Disclaimer and Legal Stuff: Don’t read this if you're not supposed to, either because you live in a regressive community or you don’t like erotic stories about gay sex (in which case, why are you here?). If you distribute this story, that’s fine, just don’t edit it, and leave my name on it. Thanks.
His freshly showered crotch lacked the mustiness I’d grown accustomed to, and I felt slightly disappointed as I leaned in to lick at the loosely hanging skin. The weight of the pendulous balls inside it stretched it down to the floor, and I flattened my tongue against him and took long, sweeping strokes up. He moaned. His dick flexed as blood began it flood into it, and it slapped against my forehead, leaving a splatter of precum. I heard him snicker as he flipped through the channels. He flexed again and again his dick slapped me. He continued this periodically as I licked. He settled on a sitcom and settled back on the sofa.
“Look at me,” he ordered. Still licking away, I turned my eyes away from his scrotum up to meet his. They were half lidded as he gazed down at me. “You’re making me feel good, Robbie. You like that don’t you?”
“Yes sir,” I answered softly between licks.
He smiled slightly and began to stroke my hair. “Yeah, I knew you would. I knew you just needed someone to come along and give you some purpose. Now you have one. It’s like that ambition thing at work, that constant drive for approval, to impress, to please, to satisfy. You thought it was because you wanted the money, the power, the prestige of being the best. But it’s really no different from right now—you’re just made to please people. It’s at the core of your being. I wonder if you’d be doing so well if Jack weren’t in charge. Like if there were a woman over our division.”
His comment took me off guard. I didn’t want to believe it. Was he right that I really poured everything into my job not so much to get ahead as to impress? Was the promotion incidental? Just a sign that I’d made someone up the food chain happy? I started to think about what he said about Jack. I’d never found Jack physically attractive. I mean, he wasn’t ugly, he was just old. He looked a lot like the lead actor on a popular television law drama: thin, patrician, steel-colored grey hair, affable but always with the distance of superiority. Would I be doing as well if a woman were in charge? Was I simply trying to please Jack, my male superior? Andrew’s eyes gleamed as he recognized my inner turmoil at his comments. He continued stroking my hair as he turned back to the television.
I kept on as one show turned into another. Though Andrew’s dick was still hard, occasionally flexing and smacking my forehead, adding to the cock slime smeared on it already, and sometimes a rivulet of his juice would run down his shaft and onto his sack where I’d hungrily lap it up, he seemed to be in no hurry. I’d take little glances up at him to watch him watching television. He looked almost bored. Content, but bored. I decided to show some initiative and opened my mouth, sucking one of his big eggs inside it, nursing on it gently. He smiled wide, his teeth bright, as he looked back down.
“I was wondering how long it was going to take you to do that. It’s OK, Robbie boy, I know you want to make me feel good. You go ahead and do what you want to do down there. Just don’t suck my cock again yet, I want this to last and I think you’ll try and rush me so you can drink some more of my cum. You can even lick up my pre if you want to, but no sucking on the knob until I tell you.”
My reaction was one of delight and I’m sure it showed in my eyes. He wasn’t angry that I’d stopped licking, he’d given me approval! And I could move up and lick some of the nectar from his rod. I did that first, raising my hands from the floor where I’d been using them for support to the sofa on either side of his hips. I lowered my head to his dick and began licking up the underside of the shaft, slurping down the precum. He chuckled.
“You know, you can touch me if you want. With your hands, I mean. I know you’re in awe of my body, so it’s OK if you want to explore it a little. Just keep me feeling good and you’ll be fine. See how it works, Robbie? You do good for me, and I’ll do good for you.”
“Yes sir, thank you sir!” I said, moving my mouth further to his knob to lap at his slit. More juice bubbled up and I devoured it. My hands moved from beside his hips to his thighs. They were so hard and the heat rising off his skin was amazing. I began to massage his muscles softly with my fingers and palms as I moved my face all over his crotch, over his dick and down into the joint between his groin and his inner thigh. I licked there and it elicited a deep grunt of approval.
“Fuck yeah, Robbie! See? You know how to please me. Keep it up, boy.”
I licked and sucked everywhere. I moved from one joint to the other, then returned to his sack to suck his other nut. I moved between them freely. They were too large for me to take both at once, though I did try. I wanted to scoop them up with my hands and force them in, but I didn’t want to hurt him. It didn’t occur to me that there might be violent repercussions for causing him pain, I just didn’t want to. I was focused solely on pleasing him. My hands massaged their way down from his thighs to his calves. I sat back on my haunches, leaving his crotch entirely, and massaged his feet, taking one between both hands and stroking it, probing it with my finger tips, rolling my thumb gently into the sole under the balls of his feet. I massaged his toes, pulling them and wiggling them. I turned to the other foot. My gaze and my mind remained fixed on his groin, though.
I eventually placed his feet back on the floor and moved back between his thighs. His hand returned to my hair as I resumed licking up and down his shaft, running the tip of my tongue around in the crevice beneath the corona. He sighed as I took his cock by the root and tilted it down, licking not just the underside of the shaft but the top as well. I started making circular patterns around his sensitive head, tracing from the outer edge up towards the slit. More precum erupted, oozing down only to be swiftly carried into me by my tongue. I massaged his abs with my other hand while I worked. At last, all the precum was just not enough. The taste of his crotch was just not enough. Licking him was just not enough. I needed more.
“Please, sir, please may I suck you now?” I begged. He laughed and shook his head. “Please, I need to taste your cock in my mouth! I love to lick you but now I need more! Please?!” The need inside me was wholly irrational but I gave into it completely. I needed to wrap my lips around that moist, spongy, humid knob and feel it in my mouth, feel and taste the precum as it welled up from his huge, heavy balls.
He looked down at me, indecisive. He deliberated. At last he spoke. “OK, you can put the head in your mouth, but you can’t suck. Just hold it there. You can lick it, but if you suck, I’m going to put it away and you won’t get it again until tomorrow. Understand?”
“Yes sir! Thank you, sir!” I moved my head down and engulfed his knob. My hands moved up to his pecs and massaged there as his head rested idly on my tongue. He leaned back, head on the edge of the sofa back, and stretched. I could feel the strength rippling through his lean body as my hands worked his pecs. I began to rub his nipples firmly, pressing them down into the muscle. He moaned and his other hand joined the first on the back of my head. Slowly, the pressure built and my face sank closer to his pubes. My lips slid down from under his glans, down his shaft, towards his root. His cock was so long and thick, but I willed my throat to open. It did, and he entered it. I was impaled on him, his whole dick embedded in my throat. I couldn’t breathe, but he held me in place. I fought the urge to panic, try to remain relaxed, as the oxygen stored in my lungs depleted. They began to burn and my brain felt like it was swelling in my skull. My hands flew from his pecs to his hips, and I tried to push away. At last, he relented, relaxing his arms and allowing me to slide up. My eyes watered and nose ran as I panted for breath through my nostrils.
“Do you swim?” he asked.
“Hmm?” I asked, confused, my mouth still full of cock.
“You’re going to need to learn to hold your breath longer. I’m going to want to be able to soak my whole dick in your throat for like a whole commercial break. I want you to work on that, do you understand?”
“Mmmhmm,” I moaned around his dick. He liked the vibration.
“OK, we can practice a little more tonight. I’ll tap your head when I’m ready for you to go all the way down. I’ll still press it down, though, I don’t want you going down by yourself. I want to feel the control of moving your head, I want to know that I’m cutting off your air. I just want you to be able to take a deep breath so you can hold it down there. I don’t care if you struggle, it kind of makes me hot so you can do it anyway. But I’ll decide when you come up again, understand?”
“Mmhmm,” I moaned.
He implemented his new procedure exactly as described. After I caught my breath, he tapped my head with a finger. I drew in a deep breath and he pushed me down, sliding his cock slowly into my throat. He pressed my face hard into his pubes, my nose flattened against his bone. He’d hold me there until I fought back, struggling, pressing against his hips with all my might, desperate for air. He’d enjoy that for a second or two, then slowly guide me back up. I’d catch my breath again and he’d repeat. I don’t know how many times we did this, but it sure felt like each time we did it, the duration of my inability to breathe increased. I had to concentrate completely on the rhythm, on timing my deep breath and holding it. It was the only thing in my mind as we continued until my throat was raw and beyond.
At last he grew tired of the game. He stopped letting me completely catch my breath between deep throating him. He’d let me come up for air, then push me back down again while I was still panting. Each time I came up, he let me breathe less. At the end, he was virtually pistoning my burning throat up and down his cock. I was getting dizzy, not just from the rapid motion but from the lack of air. The room was spinning. My eyes fluttered. I didn’t know when to breathe or when to hold.
“Oh fuck! Fuck! I’m going to cum! Oh fuck yeah, bitch, I’m going to blow my fucking load!” My face flew up and down over his groin, my nose battering against his pubes. At last, he clutched tufts of my hair in his fist and I felt his shaft throb between my lips. “Oh fuck yeah, Robbie boy! I’m going to paint your fucking throat!” He exploded, still sliding his cock in and out. I gagged, coughing and sputtering, as the thick spunk filled my throat and mouth. Cum overflowed my mouth in my confusion, backwashing onto his crotch. It ran past my uvula, filling my sinuses, jetting out my nostrils. Andrew ripped his dick from my mouth, still holding my hair with one hand as he stroked his rod with the other, using my spit and his cum as lube as he jacked. I coughed and choked, snorting back his cum, gasping for breath, as he continued to fire his volleys, now coating my face with jizz.
The cum stopped shooting from his piss slit as I panted. He fell limp back against the sofa, his cock beginning to deflate. I still coughed, trying to evacuate the thick slime from my throat, wiping the cum and tears from my nose and cheeks. At last, I was able to breathe normally and at a normal rhythm. My throat and sinuses burned. Andrew was embedded in the sofa, his head upturned to the ceiling.
“Suck the rest out, now, Robbie,” he muttered, exhaustion filling his voice. He didn’t seem to be able to move at all, but he still managed to move my face in towards his dick.
“Yes sir,” I croaked, and I wrapped my lips around his head and sucked the last of his spunk from his balls.
“You look like you’ve had a long day, Robbie boy, and I guess you’ve done enough for me tonight. We can go ahead and get you ready for bed now.”
“Yes sir, thank you sir,” I mumbled. I rolled and rose. He turned from the living room for the stairs to his bedroom. I followed him sleepily. Once there, he opened a drawer in his dresser and produced a number of small leather straps. I realized they weren’t really straps but cuffs as he began to affix two of them to my wrists. They were all of tan, finished leather, smooth on the outside but still slightly rough on the inside. He buckled the two wrist cuffs and I noticed each had a small, carabiner-type clasp on the inner wrist. Their purpose became apparent as he wrapped a larger cuff around my neck: it was longer, wider—the wrist cuffs were maybe two inches wide each, this collar was easily three inches wide—and had a D-ring on each side. “No! No, please!” I whined as I realized his intention. “Please don’t! I’ll be a good boy! I promise, sir!”
Andrew stared sternly into my cum-crusted face. “You did really good downstairs, Robbie, don’t ruin it here.” Chastened, I looked down at the floor and offered no resistance as he fixed each of my wrists to my neck by locking the carabiners to the corresponding D-ring. My arms were now useless, my elbows thrust upward in front of me, my fingers curled limply around the back of my neck. There were three more cuffs. He knelt in front of me and buckled around my ankles two that looked identical to the wrist cuffs. The third I noticed to be somewhat smaller. It wasn’t nearly as long, and didn’t have a buckle closure, merely a simple snap. It was easily an inch, maybe an inch and a half, wide. As he closed one hand around my balls, I knew where it was going to go.
“Please! No!” I cried as he pulled my balls down in their sack. My erection was tilted down as he stretched my nutsack, down from its acute angle towards my stomach until it almost pointed directly at Andrew’s face. He ignored it, and me, as he wrapped the ball cuff around my sack and snapped it into place. Even after he released his grip on my balls, I could feel the pressure as they fought futilely to retract. “Ow, ow,” I moaned, unaccustomed to the sensation of my nuts being stretched.
“You know I can attach weights to that nutcuff, right?” he asked ominously.
“No! Please, sir! No!” I begged.
“Then shut the fuck up!” he growled. I stifled my physical and mental discomfort. He pushed me into the bathroom and bent me over the tub. “Have you ever had an enema before, bitch?” he asked.
“No sir,” I answered truthfully.
“Well, here’s the deal. Anytime I fuck you, and as tight as your hole looks, that’s probably going to be a lot, you’re going to clean the cum off my cock with your tongue after I’m done. If you don’t want any chocolate swirl in your vanilla, you’re going to keep yourself clean. Understand?”
“OK, well, since you’re a little tied up right now, I’ll go ahead and get this one started.” The prospect of being helpless during my first enema, and having it administered by the sadistic subordinate who had become my master, was unappealing. Nevertheless, the implication that he would soon be fucking me renewed the lusty flow of hormones in my blood. I found myself pushing my ass back eagerly as I felt him hold the cold, lubed nozzle to my opening. I heard him snicker as he slid it home. He pumped a small bulb and inflated some kind of balloon attached to the nozzle, securing it inside me. He opened the bath taps, filled an intimidatingly large latex bag full of warm water, and hung the bag on the curtain rod. He pulled a pin on the tube linking the bag to my ass and the water began to flow into me.
At first, the feeling was pleasant. It was warm and relaxing. It quickly became uncomfortable as I grew increasingly full. The water continued as the cramping began, and the combination of its pressure and my contracting muscles became excruciating. With my hands immobilized at my neck, I could only maintain my bent-over posture by relying on my abs. As the water weight and the muscle cramps combined, it became increasingly difficult. I tried to stand up, but Andrew slapped the back of my head.
“Stay down there, you stupid cunt! I want that water to get up inside of you right! And you’ll wish it had when I shove my fuckstick down your throat with your shit still clinging to it! You don’t want that, do you?”
The water continued and my muscles burned. “Oh….oh God,” I began to moan.
“Shut up,” he snapped. I continued to moan incoherently. I wanted to turn and run from the bathroom, to pull the cruel tube from my ass, to expel the foul concoction brewing in my bowels.
“Oh…please, please,” I moaned.
Andrew quickly had enough. He turned and left the bathroom, but instantly returned. In a flash, he took the jockstrap, the one I’d worn all day, the one saturated with the cum from his morning blow job, with a full day of my precum drippings, and with the piss I’d been ordered to release into it some hours earlier, down from the towel rod and forced it between my lips. It took a fraction of a second to realize what he’d gagged me with before my body rebelled: my useless hands flapped at my neck, I tried to stand up, I tried to spit out the jock. He wrapped one arm around my neck, holding me in a headlock as he sat on the edge of the tub. He held me in place as he wrapped a phone cord around my head, tying the jock into place. In the struggle, I’d swallowed some of the fluid that I’d sucked from the jockstrap, a disgusting combination of stale, cold urine, cum, and precum. I gagged, retching, the nausea only combining with the enema.
“If you puke, Robbie, you’re either going to choke on it or have to swallow it back down, so I suggest you get yourself under control. It’s just a little piss. It’s even your piss, so it shouldn’t be that bad. After all, you tasted whatever it came from before, right?” He began to stroke my back softly with his free hand as he loosened the grip of his head lock slightly. I moaned angrily, frustrated, unable to move my tongue to avoid the taste. I fought to control the reflex to vomit. My struggle now, though, was internalized. I realized the futility of trying to resist. First, my hands were bound, I was full of water with an inflated enema nozzle embedded in my ass, and he held me in place. Second, I was horny. It was late Friday night, maybe even early Saturday morning—I’d lost sense of the time—and I hadn’t cum since Wednesday morning. I’d been in a state of constant arousal since Thursday afternoon, and had been erect virtually non-stop all day long. I’d sucked two thick loads from him. He’d shot most of the second one on my face and choked me with the rest; the first was in the jock now in my mouth. I surprised myself by sucking on it subconsciously to try and isolate his taste through all the piss. The motion of my jaw wasn’t lost on Andrew.
“Yeah, I knew you’d find something in there you liked, bitch. Suck it up and drink it down!” I groaned in false protest in reply.
At last, a gurgle signaled the emptying of the enema bag. Andrew released his hold on me and replaced the pin in the tub. He did not deflate the nozzle. He started gently stroking the exposed part of my crack with his fingertips. “Mmm, you getting psyched up, Robbie boy? You gearing up for when I ram my thick dick into this hole? You thinking about how good it’s going to feel when I rape this pussy like I raped your throat downstairs? Don’t put too much stock in the comparison, man. I fuck a lot harder and faster than I like my blow jobs.” I moaned as my dick ached and continued to drip. I did want him to fuck me. I wanted him to fuck me hard, just like he was promising. I wanted him to make me his bitch. No, I already was his bitch. I knew that. I wanted to make him cum. I wanted to milk his cock with my pussy. No, I was his pussy. I was his shaved cunt. All of me. My hole itched around the enema nozzle, anticipating the feel of his thick rod pistoning through it. I moaned and sucked on the jock for more of his cum, ignoring the piss that accompanied it.
I rocked my hips back towards him, relishing his hot fingertips in my crack. He responded by taking hold of the still-inflated nozzle and tugging and prodding it, twisting it in different directions, maneuvering my sphincter with it. God, I wanted him inside me. I moaned and I realized I was babbling mutely into the jock, begging to be fucked.
After quite a while, he stood and unscrewed a valve, releasing the air from the balloon nozzle. “Keep your ass tight! If you spill any water on my floor, you’re going to lap it up!” he commanded. I complied eagerly, icily rejecting the prospect of lapping up filthy enema water. Once it had deflated, he pulled the nozzle from me and moved me towards the toilet. I sat instantly. He nodded and I released. The sensation was nearly orgasmic in itself. The fluid almost ejaculated from my ass, rushing past my prostate, through my teased ass lips. Relief welled up from my guts as the cramping ebbed. He left me leaning against the commode cistern, awash in relaxation. He returned some minutes later when I was empty. He opened the sink drawer and pulled on another pair of latex gloves. He motioned me off the toilet, flushed it, and bent me over the tub again. I felt first a wash cloth, then a towel, as he cleaned his playground. He tossed the bath linen into his hamper, removed the gloves, and tossed them into the trash.
“Come on, we’re going downstairs now,” he called. I turned and followed him. We descended all the way to the basement this time, and he led me to the weight/game room. “Lay face down on the weight bench,” he ordered. “Just from the waist up.” It difficult to assume the position he described without the use of my hands. I saw a large belt laying on the floor beside the bench. I assumed it was time for the beating I’d earned for hesitating to piss myself. I was surprised, therefore, when he wrapped the belt around my upper back, under my shoulder blades, and buckled it. Now I was fastened tightly to the weight bench. He moved to my feet and pulled them forward, under the bench, my heels raised off the floor so that only the balls of my feet remained on the cold concrete. I heard the click of the carabiners on the ankle cuffs and realized that he locked my ankles together around the posts supporting the end of the bench. I was now completely helpless, my wrists locked to my neck, my chest belted to the bench, my knees bent and feet restrained under the bench. My face was still covered in dried cum, my piss-cum soaked jock still wedged in my jaws, my hard cock still drooling, now compressed by my weight into the padding of the bench.
“Hmm,” I heard him grunt, “we can’t have that.” He reached under me and pulled my cock out from under me. It poked up into the underside of the bench. A second later, I heard the clanging of weights behind me. “Think you can take 2.5 pounds?” he asked rhetorically. I felt a sharp tug downward on my nuts as he attached the weight. I whimpered. “Sorry, it’s the lowest increment I’ve got. We need something on there to keep that cock from rubbing against anything.” My cock was now pulled down, pointing parallel to the floor, pulsing freely in mid-air.
“Are you cold?” he asked. I nodded. The air was chilly and clammy in the basement. “OK. I was going to do this in the morning instead, figuring you’d had enough for one day already, but if you want to be warmed up….” His hand came down firmly on my left ass cheek. I yelped. He repeated this on the right cheek. As he continued, swiftly and mercilessly, to spank me, I tried shouting for help to no avail. I tried to escape, to crawl up the bench, to no avail. Each movement swung the weight attached to the nutcuff, tugging further at my balls. He took his time, administering slow, heavy smacks, moving from the top curve of each cheek around the outer side, in towards the cleft, and down to my upper thigh. I lost count of the strokes in the futile struggle. “Still cold?” he asked menacingly after my ass glowed to his satisfaction.
“NO!” I shouted incoherently into the gag.
He chuckled. “Well, you’re nice and red back here. I guess we can do the punishment beating now, huh?” I was stunned. He was only counting that as a warm up. A warm up for me or him? He stepped away behind me and when he returned, I felt him softly stroking my butt. He laid a ping pong paddle on my back and his other hand joined the first, massaging the tender, hot, abused flesh. I broke into sobs. He had said I would get 32 strokes. I couldn’t take it now! I’d never be able to take it.
“Please, please, please,” I chanted into the gag, shaking my head, knowing that my words were unintelligible.
“Too much for one day?” he asked. For one day? For any day! 32 strokes with a ping pong paddle?! Nevertheless, I nodded furiously. “OK,” he said softly. “We can save that for tomorrow.” Again, he stepped away, leaving the paddle on my back. When he returned, I felt him applying a thick, cold, wet cream to my hole. Instinctively, I thrust my ass up at him, suspecting it was lubricant, suspecting he would at last fuck me as he’d promised. He laughed and called me a whore, coating his finger more liberally with the substance and then slipping it inside me. He wiggled it inside me, coating my inner ring and several inches of my rectum. When I was good and greasy, he again stepped away. I was confused when I heard his foot on the step leading to the upper floors. He ascended slowly, purposefully, deliberatively. I felt teased and abandoned. Why had he lubed me up if he wasn’t going to use me? Was he going to leave me bound in the basement all night long?
It was when he reached the top of the stair, the second floor hallway, that he called down. “Good night, Robbie boy. See you in the morning. You should be bright eyed and bushy tailed then, eager to please me again.” He turned out the light, leaving me in utter darkness. And that’s when I felt cream begin to itch.