Date: Thu, 20 Jan 2005 04:56:10 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Pleasure Slave, Part 14

PLEASURE SLAVE, By Pete Brown. petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories in
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories


Part 14

I guess that my experience with Master Jed and Master
Brett that led to my punishment did work to some
extent - it reminded me that there's more to being a
slave than just lying there and letting a guy fuck
you.  You have to have the right attitude -  some men
want you to be completely servile and humble and to
obey their every whim, whereas some men are prepared
to treat you almost as if you are "one of them" and
want a guy to behave in the same way as they are.
Actually, it's really hard for me to act in either of
these modes (especially the first):  when I'm having
sex I want to be in control;    it's me who makes the
running, who decides what we're going to do and how
we're going to do it.    When I was fucking the other
guys during the rest of my training that was the easy
part - when it was my turn to "top", it was really fun
and I did begin to wonder why I'd wasted all my life
chasing after women!  But when it was their turn to
fuck me, it was actually much harder - having to lie
there and do what the other guy said just didn't come
naturally to me.

Fortunately I had another session with Ray, kind,
considerate Ray, who really seemed to like sex, and to
understand guys.  Half way through fucking me he
suddenly stopped, looked down at me (he was taking me
in the missionary position, and his body loomed over
me), and said "Steve, you've got a real attitude
problem, haven't you?  You're lying there and not
enjoying it at all."

"I don't have to enjoy it... I'm letting you do it,
after all..."

"And that's the problem, Steve!  Any experienced guy
can tell when the one underneath isn't really enjoying
it!  I guess that's OK in 'real life' when you do hook
up from time to time with guys who don't enjoy your
attentions -  actually, it's quite exciting to carry
on fucking a guy against his will.  But we're supposed
to be pleasure slaves, to give the client a night of
total enjoyment!  How can we do that, if he senses
that we're not really turned on by what he's doing to
us?"

"But I don't like taking it, Ray..."

"Well, tough!  Look, Steve, at the end of every
session the client is asked to rate you.  If you fail
to get better than an average of three over the month,
then they punish you.  A three is supposed to be
'absolutely all right, nothing to complain about, a
good performance', and if the client senses that
you're just lying there, gritting your teeth and not
really participating, you'll be lucky if that's what
he'll give you. "

"So I'm OK then.  What's the problem?"

"The problem is, Steve, that we all have off days!
There'll always be a time when you're tired out from
working in the gym and get called to a client
unexpectedly, or when your ass is sore, or when you
really don't want to do what the guy wants - suppose
there's a huge fat guy (and most of our clients are on
the heavy side, as they don't exercise enough) and he
wants you to rim him, and it just makes you feel sick
to have to try to get your face between the huge
mounds of flabby ass cheek:  then you won't do a very
good job.  If he gives you a four, or, even worse, a
five, then you're in big trouble:  you've got to make
a two, or a one, to compensate and get your average
back.  Now it's not all that hard to get a two if
you're really bright and enthusiastic, but ones are
really hard to do - I mean, the definition is that the
performance was perfect, and couldn't be bettered:
not many clients are prepared to give that. So if you
ever get a five, in general you've got to make two
twos to break even again, and that's assuming you're
not already behind!  So my advice is not to risk it -
always aim to get a two, by being enthusiastic, rather
than a three, by just hating it;  that way, you'll
have some slack in the system and you won't get
punished."

"But I can't, Ray.  I hate it when a guy is fucking
me.  And there's no way I can make myself crawl to
them, and do everything a client says.... I'm a guy,
Ray, a tough, virile, guy, and I like to be in
charge..."

"Well, Steve, you're wrong:  you're not a 'guy' any
more, you're a slave!  So you'd better learn to curb
your feelings!  Look, it's only for a few months.
After that time you'll have some 'regulars' , and
'regulars' get to know the boys they like, and they
take advice from each other  Once it's known that you
like to be in charge, you will get more clients who
want a big strong man to do that.  But in the first
few weeks, as you're  'fresh meat' when clients want
to try you out, you'll get all sorts - the guys who
want you to take charge, and those who are always in
control.  So be careful, be very careful, as otherwise
those fours and fives will be coming thick and fast -
and, believe me, you don't want to be one of the guys
lined up for punishment at the end of the month!"

"But Ray...  I can't do it.  It's not natural for
me...."

"Don't be so fucking stupid, Steve!  You're a slave,
remember?  So start acting like one, or be prepared to
be punished like one!  Slaves don't have choice,
slaves do as they're told, and obey.  When you were a
free man you could pick up a guy in a bar and if you
didn't hit it off, where was the harm?  It might be
less than perfect sex, you might not both enjoy the
experience, and there'd be that awkward exchange at
the end, where neither of you really wants to suggest
that you swap numbers or whatever.... You know how it
is....."

"No I don't!  I never picked up guys... "

"Oh Steve, you really are stupid, aren't you?  You
missed out on all that fun...  What did you do at
college and immediately afterwards?"

"Well, women...."

"So you wasted all that effort chasing women, when,
with a body like yours, you could have gone to any bar
in the city and had endless sex whenever you wanted
it!  But that's not the point, really - there's a lot
of young guys who never even try out proper sex as
they're put off it by the endless propaganda from the
breeders, and you were one of them;  you'll just have
to accept that you wasted the best years of your life,
when you were at your horniest.  But you need to focus
on the here and now....  Whatever you think, stop it!
You're a slave, and slaves don't think, slaves 'do':
'do' as their owners tell them, and it's as simple as
that."

"But Ray, I don't like it... I don't like being
fucked...."

"Steve, I don't care!  And you shouldn't, either.
Slaves don't 'like' or 'dislike' - slaves obey.
Anyway, look, it's just my dick in your ass, where's
the harm in that?  What don't you like about it
anyway? I'm usually a pretty considerate guy, and I
don't usually hurt the guy I'm fucking...."

"No, Ray, you're not hurting... In fact, it actually
feels pretty good... I like the feel of your body
against mine, and the way you slide your dick in and
out, it kind of sends a shiver through me.... It's the
other thing..."

"What other thing, Steve?"

"Well, you're fucking me, right?  You're taking away
my manhood.  A man isn't supposed to take dick up the
ass...."

"Stop right there, Steve!  Where on earth did you get
all that crap from?"

"Well everyone knows that...."

"No, Steve, everyone doesn't 'know' that.  It's just
the propaganda put around by the breeders and the
churches and all that stuff.  Look, nothing two guys
choose to do together can demean either of them, or
'take away their manhood' or any shit like that!  It
really makes me mad when I hear guys talk like that,
especially sane, educated guys like you!  I almost
expect it from Seth: before he was enslaved he was
brought up in the backwoods in Arkansas or somewhere,
but you're supposed to be an educated, liberal kind of
guy!  You surely don't believe all the juju in the sky
crap put around by the religionists, do you?"

I shook my head, so Steve went on "Well then why do
you believe any of the propaganda they put about
that's bout sex between guys?  You're just a typical
product of our bigoted society, Steve - you missed out
on sex big time until you came here:  all those years
jerking off alone and chasing women for the occasional
fuck, when you were surrounded by buddies who you
could have had a really great time with:  mutual jerk
off sessions at school, gang bangs at college with the
other guys in the team, lots of fucking as a
good-looking single guy on the loose in the city when
you started working... You missed out on all of that,
as so many young guys do, and now you still feel
guilty about proper sex!  It just shows how insidious
all that propaganda is, and how deeply it's engrained
in you.  The only mystery is why you still believe it
- you've told me that you think all the religious crap
is just that - well, I'd expect that, as you're an
educated guy.  But you still believe the rest of it."

"No, I don't... It's just that, well, I like to be in
control, I like to take charge...."

"Well that's the bit you're going to have to curb,
whilst you're a slave!  How old are you, and how
long's your sentence?"

"Twenty eight, and I've got ten years...."

"Well then, you'll still be a young guy when you're
free, and then you can do what you like.  In fact,
with your looks, and a fit body, there'll be a queue
of guys who would just love to have that dick of yours
in them.... But until then, you've got to smart acting
- and thinking - like a slave, and if the client wants
you to take charge, that's fine.  But if he wants you
to obey his every whim, and just lie there whilst he
fucks the shit out of you, then that's got to be fine,
too!  You don't have any choice in this, Steve -
slaves don't have choices."

I would have gone on arguing with him, but as he
finished talking he pulled his hips back and thrust
his dick hard into me.  That shiver of sensation, that
unique mixture of pain and pleasure as a guy really
rams you, ran through me, and I just moaned in
delight.  Then, with his usual skill, Ray carried on
and my mind was so totally taken up with what my body
was experiencing that I lost the ability to hold a
line of thought.

_____________________________

There was another inspection and "trial" at the end of
my month - Master Brett inspected my progress sheet to
make sure that I had done all my training, and Master
Jed did a more practical test - he took two hours to
give me a really good working over, when I had to suck
him, rim him, and then be fucked by him, whilst all
the time he pinched my tits, and slapped me at key
moments, to gauge my reaction.

I 'passed', anyway, and I was ready for my first
client... And that was a bit of a surprise.  In the
last days of my training I'd been wondering what it
would be like to be going to one of the fancy hotels
to have sex with a guy I'd never met.  They were
pretty relaxed about slaves going out (escape in our
society, where you can't do anything without valid ID,
isn't really possible, after all), and so I used to go
running in the city parks rather than on the running
machines at base, and they thought that this was a
good thing as the muscles you get from the sheer
variety of natural running are better than those from
always using the same artificial track, and as I ran
past the other men who were out exercising, I always
speculated on what it would be like to go with them.
I mean, I was probably the only slave out running -
you could tell that as I was the only one whose dick
was almost exposed by the skimpy shorts he wore, and
the only one whose cuffs, collar and nose ring glinted
in the sunshine - as the rest of them looked like
businessmen from the fancy hotels who were doing some
sort of obligatory "work out regime".  Most of them
were overweight, and none of them was actually
running, as I was:  no really fast pace, no sweat
pouring off them, no real struggle to maintain the
pace as they went up hill.  No, they were 'jogging',
and some of them even had enough breath to spare to be
able to talk to their buddies.

Anyway, as these guys went past me, I tried to imagine
how I'd feel if I went up to their rooms, had to strip
my clothes off, and then stand there as they ran their
podgy hands all over me.   Would the want to kiss me,
forcing their tongues in my mouth, or would they just
order me to bend over so they could fuck me?  Would I
have to pretend to want to play with their disgusting
bodies.....  And so it went on. No one had ever
thought to even mention this sort of stuff to me - I
think they were all so used to fucking guys that it
was "obvious" to them what to do, rather like ski
instructors who have been born in the mountains can't
understand why you have so much difficulty skiing at
first.

When Master Brett therefore told me that I was ready
for my first client, I was kind of trembling inside.
I'd got to really like having sex with my fellow
slaves (well, as long as I could fuck them, and not
the other way around), but now this was going to be
totally different:  the other guy wouldn't be fit and
strong, as they were;  and, of course, I was going to
be evaluated on my performance!  It's one thing to
fuck away and occasionally have an off night, but
quite another to always have to turn in a "perfect"
performance as you're being judged as you do it!

As it happens my first experience was worse even than
I could ever have imagined.  It was a Thursday night -
our busiest, as a lot of businessmen on the road all
week were really ready for sex by then - and so a lot
of the "regular" clients were in town.  As a change
from straight sex, Master Brett had therefore arranged
a "reception" for them - all those who were in town
and who had expressed an interest in fucking the new
stock had been invited to canapés and drinks, and the
main reception area on our floor was buzzing with
conversation as the guys milled around - many still in
their conservative business suits as they'd come
straight from meetings and so on.

I'd been told nothing of this, and had understood that
it was just a "regular" assignment.  I went through
the proscribed process of shaving carefully (that
stubble that no-one likes!), cleaning myself out
thoroughly inside until the water ran clean, then
lubing my hole thoroughly.  Finally, I'd pulled on the
normal shorts (which I was getting so used to now that
I scarcely noticed that my body was obscenely on
display through them), and put on the outdoor uniform.
 I haven't told you about this before, but it was the
practice to give us clothes to wear on top of the
shorts so that if we were with the client in an
elevator, or something, it wouldn't necessarily be
apparent that he was with a slave (except that not too
many free men who can afford to stay at those luxury
hotels have rings through their noses!).  They were
pretty basic - just a sweat top that you could easily
strip off, and track pants - but with wide legs, so
that they, too, could be easily kicked aside.

You went to the slave at reception to pick up the
details of your assignment, so I made my way there, to
find the crowd waiting - there must have been twenty
guys in all.  Master Brett saw me, clinked a knife
against his glass to attract everyone's attention,
then announced "And so, gentlemen, as our special
thanks to you all for being such loyal clients, here's
your first opportunity to see the exciting new
property, Steve!"

Everyone turned to look at me, and I felt so odd just
standing there being observed.  "Up on the table,
Steve...", Master Brett hissed at me, pointing to one
of the low tables that graced the reception area.
"Everyone wants to see you, and if you get up there,
it will be easier for our guests..."

I went to climb onto the table, but he snapped "No,
idiot!  Take those trainers of first....", so I kicked
my shoes off, and stepped up.  I remember feeling the
cold glass of the table against my bare feet - or
perhaps it  was the contrast between that and the heat
I was experiencing from the flush of my blood, as I'd
started to blush with embarrassment."

"Now, Steve", Master Brett went on, "Let's let the
clients see you properly.... Take off your outdoor
clothes...."

Look, it's normally no big deal to take off a
sweatshirt and sweat pants, is it?  I mean, even as a
free man I'd done it hundreds of times before in the
changing room at my sports club, and at the pool, and
at places like that.  But as I pulled the sweatshirt
over my head, I just knew all those guys were looking
at me - well, I guess at the pool or club there would
be guys looking at me, too:  I've got a nice body, and
people have always naturally sneaked a look at me as I
strip off - but this was different:  these guys were
completely open about it, not looking away if I
glanced in their direction as normal guys would;  and,
of course, I knew why they were looking at me - they
were sizing me up as a potential fuck toy!  I felt my
blush deepening, the colour spreading over my
shoulders and my pecks.

There were mutters of interested comment from the
watching men as my torso was revealed, and Master
Brett went on "Now the pants, Steve - these guys want
a look at those legs of yours!"

So I stood there, and pushed the pants down - and even
with the wide legs, it's awkward, isn't it?  You end
up balancing on one foot whilst you pull them over the
other, then have to repeat it.  And, of course, I knew
that these manoeuvres really exposed me to the gaze of
the watching men - the shorts were so tiny and so thin
that as I moved around undressing, they afforded me no
protection at all - I felt a painful squeeze as the
fabric tightened even further over my balls, and so I
knew that my tackle must be totally outlined to the
watchers, and I felt the cool of the room air on the
top couple of inches of my ass crack as the already
low waistband was pulled down further.

"So, gentlemen, do you like what you see?"

There was a chorus of whistles and shouts, and some of
the men shouted "No, we want to see all of him!"

Master Brett held up his hands to quell the noise, and
made a little speech as I stood there, with all their
eyes on me.  "Gentlemen, valued clients, thank you so
much for coming here this evening.  As you can see
already, in the flesh Steve is even more desirable
than he is in the pictures on our website, and I know
a lot of you have tried to book him for his first
time:  he's not a virgin, of course, as we pride
ourselves in only offering slaves who have received
the most thorough training.  But there is something
special, isn't there, about being the first to own a
new model car, or the first to see a play, or to get
to a rave new restaurant?  So I know you're all eager
to be the first to experience this unbelievable piece
of man flesh, but, sadly, there's only one of you who
can be the 'first time' for a newly-arrived slave."

"We were in a real quandary:  we don't want to upset
any of you as you are out most valued clients, those
regular customers who come to us week after week.  But
at the same time we can't clone Steve - and we will
not, of course, relax our rule about only one client
using a slave before that slave is thoroughly checked
out to ensure he is still clean, wholesome and
healthy.  We know that that is why most of you men
continue to use us - your 'user comments' tell us over
and over again that, like all men, you prefer the feel
of raw dick on raw ass, and that you do not want to
have to be concerned with attempting to protect
yourselves with those disgusting condoms - real men,
as we all are, fuck raw!"

There were shouts and cheers from the men as he said
this.  Master Brett allowed the noise to subside a
little, then went on "So to try to be fair to
everyone, tonight we are not going to hire Steve out
to any one of you.... We are instead going to raffle
him!  We'll strip Steve off completely in a moment,
then he'll go around the room so that all of you can
inspect him properly and at least have a little
pleasure immediately from this gorgeous hunk, and
those of you that want to fuck him tonight should give
him one of your business cards.  We'll then put all
the cards into a bowl, and Steve will draw out a lucky
winner - a winner who, gentlemen, will not only get
first use of Steve, but will receive it absolutely
free of charge, with our compliments!"

There was more whistling and cheering at this, and I
was almost rigid with shock:  I mean, it's one thing
to be sold, I suppose... But to be the prize in a
raffle, it's just not really on, is it?  But there was
nothing I could do about it, and Master Brett leaned
towards me so that I could hear and said "Right, Steve
- shuck those shorts, pose for a couple of minutes to
let them get a good look at you, then get down and
circulate!"

I didn't have any choice, did I?  I just had to stand
there and push my shorts down and step out of them, as
the men continued to clap and whistle as all my body
was exposed to them.  Look, I've never been
particularly body shy, and after all the exercise in
the past month my body was, if anything, better than
ever.  I knew I'd always had a dick most guys envied,
and I have to admit that even I thought it now looked
better after I'd been 'skinned (although I still
thought I'd lost out when it came to jerking off),
and I'd spent a lot of time completely naked with a
whole group of other guys in the past month.  And, of
course, after all that time on the sunbed, my skin was
a rich dark tan, and the tiny Speedos had left a most
interesting white area over my butt and pubes:  I
looked the picture of masculine health and virility.
So why was I now so completely ashamed, embarrassed,
worried, angry.... at having to expose myself to this
audience?

I wanted to shout and scream at them, tell them they
were all fucking perverts, that they had no right to
do this to a guy.  I felt a red mist of rage building
in my head, and involuntarily my fists clenched at my
side.  I broke out into a sweat, all over me, and my
whole torso and face felt as if it was on fire with
the blood coursing through it (in anger, or in shame?
I can't really say.).   I was going to do it, honestly
I was - fuck the punishment I'd get, it would be worth
it to tell these creeps something about themselves.
But then I remembered the kinds of stuff Ray had said
about slaves not having feelings, about how I had to
damp down my natural instincts whilst I was a slave.
I remembered how slaves could be 'calmed' by taking
their balls.  I suspected that an outburst now would
mean I'd never get any clients, and then they'd sell
me on - and I suspected a lot of slave jobs would be
worse, much worse, than this.

It's the mark of a civilised man, isn't it, that he
can control his temper and act rationally even when
all his instincts tell him to do something else?  I
guess I'd always prided myself on being able to think
my way through things, and not act like some hothead
if someone gave me the finger in traffic, or whatever.
 So I made huge efforts, took a deep breath, told
myself to calm down, and apart from the pounding of
blood in my temples, I managed to keep myself in
check. There was no point in messing up the rest of my
life just for this, was there?  I was a slave, and I
had to learn to accept that sometimes slaves have to
do things that free men probably would not.

It actually takes courage, I think, to be able to do
what others might see as "yellow".  I'm sure that some
of you are thinking that there's just no way that
you'd have got down off that table, "fluffed" your
dick to free it from being stuck to our balls, and
start to make your way around the room.  It seems to
you that I gave in, and you'd have told them to fuck
off, and then taken the consequences, whatever they
were.  But that's not my way - it was tough and
difficult to do it, but I did:  I made a decision, in
my long-term interests, rather than just worrying
about the "now".

I'd been "inspected" before, when I'd first been sold.
 But these guys were experts, connoisseurs of the male
form who knew exactly what they were looking for in a
slave they wanted to fuck.  I'd thought a lot of the
men who came to my first sale were only there for fun,
a bit of amusement; or  sad guys who just wanted to
feel the flesh of another man when they knew that in
the ordinary course of events they'd never manage to
handle such a fine piece of manhood.  So at my initial
inspection it had all been pretty cursory, and other
than the shock and outrage of feeling all those hands
over me, at having my balls hefted and my 'skin rolled
back, it had been pretty mild.

These men, though, knew what they wanted - they needed
to assess the kind of fuck I was going to be.  Of
course they felt my muscles - all of them.  And they
ran their hands over my body generally, commenting
that it was nice to have a bit of hair here and there.
 But they went further, as they tried to assess how I
reacted to sex.  It wasn't enough to press their
fingers into my pecs to feel my muscles:  they needed
to tweak my nips to see how I reacted.  They didn't
just want to cup my balls in their hands - they needed
to hold them, to tease them apart with their fingers,
to squeeze them gently, whilst looking in my eyes to
see how I reacted.  My dick was erected, of course -
after the first few seconds, I was hard for the whole
of the rest of the time;  but they wanted to really
stroke it, to run a finger nail over my flange and
watch as I tried to stop myself from pulling away from
them.  They scratched gently at my piss slit whilst
running another finger nail lightly over my ass hole,
so that shiny drops of pre-cum came out, which they
could take between their fingers and smell.  And, of
course, they fingered my hole!

I was bent over clutching my ankles at least half the
time, whilst fingers probed deep into me.  And then,
of course, they wanted to see how I sucked - so these
very same fingers, with the lube and my sweat and ass
juice on them, were gently pushed between my lips so
that I could demonstrate how I could caress them with
my lips and tease them with my tongue.  Actually, I
find something vaguely demeaning about this - I don't
know why, but having to kneel down whilst  guy holds
your head and proffers his fingers for you to nuzzle
and suck is worse than actually sucking his dick!  I
mean, when you've got a guy's dick in our mouth, you
are at least having proper sex, aren't you?  But when
he's making you suck his fingers, he's just
demonstrating that he's controlling you.

It seemed to go on for hours and hours.  The guys were
all drinking steadily - young Gary was there walking
around with a tray of drinks, and clad only in a tiny
loin cloth that barely concealed his oversized dick
and which left the rest of him totally bare;  I
couldn't help noticing as I stood there being subject
to all my on indignities that most of the men couldn't
help but cup his bare butt in their hands as they took
a drink, or pulled his loin cloth to one side to sneak
a peak at him as he stood there.   Gary's stoic
acceptance somehow made my own inner rage seem pretty
futile.  And as they drank, so the men  got less and
less inhibited, and soon  the gentle stroking of my
dick became a full scale jerk-off:  one guy ordered me
to kneel onto the table where I had been standing,
then, as all the others watched, he quickly and
efficiently jerked me off so that my cum shot in a
long, white viscous streak all over the glass in front
of me.    A whole lot more cheering the, and I saw
several of the men testing the consistency of my
emission with their thumbs and forefingers, and
nodding to each other as they evidently discussed its
quality!

After a time, though, as these things do, interest
began to die down, and Master Brett announced it was
time for the draw.  I had to walk around the men
again, feeling my dick swaying in front of me, and
collect their business cards, and Master Brett put
them into a glass bowl and stirred them around.

"Right, Steve.... Come over here and choose a card:
we're all waiting to see which of these lucky men gets
to fuck your ass tonight!"  Even though I hated being
"raffled" like this, I just had to do as I was told.

Actually, I had it easy that first time - although he
was running to flab a bit, the guy who "won" me was
fairly big and kind of handsome.  Mind you, he'd had a
lot to drink by the time the selection had been made,
and it was agreed that we'd use one of the private
rooms at base, rather than going back to his hotel.  I
had to half lead him, half drag him there, his arms
wrapped around my shoulders for support, and once in
the room I wondered what to do next.  I was already
naked, as there had been no time to put even my shorts
on once the selection had been made, and I now felt
very vulnerable somehow, in a one-on-one situation
with this guy in his smart suit, silk tie and all the
rest - funny, isn't it:  you can get to feeling OK
about being naked, but change the environment, or have
the other guy dressed whilst you're nude, and it feels
totally strange!

He wasn't so drunk that he couldn't perform, though,
as he reached down and grabbed my balls, and started
to stroke my dick.  I almost had to help him stand
there to stop him from falling over, and I got the
full  force of the alcohol on his breath as his head
came down and he started to kiss me, plunging his
tongue violently in and out of my mouth.  I pushed him
away after a while, I led him to the bed and sat him
down, then knelt in front of him to take off his shoes
and socks.   He reached out and pulled my face down
into his crotch, and it was rather like that first day
again with Master Brett - that distinctive smell of
sweat and dried piss  that always seems to hand around
a guy's fly.  He was stroking my head almost
desperately, and I could feel his dick twitching under
his clothes.  I moved my head away therefore, opened
his fly, and let his dick break free:  it was pretty
nice, actually - big, like he was, and properly
proportioned, if you know what I mean (some guys have
dick heads that are somehow thinner than the shaft,
and I think they look a bit ridiculous, personally).

Well, what else was  I supposed to do?  I went down on
him, and started to suck and tease his dick with my
lips and tongue, in the way I'd learned.  At the same
time, I felt his naked feet on me - the toes on one
foot were probing around my asshole as I knelt there,
and the other was almost caressing my balls, so as you
can guess, I was rock hard, too.

He seemed to like what I was doing and made no attempt
to stop me - in fact, he was pulling my head down on
to his dick, and if I hadn't been trained to take it,
I'm sure I would have been gagging and spluttering.
It didn't take long, though, before I got that
characteristic hint of salt as his pre-cum started to
flow, and I carried on with renewed vigour for about a
minute more, with him groaning in ecstasy as his
climax approached, and finally he shot his load into
my mouth.  That seemed to exhaust him, as he just lay
back then, his arms sprawling above his head on the
bed, his dick still sticking out of his fly as it
gradually subsided.

I didn't really know what to do then.  Was I supposed
to have let him cum?  I mean, he wouldn't be able to
fuck now, would he?   I just knelt there, his naked
feet now almost locked around my dick and balls,
looking at his softening dick and wondering what the
fuck to do.  But fortunately the matter was resolved,
as after a few minutes he sat up, looked at me, naked
in front of him, and smiled.  "Pretty good, boy!  I'll
book you again, I think...."

"I think the prize is all night, sir.... Do you want
to get into bed...? "

"Hell, no!  I've got a conference call early in the
morning, and I need some sleep. I wouldn't get much
sleep with a stud like you in the same bed.... And,
anyway, my wife doesn't like me spending the night
with a guy.  A quick fuck with a slave is OK, but
spending the night is too much."  He looked at his
expensive gold watch, then muttered "Shit!  And it's
eleven already."

"Do you want to freshen up then... Shower?"

"You bet, boy - the thought of having that body of
yours next to me in the shower is pretty appealing.
But I've got not time.  Get me a cab, will you, as I
don't want to risk walking back to the hotel this late
- I assume there are muggers and stuff."

I could hardly believe he could be so casual about the
whole thing, even to the point where his wife knew!
He seemed happy enough, so I left him there, went back
to reception, and the slave on duty knew exactly what
to do - the guy was a regular, after all, and it seems
we had a special cab company who we always used for
clients like this.

I went back to the room and the guy seemed to have
recovered completely, in the way that some guys who
drink too much can.  Other than the smell of alcohol
about him, he looked stone cold sober and as well as
putting his dick away, he'd straightened his tie and
combed his hair.  Still naked, I led him out to the
elevators, and as he turned to get in, he opened his
wallet and took out a fifty.

"Here, boy, for you....", he said, then looked at my
naked body.  "It's traditional to tuck this into the
slave's pocket, you know... So in your case, turn
around...."   I wondered what he was about, but did as
I was told, then I felt his hand on my naked butt, and
the rolled up fifty was teased down my ass crack.

"There you go, Steve.... Treat yourself!  I'll see you
again...."

The elevator door closed, and I turned around to see
the reception slave laughing, as I fiddled around to
get the fifty out of my crack.  "Mistake number one
though, Steve", he said.  "You didn't get him to
complete an evaluation form.... When a guy gives you
fifty, he's pretty pleased with you, and he'd probably
give you a two, and who knows when you'll need that!"


End Of Part Fourteen