A kinky story written by Andrew Martin | Chapter 7+8
The first quarter comes to a close, and I haven’t done too much yet. But I also know Master Rob has some kind of grand postgame plan, so taking one load of piss, one load of cum and eating a hot ass isn’t bad for the end of one quarter.
“Time to check the squares,” Master Rob announces, and he reaches over to the end table and studies the sheet. “Looks like Danny is in Position 1. Don’t sweat it, if you win another square you can take the better position and send somebody to Position 1.”
I have no idea what any of that means, and I have a hunch Danny doesn’t either. “Anybody need another drink?” Master Rob asks the guests. Nobody answers. “Well if you do, Fagboy will get it for you. And don’t forget about his other use, either.”
I’m sure they haven’t. But the one who has used me before, Nick, is the one who speaks up next. “Come over here, fag. I want to check you out.”
I walk over to the guy who raped me yesterday in the supermarket, knowing he more than any other of Master Rob’s guests won’t be shy about playing with me. “I think your ass needs work. It should more closely match the color of those cute little panties you’re wearing.” In case you’ve forgotten, that would be pink. “Whatever you would like, Mr. Nick,” I say, still thinking of how much my faghole hurt after he violently attacked it without lube in the back room of the grocery store. Nick sits up straight on the couch and beckons me to move closer. He puts his hand on my back and pushes me down so I’m almost over his lap. “Boys, sometimes you don’t need a reason. You just want to smack a fag around some,” he says. And with that he spanks my ass. Hard. Clearly he wants to impress either Master Rob or his guests, and probably both. “Did that hurt, bitch boy?” Nick asks in a mocking tone. “Yes, Sir.” “Then let me hear your pathetic little fag voice crying about it then.”
So that’s his game. Well, I know I can get Master Rob excited by whimpering, usually when he’s playing with my pussy, but then again Master Rob isn’t much of a spanker. At least not just for kicks. But Nick is clearly enjoying the very idea of spanking a helpless faggot, and knowing it would please Master Rob, I start whining and crying and wincing in pain. “This is the way we smack our fag, smack our fag, smack our fag,” Nick sings, which his hand coming down hard every time he gets to the word “fag.” He gets what he wants out of me, and soon I am almost blinded by the tears. And they’re real; this hurts like hell.
“Almost there, cuntface. You’re almost pink enough,” Nick says. “Hey Eric, come over here and check the color of his the fag’s butt cheeks to see if they match his little panties.” So now Former Jock has a name, too, and it quickly becomes clear how he knows Nick, if not how he knows Master Rob. “He’s not quite there. You want him pink, or glowing red like that faggot freshman we used to spit roast in the showers?” “Damn, those were good times. Wish I knew then what I know now about faggots. But just pink. Not knowing what Rob has planned for our little pussyboy, I wouldn’t want to go too far.”
But Nick enlists Eric to help ensure my ass is the right color — and on fire. With Nick’s hand spanking one cheek and Eric’s hand on the other — the position allowed each to use his dominant hand. Of course — in no time at all my ass is the right color and Nick is very pleased with himself. “OK, fag, show the other guests how pretty your fat ass is,” he says. I walk over to Garrett and Danny, who each touch my ass as if they were testing how hot a fire was, and then Master Rob, who grabs my ass cheeks and pulls them apart to “examine” my faghole. “That pussy looks so nice between those bright red ass cheeks,” he says. “Almost makes me want to rape the faggot right now.”
He gives me another slap and tells me to kneel beside him until I’m needed for something else. “Open.” I tilt my head back as Master Rob takes a sip of his Sam Adams and then shoots into my mouth. Four sets of eyes stare at him. “Hey, I like to share.” I know this all too well, and I expect they will see another example at halftime.
Things are quiet for a few minutes, just fetching more beer and getting spit on by Danny and Nick. I know how degrading that is supposed to be, but I’ve always enjoyed it. Let’s face it: Making real men understand their superiority is one of a real faggot’s goals, and if I can help them reach their destiny the way Master Rob has shown me how to reach mine, some kind of cosmic balance is probably being helped. Or so I like to think. After all, on every gay hookup site you see there are always more bottoms than tops, so we faggots need straight guys to help balance the scales.
That sounds like one of Master Rob’s lectures on the subject of alpha-fag situations — he’ll never use “relationships” and I’m OK with that — which he usually delivers while he’s working fingers into my cunt. But now is not the time for that, as Master Rob tells me it’s time to start getting lunch ready. The buffet is already set up and the chafing dishes are warm, just waiting for things to be put in them. Master Rob wants me to cook the burgers fresh and then leave them in one of the chafing dishes, same with the hot dogs, while the chili already is in the third.
I’m a pretty fair cook, and I have good pieces on the stove waiting to grill Master Rob’s steak, cook the burgers and heat up the hot dogs. As I am getting things together, I feel hands on my ass and deep breathing in my left ear. “I don’t know exactly what Rob’s plans are for you, faggot, but somehow I know I’m getting deep inside this pussy one way or another,” Eric says in slightly more than a whisper. “Master Rob hasn’t shared anything with me, Sir,” is all I say in return, figuring almost anything else could incur Master Rob’s wrath. Eric gropes my still-red ass for a bit and then says, “I can’t fucking wait,” before heading back to his chair.
“You trying to steal my faggot?” Rob asks playfully. “No, just enjoying the party,” Eric responds. Rob smiles and holds out his beer bottle for Eric to clink. “Glad you’re enjoying it, but it gets better,” Master Rob says.
I hear all of that, but I have work to do. I’ve made enough burgers and hot dogs for each of Master Rob’s guests to have two of each. I place the burgers on two grill pans, put the hot dogs in a large saute pan and the steak in my cast iron grill pan. Nobody else bothers me as I cook, and nobody bothers me as I get the condiments and toppings out on the buffet table. It’s almost like a break, except every one of these hot guys looks like he’s about to jump me, and I know they are watching my ass in the pink panties every time I head back to the kitchen.
Soon enough everything is ready. I turn down the heat on the burgers and take the steak off to rest. I can hear the 2-minute warning on the TV and know it’s almost time for something, I just don’t know what. But by the time they cut to commercial at halftime, everything that is supposed to be on the buffet table is on the buffet table and Master Rob’s steak, potato and asparagus are on a plate on the dining table.
“Gentlemen, fill your plates and come join me at the table,” Master Rob says. Then, to me, an order: “Faggot dining position.”
There are six places at my table, five with chairs and room for me to kneel next to Master Rob. “Doesn’t your faggot eat?” Garrett asks, and Rob doesn’t look at him but at me as he says, “Of course he does. I feed him very well.”
When everyone is seated, Master Rob starts to slice into his perfectly cooked porterhouse. “MIghty big steak you’ve got there,” Eric says. “It has to be. It’s not all for me,” Master Rob says with that smirk that always makes me melt and quiver at the same time. Master Rob takes a bite, chews for a bit and then says, “Open.” I open my mouth and Master Rob drops that partially chewed bite of steak into my mouth. I chew with gusto and swallow, then say, “Thank you, Master.”
“Fuuuuuuuck. Now I’ve seen everything,” Garrett says. “No, you haven’t,” Master Rob says. “You’ve seen faggot’s feeding time, or at least the start of it. And before anyone asks, no, you can’t. My faggot gets his food from me and me alone.”
Master Rob continued to feed me, alternating between swallowing a piece of his steak (he did compliment me on cooking it perfectly; he always has been good with the praise, when it’s earned) and dropping a partially chewed piece into my mouth. It seemed as if the other eight eyes in the room were locked on him every time he cut a piece of steak, hoping to see the show. Master Rob had made it clear that my food comes only from him, and this new level of faggot degradation clearly had their attention.
“Hey Rob, does your fag need anything to wash down all that meat?” asked Garrett. “The urinal does not close during meals,” Master Rob responded. So Garrett got up and walked around the table to where I was kneeling next to Master Rob. “This is so fucking hot,” Garrett said, earning a sharp, “Do it if you’re going to do it,” from Master Rob.
Garrett held his dick about an inch from my mouth. “Open up, faggot. I know you must be thirsty,” he said. I opened and looked straight into his eyes while I waited for his stream to start flooding my mouth. It took a few seconds, and I figured he must be new at this. Funny how it’s so easy for a straight guy to get used to the idea of shoving his dick in a fag’s hole but his mind can’t get him to piss in one right away. This wasn’t the first case of stage fright I had encountered, but the other guests were impatient. They wanted to see the fag get used. Eric started humming the “Final Jeopardy” song, which got a chuckle out of everyone but Master Rob.
“I had trouble the first time, too,” he told Garrett. “Just relax and it will flow.”
Garrett seemed relieved Master Rob wasn’t angry with him, and sure enough after a few more seconds a little dribble of warm piss was leaking from his piss slit. Of course, my mouth wasn’t where it was dribbling, and I knew what that would mean when Garrett was done. But he quickly started a real stream, aimed at my mouth, and I took it all in. A couple of “damns” and one “holy shit” was heard from the table; anyone who used me as a urinal during the first half had put his dick into my mouth to piss, but watching this was different to them somehow. When the stream began to peter out, Garrett placed the head of his dick on my tongue so I wouldn’t lose any more of it. “Lick it clean,” he said when he was done, and of course I was all set to do that anyway.
“Now get the mess on the floor,” Master Rob commanded. And everybody watched as I dropped down and lapped up the first few driblets of piss Garrett had spilled onto the floor.
“Now I’ve got to piss,” Danny said. And the hot college boy came over and did exactly as Garrett did, holding his dick an inch or so from my face and aiming for my wide-open mouth. He got his flow going right away, making me wonder how often he had done this before, and the result was no mess at all on the floor and all of the liquid gold for me. I could almost feel Master Rob’s chest swelling with pride as his faggot was doing such a good job taking care of his guests. Nick followed Danny, giving me the nastiest-tasting stream of piss yet, but Eric didn’t feel the need.
“Faggot, go get the squares sheet,” Master Rob said, and I crawled over to retrieve the picks they had done before the game. I couldn’t see it, but Master Rob gestured toward me as I was crawling, and Garrett took the hint and gave my ass a good slap. It wouldn’t have hurt much except for the spanking I had earlier, so it stung a bit. But nobody else hit me until I got the sheet and started crawling back to Master Rob, when both Nick and Garrett took a good shot at me. I whimpered (knowing Master Rob loves that sound) and delivered the sheet to Master Rob and waited.
“Well boys, it looks as if Nick has won the second quarter. So Nick, you are in Position Two. But again, if you win one of the last two you can take the better spot and put someone else there.”
As Master Rob had not explained what any of that meant, nobody said anything. But he had another announcement. “Boys, you might remember Danny and Garrett were the top two spit golfers. Well, not it’s time for their reward. Faggot, you go into the bathroom and wait. I will give Danny and Garrett instructions before they join you. You will be spending the third quarter in the bathroom at their service.”
Damn. Aside from Master Rob, the college boy and the swimmer were my favorites, and I was going to be their bitch for the third quarter. That’s easily a half-hour, maybe a bit more, to be alone with them. I was practically twitching as I began to crawl past the kitchen and into the bathroom to await my temporary masters.
“Boys, here’s the deal. There is lube and some toys on the shelves in there. Do whatever you want with him with the following exceptions — no scat play, do NOT make him bleed, and do not let him clean up when you’re done. Got it?” When Master Rob gives instructions, even other men know enough to listen.
“We got it, Rob. And thanks!” Garrett said, as he and Danny got up from the table.
“Enjoy yourselves,” Master Rob said, high-fiving each of them. “I’ll knock on the door when the quarter is over.”
To be continued …
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