Date: Mon, 24 Jan 2005 02:47:51 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Pleasure Slave, Part 15

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

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


Part 15

After that evening of utter humiliation, at least I
got to sleep by myself.  I then discovered just how
slickly the whole operation really worked:  the next
morning, as I had been with a client, I had to line up
with the other guys and a nurse from some sort of
private slave medicine organisation arrived and took
blood from each of us, and then a penis swab.  If
you've ever had one of these, you'll know how
unpleasant this is - she had something that looked a
bit like a cotton bud, took my dick in her hand,
pressed the head to get my piss slit to open up, and
swabbed around with the cotton bud - I squirmed with
the sensation, which is pretty unpleasant as those of
you who have had to have a dick swab will know, and
asked Ray, who was standing next to me in line, if it
was always like this.

"Yes, Steve.  But you do get used to it as it happens
after every time you've been with a client - and it's
nice to have a chick handling your dick for a change,
isn't it?"

After that, the whole day was "free time" as we
weren't allowed to go with another client until the
results of the blood test and penis swab were
available, which wasn't until the next day.  Of course
the time wasn't really "free", as I had to keep up my
quota of working out in the gym and topping up my tan,
but I used the morning to go for a really long run.
On the way back I stopped by the Post Office, as I
wanted to pay my fifty in before it got lost - or, I
suppose, spent, although there was nothing I needed to
buy:  clothes were obviously pointless, and we were
strictly forbidden to eat anything other than the
slave chow, for health reasons, and so the food stores
were out too.

I bounded up the steps of the Post Office, and a guard
at once stepped in front of me, blocking the way.
"Where are you going, fucking slave?"

I knew enough to be polite to any free man by now,
especially those in a uniform, so I said "Sir, just to
make a deposit in the savings bank..."

"Slaves enter by the rear door, even if they're on
business for their masters!", he snapped.

"But surely the postal service is open to everyone,
you can't discriminate...."

"Boy, you heard me!  Get your ass off these steps
where decent folk are entering, and take yourself off
around to the rear.  The great US postal service is of
course available to everyone, and it absolutely
doesn't discriminate:  we're proud of our minorities,
disabled and equal opportunities records.  But you're
a fucking slave, and you don't count!  We treat all
men equally, without discrimination, but you should
know by now that slaves are not men - we don't serve
dogs, or horses, either!"

I was beginning to understand just how deep seated
this "slavery" thing had gone - I guess that back in
the nineteenth century the US postal service said it
didn't discriminate, either, but it didn't serve black
guys as they were not "proper people".  Now it was
treating me differently because I was a "slave", and I
reckoned someone ought to tell them that I wasn't a
"slave", that's just the popular usage - I was, after
all, an indentured servant and I would become a free
man again in ten years.  But the guard was beginning
to look cross as I stood there, and snapped "Boy, if
you don't stop obstructing the decent folk who want to
use the service, I'll cuff you, take you around the
back myself, and give you a few stripes across that
ass of yours - you can then tell your owner when you
get home about your bad behaviour."

He looked serious, so I kind of shrugged, went down
the steps, and around to the rear.  Unlike the front,
where the wide steps ran up to big double doors set in
bronze frames, the rear entrance was small and
miserable.  A queue of five slaves was already waiting
there, and I realised soon enough that only one slave
at a time was let into the building:  in the middle of
winter queuing here would be pretty uncomfortable, as
it would if it were raining.  It seemed to move at a
snail's pace, and it must have taken thirty minutes
before I was finally allowed to enter.

Behind the counter was one of those late middle aged
women with a hard face who have nothing in life to
enjoy except causing misery to others.  She glared at
me, and I said "I'd like to make a deposit in the
special social servant savings account, please."

"Boy, it's not a question of what you'd like!  Here at
this US Post Office we expect slaves to be respectful
to the employees - we have the power to order the
guards to punish you if you're not.  Slaves ask
permission of free people, and they don't make
demands!  You should ask me if you could make a
deposit, not tell me that you'd like to make one.
Now, get out of here, and don't come back until you've
learned some respect."

"But I only wanted...."

"Do I need to call the guard, boy?"  She was glaring
at me, and the only thing I could do was to slink away
and leave.  I spoke to some of the slaves in the
queue, and learned the correct form. Then I had
another thirty minute wait before I was again inside
and at the counter.

"Please, ma'am, I began, and waited until she
acknowledged me.  "May I make a deposit into my social
servant savings account?"

"That's better, boy!  What's your number?"

"Please, ma'am, I don't remember... Can you look it
up?  I'm Steve Masters....."

"You slaves are always trying to cause work for free
people!  Just this once I'll get your number, but in
future you had better know it off by heart.  And
you're not 'Steve Masters' or any other name like that
- the Social Servant Savings System only records your
SIN, as many masters choose to re-name their social
servants during their servitude, and the names they
were known by before are irrelevant.  Now, lift up
your arm...."

I'd forgotten almost, as the trauma of having the
giant "Slave" and "Steve" tattooed on me had been so
great, but at the same time they'd tattooed my
ten-digit Servant Identification Number under my arm,
high up in my pit.  The idea was, I suppose, that
masters who didn't want their servants visibly
tattooed need never see it normally, but that police
or members of the Servant Security Corps could always
identify a slave quickly and easily.  I suppose I'd
noticed it on the other guys as we'd showered
together, or I was right close to, sniffing or licking
their pits, but it was  so much "part of life" that it
was easy to overlook it.  Actually, they didn't just
tattoo your number there - underneath it was another
one, being those kind of barcodes that they put on all
the stuff in stores and markets.

The woman leaned forward holding her portable barcode
reader, and "scanned" me.  It made me feel just like
some sort of piece of merchandise, rather than a human
being.  They had no right to mark men like animals or
stuff in stores!  But, on the other hand, I guess it
was convenient - I'd always had problems remembering
my Social Security number when I was free, and had to
have it on a slip of paper in my wallet - at least
this way there was no way I could go out without it or
forget it!

The clerk's screen beeped, she looked at it and said
"Yes, I believe you're the slave I have here...."  I
could see the screen, obliquely, and at once started
to blush:  my SIN had called up the pictures from the
central database, and of course those picture were the
ones of my full frontal back and front shots.  I could
see the woman's eyes raking my body in its skimpy
shorts and tight top, and she went on "You're one
handsome buck, I must say!  But perhaps I'd better
check completely, as the US Postal Service can't be
too careful in its trusteeship of Social Servants'
funds - we have a responsibility to keep them safe,
for when your period of indenture is over.  Perhaps
I'd better check your body completely against the
picture.... So just drop those shorts, boy, so I can
get a proper look..."

"Please, ma'am.... I'm sure I am the guy you have
there.... Surely the US Postal Service doesn't require
men to be humiliated...."

"Boy, you're in serious danger of having me call the
guard to punish you!  Your reluctance to present
yourself for a positive identity check makes me think
that you might be trying to impersonate a slave.... "

"Look, forget it...."

"Not so fast, boy!  You can't just walk out of here
now.  In fact, wanting to implies that you are up to
no good.  Now, drop those shorts whilst I check...."

"NO, ma'am, I'm out of here...."

She reached down and pressed something, and a siren
started.  Two guards rushed in, holding those prod
things in front of them.  They looked at me and held
them pointed towards me, as the woman said "Officers,
this boy here is potentially trying to defraud the US
Post Office... He refuses to strip so that I can
properly verify his identity against the Social
Servant database..."

"Is that so, boy?", one of the guards growled.  "We
don't like uppity slaves here.  This is US Government
property, and slave scum needs to behave....   Now,
hands behind your head...."

He waved his prod at me as he said this, so I stood
there and did as he'd said.  The other guard came and
stood behind me, then just pulled my shorts down to my
knees. I felt utterly humiliated by this, having  a
man strip me like that in front of this middle-aged
woman, but worse was to come... He casually reached
around my body and sort of "flipped up" my dick, from
where it had been pressing against my balls.  Only I
had ever done that, and even in a public changing room
I'd kind of turned away from the other guys as I did
it.

All three of them were clearly enjoying the spectacle,
and the first guard said "So, is he an impostor, or
have you seen enough?"

The woman laughed.  "Yes, I've seen enough.  And I
guess that's all I'm going to do, get a look at him!
He looks like some high-class piece of slave flesh to
me, so I don't suppose his owner would lend him out to
a bored, lonely lady like me...."

".... Or a bored, lonely guy like me, either!", the
guard added.

"Right, boy, how much do you want to deposit?"  The
woman asked.

I went to pull up my shorts, but the guard put out a
hand to stop me.  "Fucking slave, answer a free person
when she asks you a question!"

"Please, ma'am, fifty."

I had to stand there whilst she tapped away into her
screen.  In my free life I'd sometimes seethed with
rage as I'd had to queue in a Post Office then had
surly officials deal with my business in a way that no
commercial organisation would allow its staff to do,
but this really was the end - as a slave I knew I had
no rights, and there wasn't even anyone I could
complain to about their attitude.

All three of them were enjoying my evident discomfort,
and the guard asked "Do you need him erect, to make a
final check?"

The woman peered at me, then told the guard "No, the
size of that thing - it's scary enough like that.  If
you erected him, there'd be no room in here for all of
us!"

They all laughed, and with a gesture of dismissal I
knew I could pull up my shorts, and still blushing,
but now seething with anger inside, too,  I was able
to leave.  Back at base I told some of the other guys
about this, and they all laughed.  "Don't worry, Steve
- it's just a little ritual hazing", Ray told me.
"The first time we all went in there to add to our
accounts we had to strip, but it's only a bit of fun
for her - it's not great just doing a job like that,
day in and day out, you know.  She's OK, actually - be
properly respectful next time you go in, and she'll
just take the money and you'll be straight out."

"Yes, but why...?"  I asked.  I wished I could be as
calm and placid as Ray!

"Why not?  Look, Steve, you forget:  she's a free
woman, the guards are free men:  people in those kinds
of position in government service often exercise petty
little tyrannies over ordinary citizens at the best of
times - give them a bit of power, a set of rules, and
a uniform, and they're off!  But when they're
presented with a Social Servant, one with no power, no
rights... Well, what do you expect?  Just learn to put
up with it - nothing you or I can do can change the
system, you know."

Ray didn't seem particularly worried about it, and
most of the other guys seemed to expect to be treated
this way, so I kind of forgot it for the time being -
but it didn't seem right, somehow: I mean, guys have
to be punished, sure.  And Social Service is a whole
lot better way of making the guilty serve society,
rather than have theme locked up in prison.  But why
all this humiliation too?  I guess I hadn't yet
understood that it's a basic thing in the human
personality - those in charge get a bigger kick if
they can also humiliate the people they're in charge
of - being able to order things just isn't enough for
some people, they have to rub your nose in it, too.

___________________________

I guess I was lucky with my first few clients.  None
of them wanted to do anything particularly kinky, and
I didn't even get fucked.  They were mostly older
guys, who just wanted to play with my body a bit, then
do some mutual jerking off.  Then one night the
receptionist told me that I'd been booked for a new
client, and when I asked who he'd been with before so
I could go and ask the guys what he was like, I was
told that he had not done business before.  "Mind
you", the slave told me, "He must be fairly high-up in
his corporation, as he's on the executive floor of the
Towers - and you usually have to be a senior VP to
justify that kind of expenditure."

I therefore went off expecting another easy ride -
senior VPs were probably older, and  he'd be like my
first few clients.  A bit of fumbling around, a quick
jerk off, and I'd be back before ten, I thought.  The
doorman and concierge at the Towers were pretty snooty
as usual - it wasn't my fault, after all, that one of
their guests had decided he wanted to call in a
pleasure slave!  They insisted that I take the fire
stairs up to the  thirty-sixth floor, as slaves were
not allowed to mingle with the guests in the
elevators, and I had to be pretty forceful on
insisting that they let me through to use the service
elevators instead, pointing out their guest would
hardly be pleased if I couldn't perform!  (well, I was
as insistent  as a slave could be when dealing with a
free man - you could tell that the Towers was a real
swanky place, as the doorman and concierge were both
free men and not slaves, as you might expect in these
kind of jobs).

I knocked at the door of the suite, and it was opened.
 There was a guy in his mid-thirties there, talking on
the phone.   He waved me in, still talking, and
carried on with his conversation for what must have
been at least thirty minutes.  I guessed I was going
to be in trouble:  he sounded pretty forceful as he
harangued and snapped at the people at the other end
of the line, and he sounded as if he was used to
giving orders, and to being obeyed.  And he was in
pretty good shape, too:  he was wearing a loose sweat
top and as he spoke, he occasionally reached up under
it to stroke his belly, revealing a pretty firm six
pack.  This was not going to be an easy jerk-off
session:  this guy would, I thought, expect to fuck,
and to fuck hard.  I  kind of tried to push these
thoughts from my brain - after all, it was going to
happen one day, sooner rather than later, that I was
going to get fucked, and he looked a nice enough guy
at least.

I'd been standing up, trying not to look nervous, and
trying not to look as if I was prying into his affairs
as he was speaking - you know how it is, you can focus
your eyes on the mid-distance and not keep staring
around:  that way it doesn't look as if you're prying,
or listening.  When he did finish he did something
none of the other clients had done - he almost strode
across the room, with tremendous vitality, put out his
hand and said "Hi, I'm Scott."

"Steve, Sir."

"Hey, Steve, no need for formality here - bearing in
mind what we're going to do, calling me 'sir' is a bit
unnecessary!  Scott will do."

"Thanks, Scott."

"So what's the form here, Steve?  I'm pretty new to
all of this.  What do we do?"

"Whatever you want, Scott.  You've paid for me until
tomorrow morning, so we can do what ever you like.
You just tell me what you want to do, then we do it.
You're the client, you've paid the money, and you get
to do what you want."

"Anything?"

"Well, I guess so, yes.  Except violent stuff - you
can't beat me up, break an arm, anything like that.
But anything else, I guess you can mostly do what you
want:  fuck me, piss on me, whatever...."

"I don't know, Steve - look, help me out here, buddy.
What do clients usually do?  I'm new to it all... I've
mostly worked overseas for the last few years, and
have just come back to my company for a job in the US
as the next career step.  All this ideas of hiring
slaves for sex - male slaves, that is - is a bit
strange.  You wouldn't be here now if my PA hadn't
called ahead and booked one for me, thinking that
that's what all VPs did...."

"Well, Scott, I'm new to it too, relatively.  Until I
was convicted and sentenced as a Social Servant -
slave, as they say - I'd never had sex with another
guy.  And it never occurred to me that you could hire
a slave for sex, either.  I thought prostitutes were
women, and hung around on street corners..  But they
told me that a lot of corporations now buy our
services for their executives ,as it avoids problems:
the executives are less stressed if they have sex
whilst they're having to travel and stay away.  And
they use men as otherwise their girl friends and wives
would get jealous.  Just hiring a male stud for a
night isn't likely to lead to tangled complicated
problems with breaking up relationships."

"Yes, OK, I know the social theory.  There  have been
several articles on it recently in Business Week.  But
what do the guys actually do.. You know... How do we
start?"

"Well, Scott, I guess we just take our clothes off,
sit or lie on the bed, start fooling around... If you
want to start kissing, you can, but some guys don't
like kissing slaves, so if you don't want to do that,
that's OK... Then we mess around with our dicks, feel
each others bodies, then you can fuck me if you
want.... We just start, and you take it where you want
to go."

"And you don't mind, Steve?"

"That's not really the point, is it, Scott?.  You're
the client, you've paid the money.  I'm the slave....
I do what ever you want."

"No, Steve, you've got to help me out here... I've
never been with another guy before...."  Scott was
blushing as he said this, as if he was embarrassed
somehow, in spite of so evidently being in charge in
his business life, and a big executive.   I wondered
when had been the last time that anything had
embarrassed him!

"Look, Scott, that's OK.  I hadn't been with a guy
before I was enslaved, either.  But they saw me, saw
that I'd got a nice body, and bought my contract to
use me as a pleasure salve."

"So what's it like?"

"Being a pleasure slave?  Well..."

"No... What's it like fucking other guys?"

"Better than fucking women, actually.  And I'd never
have thought I'd have said that - I was a bit of a
stud, you know.... Used to scoff at the fags, all the
usual bullshit.  Then I was made to do it as a slave,
and now.... Well, as I said, it's a lot better... You
can relate to another guy a lot better, and his body's
nicer...."

"So you think I'll like it, then?"

"Well you should.. I think I will, as you seem to be
in shape... A lot of the guys they sell me off   to
are pretty flabby....  You must work out a lot?"

"I like to keep in shape.  And, actually, that's one
of the problems of this place:  nice rooms, great
location, good restaurant.  But a crappy gym, and no
pool - I guess they think they're dealing with senior
executives who've lost the habit of working out!  They
only have two running machines, and they're both
useless, and in some small poky space with  no fresh
air.   I'd have gone running, but it really put me
off."

"You could run around here, Scott, outside - there are
some great parks  wit  trails..."

"No, they warn you against that.   They say there's a
risk of muggers...."

"Not for a stud like you, Scott, if I may say so.
Even if you didn't out run them, you look a pretty fit
guy who could show a mugger thing or two.  IF there
are any, which  I doubt, they're usually only kids.  I
run around here all the time, and I've never had any
problems."

"So, Steve, you know what I'd really like to do?  I'd
like to go for a run, a proper run, a real workout"

"Sure, Scott.  No problem....

Scott turned and didn't seem at all embarrassed at
having me watch him as he slipped out of his slacks
and boxers and pulled on running shorts - proper
running shorts, I noticed, not those kind of casual
things you see guys who are not serious about it
using.  They were quite high on the sides, made of
light silky material, and had a mesh pouch inside to
keep his dick and balls safe.  He turned around as he
pulled them on, so I didn't then see his dick, but his
butt was nicely rounded and firmly muscled.

We went down in the elevator, and seeing two in-shape
guys, both fairly skimpily dressed, the elevator boy
at first thought we were both slaves, and went to stop
us getting in.

It was great.  The cool night air made running a
pleasure, and the trials through the city parks were e
all empty of other runners, so we weren't held up at
all.  Scott and I were fairly evenly matched, too, in
terms of our stride length and so it was easy to keep
up a good pace together without the constant need for
little adjustments and the adding of additional steps
every now and then - we were able to run in proper
synchronisation.  Of course I was, overall, much
fitter than him, and after a few miles when he was
breathing hard, I was still relatively fresh.

When we got back to the hotel he was drenched in sweat
and breathing really hard, and we went over to the
elevator bank for the executive floor.  Suddenly, I
heard the concierge shout "Hey, you fucking slaves...
I've told you before that those elevators are for
guests.  You slave scum go around to the service
elevators, now move, before I come and get a guard to
take you outside and give you a good thrashing."

Scott was slow to react as he stood there breathing
hard, or  perhaps it just didn't occur to him that the
concierge could possibly be speaking to him!  He
perhaps had not noticed that me in my tiny shorts and
singlet that revealed my belly was not so unlike him
in his brief running shorts and vest.

"Hey.... You two... Get away from those elevators!",
the concierge shouted again, as the car arrived and
we were about to get in.  He came pounding over across
the lobby, put his hand on Scott's shoulder and went
to pull him away.  Without even seeming to notice it,
Scott whirled around and punched the guy, knocking him
to the ground.  The concierge sat there on the marble
floor, looking winded, and spluttered "Fucking slave -
I'll have you whipped for that.... "

"Mind your manners!", Scott snapped. "I've never been
so insulted in my life... Being called a slave, and
having a hotel employee dare to lay hands on me.  I've
a good mind to call the manager and have you fired!
And when the hotel realises how much damages I'll be
demanding from them for this outrage, I think they'll
come after you, too - manhandling the guests is not
part of your formal job description, is it?"

The concierge evidently saw his mistake, and how much
trouble he potentially was in, as he started to
stammer "Sorry, sir....  But I mistook you for a
slave... I've already told that slave with you, sir,
that he had to use the service elevator..."

Without saying another word, Scott put his arm around
my shoulder in a kind of gesture of solidarity, and
shepherded me into the elevator.   "Sorry about that,
Steve... I didn't realise they treated slaves like
shit..."

"Don't apologise, Scott - it happens all the time.
Just because you've been sentenced to Social Service,
free men seem to think they can treat you like  treat
you like dirt.   You get used to it after a time."

"Still, I don't think it's right, Steve.  You and I,
we were running together, just two guys working out,
we're no different really...."

"Oh we are, Scott!  You've got a job, money,
position... And you know what they call me - slave -
well, that's what I am, for the next ten years."

 The elevator stopped, and we went along the  wide
corridor to Scott's room, which he opened.  As soon as
we were inside I sensed he became less confident, more
awkward.  The Scott who'd put the concierge in his
place was now worried about what to do wit the slave,
I sensed.  I remembered about what Ray had said about
making sure the client had a good time, though, and
clearly a worried, apprehensive client wouldn't be
enjoying it much.  And anyway, I  liked Scott, somehow
- he'd treated me right, at least so far.  So as he
stood there, uncertainly, I pulled off my top and saw
his eyes widen as he saw the words tattooed all over
me.  Then, before he could stop me, I reached down for
the bottom hem of his running vest, and pulled it up
over his head.  He really did have a trim body - nice
firm pecs with big brown aureoles with nice tits
jutting out of them, and a pleasant thatch of hair
that gave way to a treasure trail running across is
hard belly.    I stepped forward and put my arms
around him, pulling us close together so that our
bodies were in close contact.  I didn't know if he was
in to kissing guys, and whether it might scare him, so
I nuzzled my lips into that area between his neck and
his shoulder, pulling his head down to the same area
on me.  I got the delicious salty taste of his sweat
overlaying the faint taste of the soap he used to
shower, and as he started to murmur "Oh, yes....", I
reached down and cupped his dick and balls with my
hand, outside his shorts.

I felt him come hard as I was doing, too, so I pushed
us apart a little so that I could push his shorts off,
following them by mine.  I pulled him close to me
again, this time by putting my hands on his butt, and
our dicks touched.  Scott was  getting really excited
now, as his hands were running up and down my back and
butt, and he'd started to moan quietly, as if he was
really enjoying it.    I carried on nuzzling his neck
a bit, then pushed my head down to one of those fine
firm tits of his and started to tease it with my
tongue and nibble it, very gently.   Scott's whole
body jerked almost convulsively as he did this, and
his erect dick moved almost as if it was connected to
his nip by some sort of remote control!  I pushed us
gently backwards towards the bed, then down on to it,
positioning my body over his but taking most of my
weight on my elbows.

Our legs thrashed together, and I pushed my thigh up
gently so that his balls and ass hole were resting on
my sweaty skin.   Scott was moaning in real ecstasy
now, and I stopped,  and pushed myself upwards on my
hands, so that I was looking down at him.   He opened
his eyes and looked up at me.  "So, Scott.. .this is
what guys do together... OK, is it?"

"Fucking great, Steve... Why did you stop?"

"Well you said you'd never been with another guy
before... I wanted to make sure you were OK with it"
I was lying, of course, as I could tell by the whole
way he was acting that he was perfectly OK with it!
But I thought it might give him some reassurance..."

"So what do we do now?"

"Well, we could carry on like this, just rubbing and
stroking.  Or you could tell me to give you a blow
job.  OR you could order me to lie down,  so you could
fuck me....  It's up to you, Scott..."

"No, Steve... You carry on...."  There was something
in the tone of his voice that conveyed interest,
pleasure, and somehow, worry.  I don't know why, but
something told me that he really did want me to take
charge, something that my previous clients had not
wanted as they needed to remain in control.    I
started playing with his body again, sliding my tongue
right down his body, probing his navel with it until
he squirmed and squealed with delight, the in taking
his dick in my mouth and playing with it until his
body started to jerk it almost convulsively up and
down, ass if he wanted to fuck it.  But he seemed to
be enjoying having my body on top of his, and made no
move to taker an active part in proceedings.  Getting
bolder by the moment, I  leapt up and straddled his
body, my knees on either side of his chest and my dick
almost scraping the surface of it.  Then I shuffled
forward, pinning his shoulders to the bed, and pushed
his hands above his head, where I held them with my
own.

"Right, Scott... Open your mouth.... ", I whispered,
not loudly, but in a tone which indicated that there
was to be no argument.

He did so, opening his eyes wide to look up at me,
then as my dick approached, he turned his head
sideways, as if to avoid it.  "Stop that!", I snapped.
 "Here comes my dick, you want to taste it, don't
you?"  I reinforced my message by kicking my heels
into his ribs, that made his body jerk a little.  It
wasn't enough to really hurt, but I thought it would
serve to show him that I was in charge here.  Then,
slowly and gently, I lowered the tip of my dick down
into his mouth, and was rewarded by feeling his tongue
start to tease it, his lips to close around it, and
him begin to suck it almost convulsively.

I gently fucked his mouth for a few minutes, not
pushing in enough to make him choke or anything.  But
with his hands and shoulders pinioned and my dick in
him, it was enough to show him that I was in charge
and I could do what I liked with him, if I wanted to.
  After a time I pulled out and gripped his two hands
with one of mine, using the other one to start to
stroke my dick..  I then ran it over his face, being
gratified to see how he moved his head and tongue as
if in a desperate attempt to get it back in his mouth,
almost as if it belonged there.  "Do you want to take
my dick, again, Scott?  Do you want to suck it,
cocksucker?"

"Yes...", he moaned.

I decided to deny him, so as he opened his eyes to
watch, I began to stroke my dick again, and felt
myself getting ready to shoot.  At the last moment I
pointed my dick down into his mouth, so that it filled
with my cum.

In that time after you've shot, those moments when the
whole world stops and your body relaxes, I started to
worry about what I'd done!  I'd started off by wanting
to show Scott that I was in charge, but I feared that
I'd definitely gone too far!  This guy was a virgin,
and I'd filled his mouth with my cum.  I could see
myself getting very, very bad feedback from this!  Not
really knowing why, I scudded my knees back down the
length of his body, freeing his shoulders, then
keeping my weight mostly on my elbows again, bend my
head to his and kissed him deeply.  He responded
instantly, his tongue beating against mine, and I f
tasted that unmistakable salt flavour of my cum mixed
with his saliva.  My ass was hovering over his dick
and I lowered myself as I carried on kissing, and he
thrust upwards, so that his dick was rubbing against
my hole:  it was evidently very enjoyable for both of
us, as the intensity and passion of our kissed
intensified.

When I pulled away from his mouth, I moved to kneel on
the floor, pulling him towards the edge of the bed a
bit, then I put my head down to his dick and started
to suck him.  My hands stroked up and down the length
of his body, and he was moaning in ecstasy, his pelvis
arching up and down as if he was determined to help me
make him cum.  I tasted again that salty taste, and,
almost as explosively as I had, Scott shot his load
into my mouth.

I got up then, and went to lie beside him.  We were
both smiling and almost laughing with the fun we'd
had, and just lay together for a time, sometimes
stroking and caressing each other a little, and
sometimes just lying in that companionable closeness
that you only get when two guys have just had sex
together.

"So how was that for a first time, Scott?", I finally
asked.  I must confess, I was concerned about my user
feedback a little!

"Fucking amazing, Steve!  I never knew that doing it
with a guy could be so much fun.  I've had a blow job
before... But with another guy it's, well, different,
so much better.  I guess another guy knows what you
want, in a way that a woman can't as she's got no
ideas how a dick really feels as you get close to
climax...."

"So it was OK?

"Yes, better than that.... ".  His voice lowered, he
kind of moved closer to me a bit, then went on "Look,
Steve, I wouldn't tell anyone else...."

He went quiet, and I whispered "It's OK, Scott - you
can say anything you like now: we don't need to have
secrets;  you can be honest with a guy you've just had
sex with, you know."

"Well, Steve, thank you.  That's all  I wanted to say.
 Thank you - for taking charge.... Look, I was
terrified I'd do the wrong thing, somehow.  I didn't,
did I?"

"No, of course not.  You were just natural.  That's
fine, that's how it should be, that's the best kind of
sex."

"Well, Steve, it's like this - all my life I've had to
take charge of things.  I have to order and direct
everything.  It's always me in charge, I'm
responsible.  Even when I'm fucking my girl friend,
it's the same - she wants me to do everything , whilst
she just lies there.  I don't mind.... really.  But
this was different... different and better.  You made
all the running, Steve.  You took control.,  You were
in charge.  I haven't enjoyed anything so much in
years."

"Look, he went on, after a moment or two as he'd had
to take a break as he was obviously saying something
important and emotional.  "I wouldn't want you to
think I hate my job or anything, but the
responsibility is awesome sometimes, and, as I say,
it's always me who has to decide things, always me who
plans and manages what's going on.  Lying here with
you is so different, as I can just turn off - well,
not turn off, exactly, as I want to experience every
second of it, experience it fully.... But I don't have
to decide anything, I don't have to do anything, I
don't have to plan where it's all going - you do all
that, Steve ,and it's fucking fantastic for me."

I learned a valuable lesson at that point - that guys
who look big and tough and strong and important aren't
necessarily like that all the time.   I guess everyone
needs a change from time to time.  We lay there
together in silence for about half an hour, then he
gently pushed me away, and sat up.  I saw at once that
something had happened, that there was the Scott that
I'd seen at first, when he was on the phone.  He was
back in charge.

"OK, Steve.  Thanks.  They said the bill went directly
to my company's accounts department..."

"Yes, sir.  But I've been booked for  all night... Do
you want me to stay?"

"No - I've got an early start tomorrow, and some stuff
I've got to get through on my PC.  But thanks for the
run... and everything...."  He was being almost
brusquely dismissive, almost as if I was an employee
of his, and not someone with whom he'd just had
intimate man-to-man sex.

"Scott, sir... Would you mind filling in my evaluation
sheet, please?"  I asked as I pulled on my tiny short
and top.  He took it from me, scanned it quickly,
then, to my joy, ticked a "1" and added the one word
"superb".

"Do you get paid on this?  We have an incentive scheme
like this for our sales force, and if they get better
than a two average, they get a  bonus..."

"Not quite!  If I get worse than a three on average in
any moth, I get whipped!"

"Interesting!  I must mention that to my HR department
next time they come talking to me about incentive
schemes!".  He was smiling now, ands I smiled back.
"But you get nothing else?"

"No.  Some clients give us a tip, and I can save that
for when I get my freedom."

"Of course.... Here....."  He opened his wallet, and
gave me two fifties.

"No, Scott... That's too much."

"Don't be fucking stupid, Steve!  You don't look like
an idiot to me!  I can't spend all the money  I earn,
as I'm always too busy.. And you're a nice guy, and
you'll need it one day... Here, take it. "

I smiled, and without thinking about it, went and
hugged him in that kind of guy-to-guy embrace that
guys who are friends can do to each other.

"Thanks, Steve.... That was really nice. Now, I'm
swinging back through next week - in fact, I'll be
here most weeks as I've picked up responsibility for
the local plant, which is deep in the shit... How do I
get you again?"

"Just make a booking, and the earlier the better, as
they take them on 'first come, first served.'"

"Or should that be 'first cum'?", he quipped, as he
showed me out of the door.

End Of Part 15