A kinky story written by Andrew Martin | Chapter 1+2

Click here to see all published chapters. Illustration by Theo Blaze.

Master Rob never made a request quite like this one. Ever since I gave him a key to my loft apartment, he usually just came over, got what he wanted and was on his way. Not cruel or overly demanding, just straightforward, and he usually let me snuggle next to him until the euphoria of his orgasm wore off. Then he was on his way or, if he was staying the night, I was on my way off the bed. He had taken me to a pet store months before and had me buy the largest dog bed there. I didn’t mind; I got to be with him in public and at least that purchase meant I knew he would now start staying over. And that was awesome.

I had met Master Rob a few months before, just another random hookup in which I advertised as an “experienced, talented cocksucker for small- to medium-sized dicks.” He enjoyed the service and we tried to meet as often as we could, including a couple of times with another of my “regulars” when I sucked them both. Then one night, everything had changed.

We were in my office one evening a couple of hours after everyone else had gone home. He had dropped by for a quickie, but he announced, “I need to piss first.” I smiled at him and opened my mouth, and he got the hint. “Are you into that?” he asked. “Yes, Sir,” the first time I had called him that. He got this smirk that turned me on so much, I dropped to my knees and crawled over to him. “Here?” he asked. “What if you don’t get all of it?” Good point, I thought. So I led him down the hall to the handicapped rest room because it had a lock, just in case. As soon as I locked the door, I took a seat on the toilet, looked up at him and said, “Ready when you are, Sir.” 

Ever since then, he was Master Rob. A week later he raped me for the first time (please understand that “rape” in this instance means that he fucks me whenever he wants whether I’m in the mood or not, not that he actually committed any kind of criminal act. Hey, if it turned him on to say, “OK, bitch We’re moving on, and I’m going to rape your faggot ass,” then it turned me on, too. He turned me on to fagmaster.com, made me join and started quizzing me about Fagmaster’s teachings. Rape in Fagmaster’s lexicon meant a fag has no choice but to accept cock whenever real man wants to use him to get off, because once a faggot acknowledged his place in the world it was assumed that he was open for business 24/7/365 and his job was to satisfy men. Period.) And my devotion to his pleasure only grew from there.

I would give him a tongue bath, starting either at his armpits and going down or at his feet and going up. He had very sensitive nipples, and he loved being rimmed, but I licked him everywhere until I was done and then he would tell me what areas needed more attention. When it was a day for a quickie, he started by spitting in my mouth before I got to enjoy his dick, which was nothing gargantuan but a perfectly proportioned 7 inches. In any event, after about six months of fun but routine cocksucking, our hookups had advanced to the point where he was the master and I was his bitch. And I loved it.

But this request was very different, and it had me nervous and excited at the same time. (How many times have we fags thought that line after a man said something.) “Here’s the deal, faggot. I am going to host a Super Bowl party. It is going to be here. I am inviting four men over to join me, and you will have quality snacks for us throughout the game and we will use you throughout the game as well. You’re getting no direction from me. You either do it right, or you don’t. But I want variety and, of course, beer. And you will show my friends the same respect you show me, or you will be punished.”

My mind was racing, partly with thoughts of what to serve (not to mention what “quality” meant) and partly with thoughts of getting five guys to play with. Knowing Master Rob, it was unlikely any of them were gay. He was gay, but he was so thoroughly in the closet that I was surprised he hadn’t hired local kids to play his children when he was out and about. And with me, he was no different than the straight guys I serviced: totally in charge whether is was friendly and playful or demanding and brutal. I enjoyed both, and to have variety of hookups in one hot man was awesome.

His announcement gave me almost two weeks to plan, and of course I immediately went to work thinking about quick and easy appetizers, healthy snacks — if you knew Master Rob, you would know greasy anything would not fly — and what would serve as a meal. But Master Rob suddenly was coming over a lot more; instead of his usual once a week, maybe twice, for the next two weeks I heard the magical sound of his key in the lock every night, usually less than an hour after I got home from work. And he spent two weeknights at my place, which he never did before. So clearly he knew he was cutting into my party-planning time. 

Every night he wanted a tongue bath. Every night he wanted to be rimmed. Every night he wanted to fuck. Not once during the entire two weeks did he come over for a quickie and then head out the door. So unlike him, so either he was getting attached to his fag (not likely, he was a loner who only wanted to be around people to take care of his needs and move on) or he knew damn well it would be hard to plan the party if he was taking up all of my free time.

So I spent my lunch hours checking for good appetizer ideas, shopping for supplies that I could get in advance and in general thinking how I was going to pull this off. I would have to have a couple of things ready when his friend arrived and constantly be bringing out more or different snacks during the game, knowing damn well he would have me serving his friends the whole time. Again, excited and scared at the same time.

The day before the game Master Rob came over before noon. As always, when I heard the key in the lock I raced to the door, dropped to my knees and looked up with my mouth open. “Good faggot,” he said, then spit into my mouth. Well, mostly into my mouth. “And don’t worry, I’m going to go easy on you today because you need to get ready for tomorrow. But I will want your undivided attention off and on, so make sure you’re on your toes.” “Yes, Sir.”

“Beer, faggot.” I went to the fridge and fetched a Sam Adams for him. He was already in his recliner, facing the television. My apartment was an oversized studio in what used to be a shirt factory. Exposed brick, tall windows with a view of the river, my dream home, really. And much more so since this hot man demanded a key and was used to coming over whenever he wanted for a blow job, a quick fuck or even dinner. 

“My feet, fag,” he said, and I quickly removed his shoes and socks and began to lick and suck on his toes. One of the best things about Master Rob is that he has no problem expressing his pleasure at something I’m doing, and he loved having his feet worshipped. I scraped my teeth across the soles while my tongue followed along, I took each toe in my mouth individually and sucked it, licking in between it and the next one before that one went in my mouth. I took all of his toes in my mouth and bobbed up and down, as if he was fucking my face with his foot. Seconds into that Master Rob hocked one up and planted it on my forehead, and as it slowly descended my face, the juicy wad getting into my left eye, his wonderful foot in my mouth, I realized I was exactly where I wanted to be.

“OK, faggot, let’s talk about tomorrow …”

When Master Rob says “Let’s talk about” anything, what he really means is that I sit — or kneel — look into his eyes, pay very close attention to what he is saying and definitely do not interrupt.

“OK, fag, Obviously any Super Bowl party needs appetizers, and no, they don’t all have to be healthy. But I also expect a real meal. My guests know I have a faggot and know I will get treated differently, so burgers with all of the toppings, fresh-made fries and a salad will do for them. I want my Sunday usual.”

Makes sense. Super Bowls are played on Sundays. I also knew that meant I would be eating the same meal as Master Rob would be eating. Well, sort of, but we’ll get to that. 

“And I want that bar stocked. They know not to expect anything too exotic, but if they want a good Scotch or a top-shelf margarita, they must have one. And both my beer and a good light beer are musts.”

My shopping list now taken care of, it’s time to take care of Master Rob. But as usual with him, first things first.

“Open up, faggot.” Already kneeling and looking up at him, I open my mouth as wide as I can and wait. He unzips and pulls out his beautiful dick. Not the biggest I’ve sucked, and certainly not the biggest to rape my faggot ass, but just a perfectly proportioned cock that never ceases to make my mouth water. But not yet. He aims his dick high and starts to piss in my direction. A little hits the floor, a little hits me, but soon his aim is true and he is filling my pussymouth with his hot piss. Often he will just stick his dick in and unload his bladder, but sometimes he enjoys watching me take it, and when that happens, the next is inevitable.

He stops his stream, hocks one up and spits a juicy one into my mouth, still filled with his piss. “Swallow that shit, fag.” It takes me a couple of tries to gulp it down, but I take it, leaving my mouth with the flavor of his liquid waste. “Open again.” And here comes the rest, a high arc of sweet piss that, more than anything else, reminds me of my place in Master Rob’s world. When he is done, he moves closer and shakes the drops onto my face. “Now swallow it, fag, and when you’re done enjoying that lick up the drops on the floor. And while we’re talking about that, this place better be cleaned for my party. Anything I find not ready will result in punishment — and just remember, I’ll have help inflicting punishment on your faggot ass tomorrow.”

There’s that excited and scared combination again. I truly want nothing more than to please this man, my hero, my god, who single-handedly made moving to New England worthwhile for me. I met Rob (he wasn’t Master Rob then) just a few months ago, within a few weeks of settling into this apartment. I didn’t even know he had dom in him, but on our second meeting, when I offered to drink his piss, it slowly started to kick in. Within the month, he was saying every degrading thing he could think of while I sucked his dick or while he pounded my hole. Having been strictly a cocksucker for most of my life — even my original master never fucked me again after that first time — to be suddenly turned into a hot man’s fucktoy was amazing. 

After I was done licking his piss droplets off of the floor, I called to him. “Master Rob, is this satisfactory?” He walked over, and as he was barefoot I moved to kiss his feet. “You’re finally learning, you stupid fag. I shouldn’t have to tell you everything. And yes, that’s fine. For now. It still needs to be cleaned before the party. But you also have shopping to do. You’ll find your underwear for today and tomorrow in the bag on the table. Pink is for tomorrow, black is for today. Put them on, present yourself, then go get dressed and get shopping. You have a lot to buy.”

The underwear was typical feminine things, something I NEVER did before I met Master Rob. It’s strictly to degrade me, he doesn’t get off on it. But it makes him happy to treat me like even more of a faggot than I am — and that’s hard to do — so it never occurred to me to protest. I put the black panties on and go back to him in his recliner. “Not bad, at least not for a fat-assed fag like you. Turn around.” I turn around and, knowing what he wants, I bend over. “Back it up, bitch.” I back up closer to him and I feel his strong hands on my ass. WHACK. Suddenly he smacks my right cheek hard. Master Rob never spanks me. I don’t move a muscle, half in pain and half stunned. “I can do what I want, faggot. And I think I’d like to show off a bit for my friends just how hard I can discipline my fagslave.” “Yes, Sir.”

“Get dressed and get shopping. You have a lot to do.”

I turn and head for the bedroom, my ass in flames from the hard spank. I get dressed, grab my wallet and return to the living room. “Is there anything special I can get for you today, Sir?” “Not this time. You have enough to get already. Now, kiss good-bye.” Obediently, I dropped to my knees and opened my mouth for his “kiss.” He didn’t have anything more to hock up, so it was just saliva that he planted on my face. I know he liked to miss more than he liked to hit my open mouth. He took his finger and guided his spit into my eager mouth, then slid the finger inside. I sucked on it eagerly, as I always do. And he patted me on the head. “You’re doing well, fag, but tomorrow will be very different. I hope you don’t screw it up.”

I hoped so, too, not because I feared his punishment, although I did, but because I genuinely wanted to please this awesome man and wanted to show his friends what a good faggot he has.

To be continued …

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