and generous offer.

“Excuse me, sir”, Reb’s voice cut through the silence that had broken out. He sounded somehow calm and in control. “I spent some time with Mrs Williams, and couldn’t help noticing that in the freezers there are some pretty great-looking steaks. And there’s a barbecue over there – in the service us guys often had a barbecue when we got tired of the food in the mess, so I know how to do it. Down in the vegetable garden there’s still some lettuce, and potatoes…” He paused, then sounded almost diplomatic as he went on “It’s not unusual for guys to like a beer with dinner, and it might be unwise, sir, to take the car into town? The cops can be very hot on gentlemen coming out of restaurants and into cars – even one drink could lead to unfortunate consequences. So would you like me and Greg to cook dinner for you and master Jake, sir?”

“He, Jake – fancy a steak?” I managed to sound enthusiastic, I was so relieved.

“Great! But what about that beer, Steve? Think your dad would notice if we took some of his?”

Reb opened one of the doors in the kitchen and tossed a can of beer to Jake, and then one to me. Jake called out “Thanks” but I was a bit pissed off as Reb should have asked my permission. And I’m not certain it’s a good idea to be thanking slaves all the time either. But then he gave one to Greg, and took one for himself! I really ought to have punished him for that – it’s bad enough Reb helping himself, but giving one to another slave is absolutely unacceptable. Jake saw the thunderous look coming over me and came and put an arm around me said cheerily “Why don’t you and me go and catch up on some of that porn of yours and let these guys get on with all the chores?”

Jake wanting to do ‘buddy’ stuff with me was fantastic, and I forgot all about the slaves and we went out of the kitchen. “We’ve got to go up to my room, Jake – the porn’s not on the TV in the den…”

“…because dad wouldn’t like it!” Jake finished my sentence for me, kind of jokingly. “Actually, Steve, is that true? I bet if we go in the den there’s lots of stuff your dad has – all men do. And you dad’s a widower, isn’t he?”

“Yes… Mom died…”

“Well then!”

“Jake, even if there were, it would be dad’s… Kind of private.”

“You’re like a lot of young guys, Steve: you can’t believe your dad is interested in sex! No, not ‘can’t believe’, more like ‘don’t want to believe’. Come on….”

“Even if dad has some stuff, it’s still private….”

“Get real, Steve! Men who leave porn around, even if they ‘hide it’ a bit really want it to be found – by their girlfriends or sons or whatever. It all adds to the thrill of it for them. They don’t do it consciously of course, but deep down in their brain something is telling them that it’s ‘wrong’ so there’s a real thrill involving the risk of being caught, and then the ‘shame’ of being discovered….”

“Dad’s not like that….”

“Are you telling me this super hero dad of yours doesn’t have the same reactions as normal men? He’s a pretty powerful guy from what you’ve been telling me, and the drive for success and power is often closely linked with an above-average desire for domination and control and sex – I bet he’s banging one or more of his secretaries. He’s only forty, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there you are, then. Rich, powerful forty year old… He must be having it away. He could be keeping a mistress in town here, even.”

“No, don’t be so stupid. I meet dad from the train. And what the fuck do you know about this, anyway?”

“There you go again, Steve. Underestimating people. I know I’m a worker, but that doesn’t stop me being interested in science, business, psychology, stuff like that. I can read, you know, and research stuff on the ‘net. I reckon I know a great deal more about a great many more things than you do.” Jake smiled at me again, and gave me a little kiss to show he was probably joking, and wasn’t trying to make me feel bad deliberately. “…except about clothes, what’s fashionable this season, the ‘theory’ of slave management, and what’s hot in underwear…!”

We went up to my room and as we went in Jake kicked the door shut behind us, and grabbed me. Soon we were a tangle of arms as our bodies were locked against each other and we were stroking, thrusting, and rubbing against each other as we kissed passionately. Suddenly Jake broke off. “No porn, I guess, Steve? The real thing, eh? We’ve got lots of time if the slaves are unfreezing the steaks properly…” And before I could reply he was pulling my shirt up and off me, then pushing down my shorts and boxers. My dick sprang out, fully erect, and Jake started to rub it as he kissed me frenziedly again, and I heard myself moaning in passion as the feel of his tongue, the pressure of his hands, and the sensation of Jake’s clothes against my bare skin all combined to drive me wild.

I had to break away. I knew otherwise I’d shoot there and then. I somehow managed to overcome my desire to stay locked up against him and pushed him away, but only so that I could pull off Jake’s polo and drop his shorts. I barely noticed the A&F briefs as I almost tore them down, and realised that thinking about sexy underwear is only something you do when the actual body isn’t available to you!

As we had before, we fell on to the bed, kissing stroking each other, writhing in passion as our legs entwined, rubbing our dicks up and down each other’s bellies, and then, in a slightly calmer moment, doing that fantastic thing where you put your dick all alongside the other guy’s, and stroke them together. The feeling of Jake’s pubes on the sensitive tip of my dick, and the hot feeling of his dick all along the length of mine were driving me over the edge and I could see pre-cum sliding out of my slit.

Jake knelt astride me, and I thrust my body upwards as I wanted to feel his ass on my skin, He fed me his dick, and I sucked and lapped at it as if it were the most delicious thing I’d ever had in my mouth. I looked up at him as he knelt above me, and couldn’t help laughing out loud – not the laughter at a joke, but that pure, special laughter of total abandonment when you know this is the best thing that’s ever happened to you and you are incapable of controlling your emotions.

Jake slid off me and lay alongside me. He kissed me again, and I muttered “Don’t stop….”, as I tried to pull him closer and closer to me, tried to make it as if we were one body, not two.

He raised himself on one elbow, threw a leg casually over me so that our dicks were together, and looked down into my face. “Steve, do you know what you’re doing, what you’re getting in to?”

“I want you, Jake, want your body, want….”

Jake lay back, and now it was me who pushed myself up a bit and stared at him. “What’s the matter? Don’t stop…”

“Steve, you don’t get it, do you? You don’t see what’s happening…”

“My dick’s hard, so is yours….”

“Stop it, Steve! And listen a minute, will you? You’re a kid who…”

“I’m not a kid! I’m almost eighteen….”

“I said listen!” Jake sounded serious now. “Yes, you’re almost eighteen. And a very attractive package, if I may say so… Exactly how a young guy your age should be: fit, strong, great body, cute smile…” he smiled as he said this. “In some places you’d be married, have a couple of kids of your own already. But here – well… You’re old enough to be a man, Steve, but you’re still a kid, really: you’ve got no experience, except the stuff you read in books, you haven’t lived. I wasn’t like you at that age as I’d already had to go out to try to find work, was desperately doing anything I could to avoid destitution and the inevitable slavery. By the time I was your age, Steve, I’d had lots of experience of life…. And of other guys.”

He pushed me down and kissed me again, but gently now, on the lips, stroking my cheek as he did so. “Steve, I’m your first, right? The first guy you’ve ever had sex with.” I nodded. “You won’t admit it – probably not even to yourself – but you don’t really know what you’re doing. You…”

“Sure I do! I know about fucking, I know….”

“Shut up! There you are, you see. That’s what I mean. You know about this stuff from the books, you’ve even done some of it, sort of mechanically. But the rest of it – well, you’re still a ‘virgin’, so to speak: you don’t know, you don’t understand, what you’re getting in to.

It’s only yesterday after all when you were still claiming ‘I’m not a fag..’. You’re out of your depth, Steve, you’re…”

“I know what I’m doing…”

“Steve! Listen to me, will you? You’ve got to hear this, and please try to not only hear it, but understand it!” Jake gave a little sigh as if he knew he was pursuing a hopeless case. “I’m older than you – only a few years on the clock, but lots of them in terms of experience. I’ve been here before, Steve, once before, and I saw what happened. I like you, Steve, like you a lot. And you’re fun to be with – mostly” Jake smiled and gave me a little wink as he said this, and I felt all sort of warm inside. “But I don’t want you to get hurt. You’ve done what a lot of guys do the first time they meet someone and have sex with them – they fall totally and helplessly in love.”

“No, Jake. You’re a guy, I can’t…”

“Steve! Listen, will you? Listen to me – I’ve been here before! You’re out of your depth, swimming in a deep sea and you can’t touch the bottom. It’s thrilling. It’s exciting. You can’t wait for us to be together. You’re overwhelmed with physical passion when our bodies touch. You didn’t know how to kiss when we first did, and now your tongue is half way down my throat as you’re so desperate to try to make us so close.”

He paused. “But it won’t work, Steve. It can’t. Look, I’d be stupid if I didn’t admit I’m not enjoying myself. You’ve got a great body, you’re fun to be with, a guy like you with his sex drive in overdrive is great in bed…. But that’s it, isn’t it? We’ve got nothing else – we don’t live in the same world, Steve. I don’t know anything about your life, really, except to see all the money. And you don’t know anything about mine. And all that’s OK, as long as we’re just having sex – fantastic, erotic, passionate sex. And that’s what it is for me, Steve – but for you… I think it’s something more. It usually is for a guy like you who’s bottled up his emotions all his life – when you finally let go you’ve no experience or ability to be able to control it. You’ve fallen, Steve, fallen for me – you want more than sex, you want me as a lover… You keep talking about ‘buddy things’, but that’s because it’s the closest thing you can say to what you really want: you want me as your big brother, your lover, your dad….

You want to be close to me, don’t you, Steve? You want me to feel the same about you as you feel about me?” He paused again.

“But I can’t do it, Steve. And I’m telling you now – as sooner or later – and I sincerely hope it’s later – it will all end in tears. We can have some fantastic times together in bed, but that’s all it can be for me. And you know the dreadful thing is, Steve, that even though I’m telling you this now, even though I’m warning you to keep away from the fire and not get burned, you will – you’re incapable of controlling your own emotions now, you won’t believe it will happen, you’ll be saying ‘yes, Jake’s saying that but this time it will be different’. But it won’t be, Steve.”

He lay back, sounding kind of exhausted. I leaned over and kissed him. Kissed him gently, then, as if I couldn’t stop myself, with increasing passion. We began to caress each other, stroke each others dicks, play with our bodies. I was so aroused, so hard, I wanted Jake so desperately, wanted him in every way.

As we thrashed around at some point I was lying on Jake, and I was nuzzling that delicious part of him at the base of the neck, occasionally reaching up to nip his ear lobe, and we were laughing and giggling with the sheer happiness of it all. As Jake’s body moved under mine my dick somehow lodged in his ass crack, and it felt so good, so right. Cautiously, still playing with Jake’s shoulders and ear, I reached down and pressed my dick harder into his crack so it was kind of lying along it – Jake didn’t seem to mind, and, indeed, his body was reacting to me by gently pushing upwards.

It was unbearable. I wanted to cum. I needed to cum. But I wanted to have more of Jake, wanted more of the sensation of his body. I slowly and cautiously moved to one side, then tucked my hand under Jake, thrilling to the feel of his hard belly. I gently raised his waist up, then shuffled myself down the bed to kneel behind him – it seemed completely natural and right to open Jake’s legs, then kneel behind his ass – as I threw my legs across his, that amazing tingling sensation as another guy’s hair meshes with yours went right through me. Now I was running the tip of the dick up and down his ass crack, and Jake was moaning and crying with excitement. My dick was leaking so much pre-cum that his crack was completely slimed with it.

Then of course my dick touched his asshole. And that was it.

In a way I suppose it’s lucky I’d been raped. Because now, in spite of my passion, I took the time to spit on his hole, gently tease my finger in, rub it with pre-cum, move two fingers in…. And then, finally, I fucked him.

How do you describe the first time you fucked a guy? I don’t know, and I’m not going to try. All I know is that it felt ‘right’ – so completely and utterly ‘right’. So totally natural, what a man should be doing with another. I can’t tell you how long it went on as time flew by and had no meaning. I was so overwhelmed with sensation, so amazed at the feel of my dick inside Jake, so astounded with the way that his body reacted to mine, thrusting back at me as I plunged into him as if at some level he needed to take all of me inside him. I could dimly hear his cries – were they pain, were they utterly abandoned pleasure? I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. My body arched backwards, and I shot my load deep into him. Then I remembered the stuff about shooting along his back and putting my dick back in – too late for that – but I pulled out, and when I went back in it was now me giving a deep, primeval animal roar as every nerve in my dick fired a crescendo of sensation into me.

We collapsed, with me lying on top of him, our bodies soaked in sweat.

I don’t know how long it was before I could pull out, then we lay side by side. “Fucking hell!”, Jake whispered at me. “Fucking hell!”. Then he kissed me again, and we just lay together, in that utterly close companionship that you can only have with someone you’ve fucked.

My brain knew Jake was wrong. Once I’d had such great sex with him, once he’d realised that I was special, that we were made for each other, there couldn’t be any problems facing us.

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