Date: Sun, 12 Apr 1998 12:41:28 +0100
From: Da Copper <Bear-Cop@justdoit.ndirect.co.uk>
Subject: The Tent: M/M Bondage Level 5

			       --==]]*[[==--

                                Level Five

                             The Last Barrier

 The questions began.... The Master wanted to be sure that the slave was
ready for the final act. To have tied him up and rammed into him against
his will would have been possible, but it was not his way. The slave had
to GIVE his body up. It was to be a wonderful sacrifice of virginity, not
a mere violation. Finally he was sure that the slave was thoroughly
willing.

 The Master lay back and waited while the slave frigged his member to
full rigidity and then went down on it. He savoured the wet warmth, and
wished that he could experience as direct a contact later and elsewhere,
but he knew that a Master must take care of his slave. The slave might be
willing, but the Master's duty to him would not allow it. He waited
patiently while the slave fumbled the packet of the prophylactic open and
enjoyed the slick contact as the rubber was unrolled onto his shaft. Then
the cold shock of the KY, great gobs of it all over his glad, clad tool.

 The slave then presented his arse to the Master so that he could work
masses more of the jelly into and onto the hole. If he was to turn the
slave into a happy fuck, he would have to see that no real pain spoiled
the pleasure of the first use. When all was prepared, he slapped the
slave on the rump and told him to get on with it. The slave had been
instructed during the previous talking session.

 The Master lay there, his head and shoulders supported by pillows, his
body flat, except for the flaring mast of his penis, glittering in the
greased rubber film. The slave stood astraddle his midriff, his hands
groping for firm holds on the frame through the cloth of the sleeping
compartment. His face shewd grim determination mixed with terror. His
eyes were firmly fixed on his Master's face. Slowly his knees bent
outwards, his body erect, his buttocks descending gingerly towards that
pike of manhood which was to impale him. The Master's hands were behind
his head: a symbol that he, too, was giving himself up in this.

 When the slave felt the slick hotness against the skin of the cleft
between his buns, he stopped. He felt balanced now, and fully determined
to proceed. His thigh muscles bunched, gleaming in the yellow light, as
they fought for balance and support with their sweating strength. He
released the grip on the frame and sought to guide the prong towards his
hole. Wether from fear or awkwardness, his first atttempts failed. The
master moved one hand to his cock to support it and direct it straight
upwards, making it easier to locate. The other hand he rested flat for a
moment against the chest of the slave, to reassure him. He felt the
frightened heart beating like a molten drum within the muscle and bone.
He slipped it until he could nip one of the button hard nipples playfully
between the his fingers. The exchanged a smile. The slave welled up with
courage.

 The slave's cock was hanging loosely - full but not rigid. All his
energy, sensitivity and sex was directed to that tight hole which he was
to give up freely to the Master. He strove to relax. To submit.

 The slave pulled his buns apart and tried to feel the cockhead - to move
until it was against his most secret place. He failed again, his chest
and face burning with hot flushes. With a couple of fingers pushing it,
he managed to locate the glans against the sphincter. He took in deep
breath after deep breath, releasing them slowly. He fought desperately to
do what cannot be done in fighting desperation: to relax. His Master
smiled encouragement, and moved his head back slightly, as if indicating
that he was relaxed and not in any hurry. It would be be no sacrifice if
he forced the slave down by any exertion of will at this stage. Such an
attempt might well spook the slave, and the creature's embarrassment at
failure would have overwhelm them both. He had to gentle him down. The
longer it took, the greater would be his triumph, and the slave's, at
overcoming the greater terror.

 He felt pressure. The slave was attempting it. He sent telegrams of joy
and encouragement with his flashing eyes. The slave's courage fed on them.
The hole was opening - the flesh was yielding. A stab of pain flashed
across the slave's face, but he only faltered for a second. This, he knew,
ws nothing - the training of the fingers and appliances had made him used
to this. But now it was his own body, not the Master's power, which
brought this upon him. The glans was between the sphincters now. The urge
to expell it, to leap up and away was great. Further pressure distended
the passage and attacked the vulnerable inner sphincter.

 Probably his courage would have failed him. Maybe he would have risen in
shame, perhaps to try once again. What DID fail him was his balance.
Where courage might have failed, gravity assured success. The slippery
shaft plunged past those obstacles in a rush as he descended a few inches
uncontrollably. His hands clutched out wildly. In an instant his Master's
hands were there, gripping his and lending him balance and composure. The
falling stopped. The pain shot out. Then the pain stopped too. His arse
muscles were still oscillating wildly, trying to expell this invader.
Then they too stopped.

 The slave's eyes were scrunched up, with tears welling at their corners.
The lower lip was gripped by his even teeth. Creases in the upper face
showed the tension.

 The Master could have dropped him down onto himself now, or have surged
his own loins upward. With great strength, he forced himself to do
neither. His own face set hard too by the suspense, he forced as gentle a
smile as he could under so much tension. Their eyes remained locked
together in a bond beyond life itself.

 The controlled descent resumed. The shaft crept in between the buns.
Excess KY globbed out, and mixed with both their sweats. The Master
willed his cock not to flare up in excitement, to batter the soft passage
with his hard-edged glans.

 The descent was still slow - ceremoniously sedate - but the worst was
over. First the crinkle of hair against the surface of the buns, and then
hot flesh. Penetration was completed.

 The slave's legs lost some of their tension. The weight was now taken by
the buttocks and his Master's loins. The tears, though hot and welling
free, were now of joy. The hand grips were release, and the slave patted
his Master's chest hard over and over again. It was an expressions of
delight. The Master ran his hands over the bunched knees, legs and thighs.
He grasped the slave's organ, frigging it to fullness. He squeezed the
balls. He ran his fingers throught the pubic hair. Then he grasped the
waist and pulled himself forward until his mouth could just about reach
the end of the penis, to kiss and lick it, even if he could not suck it.

 Then he grasped the ankles and pulled them - making the legs straight
and taking them off the floor, so that nothing supported the slave but
his own loins. He was deep. He was in the furnace of the bowels. The
slave was truly his now. He had given himself up to him completely. Now
remained only to enjoy him to the fullest.

 Next he made the slave ride him a little, using his own pelvic movements
to augment the effect of the inexperienced riding. As it progressed, he
felt the slave riding higher and falling more forcibly, obviously needing
the sensation to increase. Even in the condom, the sliding warmth of this
body was drawing him to a climax. His voice was a little thick as he gave
the order to cease. "Stand!" he said.

 Off the next two hours both remembered every detail: how the slave was
taken in three diffferent positions - doglike, flat with one leg drawn up,
and finally on his back, his legs flailing in pleasure around his Master.
How the Master came three times, but taking longer and riding more
desperately into this new arse with each emission. How the slave cried
out at the moment of penetration in the more awkward flattened position,
and the Master thrust the face firmly into the pillow till it stopped,
and then slapped the shoulders to redness as redress. How the slave too
came, his cock untended except for accidental friction against the bed or
the body of his Master. How the slave waited each time between his
Master's legs, after he had removed the spent condom and wiped the shaft,
and wiped his own anus - waited, waited, willing his Master's sceptre to
rise once more so that he could feel it within him once more.

 After the third blasting, groaning, burning, hard-reaching spasming, the
Master collapsed on the slave - the sweat laved them and made them one.
His dying penis slipped out of the slick hole as the legs returned to a
more comfortable position. The both slept - soundly and deeply.

 After some time, the cold woke them, making their drenched bodies clammy.
The slave - by this time no longer underneath, but to the side, as their
bodies moved in the motions of sleep - got up and ound a towel. He dried
his Master, who was hovering between sleep and semiconsciousness. He
moved the coverings, till the important body was covered and snug and
comfortable.

 Then he curled up like a naked dog at the feet of his Master. Happy. He
enjoyed the cold on his limbs. It was a symbol of his new loss and gain.
He had given himself up completely - he was no longer his own. And in
this utter loss, he had found himself completely. He felt completely
fulfilled.

 With the dawn, he would have to ride away into the dank mist, pushing
the heavy bike through the dewy grass until it was out of earshot of the
other tents. His body would ride away, but his most important part - his
innermost self - would remain here with the man to whom he had given it.
When and to where he would be called for further use he did not know.
Perhaps he would be given to his Master's friends for their pleasure.
Lent, not given. No - given, if that was his Master's will. And who was a
slave to protest.

 Other slaves, he knew, wore symbols, restraints, reminders of their
position. But he would need nothing of these. His servitude was no symbol;
it was utter and complete. There were no more levels. He was highest in
his lowness. Anton was lost. Anton was found.