Date: Thu, 29 Oct 2020 12:05:27 -0700 From: Joe Scmoe Subject: "Are you ready, boy?" (Gay Male Authoritarian) Hello Nifty readers! I hope you enjoy my very first story. For feedback or suggestions, you can email me at LittleGayMe@gmail.com, or find me on Recon as ToServeMan. _________________________________________________________________ "Are you ready, boy?" Sir asks. I take a moment to consider. There's no reason to answer too quickly; when I answer, I want it to be absolutely and completely true. The sun is on my shoulders; I surrendered my shirt to him, little shirt as it was, a few blocks ago. We're just past the entrance to the street fair, an annual leather event in the city. We're in that liminal space before the debauchery, where people greet each other and rub sunscreen on their faces and look for the bag check. There's a rubber plug in my ass, stretching it open and keeping a reservoir of lube and Sir's cum backed up behind it. Small plug - for now. I whined when Sir pushed it in back at home right after He fucked me, in the cool of his basement, and kept whining as it pressed against the sides of my hole while I walked, until Sir smacked my ass hard and told me to stop it. There's a metal cage around my cock, too small to let me even get properly hard. Other than that, I'm in gym shorts and a jock, the back of the jock riding up above the waistband. From the plug a narrow tube extends, a bulb at the end tucked into the side of my waistband. On my neck I have a necklace with a bottle of poppers. This is unlikely to be used much: if I need to be poppered up, Sir will know, and He will handle that. "I'm ready, Sir," I tell Him, though I'm not sure what it is I'm ready for. I've been asking what He has planned for our day out at the fair for weeks, and have gotten nothing in response - well, except once when He absentmindedly slapped my face and told me to stop badgering Him. "Take your shorts off," He tells me. I slip out of them. On my shoulders, I carry a backpack. Sir packed it earlier. I don't know what's in it. I don't need to know, I guess. He stuffs my shorts in the backpack, giving my round, full ass a good airing. Then He pulls something over my head and the world goes dark: a hood. I recognize this. I've been here before. I've sat under His desk for hours, hooded and blind to the world, slurping mindlessly on his cock. The hood, to be honest, has turned into a security blanket. Behind it, I get to be a mindless cocksucker and fucktoy. A cool, firm sensation on my neck, and Sir's hands fiddling with it. A collar. Leather, I guess. "Lift your feet," He says. One by one I do, and He slips knee pads up over my legs. "Now." He pauses for a moment. He's near me, I can tell. He can't be more than a few feet away. I shift my feet nervously from one foot to another, and then stop, and stand at ease. I'm a good boy. I want to be a good boy. A smell. Chemical, not unlike poppers. Sir's hand on my shoulder, holding me in place. Then the feel of - yes, I can recognize this, too. A felt tip marker, a sharpie, neatly writing something across my chest - and then a long line that I'm sure must be an arrow pointing to my mouth. "Turn around," He says. Something more is written on my ass. He leaves his hand on my thigh for a moment, groping, squeezing. I release my at-ease posture and let my face fall into His shoulder, into that soft spot just above His chest, nuzzling in for the comfort and smell of him. Then I moan and squeal. While I nuzzled into Sir's chest, He reached down to the bulb tucked in the waistband of my jockstrap and gave it a squeeze. The plug in my hole inflated, just a bit, just enough to stretch me more. "You're not here to snuggle, boy," He said. "What am I here for, Sir?" He pushes me down to my knees, cuffs a hand behind my head and pulls it in to His crotch. He was wearing jeans when we left the house; I'm not sure what He's wearing now. The fabric is thin, and I can feel Sir's thick, hard Cock pulsing against it. "What do you see, boy?" He asks. "Your Cock." And I do - I picture the thick curve of it in the darkness behind the hood. "What do you smell, boy?" I nuzzle in again, this time drinking in the musk of His balls. "Your Cock, Sir." "What do you hear, boy?" I press my whole face into His crotch. If I try really hard, if I let my mind go absolutely empty of thoughts and really just devote the entire thing to listening, I'd swear I could hear His pulse beating in His Cock. "Your Cock, Sir," I whisper. "What are you thinking about, boy?" He asks. "Your Cock, Sir." And it's true. Listening to His Cock, it's all I'm thinking about now. "Good boy," He says. I hear the click of metal, then feel a tug on the collar around my neck. Sir has me on a leash. But He's in a kind mood. He doesn't pull me along behind Him, blindfolded and stumbling. He takes me by the arm and guides me through the crowd. You want this to be porno right away, don't you? I probably want it too. You want me to tell you that immediately men are sticking their fingers in my ass, feeling the edges of the plug, pushing me to my knees and pissing down my throat. I'd like that, too. But Sir takes His time, letting me settle in to the dark quiet cock-centered space where I live when I'm behind His hood. He wanders the stalls. He gets a beer, and tips the edge of it up to my mouth. I drink, but spill too much of it down my chest. He gives my ass a good-natured slap. I can't find my way through the crowd. I can't follow my own feet. I try to, for a little while. I stumble over them. I give up. I let Sir's hand on my arm guide me. I give up control. I stop thinking. I stop paying attention to the sounds of the fair. Now and then Sir talks to me; when He does, it's all that I hear. We stop for a little while at a booth, and Sir presses a glass bottle up beneath my nose. I smell leather, and then poppers, and then my knees go a little weak as Sir presses His fingers up against the plug in my ass, pushing it in deeper. He pumps the bulb again and it gets bigger and I collapse into Him, but it's fine, I'm poppered up and it's fine, and I've collapsed into Sir and He's got me. I hear someone speak. It's not Sir, so I don't pay attention. Sir speaks. "You can," He says. He's not talking to me, so I don't need to pay attention. I'm still poppered up, hooded, collapsing into Sir's chest. Sir's got me. I feel fingers at the edge of the plug; not Sir's. "Don't take it out," Sir says. He strokes my head, then pulls me into a headlock and holds me there. "Go on," He says. Something hits my ass, hard. If I think on it, maybe I could figure out what it was. Not a hand. Something hard and flat, but a bit flexible, so maybe - But it hits my ass again, and my thoughts blank out. I squirm on my heels and relax as Sir tightens the headlock. He shakes me a little. "I need you to count to ten, boy." I count. "One, Sir, thank you, Sir," then "Two, Sir, thank you, Sir," and on until ten, focusing my breathing, focusing on Sir, focusing on the way His pit smells as I'm locked beneath it, focusing on the Cock I know I will be serving, thinking about nothing. He warmed my ass up before we went out; I've already got a little surge of endorphins to ride. We keep walking the fair. Sir's hand is on my ass now, my red, hot ass. He gropes and squeezes it, and I moan a little bit, and sometimes He inflates the plug more. "Every time you moan, boy," Sir whispers in my ear, "I'm gonna make that plug a little bigger." I stop moaning. The plug already feels like it's pushing itself out of my ass, like something beyond any butthole's ability to hold. I don't want to risk making it even bigger. Sir talks to people. I don't listen. I am listening for the sound of Sir's pulse in His Cock, even though I'm standing upright, nowhere near it. If I just focus on Sir and Sir's Cock, though, if I just stop noticing any other sounds in the world, I'm sure I'll be able to hear it. "Knees," Sir says, and I drop instantly, obedient. Mindless. He leans down to me. I feel his breath in the tiny hairs on my ear. "Boy," He says, "my buddies don't need to wait all day for the Porta. But I'm not gonna walk around with you smelling like piss all day. So you can't let any of it get on you - got it?" I nod. "Yes Sir." I open my mouth and stick out my tongue. The soft spongy weight of a cock - not Sir's Cock - settles on the groove in the middle of my tongue. I wait, tongue out, eyes staring up to where the man's eyes would be. The second I feel the piss start, I close my lips gently around it and swallow it down in gulps. When he's finished, he shakes if off on my tongue. Then another man, and a third. By the end of it I feel piss-drunk, burping. Sir pulls me up to my feet. "Good boy," He says, and I know I'm a good boy because Sir called me a good boy, and that makes me a really goddamn happy boy, too. More walking. More of Sir talking. We're near a stage. The sun's beating down. Loud music pulses. "Knees." I drop. I open my mouth and a hard cock shoves in - not Sir's Cock, still. Thick, though, and pulsing, the kind that makes it right to the very back of your mouth, the place where your throat just starts to bend downward. The kind that you don't have to bend and contort to fit, where the fat spongy head blocks your airway just enough to remind you this guy could choke you if he wants. At first I stroke the base of the hard cock with my hands while I fuck my throat on it. Then Sir rummages in the backpack again. "Hands behind your back," He says, and cuffs them. Then the man takes me by the head and begins to fuck my throat for real. I choke and cough up thick gouts of saliva that run down my face and soak the hood. Beside me, I hear someone else slurping and choking. There's another boy beside me. There's another boy, and he's sucking Sir's Cock. That's good. Somebody needs to be worshipping Sir's Cock while my mouth is occupied. I let go and relax and become a fleshlight for the man fucking my throat. He doesn't cum; he just takes his time long-dicking my airway, pulling up gobs of spit. Eventually Sir pulls me to my feet, and we keep moving. You wanna hear more about the cocks that went into my throat? Sooner or later, you lose count, you know. At some point Sir stops pulling me by the leash and just lays his hand across the back of my neck, guiding me by my collar. He pushes me down to my knees again and again, and I suck cock. Sometimes I just slurp on a soft cock; sometimes I gargle my mouth full of balls. I'm a urinal a couple times more. A few guys cum, but most people are probably saving it for later. It's not my job to beg for cum. It's my job to please them. Sir keeps having fun with the plug. He waits until my throat is plugged full of cock, usually, then pushes hard on the buttplug or pumps it a little bigger. I squeal and squirm, feeling pinned by it, pinned by the cock in my throat, like a butterfly pinned in a box but pinned with - well, with cock. Pinned by cock in my throat onto the fat plug in my hole. Eventually I'm led to a cross. Sir uncuffs my wrists briefly, then splays me out spread-eagle across it. He works my ass and legs with a paddle, beating out quick crescendos of pain. I moan and yelp and cry, and I wiggle my ass, my ass that feels like it must be red hot, burning, a strange liquid fire of pain in it. Each time I go into the pain, I find Sir's Cock at the end of it. I think about Sir's Cock. I focus on Sir's Cock. Sir is in front of me. He's shushing me and stroking my hair. Someone else is hitting me, but Sir is stroking my hair, and I know that His Cock is just a couple feet from my mouth, and that if I could just get free of this cross I could get on my knees and suck Him down into my throat - Sir goes. Someone else is in front of me. Two fingers root around in my mouth, press down on my tongue, explore and fuck my throat. Someone is flogging me. I'm pretty sure it's my Sir. I'm going to believe it's my Sir. Even if it's not, He's the one who put me here - so it might as well be my Sir. And then I'm down off the cross, and Sir is holding me. And then I'm down on my knees, Sir's hand on top of my head. A bottle of poppers to my nose. I'm looking up at Him. I can't see Him, but I'm looking up at Him. Sir's Cock, the soft warm heavy length of it, flops onto my lips. I open my mouth with anxious speed, afraid I've missed His Cock, but He lifts it up and put it onto my tongue, and I suck Sir's cock into my mouth. "Slow," he says, and I slow down. I hold the head in my mouth and lick just underneath it. I stroke the shaft with my hands. I make my way slowly slowly down, slowly slowly letting His Cock inflate like the plug in my ass, slowly slowly letting Him explore the space inside my mouth, His mouth, my throat, His throat, letting Him stuff His Cock just past the point I could breathe. I kinda lost myself there for a while. I lived in the texture of Sir's Cock, the smell of Sir's Cock, the way my throat convulsed around Sir's Cock. I heard other people talk about me to Sir and I heard Sir talk to them as well, but nothing I heard stuck in my head for long. All there was was Sir's Cock. And then Sir's Cock, which was hard and raping my throat, was gone, and somebody else's cock was there. I sucked them with Sir's hand on the back of my neck, hanging limp from it when He grabbed the collar and steered me back onto His Cock, then another. And another. The feel of the rim of a glass bottle on my right nostril. My left nostril held shut by Sir's thumb. The command to breathe. Holding in the poppers. Letting them out as Sir steers my face back onto another man's cock. Melting onto the cock. Feeling Sir's hands on my hips as he pulls me up off my knees, still bent at the waist, latched on another man's cock. And then a sudden implosion of space, my hole howling open as Sir opens the valve on the buttplug and lets the air out of it. I grunt and I moan and without thinking I push and the whole plug comes out. My hole feels like it must be gaping open; like the lips of it must be pushing out; surely anyone there can see straight down inside me. I moan and start to pull the muscles of my hole back in, but Sir's fingers are there, tucked into my open hole. "Don't close up, boy," He says, and then He pushes a cock into me. Not His Cock. Another cock. The man ruts inside me and then Sir is in front of me, and His Cock is in my mouth, and I'm licking it and sucking it and holy fuck am I grateful to be here, to have Sir's Cock in my mouth, to be fucked and used on the street with my back and ass burning and a belly full of piss. I'm moaning around His Cock, choking and gagging. "Hold up, boy," He says, and pulls me upright. The man behind me staggers forward a bit as his cock pulls out of my hole. "Come on, boy," Sir says. "Somebody else needs to get whipped here." Sir leads me back through the crowd. What more do you want to hear? Sir takes the marker out and adds more words to my body. I can only imagine that they're invitations: hands touch me liberally in the crowd, and fingers sometimes trail into my wet, open hole, and sometimes Sir bends me over in the crowd and holds me in a headlock while a man ravages my hole. For a little while Sir keeps a ring gag in my mouth, and I take piss and cock from - well, who knows how many people? I exist only in the moment, at that point. There's just the cock that's in my mouth or ass at the moment, and no thought about it. There's a while that I'm on a bed in someone's house party, and then on a couch, and then - I think - out on their balcony, being fucked, being pimped out by Sir to whoever He wants. There's a moment walking home, after the fair has ended, that Sir talks to another man on the street, then pushes me to my knees in a side alley to take that man's piss and then - eventually, with some work - his cum. And then back at Sir's house again, there's a while that I spend flying high on poppers, Sir's hand buried in my ass to the wrist, rubbing my insides while He tells me I can take more. And then fucking my stretched out, worn out ass, feeling the sides of it rub against His thick Cock. Would you believe me if I told you we cuddled after? Of course we did. And in the night as we cuddled, He pushed His Cock back inside me, and fucked me until I could finally hear His heartbeat pulsing in His Cock.