A story written by Pete Brown (Part 17 of 30). (Here you can find all the parts of this story.)
Greg sat there looking expectantly at me after Reb had left, waiting for orders. “I’ll want you to carry on getting into good running order”, I told him. “Spend a lot of time on the running machines in the gym.”
“Yes, master” he said eagerly, and sprang to his feet.
“But first, come with me….”
I had thought of taking him up to my bedroom, but that somehow seemed very personal. So instead I went into the den, with Greg following me. I shut the door behind us, then said gently to him that he should stand there as I wanted to have a further inspection of his body. He put his hands behind his head and looked respectfully downwards, but I reached out and moved his arms , indicating that they could hang loosely at his sides, and again used a finger under his chin to raise his eyes so he was looking at me.
I moved closed to him, remembering how amazingly sexy I had found it to have a clothed male brush his clothes against my own bare skin, then reached down and cupped his balls in my hand. I ‘teased’ his balls around in their sac as if I was really inspecting him, and as I did I could hear his breathing quicken and get more shallow. I moved a little, put my other hand on that lovely flat part of his back just above where his bubble butt began to flare out to provide that important ‘psychological‘ restraint, and then started to stroke his dick. As I’ve noted, although Greg’s dick was actually smaller than mine or Jake’s or Reb’s, as it was balanced on top of his sac and didn’t hang down and was well proportioned with the rest of his slighter body, it looked good. But then once he’d started to go erect there was not a lot of difference in size at all that I could detect, and my fingers revelled in the way the warm, silky smoothness of his skin covered a ram-rod hard interior just like the others. It was a pity he’d been ‘skinned as it would have been exciting to have been able to reveal his dick head, but I suppose he was a slave and that’s what you expect. In these slim ‘swimmers’ with very young-looking bodies I’d noticed how the constantly exposed head somehow complemented the whole ‘look’ of him and perhaps all guys whose dicks ride high like that should be done.
It was hard to resist not plunging my mouth down to nibble at his nips – although not as large as Reb’s and set in such smaller, less dark aureoles, they were still inviting. But I did flick at them playfully with a finger, and Greg started to moan softly and try to move backwards out of my reach, pushing his back gently against my restraining hand.
I moved my hand down again, resting it on the flat plane of his belly and teasing his navel with the tip of my little finger. He was really writhing and moving now. There’s always that amazing sensation when something’s pushed into your belly button, isn’t there – I know how
it feels, and was ‘testing’ Greg in a way as he squirmed under my probing. His movements were not so hard that he broke away from me (although he could have as although smaller than me he was extremely strong from his work) but almost as if he was not enjoying it, or enjoying it and was unable to control himself, or perhaps he wanted to show that he was good and obedient whilst really wanting desperately to be rid of the unwelcome ‘invader’.
“Did you and Reb jerk off last night?” I asked him. It is after all perfectly reasonable for an owner to enquire about the actions of his slaves.
He was hesitant. “Yes, master.”
I knew they’d done much more than that, of course, so I was interested in his seeming reticence. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of – and you must tell me if Reb forced you, if he was rough, if he made you do things with his dick…”
“I’m not ashamed, master. During pony training I was taught to use my body and that it was right for a slave to keep himself in good condition… We learned how to please ladies and gentlemen, as we were told some owners liked a ‘fancy’ to do more than simply pull their traps.”
“So why are you nervous, Greg?”
“In case you punish me, master. And Reb. My last owner said that I was never to touch my dick as he wanted my entire focus to be on my work and that sex was distracting for a young guy like me. And I expect you’d punish Reb as he should be saving himself for you, master…”
He was right there, I thought. “So you and Reb simply jerked each other off? Or did he force you to suck his dick? Reb doesn’t like sex with men, so I suppose that’s all you did.”
“No, master. I’ve been well trained in pleasing ladies and gentlemen, and after a few minutes it was as if Reb had been through the same training as we were able to pleasure each other in many ways…”
Now I had it. Not being able to listen to the sound it could have been possible that Greg and Reb had been up to those antics kind of half-heartedly, or with some sort of coercion. But Reb had enjoyed it, and by the sound of it had participated as enthusiastically as Greg had. Surely it couldn’t be that he had been ‘trained’ for pleasure? No, more likely he got practical experience from the women he’d fucked. But what bout men?
“I’m interested in this training you’ve had, Greg. I think perhaps I’ll spend half an hour and you can show me some of the things you were taught….”
I suspect Greg knew it was a lie, that all I really wanted was sex with him, but perhaps it was part of the training to go along with what the other guy was saying and doing, because as soon as I moved to take my shirt off, he was on me! It took a lot longer than half an hour, too – I was soon totally naked, like Greg, and our bodies were rolling around on the soft carpet of the den. And Greg seemed to know a lot about how to position yourself on couches, and half-on couches, to get the maximum possible amount of a dick up an ass!
Look, I’m inexperienced, I know. Sure I’d raped Reb and I’d had some great sex with Jake, but they were both older than me and both knew a hell of a lot more than I did about it, and I had been somehow kind of inhibited when I was with them. It was as if some part of me was constantly on watch, constantly monitoring what I was doing, as I was afraid – or ashamed – of not doing the right thing: I’d never fully relaxed. It could be that Greg’s whole approach to sex was a lot more enthusiastic and uninhibited that Reb or Jake, or it could be that his much smaller, more lithe body made it easier for him to perform astonishing acrobatic feats, or it could be that as he was younger than me I felt I needed to be more in control and therefore less worried about what was being done – in any event it was pretty amazing sex. And afterwards as we lay together on the couch, our bodies intertwined, I was surprised to find that there was no smell of shit and no unpleasant ass juices on my dick.
Greg saw me fingering my dick and at once wriggled out of my arms to get down and begin licking at me. I pulled him away, and he muttered “No, master, it’s OK – we were taught to clean our masters – or mistresses – afterwards….”
“Always, master. That’s why every time I shower I clean my ass out, master….” He smiled at me as he said this, then quick as a flash had thrown himself alongside me again and was kissing me, his tongue darting in and out like a snake’s. That analytic part of me that never quite stops planning made a note to tell Reb that in future that was what he should do – I was going to fuck him a lot, and it would be so much better if he was properly cleaned out. Then I wondered about Jake – we had, after all, fucked each other. Was he expecting me to do the same? I started to worry gain that I might not have done the right thing, and my mood of abandoned happiness started to dissipate.
Afterwards I took Greg in the car into town to a dealer in slave accessories. I’d done a bit of research on the ‘net and he seemed to be the place, if anywhere, that we might find a suitable trap for Greg. I could have ordered a new one of course, but given Jake’s sensitivity to me spending my money, I thought it would be a good idea to buy second hand.
All the traps were in a yard outside, neatly lined up, and it was perfectly apparent that most of them were unsuitable as they were simply out of scale for a ‘fancy’ to pull. That didn’t stop the dealer trying to convince me, though, that ‘this season’ it was all the rage to have oversize traps! I had anyway taken an instant dislike to the man’s ingratiating oiliness, and the more he made evidently untrue statements about how even weaker ponies could pull some of the monstrous things, the more angry I became. Finally, tucked away at the back there was a trap that seemed to be appropriate – the right scale for Greg, and a good simple style that would not detract from the neat simplicity of Greg’s body and would naturally shift focus on to him. It had a neat plain seat in red hide, was made of stainless steel, and the wheels were large whilst still in proportion to the whole – I’d read somewhere that traps should have good big wheels as without a lot of complex springing and suspension, they did serve to eliminate a lot of the jarring from the highway.
Greg seemed excited by it, and was running his hands all over it, inspecting it. The dealer was telling me that it was quite unsuitable for a young gentleman like me who needed something more ‘showy’, more ‘in’ with fashion. “Nonsense”, I told him. “The most important thing is to match the trap with the capability of the pony so you get optimum performance. As you can see, my pony is slight, though muscular, and it requires only a light trap like this if he is to perform at his maximum advantage.”
“But it is so unfashionable, so unpopular, sir….”
“So therefore you should be keen to sell it, keen to get it out of your stock as no doubt it has been languishing here a long time. I therefore expect to pay a really low price…”
I was amused to see ow the salesman’s patter changed when he realised I knew something about buying and the art of negotiation. And of course I didn’t fall for his “I’d like to do it at a better price but the manager won’t let me…” trick, and stalked off towards the manager’s office, saying that I would deal with the grinder, rather than the monkey.
I’d never driven a trap myself, and never given any of them all that much thought, actually. When I’d seen them in the streets I’d noticed that most of them were pulled by the pony or ponies holding onto the shafts, although some had a kind of ‘cross member’ at the front against which the pony could push. I was therefore surprised when Greg pointed out that I also needed to buy a belly strap, so we needed to go back into the showroom and select one – he explained courteously (although rather as if he was having to tell a kid the obvious!) That fancies generally had a belly strap to transfer their power to the shafts, as this then left their hands and arms free.
“For the movements, master!” He said this as if it was blindingly obvious, but then seeing me looking puzzled added “Most owners like to have a fancy set a good pace, and then to ‘piston’ the arms as you would if you were at an athletics meeting. It adds some excitement
to it, they say, as owners can think about their time at school and college when they might have been running in a race. Although my lady owner did not want that as she said it was unnecessary: she preferred me to run with my hands clasped behind my neck, and that’s not good, I can tell you.” Seeing my quizzical look he added “…it’s not a very natural running position, as it tends to make you stick your chest out and thrust your hips forwards instead of being able to hunker down for real speed – although it does make the whole of the front of your body very visible, very much on display.”
Greg also seemed surprised when we walked past a display of carriage whips – not the full whip designed to punish, but the long semi-rigid cane with a neat little strip of leather at the end, designed to ‘encourage’ a pony who is holding back. Nervously he pointed out that the trap did not come with one, although there was of course an integral holster for it at the side of the seat.
“I don’t think we need bother with that, Greg – I’m sure you’re going to work hard.”
“But master what will other drivers think of you? All drivers like to show they have mastery of the carriage whip, surely? And it’s fashionable – these are very much the current season’s design, master: regardless about what the salesman said about the design of the trap, you have a ‘classic’ there, and all you need to make it really ‘now’ is a current season whip.”
Well I had to buy one then, didn’t I? Especially as Greg explained that event though he would work to his utmost, there were occasions where a light ‘tingle’ with a carriage whip was a real help to him. “I’m sorry, master”, he’s said “But sometimes I’m just so totally exhausted it’s hard to find the extra effort to tackle a hill without slowing. A small ‘reminder’ giving me a proper ‘sting’ on the butt really helps me.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way – I’d always assumed you whipped a pony to make him go faster or to discipline him. But that it might help him was odd – was Greg really telling the truth, or had his ‘training’ been so good that this is what he really believed?
As we were about to check out I noticed the slave wear section, and to my amazement they had some of the same dark grey uniform shirts that Jake wore to work at S & D – I commented about this to the slave who had rushed up to help me, and he said that it was probably because some owners liked to pamper their slaves and make a show by having them in neat, high-quality uniforms when serving around the home. It seemed a good idea to buy some, though, as then Jake wouldn’t have any excuse for not staying – especially when I noticed they had a huge variety of plain white Ts: not just the white heavy cotton ones Jake wore, but also more exotic wear: I finally settled on some which were suitably opaque (many seemed designed to reveal a lot of the slave’s body, which I suppose is understandable) but which were made of some sort of stretchy material, and the slave
obligingly demonstrated by pulling on one of the samples – his nips were nicely indicated through the elastic material, and I looked forward to Jake dressing the following morning and seeing how his prominent nips and aureoles looked in it. They had matching briefs, too – not as good as the A & F ones of course – and I was going to buy some of these as I’d like to see how they moulded themselves to Jake’s dick, but then thought better of it: Jake would have no clean stuff tomorrow, and so he could wear some of mine. He didn’t like boxer shorts, but as you know, I do, and the sooner Jake got to share my tastes the better – for one thing when we were undressing it’s a lot more fun to be able to get your hand in through the fly of your partner’s boxers, isn’t it?
There were some raised eyebrows in the streets, I think, when Greg pulled the trap home without a driver – I needed to take the car back, of course. But I deliberately went extremely slowly, just behind or parallel to Greg, so I could relish the sight of this fantastic body performing as it should. We went up the drive as we got home, and I was gratified to see Reb working on the lawns at the front – he’d been harnessed to pull one of the big multi-gang mowers, and the contrast between his big, heavily-muscled body and Greg’s light, elegant one, both ‘pulling’, added to the erotic pleasure of both.
I wondered whether to take Greg and the trap in to town to collect Jake after his shift, but then thought that it might be a bit unfair on Greg to have to pull both of us back to the house, and I remembered what he’d said about some owners overworking fancies – although I have to admit the real reason was that I didn’t know what I’d say if any of my buddies had seen me seated alongside Jake in his work uniform.
So I took the car, and when we got back to the house and I had Greg parade for Jake, who could only say “How much was the trap..?”
“It’s OK, it’s a gift…!
“No, Steve! That’s expensive. I can’t take stuff like that from you. It will have to go back, as I can’t afford it.”
“Well Greg tells me ponies sell better if they’re shown ‘in harness’, so to speak – people want to test drive them. You’ll get a better price for him.”
“If I decide to sell, that is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Steve, it’s wrong for a kid like Greg – a nice, intelligent kid – to be a slave. I can’t free him, as once a slave always a slave, but I’m thinking I’ll complete the ‘rescue’ of him by getting him into a co-op.”
“You can’t afford that, Jake. You’re gong to have to sell him – but we can make sure he has a good owner, of course. But I tell you what – we could have ‘shares’ in him and the trap: sell them together, then split the profit – assuming there is any – in the ratio of our investments.” I was pleased with this idea, as now Jake and me would have a shared business interest.
Jake agreed, and shortly after Reb came in as the contractors had finished for the day and the slaves had been packed into their transporter and taken back to barracks. He’s stopped to shower, I noticed, and looked very agreeable – he’d pulled on the shirt I’d given him with the arm torn off so we could all see his brand – it still gave me a thrill to think that I’d ordered that to be done to him, that I’d marked him indelibly as my property- and a pair of workout shorts, but, interestingly, he’d kept his feet bare. He looked great – the hard work all day had left his muscles pumped and his still-damp hair added that additional touch of sexiness.
I supposed we’d have another barbecue, but when I told Reb to go and get it ready he responded by saying that he’d found a lot of stuff in the freezer apparently left ready by Mrs Williams, so we could have something else if we wanted to. Actually I liked the idea of a barbecue as I’d found the experience the previous night kind of rugged and masculine and it had helped me bond with Jake, but before I could say anything Jake had asked what there was, and on being told there was all sorts of stuff, he went off to investigate with Reb, and when he came back told me that it was ages since he’d had ‘proper home-cooked food’ and it would be a real treat, that seemed to be it.
I suggested to Jake that he might like to change, and then showed him the new shirts and Ts I’d bought him. He looked faintly cross, then said thanks rather grudgingly, then I wanted him to try them on. So he stripped off his shirt and went to put one of the new ones on, until I sad “And the T, surely – that one’s all sweaty from where you’ve been working”, and again he looked faintly annoyed.
It’s always great to watch a guy changing, so I enjoyed seeing Jake’s bare chest and then how it looked even better in the skin-tight T that stretched to kind of emphasise the contours and planes of his muscles, and then he pulled on the shirt and buttoned it. I noticed how Jake seemed not to be concerned that Reb and Greg were watching him – I mean, in a locker room you do know that other guys are doing the same sorts of things, but on those odd occasions when I’d had to change in front of other guys in other locations – like when we were at school and a drink spilled over me in the cafeteria and I’d pulled my shirt off as it was scaldingly hot – I’d felt embarrassed. I noted that real men, grown up men, weren’t ashamed of their bodies (well, if they were in good shape, I suppose), and decided I needed to be more unconcerned about such things.
I threw Jake’s dirty T to Greg and told him he could wear it at dinner, and he seemed really delighted at being able to look more like “one of us” (well, from the waist up, at least). He held it to his face briefly as if relishing the scent of Jake on it, and I wish I’d thought of doing that myself, but then pulled it on. If anything it increased the desirability of Greg’s body – the hem hovered just at the top of his dick, and the sight of this young kid with his dick sticking out from under it was somehow really erotic.
The meal was great, actually – we had a fantastic Mexican chicken dish, then apple pie and ice cream. There didn’t seem to be any question of Greg and/or Reb going outside to eat in the pool complex, so once again it was all four of us and once again, after a few beers, Jake and Reb were wisecracking and joking. I’d had to tell Greg not to eat so much as I was worried about his body, which had rather dampened the mood at one point, but I do believe a responsible owner needs to do that in spite of the social consequences.
Jake wanted to watch sport on TV after dinner and Reb seemed ready, too. I didn’t want the two of them enjoying themselves to the exclusion of me, though, and vetoed the idea. Jake muttered something about it being boring, and I suggested we play cards. Poker is pretty meaningless when one of the players has stacks of money and two of them have absolutely none, so we agreed that we should play strip poker. That in itself made for a fun time as we had to find more stuff for Reb and Greg to wear so we all started equal.
When I’ve played with the guys at school I’ve always won as I’m pretty good at bluffing and calculating odds and stuff like that. But it was a wholly different thing with Reb – I suppose he’d had so much practice, had spent so much time playing with his marine buddies, that after a couple of unfortunate hands for me I was sitting there in my boxer shorts when the others had still got at least a couple of garments on. In a desperate attempt at recover I wanted to bet higher in the next round, but the others pointed out that if I lost I‘d be naked, and that my boxer shorts weren’t sufficient to cover the bet I wanted to place.
“When my brothers and me played, we had forfeits”, Jake said. This was new to me, as I hadn’t known anything about his family – well, I didn’t know all that much about Jake at all, really, I suppose. “Steve can bet his shorts and agree to pay a forfeit if he loses.”
“Oh no, I guess’ I’ll sit out this round…”, I muttered.
“Hey, Steve, I thought you wanted to bet? I thought you’d got a good hand, or were you bluffing?” Jake laughed.
“..or scared?”, Reb added, looking at me directly as if challenging me.
Well I couldn’t have that, could I? Another guy thinking I was scared, even if he was a slave. “Good hand… Bluffing…. That’s for you all to decide when you play”, I said as brazenly as I could. “So a forfeit it is.”
That bastard Reb won the hand. He was bluffing, too, but since he had a sizeable pot he could afford it. He smiled at me and casually asked for my shorts.
“Oh, that’s OK”, I said. “I reckon the game’s over as I’ve got nothing left to bet with. We could watch TV, or…”
“…or we could watch you could hand over your shorts, then pay the forfeit, and then we could watch TV”, Reb added.
“Hey, that’s right!”, Jake yelled in excitement. “Come on, Steve, pay up! Strip off for us, and then we’ll decide on the forfeit.”
So it’s no big deal, OK? I mean I’ve been naked in front of all these guys. Had sex with them all. That’s how I reasoned to myself, but somehow being forced to strip in front of them as they all sat there watching was something else. I didn’t want to do it. I wasn’t going to do it.
“Come on, Steve! I’m beginning to think you want to welsh on the bet…” Jake called out, and then I knew I had no choice as I didn’t want Jake to think something like that of me. So slowly and hesitantly I stood up, then turned my back on them as I let my boxers fall to the ground. As I turned around to acknowledge the cheers and whistles from the guys I instinctively covered my dick with my hands, and they all now began to hoot and jeer, jokingly, and call out for me to put my hands behind my head.
I didn’t have much choice, did I? And it’s not as if I had anything to be ashamed of in terms of the size of my dick. So slowly and reluctantly, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks in my embarrassment, I did. I began to feel much like the two slaves must have felt when I’d made them do this, and the thought of that started to make my dick stiffen, which caused them all to whistle and clap some more.
“Now, the forfeit…”, Reb began.
“Hey, come on, guys, enough is enough…”
“No, Steve. Enough isn’t enough, not until you’ve paid the forfeit. You owe Reb…”, Jake told me, still laughing at my evident discomfort.
I was blushing bright red now, but what could I do? I know what I should have done – I should have ordered the slaves out to sleep in the gym, then gone up to bed with Jake. But I felt locked in to this ‘guy’ thing where you have to pay forfeits, so glaring angrily at Reb I said “OK, but get a move on then. I haven’t got all night.”
Reb smiled slyly, then pulled the other guys’ heads together and I heard them whispering and laughing. He looked up and me and I could hardly believe it; “We’d like to see you jerk off, Steve. Kneel on the table here so you’re nice and close to us, then jerk off for us. And be sure to catch all your cum, as we’ll want to see how much a young guy like you can produce.”
“No, you can’t be serious!” I shouted, but I could tell from the looks on their faces that they were. Well, if it had been difficult to back out before, it would be impossible for me to do so now. I’d made Reb do this, I remembered, and the bastard was paying me back. I couldn’t let him win.
Burning with embarrassment and shame I clambered onto the table and knelt on to the top. Three pairs of eyes were focussed on my dick, and I began to stroke it. At first I couldn’t make it stiffen, and now anger swept through me as this failure. I’d got my hand wrapped around my dick and I was jerking it so violently that sweat started to trickle down my ribs, but at least I started to show some signs of life and my erection began to build – my embarrassment at having to do this at all was forgotten now as I needed to put on a good show – yes, the thought of failure was even worse than the thought of having to do it at all! I wondered if that’s how slaves felt, but that thought was swept away as my brain began to fill with the knowledge that I was nearing my climax – I mean, it’s hard to think about anything else at times like that, isn’t it? And then I shot – a big spurt of cum, I knew. I stopped stroking myself and began to relax as my body jerked convulsively as two or three little “after cums” at first spurted and then dribbled out of me. I knelt there, hands at my side, running with sweat, somehow aware that there was a little slime of cum still hanging out of my slit as my dick relaxed and my ‘skin cam back to cover me.
“You’d make a lousy slave”, Reb told me. “I told you to catch your cum and you ignored me. I think you need another forfeit for failing this one…. A good spanking might remind you to do as you’re told in future….”
“Aw, come on, Reb! Steve’s done enough” Jake slapped Reb on the shoulders as he said this, the two men evidently thinking it was hilarious. “..and anyway if there’s going to be any spanking, it’s going to be me who does it when Steve and I are fucking! And it’s not as if you haven’t got his cum….” I looked down, and there was one of the drinks glasses with some of my cum in it, and more running down the side.
“OK, no spanking. But he still needs to do more as he didn’t do the forfeit properly.” Reb looked at me, eyes locking. “So let’s see you eat your cum, Steve.”
“No way! It’s fucking disgusting….”
Reb laughed. “Guys eat cum all the time – usually fresh and hot from the dick. There’s no harm in it. It’s perfectly sterile.”
I knew he was right, of course, and I’d liked licking Jake and Greg’s cum – well, if not ‘liked’ exactly, I didn’t mind, and it certainly added to the fun of sex with them. So I could have done it, except I thought it was totally and disgustingly humiliating to have to do it from a glass, and in front of the three of them. “That’s it! Game over!”, I snapped, and got down from the table. And of course as always happens when you’re not paying attention, I managed to fumble with pulling my boxer shorts on, and had to hop around from one leg to another as I tried to get the tangle they’d fallen in to sorted out.
“You haven’t finished…. Sir”, Reb protested. “Come on, it’s only a bit of cum! There’s no harm in it.” He held the glass out towards me.
“You fucking slave! Didn’t you hear that I said the game was over?” I was really angry now, and my anger increased – totally replacing my embarrassment – as Reb wiggled the glass towards me again.
“So if you want to see cum eating, you do it!”, I snapped. “A slave should feel privileged to be offered his owner’s cum. Drink it down, Reb.”
He hesitated. “Come on, it’s only a bit of cum! There’s no harm in it.”, I snapped, mimicking his own words a moment before.
Reb glared at me, and I saw his whole body position change – he tensed up, leaned forward, getting into the classic “fight or flee” stance, and I knew it was “fight”. “Do as you’re fucking well told! Or I’ll punish you.”
Reb glared defiantly, and I could see I wasn’t winning. He didn’t fear physical punishment so mine was an empty threat. But I couldn’t allow a slave to best me, could I? “I’ll punish you, Reb. And to show Greg that disobeying your owner is not a sensible strategy, I think I’ll punish him, too – and that’s a pity, as his back is just recovering from the savagery of his previous owner. But I have no choice, Reb – slaves who revolt and disobey their owners need to be made an example of, along with any other slaves who see it. So it will be a good whipping for both of you.”
Now really angry, the veins in his temple and neck pulsing, Reb glared at me. Time seemed to stand still. Then slowly and still with a totally defiant look he raised the glass to his lips and tilted it.
I really needed to follow through, but after this initial breakthrough it was easier – Greg and Jake both looked faintly embarrassed as I stood there and then ordered Reb to clean out the glass with his fingers and then suck his fingers clean, so that every last drop of my cum was consumed.
Reb and Greg were sent out then to the pool complex, and I smiled at Jake once we were alone. “Come on, then…. Although I’ve just shot my load, I can feel myself recovering…
especially at the thought of sex with a gorgeous guy like you…”
“That wasn’t very nice, Steve….”
“What do you mean?”
“Humiliating Reb like that.”
“Humiliating him? What the fuck do you mean? He’s a slave, Jake. My slave. How can a slave be humiliated? And look what he did to me….”
“You’re trying to excuse yourself, as usual. He didn’t ‘do’ anything to you – it was all in the game. If you didn’t want to take part you shouldn’t have suggested it. And if you’re not prepared to pay the price, don’t play the game! And as for humiliating you – he’s right, there is no harm in drinking your own cum – guys do it all the time. I bet you’ve done it lots of time, jerking off to that porn you like. We were all laughing and joking, and you could have simply done it and we’d all have had a good time. Instead of that you refuse to ‘play’, just like a spoiled kid. ‘I don’t like the game, so I’m not playing!’. And then Reb gets it from you. And as for humiliating a slave – you keep forgetting, Steve, that Reb is a man too, a man like you and me. Sure he’s a slave, but he’s a man. And you humiliated him, and you know it. In fact he’s the only sensible one of the pair of you – he recognised when the game had to stop, and gave in gracefully.”
“What the fuck do you mean?” I was angry at Jake now. But deep down I knew my anger was mostly because he was right and I was in the wrong.
“If Reb hadn’t given in, what would you have done? You’d threatened him with punishment and it had no effect. So you threatened him and Greg – Greg who was wholly innocent, a kid who was caught up in a game between two guys. And wisely Reb backed down at that point. But what if he hadn’t, Steve? What would you have done? Whipped Reb and Greg?
Punished Greg for something not his fault? You’re as bad as his last owner, Steve, taking it out on Greg when he’s not the problem.”
He paused and went on “But what then? After you’ve whipped them and Reb still hasn’t drunk the cum, what then? A visit to the public whip master for a session with the bull whip? And then on to gelding…. And then death? Reb isn’t the kind of guy who’d ever give in to pain or threats of it, as I think you know. So it was fucking stupid to get started down that route, if you ask me!”
He paused again, looking at me and seeing that I was now utterly deflated, standing there hanging my head and feeling terrible that Jake could be so harsh, so fucking critical. He reached out, and took my arm. “Oh, come on…. There’s no changing the past. What’s done is done. But try to act more like a grown-up, will you? Think, before that temper drives your mouth to say things that you’ll later regret.”
He began to smile. “But don’t grow up too fast…. I kind of like the spoiled brat – I reckon a real man like me can have a real effect…. And, you know, kids might need spanking…”
“We’ll see who’s the real man when my dick is reaming your ass… I seem to remember last night a few cries and moans, a bit like a kid….!”
Jake grabbed me and we started to kiss. Then before the passion totally overcame us we raced up the stairs to my bedroom.