Date: Thu, 22 Aug 2002 18:48:49 +0000
From: Moore
Subject: Southern Submissive (AUTHORITARIAN, HUMIL: T/T, M/T)

SOUTHERN SUBMISSIVE (AUTHORITARIAN, HUMIL: T/T, M/T)
BY:  MOORE

Chapter I

I was 13 when I sucked my first cock.  To be truthful, it wasn't
the first time I'd had a cock in my mouth, or let a guy, two guys
actually, cum in my mouth. That pleasant experience happened when
I was 10.

Cousins of mine, identical twins, were visiting from California.
The three of us stayed home to hang out at the pool, it was a very
hot day, while the adults went to the club to play golf. I like
being naked, I also like to look at other naked boys, so when one
of the cousins said lets skinny dip, my bathing suit was off in a
hurry.  We swam and played around for a couple of hours before I
went into the cabana to get us some cokes.

When I got back the twins were out of the pool, sitting next to
each other in the broiling hot sun on the wide steps at the shallow
end. Sweat was dripping off their faces and they were stroking
their erect dicks.  "Hey Jeff," one of them called out, "C'mere and
be the judge.  Who has the biggest dick?"

Harmless enough, right, so I waded into the pool and handed each of
them a coke. "Get down in front so you can get a real close look
before you decide which dick is bigger."

I had never been that close to another persons dick before...not
for lack of trying. I'd been peeking at the men and other boys in
the locker room at the club since I was little.  I like the smell
in the locker room and the opportunity to see naked bodies so I'd
hang out as long as I could. Late afternoons when the tennis pro
came in were best. I'd sit near his locker and he'd come in all
sweaty, strip naked, wink at me, and pad off to the showers. He
always left his jock strap on top of the pile of sweaty clothes.
I'd pick it up, examine the damp mesh for pubic hairs, and stick
my nose in the pouch. The smell was always intense, much better
than smell from my own underwear or the sweat from between my legs.
The first time I stuck out my tongue and licked the inside of his
jock strap....I got an erection.  My little penis got hard in my
bathing suit.

But you can't just stick your face into a guy's crotch, sniff under
his balls. Can you?  My cousins wanted me to so I got close, real
close.  They both had nice dicks, sticking straight out from lots
of curly black pubic hair.

"So, whadya say Jeff?  My cock's bigger, right?"

"It's hard to tell," I said, inspecting the two hard dicks in front
of my face.  A familiar odor rose up from between their wide spread
legs, bathing my face in the warm smell I like so much. I was hard
too. My ten year old hairless penis, all two inches of it, thumped
against my belly.  My mouth was dry and a funny feeling came over
me. One cousin said something which sounded like, "Lookathiscock,
betchablowjobhelldoit."  "Your on," came a quick reply. Gibberish
to me.

"Hold 'em in your hands, Jeff.  Maybe you'll be able to tell which
one's bigger that way.  We're family, so it's ok if you touch our
dicks."  It didn't take much to convince me since I'd wanted to
feel another guy's dick for a long time. "So c'mon cousin, take a
hold of our dicks."

"Ok," I said, and that's all I said that hot afternoon twelve years
ago. Go know a simple little answer would open a door, lead me down
a new path.  If I'd said no to my cousins that afternoon, would my
life be different today?  Probably not, at least I hope not. I like
who I am and what I do for men and boys. Most of the time I really
like what men, and some boys too, do to me and make me do.

			    ***

Looking at my cousin's hard cocks was great, holding them in my
hands was better.  So hard and yet so soft and smooth. One twin
asked how I liked it and if it felt nice.  Before I could answer,
the twins shifted a bit closer and the other one told me to rub
the dick heads together. I was surprised to see a shiny drop emerge
from each pee slit.  More drops bubbled up each time I squeezed the
shafts until shiny stuff was sliding down the shafts and onto my
hands.

Each twin dipped a finger into the stuff and fed it to each other.
"Mmmmm mmmm good," one said. "Take a taste Jeff, go on taste it
with your tongue."  My fingers were busy elsewhere so I did it.
I dipped the tip of my tongue into the shiny pool and licked across
the two cocks. The taste was mellow and sweet...better than licking
the inside of the tennis pro's jock strap. Made me feel lightheaded.
I liked it so I licked their dicks again and again. I also started
sliding my hands up and down on the slippery shafts. My cousins
seemed to like that a lot. Their dicks were throbbing in my hands
and bumping against my lips and face.

"You like the taste of our dicks and that shiny juice, Jeff?"
I nodded and licked up more. "Open your mouth, Jeff, let our dicks
inside.  We'll feed you another kind of juice. Creamy juice that
tastes even better. C'mon open up."

I was young, naive and curious.  My lips parted and the two juice
covered dicks bumped heads in the limited space. A small explosion
took place in my mouth and rippled throughout my body as the twin
dicks came to rest on my tongue.  I didn't suck. I couldn't. I just
kept sliding my hands up and down the slippery shafts while my lips
were stretched around the two dicks. I was jerking them off into my
mouth, but back then I didn't know it was a gay thing to do or that
I was jerking them off. I was just having fun with my cousins.

"I'm almost there," one cousin said. "Me too," the other replied.
I didn't understand what they said next, sounded like yawanna, oh,
yeah, yawannacuminim.  The twins started to moan and breathe hard
and then "uh, uh, ah, uh, gonna cum, wait a sec, ah, ahh ahhhhhh,
oh, yeah, I'm almost, that's it, now, do it, do it, cummm, cummmm,
cuuummmminnng."

The dicks twitched and pulsed in my mouth and twin spurts of hot
juice hit the sides and back of my mouth. I started to choke and
pulled my head back so I could swallow. A creamy richness flooded
down my throat sending little ripples of feeling down my back and
between my legs. The dicks kept right on spurting, on my face now
rather than into my mouth. My cousin was right, the creamy juice
was good, sharp and tangy, a little salty. When the spurting
stopped I could feel the juice dripping down my cheeks. I wanted
more.

Suddenly my cousins stood up and dragged me with them into the deep
end of the pool.  I heard my father call out hi boys.

"Hi dad," I said. "Hi Uncle Jeff," the twins said. "We were just.."

"Yeah, I know, skinny dipping.  Playing a little grab ass.  I was
young once too you know.  Dinner will be ready soon so dry off and
come inside."

"Yes sir," the three of us sang out.

Dad looked at us and started laughing. "Oh, and don't forget to put
on some clothes.  Can't have three naked boys walking about like
plantation slaves."

We didn't laugh, but judging by his hearty laughter, dad thought
his little joke was hilarious. I was relieved that he wasn't angry
with me for skinny dipping. He's warned me before about wearing
clothes and he's not above giving me a good spanking when I step
out of line.

"That was close," one twin said once my father was gone. Then they
started laughing.  "Howdya like our dicks in your mouth, Jeff, and
the ah, creamy juice?"

Since they were laughing I started to laugh too. I told them I
liked the creamy juice even better than the shiny juice. That made
them laugh even harder. When they said not to tell anybody what we
had done, that it was a secret between cousins, I promised to keep
the secret.


Chapter II

My daddy, Jefferson Davis Winslow, Sr., is a serious man and not
one for making jokes.  I suppose you have to be serious when you
own a huge farming and ranching operation that's been in his family
for generations.  According to the family bible, Zeb Winslow, my
great, great, great, great or something grandfather settled these
parts in 1681. By 1840, Zeb's descendants owned one of the biggest
cotton plantations in Mississippi and they owned hundreds of negro
slaves to work the land. We still own the land and we have servants,
but we don't own any slaves of course. The old slave quarters still
stand in back of our big house, though. I go there sometimes to play.

Daddy has records dating back over a hundred years with all kinds
of information about the land and the crops and how much money was
earned and spent.  Boring stuff like that, but daddy says it's a
valuable historical record which he'll donate to a museum someday.
He also has posters advertizing the town's monthly slave auction of
"Fine Young Negroes."

The colored people on the posters are chained together and they
have thick ropes around their necks. They don't look happy.  Daddy
asked me one time when we were looking at his collection if I knew
what a slave was.  I proudly repeated what I had recently learned
in first grade. "Slaves are people that are owned by other people
called masters and they have to do everything the master says," I
told my daddy.  "A slave has to work very hard and do everything
the master says or the slave gets punished."

Daddy also showed me photographs taken on the Winslow plantation
before the Civil War. Pictures of white men on horseback watching
over the negro slaves working in the cotton fields. The negro men
picking cotton are bare chested and no shoes, and carrying great
big sacks filled with cotton. Lots of young boys are following
behind the men, picking up loose cotton. I giggled because the
young colored boys didn't have any clothes on, they were naked.
I saw that in most of the pictures the older negro men were wearing
ragged loose fitting pants. The younger men too, except for a few
who didn't have any clothes. All the teenagers and all the little
boys around my age were completely naked. I asked my daddy why the
colored boys have no clothes on. "Are they going to take a bath?"
I remember saying.

He told me that these were pictures of Winslow slaves and that
masters didn't waste their hard earned money buying clothes for
slaves. On the Winslow plantation the master gave his old, worn out
clothes to the slaves. The older and stronger slaves would take all
the clothes, leaving nothing for the younger and weaker slaves.
The youngest slaves, boys my age, never got any clothes and were
naked all the time on the Winslow plantation.

My daddy also told me that on some plantations all the slaves,
young and old, were naked all the time because only humans wore
clothes and a slave was not thought of as human, not considered a
person.  Slaves were animals, he told me. Two legged animals to be
trained, like horses and dogs, to be obedient and do the master's
bidding.  Slaves were property to be used, bought and sold, and
branded like cattle with its owner's mark. A slave who angered its
master was punished, given away, or sold to a new master. The new
master would mark his property and put it to work. Slaves that
tried to run away were collared and chained to a stake in the
ground and left outside with the dogs for days at a time.

I asked my daddy if slave boys my age had to work in the fields all
day too or if they could do other things to please the master.
Daddy laughed and kissed the top of my head before he told me that
cute slave boys my age might be taken from the field, trained to be
a personal slave and given to one of the masters' sons. Personal
slave boys were trained to follow their young masters like puppies.
Sit at his feet while he was at school, sit under the table while
he was eating, prepare his bath and sleep at the foot of his bed.
The young master and young slave boy would grow up together.

When I asked if personal slave boys got to wear clothes, he took
two pictures from the pile. I could only see the top picture. Six
naked black boys were standing in front of six white boys. Daddy
said this was a photo of slave boys with their teenage masters. I
asked him how come the black boys had such big penises. He mumbled
something about birds and bees, and started to explain. More like
talking to himself, and I didn't follow much of what he said.

As the young master got older, became a teenager, his personal
slave was expected to take care of his maturing needs. Personal
slave boys with certain talents were highly prized for the services
they could provide. On the Winslow plantation these slave boys were
branded with a small mark so that everyone knew their status. Other
slaves sometimes laughed at these slave boys and called them names,
but these branded slave boys learned to take it. Often, the young
masters would trade slave boys or lend them to friends. Even the
old master himself might take a young slave boy or two for his own
use. These slave boys slept in the master's bed to keep him warm on
cold nights. Well trained, obedient slave boys never complained
because pleasing the master, young or old, was all that mattered
to a Winslow slave boy.

Daddy put down the two pictures he was holding and we looked at
some others until it was time for my bath.  Daddy helped me undress
and when I was naked, he laughed and pointed to a picture of a boy
wearing a bandanna around his neck, "Oliver 1861" was printed on the
bottom of the picture. Daddy patted my bare behind and said I looked
just like this little naked slave boy in the picture. Daddy said I
would make a good slave boy.

I laughed at daddy's silly joke. Two naked boys, Oliver and me,
each with a little penis between our legs. We did look sort of the
same, both of us naked, except I was white and Oliver was black...
and I wasn't a slave. I stared at the picture for a long time.
Oliver, seemed to be staring at me too.

Before I could ask him if only colored boys were slaves, if white
boys could be slaves too, daddy got engrossed in some old letters.
My bath forgotten, daddy went to sit at his desk. Underneath the
picture of the six naked slave boys and six white boys was another
one just like it except the faces were different and there was a
car, kind of like our car, but not as new, in the picture. These
slave boys were naked too and they also had big penises pointing
up to the sky.

			    ***
 
Daddy was still reading his letters so I opened a large envelope
and found more pictures of Oliver, the slave boy with the bandanna
around his neck. In the first picture Oliver was standing next to
a big white man.  In the second picture Oliver was kneeling on the
ground in front of the man and his little hands were on the man's
button fly. The man was smiling, Oliver looked sad. The man was
smiling in the next picture too. His shirt was gone and Oliver's
hands were resting on the man's hairy chest. I couldn't tell if
Oliver was happy or sad cause the man was holding his ears and his
face was hidden between the man's legs. In this picture Oliver's
penis wasn't little anymore, like mine. It was sticking way out
from his body.

Daddy said something and I jumped.  He was talking on the phone,
paying me no attention.  I went back to the pictures.

In the next picture Oliver still had his head between the man's
legs, but the man's pants were gone, and now Oliver was on his
hands and knees and his bare backside was sticking up in the air.
Another white man was behind Oliver. I thought he might be a slave
cause this man was naked.  He had a very big penis and testicles
hanging down, like my daddy. He was looking at Oliver's behind.

In the next picture the second man was on his knees behind Oliver.
You couldn't see his very big penis anymore cause his middle was
pressed against Oliver's rear end. Oliver looked very little and
very black sandwiched between the two white men.

The last picture was different.  Oliver was still naked, his penis
looked even bigger than before, but he was on his feet now and the
naked white man was on his knees....

Daddy was saying goodbye on the phone so I quickly put the Oliver
pictures back in the envelope.  When daddy came over he told me to
be a good little boy, shake my butt, and go take my bath now. Like
a good little slave boy I walked out of his office, naked as I was,
and into my room across the hall..., shaking my little naked butt
all the way.

Years later I still remember that night and daddy saying I would
make a good slave boy.  He was right.

			    ***

In my bath that night I played with my penis, trying to make it
bigger, wondering what it was like to be a slave boy like Oliver...
naked all the time, owned by a master. Better, I thought, to be a
personal slave boy to a young master or even an old master, than
work in the cotton fields with all the other slaves. If I was a
really good slave boy, maybe my master would be nice and give me
some old clothes so I wouldn't have to be naked all the time.

I didn't put on pajamas after my bath. I got into bed naked, put my
thumb in my mouth to suck and fell asleep thinking about Oliver on
his hands and knees between the two men.

I never wore pajamas again. Sleeping naked was fun. I began to walk
around naked all the time. At first only in my bedroom. Months later
I began to walk around the house with no clothes on. I was a little
boy, daddy thought it was cute. Lottie, our black housekeeper, and
the other black servants said nothing.

Naked and cute ended when I turned ten. Daddy insisted I wear some
clothes in the house. I could still sunbathe naked or skinny dip in
the pool, but I always brought my bathing suit and a towel to cover
up in case a field hand or a workman came by. Naked in the house
with daddy, or a servant who knew me since I was born was one
thing. Naked outside was something else.

The first time I dared to go outside naked without a towel or a
bathing suit nearby, completely naked, I got an erection. Naked
outside like this was exciting because I had nothing to cover my
nakedness. But it was more than being naked. It was having no
choices, no options, no control. I couldn't choose to get dressed,
I had no clothes. I couldn't run away from being naked. I couldn't
control who saw my naked body and what they might say or do. Naked
like this was like being a slave boy on the Winslow plantation.
Like Oliver in the pictures from 1861.

I started making up stories in my head, pretending, fantasizing, I
was a Winslow slave. Sometimes I was a personal slave and had a
kind young master to take care of and sometimes I worked in the
fields picking cotton. I began to act out my fantasies and venture
further away from the safety of the house. At first, only at night,
later, during the day.

I'd walk naked in the cotton fields, in the barns and around the
old slave quarters. All the places where Winslow slaves had walked
before. If somebody saw me and laughed or made a comment, I'd just
pretend it was my master and I had to bear it. I didn't run away or
try to hide. After all, I was a just another well trained slave
boy, another animal on the plantation. Like my daddy had told me,
Winslow slave boys are supposed to be naked and obedient.


Chapter III

My school, the junior high and the high school all shared a campus.
The schoolyard is a great teacher so a year or so later I knew the
truth about shiny juice and creamy juice, I was making my own precum
and semen. I knew that my twin cousins had used me. I'd jerked them
off, put their cocks in my mouth, they had cum in my mouth. I also
knew that boys who did what I had done were called cocksuckers. I
wasn't angry or upset. That experience became part of my fantasies.
Now when I pretended to be a Winslow slave, taking care of my master
included taking care of his cock.

The older guys on campus talked about cars and sports and girls and
sex. Stories circulated about girls who let a guy go all the way,
girls who'd give you a hand job and girls who'd give a guy a blow
job. We younger boys hung on every word.  Rumor had it that all
girls liked having a dick in their mouth and that there were some
guys, homosexuals, that liked it too. Everybody thought that letting
someone put his dick in your mouth was the lowest thing a guy could
do. The idea that a guy would actually suck the cock that was in
his mouth, suck it and let a guy shoot off inside his mouth, was
too crazy, too gross, to even consider.

Everybody except me, that is. I didn't think it was crazy or gross.
My California cousins had put their dicks in my mouth, cum in my
mouth, and I liked it. I would do it again if my cousins came back
to visit or if I could find somebody else to do it with.  Only this
time I would really suck.  I was sucking cock, my master's cock,
all the time.... in my fantasies.

The last thing a school kid wants is to stand out or be different
from his peers. Like everybody else I wore jeans and T shirts,
pretended to be interested in sports and went to all the boy/girl
parties.  I laughed along with the others when the older guys told
dirty jokes and made the appropriate sounds when they talked about
girls and sex.  So on the outside I was the same as everyone else,
but on the inside very different. I was a cocksucker, one of those
guys who liked a dick in his mouth, and I was eager to make my
fantasies real.

I was jerking off two, sometimes three times a day thinking about
the different boys in my class; imagining what they looked like
naked, imagining I was stroking their pricks instead of my own.
If I didn't jerk off before going to sleep I'd have a wet dream.
I'm naked in my dream and working along side other naked young
slaves, picking cotton on the plantation, until a faceless man on
horseback whisks me away to be his personal slave. I'd wake up just
as my new master was about to put his hard prick into my mouth....
and promptly cum all over my belly.  The dreams frustrated me.
I wanted to suck that cock, my faceless master's cock, and I
wanted it bad.

			    ***

That summer carpenters, plumbers, electricians and roofers, ten men
in all, were refurbishing the cabana. The youngest guy on the crew
was Tim, maybe 21 years old. I got a hardon during the first day of
work, watching Tim work on the roof in his cut-offs and work boots,
and that night, my faceless master was faceless no more. I dreamed
that Tim was my master, and that it was his cock I so desperately
wanted to suck.

I used every excuse I could think of to be near him, smell him,
touch him. I would sit at his feet like a good little slave boy
while he ate lunch, brush my body against his hairy legs, and rush
off to the house if he wanted a coke or some ice. I followed him
around when he wasn't working, hoping for a kind word or a pat on
the head. I was oblivious to the whispered remarks and jokes of the
other workers.

One late afternoon I was stretched out on a lounge by the pool.
Because daddy insists I wear something when strangers are on the
property I was wearing a bathing suit, my skimpiest bathing suit.
Tim had waved to me earlier from his rooftop perch. I was hard as
a rock and leaking precum into my stretched out speedos. Eyes
closed, I was day dreaming and didn't realize that somebody was
standing over me until a drop of water hit my chest.

"Sorry about that."  I opened my eyes, it was Tim. It wasn't a rain
drop, it was sweat dripping off his face. My dick jumped.

"No problem," I said. His eyes were focused on my crotch as he
chuckled and said. "Everyone's leaving, we're all done for today.
Would you tell your dad that most of the hard stuff has been taken
care of. I'll work overtime if you, I ah mean, he, wants me to take
care of something else."

Tim's sweat continued to rain down on my chest and trickle into the
very obvious bulge in my bathing suit as I rose up a bit in my chair.
Tim didn't apologize, I didn't complain. "Dad's not home, uh, no
one's home," I said to the sweat soaked denim covered crotch inches
from my face.  My gaze drifted up from the bulge in his low cut
shorts to the silky hair on his flat belly, and up, and up, until
my eyes locked onto his. "I don't know what else needs taking care
of right now."

Tim smiled and ran his middle finger down the center of his chest
to his belly button and around the pulsing bulge in his shorts.
My eyes were drawn like a bee to its hive. "I think maybe you do,"
Tim said as he slowly moved his hips forward and back.

"You coming Tim?" "Shit! I'll be right there."

As he walked away Tim said, "Later, Jeff. Check out the work in
the cabana."

I wanted to crawl after him. I stripped off my bathing suit and
flung it away.  Naked, I was a Winslow slave boy again and of
course I knew what needed taking care of... my master's cock.
Tim needed a blow job, he needed his cock sucked, and his slave
was ready to do it. I stroked my cock furiously and shot a load
all over my chest.

I followed my still hard dick on to the cabana like Tim said. The
front room had tools and construction material scattered about.
Coils of rope and electric wire took up most of the space on an
old couch. I had to take a dump so I made my way towards the
changing area and the bathroom. The workmen had been using it.
It was filthy. I didn't care. When I'm pretending to be a slave
boy my bare feet often walk through all kinds of muck and slime.
The puddles of piss and what all else on the floor and toilet seat
didn't stop me. I sat down, picked up a magazine from the pile on
the floor, pissed and farted.

While waiting to shit, my toes shifted through the magazines.
Sports Illustrated, Rod and Reel, Guns and Ammo, Boys of Bangkok.
The title got my attention, the cover photo got me hard. Asian boy,
smooth hairless body, naked except for a jock strap and sandals.
And inside, dozens of color photos of beautiful asian boys. I could
hardly turn the pages fast enough. Solo shots, groups, naked boys,
boys in tiny loin cloths. Asian boys sucking and fucking each other,
sucking and fucking with hairy naked men.  And cum shots. Cum
spurting into open mouths and on to naked bodies. Cum oozing out of
pink assholes and dripping off small brown faces.

Three strokes on my cock and I came. Powerful spurts of cum hit my
face, chest and belly. I stumbled back to the front room, plopped
down on the old couch and carefully examined the Boys of Bangkok.

In addition to the photos there was a piece on the sex industry in
Bangkok. I read how poverty stricken Thai peasants have no choice
but to sell a child to get money for food. Wealthy people buy them
to work, without pay, on their farms, in their factories and houses,
like slaves on a plantation I thought. The most beautiful boys were
purchased by private men's clubs and trained to provide personal
care to the male members and guests. The piece went on to describe,
in detail, the nature of the personal care provided by these boys.

My cock was dripping, I was close to blowing my third load of the
afternoon. The pictures, the story, naked men and boys, cocksucking,
sex slaves. The magazine slipped off my lap. I followed it to the
dusty floor where it lay open to a picture of a naked boy on his
hands and knees. The boy had a rope tied loosely around his neck
and his lips were stretched wide around a fat cock.  The boy was
looking up at his master, the man who was filling his mouth. I
blinked and the boy's face was my face. The mouth with a fat cock
in it was my mouth. A good little slave boy sucking my master's
cock. I began to mumble softly, master please, let me suck you,
use me, fill my mouth....

"Having a good time Jeff?"

I looked up from my hands and knees. Tim was standing over me!
I never heard him come in.

"Don't move. Stay right where you are Jeff. Like looking at yourself
in a mirror isn't it? Only thing missing is the cock. Don't try to
deny it. I've noticed the way you look at me when I'm working, Jeff.
How you hang around at lunch time, smelling me, touching me and
following me around.  Where's your tiny bathing suit? Did you cum
in it this afternoon when I dripped sweat on you or did you jerk
off after I left?"

What could I say. It was all true. "Tim, I um, ah..., after," I
said softly.

"Don't be shy Jeff, we both know what you are, what you need....,
your dick says it all."

My dick was a steel rod. Pulsing, throbbing, strings of precum
hanging from the tip.

"All you have to do is ask."

I hung my head low before Tim, my master. I had to please my master.
I was a Winslow slave boy, a personal slave. "Tim...., master....,
please can I, may I...., suck your cock," I said out loud.

Tim snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor at his feet. His
work boots had been replaced by sandals. I crawled between his legs
and kissed each of his dirty toes.  Licking and kissing all the way
up his hairy legs I finally buried my face in his crotch. I opened
his shorts, put my fingers inside the waistband of his jockey shorts
and lowered everything down and over his feet. With trembling hands
I held his cock at the base. I licked up the underside of the shaft
and circled my tongue around the head. I licked up his precum, the
shiny juice, slipped Tim's cock into my mouth and began to suck.

This was no fantasy, this was real...and so very good. Naked, on my
knees, a slave boy sucking his master's dick.  I found Tim's hands
and put them on my head.  I wanted him to use me, control me, train
me like an animal. Force more of his shaft into my mouth, make me
his cocksucker, his personal slave.

My eyes were locked onto Tim's smiling face as he thrust his dick
deep into my mouth and began to fill me with his sperm.  Spurt
after wonderful spurt of hot cream filled my slave mouth, but I
didn't swallow.  I wanted to show my master...., I wanted him to
see his obedient slave boy's mouth filled up with cum, watch me
swallow his sperm.

I hardly left my knees that afternoon.  When I tied a length of
rope around my neck and handed the end to Tim, he realized that
I was more than just a cocksucker. I was giving myself to him.
I've since learned that many men, even some young boys, quickly
recognize my slavish, submissive nature. Others, like Tim, may
need some help, but easily assume a master's role over his slave.
I was Tim's slave boy, his cocksucker and more, for the next three
weeks, until work on the cabana was completed.

The first time he got mean and hit me was when I refused to give
him head, suck his cock, in front of the crew. The men had uncrated
long mirrors and propped them against one wall of the cabana, ready
to be installed.  Tim was standing in front of one when he called me
over and said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Get on your knees,
Jeff. Gimme a blow job."

"Not so loud," I whispered, "everybody will hear you. Please let's
go in the other room.  I don't want all the guys to know I'm a
cocksucker. Please don't make me suck you off with everybody
watching."
 
"Bull shit," he said and slapped my face. "You'll suck dick when
and where I tell you to suck dick. You're a faggot slave, Jeff, and
you'll do what I tell you. Now get down where you belong and show
my buddies what a good cocksucker you are!"

Tim was right of course. I was a faggot slave and he was my master.
I looked around the room, at the faces of all the men, and dropped
to my knees in front of Tim. My hands were shaking as I unzipped
him and fished around for his cock. The smell of his sweaty crotch
turned me on. I practically ripped off his shorts and underwear,
took a second to shuck off my bathing suit, and guided Tim's hard
dick into my mouth.

"Good cocksucker, good cocksucker," Tim said repeatedly as he
thrust himself into me. I held the base of his cock with one hand
and began to bob my head to meet his thrusts.  My other hand was
wrapped around my own dick. We had a nice rhythm going and I was
able to watch in the mirror as Tim's balls snuggled up under my
chin, ready to release a load of hot cum into my sucking mouth.
I could also see the rest of the crew, cocks in hand, watching me
suck my master's dick.

Tim started to moan. "Suck hard baby, harder. Oh yeah fag boy, eat
my big dick. Here it comes, take my load. Ahhhh."

The first spurt of cum hit the back of my mouth. I backed off a bit
and took the rest of his creamy sperm on my tongue. I closed my
eyes, loving the feel of Tim's cock pulsing in my mouth and the
taste of his cum.  For a second my mouth was empty and then his
cock was back, hard again, pushing between my lips. I opened my
eyes. It wasn't Tim's cock. Another crew member was pushing his
big hard prick into my cum filled mouth.

"It's ok slave boy, just suck the nice man's prick," Tim whispered
in my ear. "I told him he could use your mouth...the whole crew is
gonna use your faggot mouth."

			    ***

Every day thereafter, Tim shared me with the entire crew. Sure it
was humiliating to be exposed for a fag, to be used by so many men,
to suck cock with an audience. And sure it was degrading to be called
a faggot cocksucker to my face and to hear the men laughing at me as
I choked on yet another load of sperm.  But every day I came back for
more.  I came back because I was Tim's slave boy and because I was
fast becoming a cock slave too.

The physical act of sucking Tim's cock was easy for me since I
like the smell between his legs and the taste of the sweat that
accumulates around his balls.  I like the way Tim's dick feels in
my hand and grows bigger when I stroke the shaft and play with the
head.  I like it even more when it grows bigger inside my mouth.
His hard dick sliding between my lips, thrusting in and out of my
mouth and leaking precum into my throat makes me shiver and makes
my own cock get hard. I like it best when Tim cums with just the
head of his cock in my mouth so I get the full taste of his warm
sperm on my tongue.

Giving head to the other nine guys on the crew was different. They
were on the job so I had to work fast, mostly during lunch break.
On Tim's order, I'd crawl around from guy to guy, open his pants
and suck his cock while he ate lunch.  No time for crotch sniffing
or ball licking. No time to coax a little precum to rub on my lips.
This was assembly line cock sucking and I was the cock sucking
machine.

Tim grew bolder, more assertive and demanding. He ordered me to
shave off my pubic hair and display my naked cock to the crew. He
ordered me to hold his penis while he pissed and to direct the
stream on to my body. He ordered me to lick his hairy arm pits and
sweaty balls.  By the time Tim and the crew left town for a new
project I was a well trained and well used slave and, according
to Tim, a damn good cocksucker.

Dad was pleased with the work on the cabana so he arranged a pool
side farewell beer party for the crew. He even stayed for a time
before heading off to the club for his golf game. "Take care of the
crew, Jeff," he instructed. "And no beer for you."

As daddy's car roared away from the house I stripped off my bathing
suit and dropped to my knees in front of my master. Slaves don't
wear clothes on the Winslow plantation and Tim liked me on my knees,
ready to service his cock.

"Get your faggot mouth on your master's dick," Tim said to me in a
voice slurred by all the beer he had drunk.  "Your daddy said no
beer for you, but I got some golden brew with the alcohol filtered
out. Open up cocksucker.  Gonna fill you up with my piss as a going
away present."

For three weeks I'd sucked and swallowed load after load of cum
from Tim's balls. I'd licked the sweat from every part of his body.
Except for the first time, I hadn't complained about being used by
the rest of the crew. He'd pissed on me, everybody had pissed on
me, but never in my mouth.  For three weeks my master had used me
the way I wanted to be used, as his personal slave boy. But pissing
in my mouth, using my mouth as a toilet bowl....

"Please Tim, please don't piss in my mouth.  Let me suck you off
instead, jerk you off into my mouth, lick your asshole, anything.
Please don't make me drink piss."

"I don't want a blow job. I want to piss in your mouth. I want my
slave boy to take my piss....., and like it. Gather 'round guys.
Watch Jeff, my good little slave boy, drink his master's piss."

Like the good little slave boy I was, I pulled down my master's
bathing suit and lifted the head of his cock to my lips.  Tim began
to piss on my face and, to the hoots and hollers of the rest of the
crew, I wrapped my lips around the head and filled my belly with
recycled beer.

Although I swallowed as fast as I could, Tim's flow was faster and
piss was spilling out of my mouth creating a puddle. I was kneeling
in a puddle of piss which soon grew larger as the rest of the crew
began to piss on me. Hot piss squirting into my mouth and raining
on my body made me want to cum. I jerked my cock wildly and let
loose with big spurts of boy cream.

I was so caught up in the frenzy that I didn't realize that the
pissing had stopped until Tim said it was time for a cum chaser.
Ten pissed out dicks hardened to erection and took turns in my
piss drinking, cock loving, slave boy mouth.  Ten loads of hot
creamy sperm mixed with my master's piss in my swollen belly.
I was a happy slave boy.