Date: Sat, 01 Jan 2011 15:08:43 +0800
From: Marten Weber <webmarten@gmail.com>
Subject: Public Procurement (Part 3)

The door fell shut behind me and I stood there in the near-darkness, 
with the figure of a naked man before me, kneeling, hands behind his back.
There would be no romantic evening, after all. All my hopes dashed. My 
dreams come to nothing.
He had made his wishes clear.
I nodded, not specifically to him, but more to myself, nodding to accept 
the situation. Slowly I walked around him, his eyes following me on each 
side. I could feel his anxiety, his insecurity, but also his lust.
He must be frantic, not knowing if I will accept the offering. How could 
there have been so much quiet understanding between us to make him do 
this? How could he have known I would accept?
I patted him on the head, touched the soft black hair, and he nuzzled 
his face against my palm like a dog. He had tied his own wrists together 
behind his back with a sock. His eyes gleamed with moisture, his mouth 
stood half open. He shifted on his knees. Clearly, had been kneeling 
here for some minutes in silent anticipation of his master. The rough 
carpet of the hotel room must be cutting into his delicate skin. I 
thought of the pain dull and---pleasant maybe? How much was he into this?
As I completed my circle, I thought of all the things one could do to a 
submissive male. All the things I had done in the past.

 From his hair, I let my hand glide over his ear, caressed it, then his 
neck, pressed it hard, until he groaned, then around the other side and 
towards his mouth, and over his face. Again, like a dog, he pressed up 
against me, nudged me, his tongue flicked out and licked my hand. He was 
a complete submissive, to be sure. A handsome, able-bodied, moderately 
hairy, willing and very clearly experienced slave-boy. I stood before 
him, and his eyes looked up, begging me to take him. I nodded again, 
this time in assent.
His head came forward and his mouth touched my trousers. But instead of 
using his mouth only, he turned his head sideways, left and right, and 
rubbed against the fabric. He felt my bulge, growing quickly, with his 
entire head, now with the left ear, now with the back of the head, when 
he slid almost between my legs. Dog-boy, I thought, deciding on an 
epithet for the evening. Dog-boy will be your name. I will use you and 
make you happy. I will fulfill your fantasy. The same fantasy you have 
been spinning all afternoon. The fantasy that made you stumble over 
words in your presentation. Which made you apologize to me, and lower 
your head, and show me your exposed neck, like the loser bares his neck 
for the alpha male in the pack. Even though these aren't my dreams. Even 
though I don't want you that way. Not today. I had other plans.
With my cock in my trousers, so rose inside me a sudden anger. He had 
taken away, with his submissive posture and his declaration, all chance 
for romance. Now, I was sure, we would fuck, and fuck hard, and have a 
hell of an evening together, and probably a whole night. I would use 
him, mouth ass and all his delicate body, and he would take me and all 
my liquids and all the punches I would dish out. My spit in his face and 
my hand up his arse.
But there would be only a soft kiss at the end, and a sweet good-bye, 
and that's it.
Another notch in the bedpost. Did French bottom, 23 Nov 2010.
Another hot memory for lonely nights and old age. But no lover. No 
cuddling. No daily routine of having coffee and---ah! yes, with 
him---croissants and pain au chocolat together.
I slapped him hard.
I was suddenly so angry that he had removed all chance for a romantic 
encounter by stripping naked and kneeling before me, so vulgar, so 
unexpected, because unarranged. How dare he preempt my wishes like that! 
We hadn't spoken before. We hadn't introduced a common predilection for 
role play into a long chat. I slapped him again, wishing to hurt him. 
You should have asked me, you slut! You should have made sure...you...!
I hit him again, full force.  He moaned,
---Oh, yeah, fuck, oui!
The bilingual banker was back. I slapped him again, hard across the cheek.
---Oh, yeah, fuck, oui... thank you, Sir!
Oh the insolence! He enjoyed it!
That was to be his line for the evening, mostly. He said nothing else, 
but varied on the word order. From 'Oh, yeah, oui, fuck,' to 'fuck, oui, 
yeah,' I made him groan different grammar with each move. Ah, yes, there 
was one more, the double 'oui.' It went 'oui, harder Sir, oh oui.'
How dare he!
For now, I just looked him in the eye, and punished him. I hit him again.
---Thank you, Sir.
The print of my palm on his face glowed red in the dim light. His eyes 
were watery, but happy. Desire flowed from them: the animal spirit.
We hadn't agreed on anything by exchanging profiles on a website. We 
hadn't met in the S&M chat room, or divulged our preference in a 
sequence of SMS messages. And yet... he had declared himself clearly. He 
had, in the conference room, apologized, and hoped, submissively, to 
have satisfied me. He had, I realized now, before the four-hundred in 
the audience, said, exactly that: 'I want you to dominate me, I want to 
submit to you, Sir,' although, of course, not in so many words.
---Is that what you want, you piece of shit, I said, regretting the 
vulgarity almost immediately. It hurt me to abuse him. Only minutes ago 
I had pictured him as my lifelong companion, my lover. Now he was on his 
knees. I hated him for it.
---Yes Sir.
---So you are a sub? You like to have an Asian master?
---Yes Sir.
Another slap. He dived into the palm as it hit him. He loved this.
---You want to be my slave tonight?
---Yes Sir.
I looked at his face: flushed, my fingers printed on his skin. His eyes 
sparkled wide. His cock---small, as I had predicted---was hard, tight 
against his taut hairy stomach. He had no visible abs, not in this 
semi-darkness and kneeling position, and not discernible under his fur, 
but his body was hard and wiry. I found his nipples and pulled hard.
---Oh yeah, oui.
I twisted them. He groaned.
My cock was now fully erect and pushing out the fabric of my expensive 
suit. He hadn't even given me the pleasure to undress him. The whole 
afternoon, I had admired his clothes, the elegantly dressed young male. 
He hadn't even let me unwrap the package. The back of my hand hit him on 
the right cheek. He winced, but his eyes said 'thank you.'
He saw the tent in my trousers and moaned again. I opened my belt and 
reached down to align the cock on my thigh again, so he could see its 
full length. He gasped and swallowed hard.
---Oh, fuck, Sir!
---You didn't  expect that, did you? On an Asian?
He swallowed again before he spoke.
---No, Sir.
---But you love it! You love big cock?
---Yes Sir.
---You are a French cock-whore?
---Oui.
On the tip of his own member, a drop of precum had formed, as large as a 
marble. I reached down, scooped it up with thumb and forefinger, and 
placed it on his lips.
---Here, dog-boy. Taste yourself.
His eyes lit up, opened just a few millimeters more. A gestured that was 
with us through the evening: every time he found something really hot, 
his eyes flinched like that, and his mouth fell open. I smeared the 
transparent pre-cum over his luscious thick lips, until they glistened. 
Then I said,
---Open wide,
and spat a wad of saliva down his throat. He swallowed eagerly.
---Oh, yes, fuck, that's hot.
Just like in the morning's presentation, once again his speech danced 
between the accents. The 'oh, yes, fuck' could have been spoken by an 
American porn actor. But the 'that's hot' was so clearly French, even 
without the initial 'h', that I giggled. He was cute, and approachable, 
and sublime, even on his knees, in the throes of erotic passion.
I opened my zipper, then grabbed his head and pushed it into my groin. 
He licked me, the fabric of my trousers, and tried to let his tongue go 
over the outline of my cock, but I held him by the hair. The wonderful 
black hair, not curly but deliciously wavy, not long enough to have a 
lock fall over his elegant forehead. I took his face in the grip of my 
hand and spat on him again. The eyes flinched, and he thanked me. My 
God, what a sub! A dream come true for a dominant top like me. And yet, 
I was furious, still. Was I never to find even a chance for love? Was it 
all sex and one fuck after another? He had promised so much.
Once more, the anger welled up inside me. I pushed him back, slapped him 
hard, then took out my cock through the fly. It stood proud and hard and 
long and thick, and he looked at it as if there were two cocks instead 
of one. His mouth hung open, saliva ran out at the side, and he stared 
until his eyes couldn't take the sight any longer. He closed them, and 
opened his mouth as wide as he could.
  He was a sub, maybe, but he was no slave. He clearly signaled with 
every move what he wanted. I gripped him by the hair again, and forced 
my cock in. Most take it half at first try. But when I hit the throat 
wall, expecting to spend some minutes to get him acquainted with my 
size, the throat unexpectedly opened, and my whole tool slid in, 
unimpeded. His head was tilted back, and the neck extended, and my 
cock-tip slide down his gullet, effortlessly. It was...amazing. I have 
never been taken like this, so quickly, so deeply. His face turned red, 
and then purple, but he did not fight. He would have passed out, 
probably, if I hadn't pulled out, and when I did,  he gulped for air 
with a gasp so loud the whole hotel  must have heard it. And again, he 
groaned bilingually and with his mixed accent.
---Oh, fuck yeah, oui, thasso'ot, Sir!
Before he finished the 'Sir,' however, I plunged back in again. The 
feeling of his soft throat was amazing. I touched his neck again, and 
found my cock-tip. No idea how it was possible, it was as if he had no 
voice box. That miraculous, sonorous voice of the morning's 
presentation, that singing sound, that melodious, sometimes erroneously 
nasal, sometimes intentionally cute pattern of words, that mixture of 
American and French accent, where had that come from. Now it was no 
more. In its place was my turgid cock, sliding in and out of the hungry 
mouth, making the cheeks darken with blood, and the eyes wet up so much, 
a tear dislodged itself from them every few seconds and tumbled down his 
happy cheeks. But as he came up for air again, he only thanked me.
---Oh, Sir, this is ... I had no idea! he said, sounding perfectly American.
---Yes. You didn't expect that. What did you expect? A little romantic 
evening? A glass of champagne, and a long kiss?
I knelt down with him, and pulled his blotched face towards me, kissing 
him fully on the lips. Suddenly, his French accent was back, and even, 
in the excitement, some wrong grammar.
---I didn't know, Sir.
---You didn't know, what?
---At first, what you wanted. You looked at me, while I give the 
presentation.
---And.
---I felt you.
---You felt me?
---I felt you are...a top. And then you spoke, so...demanding. You say, 
'I owe you an explanation,' and ...
---And you submitted to me.
He nodded.
---I have never done this before.
---What? Have sex with a man? Play the bottom?
---No, no, that I 'ave.
There went the 'h's for good.
---No, Sir. I mean, strip naked and... I thought first, maybe we could 
'ave a drink in the bar.
---So? Why didn't we arrange to meet in the bar? Why did you ask me 
straight up, and strip naked?
---I don't know, Sir. It was your voice, on the phone.
---Nonsense. I didn't give you any orders. It's all in your head, boy. 
All in your head.
And with that, before he could object, I plunged my cock down his throat 
again and made him choke.
Carried away by my voice. Go figure. There was a problem, however. He 
was making me so fucking hot, and his throat was so soft and warm, and 
I, by nature, so easy to explode, without problem several times and 
evening, that, with two, three, four more plunges down his gullet, I was 
close to climax. I pulled out, ordered him to close his mouth and eyes, 
and erupted all over his face in a violent orgasm, then collapsing over 
him. I held on to his head, and pulled his hair.

And then I had a brilliant idea.
He opened his eyes. I could see his own cock pulsate. More precum had 
collected. I picked it up and fed it him again.
---Get up!
He did. I kissed him on the lips, then removed the sock from his wrists. 
It was amazingly well tied, and I wondered how he had done it. He must 
have held the ends in a vise somehow, in a door or drawer maybe, then 
pulled the knot tight.
---You are mine now, I said, spreading my juice over his cheek, nose and 
brow, evenly. Go, get dressed. Don't wash your face, Just let it dry. I 
will wait in the bar for you. You will come down in ten minutes, and you 
will pick me up. You will act as if we've never met. And then we will 
talk, and you will seduce me. And you will...when is your flight 
tomorrow? I assume you are leaving tomorrow.
---I have a car for the airport at 5:30 am. First flight to Hong Kong.
---Excellent.
He looked puzzled.
---If you seduce me right, I will come up with you again, and I will 
fuck you until your car arrives, all night. And you won't be able to 
sit, not in the car, not on the plane, not in your Hong Kong office for 
the next week. Is that clear?
He nodded.
---Do you want that, you little slut?
I grabbed his dick when I said this, very hard, squeezed, without 
jerking or rubbing, just squeezed it hard, and instead of an answer, I 
got a load of his dog-cum all over my hand. It wasn't much. He didn't 
shoot wide. He doubled up, and clenched his wiry body: now I could see 
the abs.
---Well, I guess that's an answer.
When his breathing slowed, I raised my hand and wiped it off over his 
face, adding his own semen to mine, slowly drying. Some I rubbed in his 
hair. Then I kissed him. When our lips parted, I smiled.
---I will be waiting in the bar. Don't wash.
And with that, I let go of him, and walked out the door.


Part 4 is coming up.
For more of Marten Weber, go to www.martenweber.com
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www.martenweber.com <http://www.martenweber.com>