Date: Fri, 1 Apr 2016 15:00:54 +0000 (UTC)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: PASSING - PART TWENTY ONE

PASSING

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PASSING

A story by Pete Brown  (petebrownuk@yahoo.com)

Part  Twenty One     Tim and Darren settle in.  Speculation about Ian and Ted.

		     A surprise encounter with Stuart.

As a kind of "surprise" I had the dealership people deliver Tim to my
apartment in the complex, and he was truly amazed.  He has been given the
standard small slave shorts and T for his trip across the compound, which I
immediately ordered him to remove.  Darren had stopped doing his chores and
I ordered him to get naked, too, and then wanted to compare the two young
men.

I first ordered them to stand back to back, and to press their bums ands
shoulders together so that I could accurately compare their heights - my
own cock was erect inside my trousers as I thought about what each must be
experiencing as his warm flesh pressed so intimately into that of the
other.  And as they stood there they couldn't help but move slightly, and
the thought of feeling the skin slide around was even more intoxicating.

Having them face each other then I told them to get erect - not something
that seemed to cause either of them a problem as a couple of strokes was
all that was necessary on each cock - and then had them shuffle forward
until their cock tips made contact with the other one's body.  Tim had the
longer cock, but it was compensated for by Darren's being slightly thicker,
I saw.

"You two slaves are going to have to learn to work together", I told them.
"Make an equable division of the chores.  And to make sure you do you
should understand that I am adopting the `team' method of punishment - that
is to say that if I need to administer a punishment it will be to both of
you, equally.  I will not even enquire who was at `fault' as, in my book,
two slaves who have been told to co-operate and work together and who fail
to do so are equally guilty.  Is that clear?"

Tim said "Yes, sir", immediately, but Darren seemed hesitant.  "Sir, it's
not very fair, actually.  Tim is a slave, but I am free...."

"You're showing wrong thinking there, Darren!  You may be free technically,
but you are passing as a slave, my slave.  And we have discussed what will
happen to you if you cease to do so - actual enslavement for you is
certain, as you have no qualifications, no job, nowhere to stay, no
money...."  I paused and continued "But perhaps that's what should happen
to you if you're not going to `pass' properly - I should turf you out, wait
until the inevitable enslavement, then buy you as a proper slave.  That's
if someone does not get in first....."

I saw him crumple and went up to him and ruffled his hair and patted his
bum affectionately.  "Anyway, Darren, it should be easier for you now.  Tim
here can share the work, and he's a proper slave, exceptionally well
trained by Dave, so he can act as a role model for you, show you exactly
how a slave should react and behave."

"Now, sort yourselves out today as I have meetings.  I don't ever want to
hear you arguing, and never bother me with trivial complaints about the
other.  And of course when I want sex, I will expect something very special
now that there are two of you involved.  And even when I don't want sex, I
might enjoy seeing you two together - so work out a few `routines' to amuse
me, and you'd better practice them so they are exciting and erotic for me."
I didn't give them any time to respond, and turned and walked out.

I spent most of the rest of the day in meetings with Ian, Ted and Jason,
and had a couple of long video discussions with Cyrus in Westminster about
my new ideas for projects.  It somewhat amused me to see that Ian and Ted
were both dressed casually, and that Jason was wearing a similar outfit -
certainly something I had not bought him.  I though slave shorts and a T
were fine in the office for a slave, and when he was "passing" at meetings
in the City when he dressed in the expensive clothes I'd bought him.

I reached out and tugged Jason's loose-fitting polo shirt up to expose his
belly and ran my hand over it, asserting my ownership and enjoying the
warmth of it and the slight tingle of the hair of his treasure trail.  I
could feel him starting to sweat under my touch, though.  Ian and Ted were
watching me with a mixture of horror and enjoyment as I used his body like
that. "So where did you get this?" I asked him.  "Not stealing, I trust?"

Ian and Ted looked a little embarrassed and it was Ian who replied.  "Sir,
we gave Jason some of our stuff.  It's very last season sir, so it's not
worth much.  We thought it would make it easier for us to work
together...."  He saw me looking rather quizzical and amused and sort of
stumbled on "You know, sir, team building and all that stuff... All
together...."

"Are you embarrassed by naked skin, Ian?  I'd have thought with that
modelling you did you'd have been used to stripping off yourself in front
of photographers.  And you and Ted both use the gym, I know, and the locker
rooms...  So what's the problem with Jason wearing slave stuff, or even
nothing?"

"None at all, sir.  It's just that it's less distracting if Jason is like
the rest of us", Ted cut in.  "All that bare skin...."

"I didn't realise you were a connoisseur of the male body, Ted."

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me, sir", he replied.  And I
wondered about this somewhat enigmatic statement.  He was right of course -
what actually did I know about Ted?  Still, he did his work, did it
excellently, so why should I care.

That night it actually added somewhat to the erotic atmosphere when, as I
lay in bed, I called Jason in and told him to strip off and join me.  It's
one thing to see a slave toss shorts and a T aside casually and quickly,
but quite another to see the male body gradually exposing itself as shirt,
chinos, shoes, socks and then underwear are discarded.  "That
underwear...?"

"It was Ian's, sir.  He gave it to me as he reckoned Ted's briefs would be
too tight.  These are his and he's bigger.... And he said they'd been
washed.  And he couldn't wear them any more as they were `so last season'
and the other men at his sports club would think he was no longer
fashionable..."

I couldn't help laughing!  The thought of Ian being so concerned to look
fashionable that he even had to have this season's underwear.  Still, I did
start to lay plans to see Ian and Ted naked, remembering how I had enjoyed
seeing them with towels wrapped around them in New York.

When I'd fucked Jason and we were lying there companionably together,
sweating bodies pressed close and legs intertwined we heard the
unmistakable sounds of two guys fucking coming from the slave room - I may
have told you that in my flat in Westminster this was a separate space
opening off my bedroom where the slave or slaves usually slept, out of
sight but within earshot in case I needed them.  This arrangement was very
satisfactory so when I had had this place set up on the Dave's Slaves site
I had copied it.  Naturally Tim and Darren were sharing it, as would Jason
were he was not in my bed, and evidently they were doing what any two
virile young men naked together in the same small bed would do.  I was
thinking about being annoyed with them - or pretending to be - and having
them come out with all the signs of sex on them - they should have remained
chaste, being concerned that I might have needed them for fucking. But I
suppose they'd heard me with Jason and thought that there was no way I was
going to do it again tonight.  But as I was going to call them, Jason said
"Sounds like they're having fun... I wonder it it's like that at Ian and
Ted's."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I guess they haven't told you, sir.  Still, they don't need to, I
suppose, as they're free men."

"You mean Ian and Ted are fucking...?"

"Well they may be, sir, and that's what I was wondering about.  Since they
bought the house together...."

"A house?"

"Yes, sir.  They were both renting in central London.  Ian had a really
tiny place, and Ted was in some sort of shared commune or something, I
believe. But then they thought that the journey out here was too long.  And
if we needed to work into the night, getting home would be a problem..."

"I'd pay for a cab!"

"Yes, sir.  But it's the time.  When you're exhausted after the kind of day
we sometimes have as a project comes near to completion..."  I nodded, and
he went on "So they decided to buy a house together.  Only one of those
small late-Victorian ones in one of the streets around here - you know the
type, sir, there are rows and rows of them built when London was expanding
this way in the nineteenth century.  Anyway, sir, even for one of those
houses the prices around here because of the good transport into London are
so high that they couldn't afford one each.  And they're both not getting
paid all that much, I suppose, sir, as they're still at the start of their
careers and the really big bucks didn't start for me until I first got to
be a trader in my own right..."

"So they've bought this house together, just around the corner...."

"Yes, sir.  And that's why hearing Tim and Darren I did wonder about what
they're doing..."

"Well I don't think they'll be fucking each other!  Ian's a
heterosexual. Completely.  You know how it was in New Your, with Mrs
Williams..."

Jason squeezed my cock affectionately.  "Well, sir.  You never know,
though.  I was like that until I was enslaved.  And now look at me.  And
even though they haven't been forced in to it as I was, perhaps they're
`passing' as heteros?  A lot of men in the City do..."

It was an interesting speculation, though, and thinking about it and
wondering how it would look to see big, tall Ian vigorously fucking the
small, trim body of Ted kept me awake for some time.  Or, perhaps, as my
mind raced on, the prospect of small, trim Ted pounding Ian's ass -
although he's very quiet in the office, you do after all never know what a
man turns in to in bed and it's entirely possible Ted was a really dominant
"top" there!  His rather calm neat exterior could mean he was "passing" and
that once naked with another man he might indeed be a real tiger.

I watched both men, and Jason, as they worked the next day but I honestly
could not detect and signs of sexual interest between any of them.  I
thought of offering Ian and Ted the use of Jason as they were apparently so
keen to bond and work together, but desisted as I could see that Jason was
very often making the running on our projects as his experience came to the
fore and you really shouldn't mess with established hierarchies of
dominance. And it's not necessarily a good idea to mix sex and work, I
suppose, so I didn't interfere even though it would have been interesting
to see the men's reaction to my offer.

That evening I wanted to be with Dave, but when I went across to his flat
he'd already got Timmy on the sofa next to him and they were both planning
to watch the big match - some European championship or something - on TV.
Well, Dave was planning to watch it, and Timmy had no choice as he sat
there with Dave's one arm around his shoulders to pull him close and the
other hand casually teasing Timmy's cock.  Dave wanted me to stay and watch
with them, but I'm just not in to watching sport at all - I'm a player, not
a watcher.  At school and university I was really good at squash and I'd
carried on playing when I started working until the pressures of the job
made it impossible to find the time even for forty minutes on the court.  I
did regret it, I suppose, as I am by nature really active and competitive,
and sometimes I'd thought about taking up playing again as I had more time
- or less responsibility.  But Greg, fit as he was, simply had not got the
right body to partner me as he was so big and muscular and you need speed
and manoeuvrability on a squash court, and the effort of finding free men
partners, scheduling courts and so on was too great.  Still, I thought, now
that I'd got Tim, and Darren, I could send them away to a slave school for
some extensive training and then I'd have partners whenever I wanted - and
they'd be there to towel me dry after showering. And the other guys at the
club would surely be envious of me owning such fine young slaves. On the
other hand, being so much younger and fitter and nimble they might well win
their matches against me and that would not be a good thing; and ordering
them to compete hard enough to give me a good game but not so hard as to
win would in itself undermine my real authority.

I'd been in the office all day and I didn't really want to go to my flat
immediately, so I told Dave I might drop back later, and to be sure not to
waste his cum on Timmy, and went out for a walk.  I thought I might perhaps
take a look at this house that Ian and Ted had bought, but then realised I
did not have the address, but it was a nice evening and it was anyway worth
a stroll around to get a "feel" for the area.

My way took me past the pub we went to sometimes at lunchtime, and as I
passed it, there was Stuart, chatting to a bunch of other men on the
pavement as some of them were smoking.  Although I'd seen him naked when I
"bought" Tim and had noticed him around the place in his normal working
Speedo, seeing him in a tight T and equally tight jeans made him appear to
be somehow even more appealing. - i's funny that, isn't it?  The way that
the thought of what's inside the clothes can be more erotic than the bare
flesh itself?  And as I watched as I walked closer, with one of those
perfectly normal almost unconscious gestures men make Stuart reached under
his T (which was loose and short and not tucked in) and idly scratched at
his belly.  Somehow a glimpse of something like that can be terribly
erotic, and I felt my cock stiffen.  I wondered if he had a wife or
girlfriend, or perhaps he was "with" one of the men in the group standing
there - most of them were the kind of fit labourers who normally frequented
the place and who I found desirable in their own right anyway.

I don't think it's a good idea to mix work and sex and just as I had never
taken my interest in Ian and Ted (and Sam) any further, so I had done
nothing about Stuart.  I could, I suppose, have watched him "in action"
again selling slaves, but I had been busy and the opportunity had not
arisen.  Yes, I can hear you say, but what about Jason?  And I'll remind
you that he never actually worked for me as a free man, and it's different
for slaves around the office!

Stuart saw me staring at him as I went to walk past, but put out an arm to
halt me.  "Fancy a drink, sir?"  he asked innocently enough, but then went
on in a somewhat quieter voice "...or something else?"

"A drink.... Thank you."  Why did I reply?  Why did I agree?  I could
simply have made an excuse and carried on, but my cock was so stiff at the
sight of him that I clutched at this opportunity to spend some time with
him.

He walked in to the pub without saying anything and making no gesture of
any kind and so I had no alternative but to follow him, as I could hardly
wait there on the footpath as I was not smoking and did not have anything
to say to the other men.  He pushed his way to the bar with that kind of
determination that some men have to get served, and as I have observed
before, no one really objected because he seemed to have that kind of
attitude that other men respect, and because he was so evidently fit and
strong and was not the kind of man you would want to start an argument
with.

He hadn't asked me what I wanted to drink, but as I watched him, admiring
the way his muscles worked under the tight T and jeans, he ordered and then
came back out towards me carrying two pints in those proper large chunky
heavy mugs.  He moved towards an empty table at the side, put down the
pints, and waited for me to join him.  As soon as he sat down he picked up
his pint and took a huge swallow, then put it down and looked at me.

"I thought you wanted a drink."

"I don't really drink beer... Hang on a minute and I'll go and get myself a
gin and tonic..."

"I reckon there's a lot of things you used not to do, but you will now.
Now, have a good mouthful of that beer I bought you - it's impolite to
refuse a man."

Well, what could I do?  He was staring at me so intently and yet so calmly,
completely self-assured.  I was concerned that he might start a public row,
so I picked up my glass and took a big swig.  It wasn't so bad really, and
indeed as a young man at Uni I had of course downed many pints with my
mates and it's only later that I moved on to more refined drinks.  So as we
sat there making that kind of inconsequential conversation that you do, I
carried on drinking it, kind of following him, swig for swig.

When we'd finished, I did of course politely ask "Another?" And instead of
nodding he said calmly "Yes, and get the same for yourself.  I don't drink
with men who have fag drinks!"

Well, what could I do?  I didn't want to argue, didn't want to pick him up
on suggesting I was a fag, so I made my way to the bar - with a lot more
difficulty than he had - and ordered two more pints.

We seemed to get through those really quite quickly and you know how it is
when you're not an experienced beer drinker - I felt quite light-headed,
and at the same time I started to have an almost unbearable need to piss.
But before I could do anything about it Stuart got up saying "Wait there or
some bastard will take the table as the place is filling up" and made his
way to the bar, returning remarkably quickly with two more pints.

"Thanks, but...."

He stared at me.  "Drink up!  A man keeps up."

It's stupid really, but I did as he said.  After all, no one wants to be
thought of as less than a proper man, do they?  And now I was in real
difficulty as my head was starting to spin a little, I realised I wasn't
necessarily forming complete sentences, I was laughing too loudly at things
that were not really funny - I was getting drunk.  And I was now absolutely
desperate to piss - I was doing all those kind of squeezing things you do
to try to stop the first drop from forcing its way out as you know that if
it once starts there'll be no stopping it.  So I half stood, muttering
"...need a piss..."

Stuart stared at me and put out a restraining hand.  "Sit down.  Finish
your drink. And then you can go."

Look it's stupid, I know, but I did as he said.  I could easily have walked
over to the gents, but instead sat there looking at my glass, then
hesitantly, desperately, trying to swig down the quarter pint or so that
remained.  I felt as if my bladder would burst, and suddenly I just knew I
had to move so I took one last swallow, almost slammed down the glass, got
up and rushed towards the gents.

You know how it is when you're so desperate - it seems to take an age to
get your fly open and fumble in your underwear and get your cock out, and
as I did so there were tiny warning dribbles of the impending flood.  And
suddenly I could let go and the piss hosed out of me.  I leaned forward,
resting my head on the cool wall above the urinal in sheer relief as my
bladder drained - it quite reminded me of those days at Uni when I had been
out with my mates. And I realised I hadn't pissed so hard, or as long,
since I began to drink only gin and tonic, and wine.  Then I became aware
of Stuart, standing right next to me even though there were other urinals
not being used - a real breach of etiquette, if that`s the right word, as
men keep a space, don't they?  He was looking over at the torrent of piss
hosing out of me uncontrollably as I leaned there.  He was calm and open
about looking, whereas as I now glanced at him, trying to be as
inconspicuous as possible, I felt ashamed that he would see me doing so.
And I was a mess - needing to stand there for support whereas he was
upright and holding his cock and directing it so that the piss swirled
around the urinal, as if he was proud of it.

Finally my piss dribbled to a halt, and I could see him still watching me
as I stroked my cock to express the last few drops, then struggled to put
my cock away.

"Nice one", he said indicating my cock, as if it was the most normal thing
in the world.  "Almost as good as mine.  I've been wondering about you
after I saw you paying so much attention to me when you bought that slave
boy - you were staring at me as much as you were at the slave, and you made
me strip, didn't you?"

"Well, yes.  But you were supposed to be selling him and that's how you are
supposed to behave, and..."

He smiled.  "Excuses, excuses!  Now, follow me."  I was so surprised at
having him talk like this, let alone talk about it in a public lavatory,
that I found myself doing as he said.

He strode out of the pub and down the street, and I do mean "strode" - he
was setting such a fast pace that I could barely keep up with him and
conversation was hardly possible.  Even though I'm pretty fit, I found
myself almost out of breath.

We went through a maze of the narrow streets there are around there and I
wondered if we were anywhere near the house that Ian and Ted had bought -
well, we might have been, but who can say without an address and a map?
Then he stopped at one of the front doors - the tiny front area was neat
and tidy unlike some of those in the street - opened it, and went in.  I
simply followed.

It was typical for a house like that - the narrow passage, the stairs
leading up half way along, and a door into the main room.  I followed him
through in to the room and he sprawled on a sofa.  I went to sit down too
but he snapped "Stand up until I allow you to sit"

 I was so amazed that I froze and did as he had ordered. "Now, boy, I want
to take a closer look at you.  You've seen me, after all, so now it's your
turn.  So strip."

"What...?"

"Don't you fucking understand English?  Strip.  Unclothe.  Get naked."  It
sounded as if that string of commands ought to have continued with "...or
else!"

Look, I wasn't physically afraid of him.  After all, what could possibly
happen to me in a London suburb?  And if he did try anything physical not
only could it - no, it would - lead to enslavement at worst, and I could
anyway fire him.  So I stood there kind of uncertainly until he rapped
again "I'm not used to repeating myself!  Get those fucking clothes off as
I want to inspect you."

Still I stood there and as I watched he pulled out from his pocked one of
the electric goads we use at Dave's Slaves.  He tapped it suggestively on
the palm of his hand.

"You wouldn`t dare...."

"Try me, boy.  I assume you've seen us use a goad at work?  So unless you
get naked now, be prepared."

It wasn`t the threat itself as much as the way he said it.  Cool, calm,
menacing, authoritative. I started to unbutton my shirt.

It felt so very, very humiliating and yet somehow erotic to be taking my
clothes off in front of Stuart.  Look, I'm used to being naked with other
males as you know - I've fucked enough slaves in my time to not be
embarrassed about my body, and I know from comparisons with them that I've
got nothing to be ashamed of in terms of my cock, as even compared to
slaves selected at least in part for sex I come off pretty well.  And I'm
even used to being naked with free men, too, as I've told you I was a
squash player in my younger days and after a match you always shower with
your opponent and there are other men around in the locker room.  But this
was different - I was being ordered to do it, as if I had no choice, as if
I was a slave being prepared to be inspected by a potential owner.  I
couldn't help thinking of the men I had seen when I had been on buying
trips to Colchester with Dave, and how they had been told to get naked in
font of us, and I couldn't help wondering if this is how they felt as their
clothes fell to the floor and they stood there exposed to our gaze.

I stood there as Stuart calmly stared at me as I finished, standing there
in just my boxers. Then he rapped "Boy, I told you to get naked.  That
means everything.  I want to see you properly, all of you!"

I felt unable even to argue or say anything, and with some sort of inbuilt
reflex that a man has about finally exposing himself, I turned away from
him, put my thumbs in the waistband of my boxers and let them fall to the
ground.  I heard him almost laughing.  "Face me, and get your hands clasped
behind your neck so I can get a proper look at you!".

Another reflex cut in and I realised as I turned that before I raised my
arms I'd given my cock that little "flip" as you do when it's released.
Blushing with embarrassment as I thought he'd seen me touch myself, however
briefly, I stood there then raised my arms and put my hands behind my neck.
I realised just how exposed I was in that position, as it makes you thrust
out your chest and it got worse as Stuart now calmly said "Spread your
legs, boy! I want to see how that cock of yours and your balls hang".  I
complied, shuffling my feet apart, and almost involuntarily sucked my belly
in as if I wanted to make a good impression on him (not that I am fat, but
I've noticed that unless a slave has been constantly rigorously exercised
as he's valued for his "six pack" there's always a little extra flesh on
the tummy).

Stuart got up then and came towards me.  "Right, boy.  I want to get a good
feel of you, to appraise you properly.  Now you're not going to do anything
stupid, are you?  Just stand there perfectly still and stay perfectly
calm."  I realised he was talking to me as he probably did to a new slave.

I went to say something in reply but he reached out and put his fingers on
my lips.  "Stay silent, boy, unless I ask you a question!"  And somehow the
almost electric thrill of feeling his skin on mine made me silent, and a
tiny shudder went all through me.

Look I've seen slaves appraised enough to know the routine - the hands on
the shoulders, then sliding down your back across your bum, down the
outside of your legs and back up the inside.  Then one hand on you back as
you feel the belly and up the chest - it doesn't stop you moving away but
somehow there's that psychological pressure to stand there.  It seemed to
go on for ever, and my skin was tingling all over from Stuart's warm, hard
hands. My breathing seemed to get deeper, and I had to control myself to
stop trembling.

"Kneel", he hissed, and I did so.  Then I was staring up at him as his
hands felt my neck, my head was tilted back, and the insistent pressure of
his fingers on my lips made my open my mouth.  I had never realised how
utterly demeaning it is to have a man feel around inside your mouth like
then, as not only could I taste whatever had been on his fingers but the
scent of his skin assaulted my nose.  He suddenly thrust three fingers deep
into my mouth and his finger tips triggered my gag reflex.  I put my hands
out to grab at him and make him stop but he pulled out and snapped "I told
you to keep your hands behind your neck, boy", and I replaced them and he
then ruffled my hair again and said quietly "Good boy", as if I was some
sort of pet dog.  "You'll need training", he continued, but that's to be
expected.

He told me to stand up then and he nodded at me.  "Pretty good condition
for a free man.  Now, I'm almost finished.  You can stand easy - that's
with your hands behind your back, as you probably know from seeing all
those soldiers you buy."

I did as he said but then I was horrified to hear him say "Almost there
now, boy.  Skin back for me so I can see how that your cock head looks when
it's exposed."

Never have I done that in front of another man.  Not even a slave.  I mean
obviously I've been erect with slaves when we've had sex and it's been
natural for my `skin to pull back.  But to have to stand there with my limp
cock in my hand and pull my `skin back was probably the ultimate
humiliation - to have to expose that very private part of myself to him.  I
don't know why I did it, but some how I was under his spell and was now
doing as he ordered.

"Nice! If you were a slave I'd have you `skinned so you were always
properly on display."

I thought of how true this was, and how I'd had Greg's `skin cut right back
when I had bought him.  And how he had hated it, and had stood there in
silent insolence when he had come back from the veterinarian after the
`skinning, as if he was in some way blaming me.  It was after all his own
fault that he was a slave, nothing to do with me, and he should have
expected me to have him modified to suit my tastes.

"Right then, now let's get serious" he continued.  "You may have noticed
that I haven't looked at your ass or fingered it to assess the tightness
yet.  I like to save that as a bit of a surprise for when I fuck you..."

"No!" I shouted, my strange "conditioning" breaking. And the next moment I
was rolling on the floor in agony as he touched his goad to my flesh.

"I told you to be quiet unless you are answering a question, boy!  And I
warned you what would happen.  You're lucky I'm in a good mood as it's only
on low power as I know how free men are initially.  Now, get back up and
stand `at ease' again."

I struggled to obey him and stood there in front of him again.  "Now, boy,
where were we?  Ah yes, I was saying how I like to save your ass as a
surprise before fucking.  But before that there's something we need to do,
isn't there?"

I saw him looking at me arrogantly and stuttered "What?".  He tapped his
goad on his open hand again and I hastily added "What, sir?"

"Good boy!  You're getting the hang of this.  What we need in order to fuck
you is some lubrication.  And I don't like all those chemicals they sell on
my cock.  Good natural lubrication, that's what we need...."  He stopped
with an amused smile on his face then continued "It's not for your benefit
of course as I rather like to see a man scream and shout as a cock is
rammed into him without `lube'. But I've had to wank rather a lot lately as
the fucking has been in short supply, and bare hands on bare cock makes it
tender.  So I need lubing properly.  So get to it!"

I looked around the room helplessly.  "Please, sir, what...?"

"You are an innocent, aren't you?  When a boy is going to be fucked there's
always a source of natural lube ready to hand."  He smiled as he said this,
and went on "So get wanking. I want to see a nice handful of your cum ready
for my cock....  As I said, it's always on hand!"

There was no way I could do it. Even though I did not want to, his eyes
boring in to me made me think I had almost no choice.  And I reached down
for my cock and began to stroke it.  But it's not easy, is it?  You're
probably like me in that when you were a kid and were wanking you always
did it lying down in bed, or sprawled on a chair in from of porn on your
PC.  I'd never done it standing up, and of course once I had acquired a
slave I'd never actually wanked anyway, preferring his hot wet mouth to
stimulate me.  Anyway, probably because I was humiliated and so out of my
comfort zone there was simply no way I could get an erection, no mater how
many times I stroked myself.

Stuart stood there watching me for a few moments then came and stood next
to me and put one arm around my shoulders to hold me.  My flesh tingled
again at the sensation of his clothes scratching against me.  He reached
down with one hand and up with the other and used his fingers to press my
nipples.  I squirmed - yes, that's the right word, squirmed, as I made
little noises of protest, and my body almost tried to wriggle away from
him. But he grasped my shoulders harder and his fingers tightened on my
nipples as he rolled them around causing those little sensations of
pleasure and pain.  I gasped. "Please, sir, don't...."

"Ah, I thought so.  Like a lot of men you've not been broken in properly.
You've never understood how a man's fingers can give you pleasure..."  As
he said this he carried on squeezing me and I felt myself going hard.
"Good boy" he muttered, his mouth so close to my ear that I felt his hot
breath in it. "Good boy, you're getting nice and hard now, aren't you?
Like a lot of men your tits are connected to your cock, and you only need
to be shown what to do....  Now, get wanking...."

So I stood there, and indeed my cock stiffened in my fingers.  And as you
all know, once you're actually erect and are wanking yourself it doesn't go
away.  In spite of my embarrassment - no, it as more like shame at being
caught doing this juvenile thing in front of another man - my cock got
harder and harder and then I got that lovely slippery sensation as my
pre-cum started to lubricate my cock.  I couldn't help myself, my body
thrust forwards into my hand as if it wanted to experience more."

"Easy, boy!" Stuart whispered.  "You're almost there."  I felt a thrill of
satisfaction and pride, almost, as he said this.  "Now careful - catch it
all.  We're going to need it...."

My body shuddered and I cried out faint indecipherable things as I shot my
load.  I think it was the best wank I'd ever had.  Then after a minute of
so as my ragged breathing calmed Stuart let me go and went and stood in
front of me.  "Present it to me, boy!"

"Please, sir... What...?"

"You are an innocent, aren't you?  And I thought you'd know all about this
kind of stuff as you have slaves.  Kneel in front of me, then reach up and
present that handful of your cum for me to see and inspect."

Once more I was thrown once more in to confusion, embarrassment and shame
as I struggled to kneel.  Then reached up and looked up as Stuart took a
string of my cum between his fingers and rubbed them together.  "Good boy.
Nice and thick.  And quite a respectable amount for an older man.  With
some of those young army - or should I say ex-army - slaves there's so much
more.  But quality not quantity is what counts."  As he did this Stuart
again ruffled my hair as if he was rewarding me in some way, and I felt
strangely, irrationally pleased and somehow proud.

Look, I have been fucked, I admit it.  Like a lot of young men I had one or
two passionate affairs whilst at university, and as is the way of these
things when males are still experimenting and discovering what they really
like I had taken my lovers' cocks up the ass, just as I had so gently and
sweetly fucked them in turn.  But that was nothing like the way Stuart now
used me - and yes, that's the right word for it: I was used. I was there to
provide him with excitement and sexual gratification, and I did not matter
at all.

Yes, he did take some care not to cause permanent damage in that when he
almost forced me to bend over the back of his sofa he stretched me,
slathering my own cum in my ass with three fingers.  But thereafter it was
him who was enjoying it, him who fucked away with a single-minded intensity
verging on the brutal.  It didn't matter that I was crying out, screaming
even - in fact that seemed to intensify his enjoyment and his efforts.  He
didn't even bother to undress, simply thrusting in to me with that fat cock
I've already told you about from when I had made him "sell" Tim, so that I
could feel his clothes against my bare thighs, bum and back.  And he held
my wrists kind of together, pushed high up my back in a gesture of total
dominance and control - I suppose I could have broken free, but it's that
psychological thing again that stopped me.

Mercifully it didn't go on for long, as he was mightily aroused and I cried
out again as with a savage, forceful thrust he pushed deep into me one last
time, shouting his domination and triumph with a loud cry of "Yes,
yes....", before slumping forward and lying along my back.

He pulled out very quickly then and as I watched he wiped his cock roughly
on a handkerchief, then stuffed it back into his jeans.  "Get dressed and
get out" he commanded, and as I looked around for the bathroom to clean
away the cum and ass juice that was trickling down the inside of my thighs
he slapped me - hard - on the face.  "Do as you're fucking well told!" he
almost shouted.

"I was only going..."

"...to try to clean yourself up.  I know.  But don't.  I want you to have
my cum on you, on your clothes.  I want you to smell me, feel me, as you
walk home.  Now get dressed, and get out."

I felt myself blushing again as he stood there watching me as I struggled
to pull my stuff on.  Then he pushed me towards the door.  "Just as I
thought when I first saw you", he mocked.  "One of those men who pretend to
be a top, always wants to be in charge, in control.  But when you
experience a real man, a real dominant man, you know you're just a pathetic
hole to take his cock.  I meet a lot of guys like you - men who are
`passing' as tops, but really all you want is a good hard fucking."  And
with that he almost pushed me out of the door, and slammed it behind me.

As I walked home, aware of how my legs and bum felt so differently as they
were lubricated with cum, I couldn't help wondering if what he said was
true.  Had I been fooling myself?  Had I been "passing" for something I
really was not?

End Of Part Twenty One