Date: Sun, 8 Apr 2012 00:50:55 -0400 From: Matt W Subject: Bred Slave - Part 15 The following is a work of fiction. All characters are over 18 years of age. There are depictions of sexual acts and homoerotic themes. Please do not read any further if you are not legally eligible or would be offended by the material. CHAPTER 19 - THE WAITING GAME I shifted my weight from foot to foot, squirming slightly as I focused on a single bead of sweat as it journeyed from the edge of my hairline, down the slope of my forehead, and across the bridge of my nose, where it lingered, almost painfully, clinging to my skin. My fists clenched as my hands were stopped short from instinctively wiping the droplet away, pinioned behind me as they were, shackled by a leather cuff to either end of a rigid spreader bar that was currently resting across the crest of my bare ass. The bar had been tied by a length of rope to a hook in the ceiling that allowed me enough slack to stand comfortably upright, but not enough to sit down. Likewise, my legs were spread apart by a second bar that was affixed to leather cuffs around either ankle, just wide enough beyond the point of comfort so that I felt a slight, constant, burn on the inside of my thighs. Despite the stretch, I wasn't overly uncomfortable, yet the boredom was pure torture. It was a Saturday morning, or possibly afternoon by this point. After my morning workout, I choked down a chalky liquid breakfast of protein powders blended with who knows what else that Mr. Grey assembled for me before taking me into the dungeon. He pulled me into the middle of the room and without a single word of explanation, he secured me as I was in the center of the dungeon. After testing the strength of the rope that secured the bar between my wrists to the ceiling, he gave me an encouraging light slap on the cheek, and then left me without any indication as to when he might be back. I shook my head violently in either direction, wincing as the thick gauge steel training collar Mr. Grey seemed to prefer me in, bit into my neck. After a third attempt, the drop of sweat mercifully fell from the tip of my nose and landed on the cement floor between my bare feet. Shifting my weight again for the thousandth time, I would have given anything at that moment to get off my feet. There was a single bulb illuminated somewhere over my head, but the rest of the surrounding room was shrouded in shadows. I could just make out the set of shelves and work benches lined with innumerable instruments and tools dedicated to the purpose of keeping slaves in line. To my right were the faint outlines of the solid metal doors that contained the solitary confinement cells designed for training and punishment. The metallic rattle of the lock mechanism at the dungeon entrance door jolted me to attention, followed quickly by a light rush of air from the outer room of the basement as the door swung open, and then quickly slammed shut. My body tensed at the sound of footsteps behind me, and I involuntarily turned my head to look. THWACK! "Eyes forward," Mr. Grey directed, swatting me across the back of my head with his open palm. "Yes, Sir." I straightened my posture, making sure to stare straight ahead as he came into my peripheral vision. His large hands suddenly assaulted my body, as he gave me a quick and rough inspection, pausing briefly to slap my chest, squeeze my nipples, and give my bare ass a few light swats. "Looking good, boy," he remarked, as he withdrew he let go of me and walked over to a work bench across the room. He was dressed casually, in dark charcoal sweatpants and a black tank top that emphasized his well-maintained physique and made him look years younger than he actually was. Turning around, he walked back over to me and crouched between my spread legs. Without warning, he took hold of my balls and gave them a few quick tugs, forcing them to bulge at the bottom of my scrotum. He held them down with one hand, while he quickly wound some rough textured rope around the base of my scrotum several times, before tying his handiwork off with a solid knot. I winced as he tested his work with a few firm tugs, and the noose of rope bit into the sensitive skin of my nut sack. He let the loose end of the rope drop to the floor and kicked the coil under the spreader bar between my legs. Nervously, I took a few deep breaths as he disappeared out of sight again to some point behind me. There was a rustle of rope, and then I jerked unexpectedly forward as the bar between my wrists jumped about a foot in the air behind my back, and then another several inches. The bar continued to climb higher towards the ceiling at a much slower pace, pulling my extended arms along with it, until I was forced to bend forward at the waist to compensate for the strain on the back of my arms and my shoulders. When I was bent perfectly at the waist, with my chest parallel to the floor, the tugging came to a stop, and I could feel the rope jumping slightly as he tied it off to the wall. I lurched as he gave my ass a light swat of approval on his way from the back wall until he was once again in front of me. He squat down quickly and retrieved the loose coil of rope that rested by my right foot. Picking it up, he stood quickly, and gave the rope a solid tug, yanking my balls painfully downward in the direction of the bar between my legs. I inhaled sharply, a light yelp escaping my lips. "Good. No need to elaborate on the control I have over you, boy." He gave the rope another tug for emphasis. "No, Sir!" I winced until the pain in my groin subsided once again. Glancing up, I was face to face with his crotch, the outline of his hefty set of cock and balls just visible through the loose fabric of his sweatpants. Unceremoniously, he grabbed the sides of my head with both hands, and pulled my face into his crotch, grinding my nose into the soft fabric. "Inhale, boy," he ordered, quietly. I focused on breathing as best as I could, the scent of faint ball sweat mixed with freshly laundered fabric of his pants filled my lungs. As he continued to grind my face in his crouch, I struggled to keep balance, my pinioned arms holding me painfully upright from behind. It felt as if my arms might dislocate if he pulled my any further forward. Eventually the grinding came to a stop. I could feel that his cock had become fully erect, as it strained through the fabric and pressed against my forehead, while Mr. Grey held my nose and mouth tightly against his balls. Several long moments passed, until it became suddenly clear that I was no longer able to breathe. Panic washed over me almost immediately at the realization, as a I clenched my fists and began to struggle against my bonds, desperate to pull my face back from the breathless confines of his crotch. My mind spun as the seconds ticked by, until he finally released his hold, and pushed my face lightly away from his crotch. My chest heaved, as I gulped the stale air of the dungeon into my lungs. Mr. Grey's hand found its way to the top of my head, giving my hair a few gentle strokes. "Good, boy. You're okay, you're okay," he assured me, as he allowed me to finish catching my breath. "What was that, boy?" "Yes, Sir," I managed, fairly stunned. I took momentary comfort in his words and the reassuring hand on my head. "Not gonna let anything happen to you, slave," he continued, taking a small step back. "Besides, you have important work to do." I looked up and saw his thumbs tuck behind the elastic of his waistband, and with minimal effort, the sweatpants dropped to just below his knees allowing his rock hard dick to spring forward, nearly whacking me in the face. I grunted loudly at a violent tug on my balls from the rope. Swallowing, I knew what he wanted, and parted my lips slightly, my cheeks already flushed crimson red. Without any further invitation, Mr. Grey shoved the length of his cock into my mouth, driving almost all the way to my throat. Gagging a bit, I took a moment to settle down and breathe through my nose. I waited for the face fucking to begin. "Oh no, slave. You do the work," Mr. Grey commanded, in his ever calm demeanor. The strain on my neck was persistent and painful as I struggled to bob and slurp on his dick, bent over helplessly as I was, with my arms pinioned high behind me. "Teeth, boy," he snapped, with another sharp tug to my balls as punishment. "There ya go. That's it. Good, boy." I could tell he was getting close, as he began to pump in and out of my mouth, despite his earlier assertion that I would be doing all of the work. He grabbed a hold of the bar between my wrists with one hand to brace himself as his breaths quickened. Suddenly, he yanked hard on the rope and held tight, stretching my balls painfully below me just as his cock exploded into my mouth, rocketing hot cum against the back of my throat. Pulling out quickly, he groaned in pleasure as he unloaded several remaining shots of cum against my forehead. Within moments, his spunk was running down my cheeks, nose, and clinging to my chin. Releasing the tension on my balls, he gently wiped the head of his cock against a clean part of my face, until he was satisfied that all of the cum had been disposed of properly. Then, as if nothing had happened, he pulled his pants up, and stepped back around me. "Comfortable, boy?" Mr. Grey asked, almost in mocking, as he ran his hand lightly over my back and shoulder muscles. "No, Sir," I reported, truthfully. My body was aching all over from the strain on my arms and shoulders and the blood that had rushed to my head from bending forward for so long. "Sounds like a bit of a problem for you then, slave, since your one and only job for today is to stand here and wait for me to fuck one of your holes if I happen to feel like it." "Yes, Sir," I acknowledged, with a bit of rising panic, that it was indeed a predicament for more reasons than one. "I could leave you like this," he mused, "Or, I could, perhaps, lower your arms a bit and let you stand upright. Would you like that, slave?" he asked. "Yes, Sir." I readily, agreed. "But...if I did that, I think I'd want to keep a nice grasp on those balls so you remember who owns them while I'm gone. Don't you agree?" I nodded, having no real choice in the matter. "Yes, Sir." "Very well." His knees cracked as he squatted again behind my spread legs. I winced as he tugged once again on my balls, creating a good amount of tension, before tying the rope off securely on the bar between my legs. It was a moderate stretch that I definitely felt, but not overtly painful. When he was finished, he stood up again and walked to the wall behind me. Moments later, the bar between my wrists began to bounce lightly, and slowly but surely, he relaxed the rope, until the bar once again rested loosely against my ass, and I was able to stand fully upright. "All set, boy?" he asked, though it was hardly a question. "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." "Good, boy." He gave my ass a quick swat, before briskly exiting the dungeon, allowing the door to slam loudly behind him. I shifted my weight once again. Despite the relief I felt in my back and arms, my feet and legs were practically numb from holding up my weight against the hard cement floor for hours on end, and there was little to nothing I could do to give them any relief. I had no choice but to inhale breath after breath of the strong, musky odor of Mr. Grey's drying cum as it clung to my face in patches like peeling glue. However twisted it seemed, it wasn't long until I found myself wishing for a quick return, if only to be slapped around or blasted with another load of cum. Anything was better than the waiting. *** CHAPTER 20 - A JUST DESSERT "More, boy," Mr. Grey demanded as he gave his wine glass a tap, rippling the red liquid within. "Yes, Sir." Dutifully, I took a step back towards the table where he was seated, and tipped the near-empty bottle of wine over the rim of his glass until he indicated that he was satisfied with the amount. Carefully, I wiped the droplets of red wine clinging to the opening of the bottle, fearing the consequences of a spilled drop on the pristine white table cloth. For as long as I could remember, Mr. Grey had adamantly upheld a weekly tradition of a mandatory Sunday night family dinner in the formal dining room of the house. Growing up, it was the five us that dined as pseudo-family. Of course since my enslavement, things had changed. Now it was just Mr. Grey and Ryan that dined. It was my family that became responsible for serving them. I had not been invited to, or witnessed, one of these formal dinners since the week before my enslavement, and although I had been serving Mr. Grey exclusively for nearly a month now, this was my first time serving at the dinner, a task previously reserved for one or both of my parents. In the week leading up to this dinner, I had been instructed and drilled on the finer points of table service and dining etiquette in general. Mr. Grey had always instilled table etiquette with both me and Ryan when we were growing up, but now I had a much better sense of what it meant to serve a meal, pour drinks, clear place settings and anticipate the needs of the dinner guests in general. Because of the formality, Mr. Grey also had me dressed in a proper waiter's uniform, which was essentially a cheap, back tuxedo. There wasn't room for one of my usual collars underneath, but the tuxedo shirt and bow tie were almost more confining. As he put it, he didn't want my slave dick flopping in his face while he dined. The tension was palpable as I set the wine bottle down carefully on the sidebar, and took my place in wait. Mr. Grey had instructed me to present my body standing so that I could serve more efficiently between courses. I took turns glancing from Mr. Grey to Ryan, careful not to linger with any unintentional eye contact. They ate in near silence, the sound of their forks and knives scraping against the porcelain of their plates was almost deafeningly loud in the echoing height of the dining room. Mr. Grey cleared his throat. "And, how did your midterm exams go?" "Fine." Ryan responded, between forkfuls of braised beef. "Good, then. Having any more trouble with that investment class?" Mr. Grey pressed, taking a sip of his wine. "Nope." "Alright. You might be interested to know that the boy did quite well on his exams. I think he's taking really well to his business courses." Mr. Grey glanced over at me, and I admit that I felt a slight twinge of pride in the statement. Since moving to the main house, my studies had become an even larger part of my day than when I lived with Ryan. I had been required to report all assignments and present all graded papers and exams. Anything less than an A was immediately punished. Mr. Grey had a rolodex of creative and painful ways of punishing my body to ensure that I had incentive to study harder for the next assignment. "Great," Ryan responded with a slight Erroll to emphasize his sarcasm. Abruptly, he let his fork fall to the top of his half-eaten meal with a slight clang, and shoved the plate forward a few inches. "I'm done. May I be excused?" "No," Mr. Grey countered, calmly, setting his fork down. "We still have dessert. Boy. The dishes." "Yes, Sir." I stepped to Mr. Grey first, clearing his used silverware and dinner plate, circling around the table to Ryan's seat, and carefully balancing his plate on top before crossing from the dining room down the short hallway to the kitchen. As I walked, I glared down at the remains of the delicious-smelling beef that Ryan had barely touched. Despite the way the food had been cut up, played with, and swirled around on the plate, the aroma alone set off a chain reaction of hunger pains in the pit of my stomach. Oddly, I had been denied food for nearly 24 hours. Although my meals were often unpleasant combinations of leftovers, or fed to me in a liquid form, I was always given enough to eat. Fortunately, I had been given the day off from working out for my muscles to rest, but I was still uncertain why Mr. Grey had made it clear that I would not be eating breakfast or lunch. I could only assume, at this point, that his intention was to remind me of my status while serving my first formal dinner as a slave. The food was not for me, and my hunger only emphasized my misfortune. When I reached the kitchen, I was overwhelmed with a new aroma of fresh baked apple pie cooling on the counter next to the over. Lucia, the Grey's personal cook for as long as I had been aware, was no where to be found. She was somewhere in her 70s, appearing on the surface to be every bit a kindly grandmother type. Immigrated as a child from somewhere in central America, she had won Mr. Grey over with her secret family recipes, and with generous assistance from the Greys, her own children were now living and working elsewhere in town with families of their own. The kindness in her appearance, however, had never been extended to me as a child, nor Ryan for that matter, especially when we got in her way as she lorded over the kitchen. The kitchen was her domain, and hers alone. Despite her broken English, she had a sharp tongue and an intolerance for childish behavior. I learned, only recently of course, that her disdain for me ran much deeper. I set the dinner plates down next to the sink, and debated on how to serve or present the pie. As with the previous courses, I assumed that Lucia would have strict direction for me on how Mr. Grey would expect his dessert to be plated and served. I glanced around the kitchen, fidgeting a bit with the dishes, fearful of keeping Mr. Grey waiting for too long. Nervously, I tapped the sole of the shiny black tuxedo shoe against the spotless tile of the kitchen floor. Feeling a drop of sweat sliding down the back of my neck, I glanced again to the half-eaten remains on Ryan's plate. My stomach growled again at the sight alone, and without so much as a second thought, I snapped up a small piece of the braised beef with my fingers and deposited it in my mouth. "Esclavo! What do you think you're doing?" I nearly choked on the morsel as Lucia shouted across the kitchen. Turning to face her, I sputtered, "Noth...nothing. Nothing, Ma'am." "No lie to me, chico. You only make things worse for you!" She snapped, glaring daggers at me. "I see you eat your misters' food." I opened my mouth to protest again, but thought better of it, lowering my head in shame. It was clear I had been caught, and it was pointless for me to argue anyway. I was a slave, and she knew it. No matter what I said, I would be in the wrong. "Yes, Ma'am. Sorry, Ma'am." "Estúpido perro," she scolded, taking a firm grasp of my left ear. "We see what Mister Grey say about this." Wincing in pain as she twisted my ear between her fingers and sharp nails, I struggled awkwardly to keep pace with her as she dragged me from the kitchen back into the dining room with a surprising strength. It was all I could do not to shove my way out of her grasp and run in the other direction. The dull murmur of conversation in the dining room came to a screeching halt as we crossed through the archway. "What's going on here? What is this?" Mr. Grey asked as he pushed back from the table. "Lucia?" "This boy eat your food. No permission," Lucia informed him, callously. "Let him go," Mr. Grey instructed. I looked up sheepishly as she released the grasp on my ear. "This true, boy?" I swallowed. "Yes, Sir," I admitted with a hoarse whisper, staring down at my shoes. "Speak up, slave. Look at me when I'm talking to you." "Yes, Sir," I repeated loud enough to echo in the room, looking up at him. Ryan turned to smirk at me over his shoulder, shaking his head slightly. "That will be all," Mr. Grey dismissed Lucia with a nod as he stood up, throwing his napkin down on his chair. "We'll pass on dessert tonight, thank you." Lucia scowled at me as she brushed past on her way back to the kitchen muttering something inaudible. "I...I'm sorry, Sir," I attempted. "Silence," Mr. Grey snapped. "Strip." My heart racing, I dropped to the floor and scurried to untie my shoes, before shedding the waiter's tuxedo from my body, the jacket, the shoes and socks, the bow tie, shirt, and finally the pants. I was on my knees fishing around in the small pile of clothing in a vain attempt to fold them neatly as Mr. Grey stormed towards me. With a firm shove, he threw me forward onto my stomach. Squatting down, he knelt with one knee firmly pressed against my lower back, as he pulled my arms roughly behind me, and expertly snapped the pair of handcuffs he always carried with him around my wrists. He smacked the back of my head with a firm hand. "Crawl, boy." Standing up, he began to saunter in the direction of his study. Taking a few short breaths, I struggled to pull myself up on my knees, and began the arduous and humiliating task of crawling after him without the use of my hands, dragging my body forward, one knee step at a time. "I'd get in there faster if I were you, you fucking dumb ass," Ryan taunted as he pushed back from his chair and rose to follow me. Cruelly, he drove the sole of his shoe into my ass as I crawled, knocking me onto my side. "Used up all of your brain cells on those business midterms, huh?" He snickered at his joke as I strained my core to once again pull myself back up onto my knees. I heard him jiggle the buckle of his belt, and then a menacing whoosh in the air. CRACK! I yelped as the end of his leather belt snapped viciously against the back of my left thigh. "Thought I said faster, boy?" he mused, cracking the belt in the air for emphasis. "Yes, Sir!" I managed, further nerves rising in me as I shuffled as fast I could on my knees down the long hallway towards the study. CRACK! CRACK! Ryan snapped his belt a few additional times against my unprotected back and legs for emphasis as I rounded the corner through the doorway and into the study. "Over here, boy," Mr. Grey commanded, pointing to the center of the ornate area rug that was situated in front of his large wooden desk. I crawled the final few feet, wincing as the wiry fibers of the rug scraped against the already irritated skin of my knees and shins. My chest heaved as I took the moment to catch my breath. "I suggest you get those fucking legs spread properly. Back straight, chest out. You do not want to fuck with me right now, slave." "Yes, Sir." I scrambled to adjust my posture into a much more formal kneel, squaring my torso, lifting my chin, and lowering my eyes respectfully. "Explain yourself, boy," he demanded, calmly, leaning against the edge of his desk with his arms crossed. "I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't mean to, it just happened, Sir." "It just happened? The food just magically jumped into your mouth?" "No, Sir..." "Then how did it get there, boy?" he pressed "I...I picked it up, Sir." "So, you admit that you knew what you were doing?" "Yes, Sir." I had no choice, but to do so. He shook his head. "And did you know that eating your master's food without permission is forbidden?" My stomach knotted. "Yes, Sir..." "I see. And, yet you did it anyway." He paused for a long moment, pushing up from the desk and pacing slightly. "You took something that didn't belong to you, without permission, and you did it knowingly. Do you know what I would call that, boy?" "No, Sir?" "Theft, boy. Theft," he barked. "Serious, serious, offense here, slave. You stole from me. Is that right?" "No, Sir!" I argued, my blood pressure rising. "You're telling me I'm wrong?" he cautioned. "Then enlighten me, boy. What would you call it?" I squirmed slightly on my knees. "It was leftover...a scrap of meat. It was just going to go in the disposal, Sir." Ryan chuckled from somewhere in the room behind me, muttering something about my stupidity under his breath. "Exactly, slave. It was meant for the disposal, not your stomach. Garbage or not, you eat what you're given in this household, nothing more, nothing less," he lectured. "And furthermore, this is not new information to you. This is blatant, disrespectful, disregard for the rules, and theft is the ultimate in disobedience." He paused, and looked down at me. "Severe punishment is in order, boy. Quite severe." He paced a bit more, deep in thought. "50 swats of the leather paddle, and you will sleep heavily chained in the solitary confinement cells for the next 7 nights." A rush of panic surged through me, unsure of which part of the punishment I feared more. "Please, Sir! Please...I didn't meant it, I'm sorry! I was just starving, I hadn't eaten since yesterday morning and it just smelled so good and it was going in the trash, please, Sir, I will make it up to you," I rambled at a rapid pace. "Wait, what?" Ryan suddenly interjected, cutting me off. "Problem, son?" Mr. Grey asked, raising an eyebrow. "Well, there might be a fucking problem, yeah," Ryan retorted. I glanced over my shoulder in surprise as he brushed by me towards the desk. "He hasn't eaten since yesterday morning? No wonder he's fucking stealing scraps. What in the hell are you doing to him?" I was completely taken aback at Ryan's surprise offensive. It was hard to believe that he was actually coming to my defense, and with such conviction that seemed to arise out of no where. "Calm down," Mr. Grey commanded, holding up his hands. "Relax." "Don't tell me to relax," Ryan snapped back. "You're such a fucking hypocrite. Take away my slave and then you can't even bother to remember to feed him? What the fuck is that?" "First of all, watch your mouth, son. Don't forget who is in charge around here," Mr. Grey warned, holding up a stern finger within an inch of Ryan's face. "And if you would keep your mouth shut for two seconds I will happily let you know how proud I am of you right now for taking a responsible stand in defense of your slave." "What?" Ryan exclaimed. My eyes widened in confusion as I looked up at their confrontation. "You heard me," Mr. Grey affirmed. "Frankly, I'll admit I'm surprised. Happily surprised, but surprised. Was beginning to wonder if you had it in you..." "Great," Ryan snarled. "Thanks for the vote of confidence." Ignoring him, Mr. Grey continued, "The basic welfare of your slave should always be on your mind. I'm not insinuating that you deny yourself the privileges of ownership over a slave, but you must always be cognizant of your responsibility to provide your slaves with the basics. Food, water, health, safety...even in times of punishment. Do you understand what I'm saying?" "Yeah, yeah, I got it," Ryan snapped, backing off slightly as we both started to sense what was happening. Mr. Grey took a long pause to study his son's face. "I think you do." He took a step back and then walked around behind his desk. "I think, this time, you really do," he repeated opening one of the lower drawers and fishing around for something inside. "Think fast." With that, Mr. Grey chucked a small metal object at Ryan that caught a glint of light as it flew over the desk. Ryan expertly snatched it from mid-air, and opened his hand to examine what it was. Immediately, I recognized my dog tags as he let the small beaded chain dangle from his palm. "Does this mean, what I think it means?" Ryan asked, skeptically, looking from the tags to his father. "It means I'm giving the boy back to you," Mr. Grey confirmed. My stomach did a somersault at the announcement, but I remained perfectly still on my knees, afraid to react incorrectly. "And the timing couldn't be better, as business is really picking up at the office, and I barely have the time to devote toward keep two slaves in line, let alone three." He paused. "But make no mistake, if you fuck up again, I might just go ahead and sell the boy to your cousin, Connor." My heart started beating faster and my eyes widened, both at the revelation that Ryan's 25 year-old cousin, Connor, was apparently also in on the secret Grey family business of owning slaves, and more disturbingly, at the notion that I could potentially be sold to him. "Got it," Ryan agreed, adding a sheepish, "Thanks." "Good." Mr. Grey nodded, and then cleared his throat, stepping back around the desk. "Well, slave, quite the eventful evening we have here." "Yes, Sir," I agreed, timidly. "Be grateful to know that I'm commuting your punishment," Mr. Grey began, taking a moment to note the relief in my eyes. "And be further grateful that you are now once again the possession of your master, Ryan." "Yes, Sir." I glanced to Ryan who was staring somewhat solemnly in my direction, but I detected a definite glimmer in his eye. "Good slave. Although..." Mr. Grey trailed for effect, "Your new master may yet choose to punish you for the theft. Perhaps a smart slave would take this opportunity to grovel at his master's feet and beg for leniency?" I glanced up at Ryan as a familiar smirk broke out over his face. Taking the cue, I swallowed, and shifted on my knees until I was facing Ryan squarely. I bowed my head respectfully. "Please, Sir. This slave begs for leniency and forgiveness. I was just starving and lost control. It won't happen again. Please understand, Sir." Ryan tapped his shoe lightly, watching me squirm in uncertainty before him. "So, you were hungry, boy?" "Yes, Sir..." He reached forward and laced his fingers in my hair, pulling sharply upwards. I winced, struggling up to one foot, and then the other. With a giant sweeping motion of his forearm, he cleared off half of Mr. Grey's large desk, sending a flurry of paper and pens to the floor. Letting go of my hair, he took hold of both arms and shoved me forward onto the desk, my feet still touching the ground. "Then allow me to fill you up," Ryan offered, menacingly as he unzipped his pants loudly. "Spread 'em." "Yes, Sir." I struggled to obey, nervously shuffling my legs apart. He moved my cuffed hands up further into the small of my back. In front of me, Mr. Grey opened his desk drawer again and tossed Ryan a bottle of lube. "Want some privacy?" he offered. "Nothing you haven't seen before...actually, why don't you take the front end?" Ryan suggested from somewhere behind me, as he pressed two of his lubed fingers into my anus. "Clearly, he's desperate for some protein." Mr. Grey took hold of my shoulders at the suggestion and pulled me a little further over the desk so my head was hanging off one side and I was up on my tip toes, my ass perched at the other. "Sounds like a good idea to me," he agreed, before unzipping his slacks. I grunted as Ryan's erect cock pressed into me with unexpected force from the backside. He braced himself with one hand on back and the other on the desk, as he began to pump in and out of my ass, riding me much harder than he ever had before. My grunts were intermixed with gasps, until Mr. Grey's cock was bobbing in front of my face. He didn't wait for an invitation before ramming into my mouth until I was gagging on the head. They pumped into me from both ends as I squirmed against the smooth surface of the desk, struggling to keep up with both of them at once. For several minutes, the study was literally echoing with the joint symphony of the Grey men's grunts of satisfaction, the sound of Ryan's balls slapping steadily against my ass, and the muffled gagging noises that escaped from my mouth each time Mr. Grey's cock rammed into the back of my throat. It was almost a relief when their breathing got louder and I felt their pace quicken as they approached their respective climaxes. "All of it goes down, boy!" Mr. Grey warned as he exploded into my mouth with a satisfied grunt. I began to gulp the hot cum as best I could, feeling it swell around my tongue as it flooded into my mouth. Just then, Ryan pushed down hard on my back as he also unloaded deep inside my ass, filling my guts with another torrent of spunk. After several moments of reveling in their orgasms, both men silently pulled out of me. I slurped at Mr. Grey's dick until the tip was clean, but I already felt Ryan's load sliding out of my puckering ass and down the back of my legs. "Makin' a mess back here, boy," Ryan remarked, running his hands up my legs to scoop up the majority of the cum before it hit the carpet below. "Get on your knees." Mr Grey helped to push me up to my feet from where I was sprawled across the desk, and then I turned to face Ryan, sinking to my knees once again in front of him. I looked up as he cupped his hands and placed them in front of my chin. "Eat up," he ordered. Hesitating only slightly, I winced my eyes shut and leaned forward to slurp the remainder of his cum from his hands. When he was satisfied I'd licked them clean, he rubbed his hands in my hair to dry them of my saliva. "Good boy." He smiled, or at least I think he smiled, as he fished the dog tags from his pocket and circled the chain back around my neck. Once again, I belonged to Ryan. *** To be continued. Comments and Feedback are encouraged: matt10019@gmail.com