The night after castrating and sending my former slave off to his fate, I slept well, knowing that I had done the right thing. Now, however, I was without a slave. Good slaves, the kind one keeps, are difficult to find. I resolved to select very carefully this time.
My search began on the ‘Net. Using my access to the highly secure “Masters Only” website, I posted a “Slave Wanted” notice. After a few weeks of no replies, I decided to check the usual haunts in the city – a none too enticing prospect. However, to my good fortune, I was greeted with the sight of a slight young Asian man moving into my building. He looked to be perfect slave material. He was in his early twenties, slender and very feminine in his movements and gestures. His attitude suggested a wealthy upbringing. Often, wealthy Asian families “exile” their gay offspring to New York City, where they fit into the culture readily. At home, they would be an embarrassment, causing loss of face and scandal. This young man was just moving in. It was mildly amusing watching him order the moving company personnel around with his effeminate gestures and high-pitched voice.
Later, I asked the doorman which apartment he had taken. I was told “11C,” in a tone that indicated displeasure, probably over an insufficient gratuity, certainly not over his sexual orientation.
I let my candidate settle in for a few days, and then prepared a note which read “If you want a good master, be in the lobby on Friday at noon wearing a red kerchief around your neck.” This, I slipped under his door after I had seen him leave the building with his dog. I waited the few days until Friday, then went down to the lobby at noon. He was there, a blazing red scarf wrapped around his slim neck. I walked over, smiling. His face lit up. “I was hoping it would be you,” he said. “Come with me. Now,” I told him firmly. Obediently, he followed me into the elevator and, after the ride up, into the foyer of my apartment. I explained the necessity of a blood test before he was initiated. This he understood and agreed to. I tied off his right arm, painted the inside of his elbow with antiseptic, punctured one of his veins and withdrew several tubes of blood for testing. He let me do all this without resistance. I packaged the tubes, called the lab for pickup, then had the doorman come fetch the package from outside my apartment. The results, which I hoped would be negative, would be phoned to me tomorrow morning. That out of the way, I began to explain what was expected of him. Absolute obedience without any discussion was the first requirement. No matter how unpleasant the task seemed, he was to undertake it immediately and without argument. As my slave, he would be well cared for but his unwavering devotion was expected at all times. Displeasing me would result in long, painful punishments the like of which he couldn’t even imagine. I explained to him what I had done with my previous slave. He understood. I also explained that I would be removing his balls as soon as the test results came back. At first, a little fear blossomed in his eyes, but that was soon swept away by a look of complete submission.
Ordered to strip, he did so quickly. He pirouetted, spread his butt cheeks for my examination. His balls were medium sized, hung in a small sac just below his uncut penis, which was none too large in length or diameter. His body was slender and firm, his skin was healthy. His hair was a bit too long for my taste. The overall impression was one of a restrained urge to please in any way possible. I approved. If the tests worked out, he would make an excellent slave.
To my question about how he had come to move into my building, he answered that one afternoon his father had caught him in the throes of passionate lovemaking with a boy from his school. He and the other boy had been beaten unmercifully. Because his partner was of the lower classes, his punishment had been less severe. To avoid embarrassment to his wealthy family, he had been taught English by a female tutor and had not been allowed in the presence of any other male, except his Father, while he was being educated for his exile to our country. He told me that he had missed his friend, but that he realized that there was no way for him to have any such relationship in his country. His family had set up a trust fund to cover his needs, purchased an apartment for him to live in and told him never to try to get in touch with them again. His father was looking forward to being notified of his death from AIDS. He went on to say that he had long dreamed of being subjected to the will of a strong male and that he hated his testicles and wanted them removed. In all, he seemed the perfect slave candidate.
I explained to him that he was always to address me as “master” and that I would always address him as “slave,” since I would have only one slave at a time. He accepted this with a “Yes, Master.” We retired to separate rooms for the night.
The lab called the following day to let me know that he was negative for HIV and other venereals tested for. It was time to get to work.
Several years ago, I had had a soundproof room constructed in my apartment for the purpose of disciplining slaves without disturbing my neighbors. The room had an adjustable restraining table, a small surgical sterilizing facility, a video camera, TV and VCR for recording, a microwave and other equipment, such as ceiling and wall hooks. The room had its own plumbing. It was painted in white enamel and all the hardware was of stainless steel. Clean and efficient. Over time, I had castrated a number of other masters’ slaves as well as two of my own.
In preparation for harvesting his glands, I had my slave bathe in hot water to soften and loosen his scrotal skin. Using antiseptic soap, I washed off his entire body and carefully depilated his scrotum. He enjoyed this prepping and became fully erect as I escorted him into my special room. Forbidden to speak, he had given several gasps of pleasure while bathing and being cleaned. At the sight of the table, he let his towel fall to the floor and turned to me with a questioning look. Without a word, I turned him around to face the table, adjusted it to his height, inserted his erection into the hole provided and strapped his legs down firmly, spread apart so that his sac hung down and was easily accessible.
Because I like to operate in silence, there was an inflatable heavy rubber gag supplied by a hose near the table. This I took and placed into my slave’s mouth, on top of his tongue, then turned a stopcock to allow compressed air to inflate the gag. The valve allowed air to flow into the gag. Deflating it was accomplished by unscrewing another valve in the gag. Shortly, the gag filled his mouth. He couldn’t cry out and could breathe only through his nose. I applied the arm and head restraints. I moved the TV in front of the table and opened up the eye slot so that he could see the screen. Next, I positioned the video camera so that an image of his hanging balls appeared on the screen. Completely gagged and tightly restrained, he could watch his own castration.
From the way he was suggestively moving his butt, I could tell that he wanted me to fuck him. I decided to fuck him until he came, holding my own orgasm until he was fully my slave. Using jojoba oil as a lubricant, I inserted myself into his tight butt hole, slowly working my way in. It felt good. It took a lot of pressure to make his sphincter give way, and the slave gave a muffled cry as I suddenly advanced my full length up into him. With willpower, I held myself back, using my prod to massage his prostate until I felt it pulse repeatedly against my cockhead. Although I couldn’t see, I knew that his dick had jetted his last sperm-bearing load out onto the floor under the table. Pulling out immediately, I washed off my cock with antiseptic solution, then painted his dangling sac with antiseptic all the way up and back to his butt hole. Now he was ready. A hair dryer set at maximum heat provided the stream of hot air that loosened his sac and made his balls dangle far from his body. I made a small cut parallel to where his scrotum joined his body. With a small pair of surgical scissors, I snipped carefully around the sac where it joined his body, being careful to cut only the sac skin. When the circle was complete, I tugged his scrotum free, leaving his small balls dangling by their cords from his body. They looked like pinkish-gray cherries hanging there, waiting to be picked. Using my electrocautery needle, I sealed up the bleeders in the circular sac wound. To simplify his nutting, I twirled his balls around each other until the cords formed a single braid. This I sutured off as close to his body as possible. “Are you ready to give up your balls, slave?” He nodded his head. With a single swipe of the scalpel, I harvested his manhood. Working quickly, I cauterized the ends of the cords, then ran a suture in and out of the skin all the way around the open cut where his sac had been. With one finger, I pushed the cords back up into his body, then drew the suture very tight, closing the sac wound like a purse. I tied off the suture and spent a few minutes cauterizing any spots that looked as if they might bleed. When the wound healed, my slave would have a small roseate scar just below the base of his penis instead of a sac containing balls. A big improvement for a slave, believe me. I painted the area with antiseptic again. Now it was my turn. First, I loosened the straps that were immobilizing his legs. After painting my sac with antiseptic to avoid spreading infection, I inserted myself into his backside again and took my pleasure as the first man to have this eunuch slave. My pleasure was enhanced by his rapid movements, and, after a few minutes I emptied my balls up his ass with a great cry of release. A fully satisfying orgasm, one I would not soon forget.
I deflated his gag and freed him from the restraints. He stood up and looked at me expectantly. “Clean up the room. When you are finished, bring me your severed parts,” I ordered. After about twenty minutes, he presented me with his severed balls in a small stainless steel bowl.. My inspection revealed that he had done an excellent job cleaning up. Everything was sterilized and back where it belonged. An excellent job. This slave would serve me well. I picked up his dead balls. “Open your mouth, slave!” I placed his balls into his open mouth and closed it. “Now, chew and swallow.” He did so. So began his life as my eunuch slave.
My past has been wiped out and there is only the present. The future is something i never think about – it is enough that i am alive in the here and now. And that present has a purity and a simplicity that my past never had. i am a slave. i do what i am told. i accept what happens to me. i am content.
i don’t know where i am, whether in a city or in the country as it was part of the contract i agreed to that i would not know where i was going, or who i was going to. i had been selected on the basis of the emails and photographs i had submitted to the agency and told to go to a certain place, at a certain time and wait. It was an hour’s train journey from the town where i had lived, and then a walk of about a mile until i reached the designated spot, a quiet crossroads down a country lane. The instructions had been specific – no possessions other than the clothes i had been directed to wear (jeans, tee-shirt, sneakers, no coat or jacket even though it was winter and rain was falling on me). No watch, either, so i had no idea if i was early or late. Shivering with apprehension so intense that i did not notice that i was cold and wet, i waited for my life to change…
And what a change! i am a slave to a Leather Master who keeps me in chains in a cage in a dungeon and uses me for his sexual pleasure whenever he feels like it.
The first thing he did to me when i arrived was to impress upon me that i am a slave and must never, even for a second, forget this fact. So he shaved my body totally, head, eyebrows, chest, groin, everything; and it is one of my duties as his slave to keep this body in a state of total hairlessness as a constant reminder of my state of slavery.
Then he made sure that, by chaining me with heavy fetters, every movement would remind me that i am a slave. A heavy metal slave collar was welded around my neck, with heavy chains running to metal wrist and ankle restraints, also welded. A heavy ball collar is welded round my balls, pushing them painfully downwards and allowing him to grab them and twist them as a way of controlling me. Apart from these heavy chains i am naked, allowing my Master access to my body at any time. i am trained to present myself to him, to offer up my body to him when he desires it.
i am kept chained to the wall and sl**p on the floor of the cage. The cage is too small for me to do anything other than kneel in it or lie down if i am curled up. At first i had difficulty in sl**ping as the fetters would cut into me if i tried to move too much and the chain from the collar around my neck to the wall is too short to permit much movement. But i have become accustomed to it and i feel safe and secure, like a dog that accepts its new home without question. i eat and drink from a dog bowl on the floor. i am not permitted to eat with my hands but must stick my face into the bowl like a dog.
my nipples and cock have been pierced and rings inserted so that i can be chained in any number of painful and uncomfortable positions when he decides to punish me and discipline me. He also pierced my nose and inserted a ring as a further exercise in humiliation. He says it will serve to remind me that i am a pig slave. Ominous words at the time…. The piercings have not yet healed fully, so that any punishment my Master chooses to inflict on my nipples is more intensely painful as a result.
As a slave, i have no rights whatsoever but must accept that i am a piece of property, owned completely by my Master, to be used in any way he sees fit. i must obey all commands and orders without hesitation, without question; it is enough that he wishes it, no matter what it may be. He can punish me and discipline me whether i have done anything to deserve it or not – it is a high honour that my Master should deign to whip my worthless body or grant me permission to worship his tall leather boots, the symbol of his dominance and Mastery.
my only permitted response to humiliation, degradation, abuse and punishment is one of extreme gratitude to my Master. If i should cry out at any time or be slow in thanking him for abusing me, then i know that i shall be punished even more severely.
i have been systematically and thoroughly trained to serve as his sex slave and i am fully conscious of the honour bestowed on me. my slave training has been severe but i have emerged as a real bootslave, a dogslave, a pig slave, grateful to be the property of such a dominant Master.
When he enters the dungeon, i have been trained immediately to get to my knees, bow my head and wait in a respectful and subservient position for him to unlock my cage. When he has done this, i crawl towards him, begging for permission to lick his boots. He particularly likes to see his slave grovel at his boots. i am often gagged so that i cannot say anything but if i am not then i am only permitted to beg for more punishment, abuse, and humiliation, and especially for the high honour of licking his boots and cleaning them with my tongue.
All utterances begin and end with the word “SIR” or “MASTER”. i am not permitted to use the word “i” but must describe myself in the lowest terms possible as in “SIR, please allow this useless piece of slave shit to lick the soles of your boots, SIR” or “MASTER, this dog turd begs you to piss on it, MASTER”. my tongue is not allowed to touch his boot leather until he gives the command and then i must lick his boots with a proper show of enthusiasm and respect. All my slave training is conducted at boot level, and i am not allowed to stand in his presence unless he is chaining me upright for a heavy whipping.
He wears full leather at all times with a leather peaked cap pulled down low on his brow, so that i can scarcely see his face. In any case, i am not permitted to look at him but must keep my eyes lowered in his presence. He wears skintight leather jeans or sometimes leather breeches with a broad uniform stripe running down the side. As a special favour i am occasionally permitted to run my tongue over his firm leather encased legs and thighs; and sometimes even over his bulging leather crotch, before unzipping the bulge with my teeth and working his cock into my mouth and down my throat.
But his tall black leather boots are my main concern and i spend hours not just licking them but cleaning them thoroughly with my tongue. He will command me to start with the soles. No position reminds me of my status as a slave more than this – i am lying flat on my back while my Master stands above me, one boot raised and pressing on my face while my tongue works on the rough leather sole as it grinds down on me. Then i work upwards, around the rims, over the smooth steel toecaps and up the long expanse covering his calves, sometimes permitted to caress the boots with my hands as i lick them. If he is wearing his hobnailed boots then i know i am in for a hard time -if i do not lick them with enough devotion or attention to detail then he will aim a few hard kicks at my useless body. And he will press down hard on my neck with one boot, grinding the hob nails into my flesh while i service the boot leather of the other boot.
He has a large collection of whips, belts, paddles and crops hanging from the walls of the dungeon and, selecting one, he whips me while i lick his boots. Sometimes he kicks me round the dungeon with his boots while he lays into me with his leather belt. i am ordered to keep trying to lick his boots while he does this. He delights in turning me into a grovelling, bootlicking slave, begging for ever more humiliation, degradation and abuse.
Sometimes he punishes me by locking me in a heavy iron head cage, hanging from a chain in the ceiling of the dungeon. He will crank it up so that i have to stand on tiptoes, my arms and legs will be chained spread-eagled, and he will leave me like that for hours until my muscles ache. Then he will take a whip to my naked back and arse, making me count the strokes and thank him for whipping me after each one.
Whipping a slave excites him more than anything else and when he has finally finished whipping me, he will usually drop the whip and f***e his huge Master’s cock up my arse and fuck me roughly, his hand coming through the metal of the headcage and covering my mouth, forcing his fingers down my throat.
When he has shot his load up my arse, he will pull out, unfasten me from my position, open a door at the front of my head cage, slap me down to waist level and make me clean his dripping Master’s cock with my tongue. Often his cock will harden again while i am licking it clean and he will stick it down my throat, making me suck it hard until he shoots another load. Then i have to clean his Master’s cock thoroughly with my tongue. When a slave is fully submissive, i have discovered, then there is nothing that it will not do no matter how revolting it might have been to its former self. You might say i have been mesmerised to the extent that His desire is quite simply reason enough.
One day he entered the dungeon, chained me firmly to the ground so that i couldn’t move, and buckled a leather plugged gag around my head, filling my mouth so that i couldn’t cry out. Then he lit a fire in a metal brazier and stuck a branding iron into it. i knew what was going to happen to me but was powerless to do anything about it. i simply had to wait in an agony of expectation while the iron reached the right temperature. Then, pulling it out of the fire, he planted it firmly on my arse and branded me with the word ‘slave’ so that all who use me will know what i am. Then, having marked me permanently as a slave, he invited other Leather Masters to his dungeon.
i had to crawl to the door of the dungeon and lie in front of it. When each Leather Master entered, he would use my useless slave body as a boot cleaner, wiping the tall boots on my flesh. Then he would stick his boots in front of my face and order me to kiss them as a sign of my respect. When five tall Masters, some in full leather, the others in full rubber, had gathered, he told them that i am a trained bootslave. Then, slapping me hard across my face, he ordered me to serve them.
Crawling from one to another, servicing their boots, i was used as a boot wipe and boot rest. Some of them were smoking and at a snap of the fingers i would crawl over and open my mouth so that it could be used as an ashtray. They took it in turns to fuck me, slapping me and verbally abusing me as they did so, calling me a worthless piece of slave shit, a dog turd. They gobbed in my face and made me rub it in. Some would pull me up by my collar and order me to lick the snot from their noses; or they would shoot snot into my open mouth.
The evening was an orgy of abuse and humiliation for me, as i desperately tried my best to carry out all the orders i was given by these dominant Masters. Finally, when they had gone, my Master dragged me to my slave cage, kicked me in and, as usual, chained me to the wall and left me lying, my body covered in welts from the whipping i had received. The evening ended as it always does – he walked to the gate of the cage and i crawled over and stuck my tongue through the bars, whimpering like a dog to show how much i wanted to service his boots. As i licked his boots, he jacked off over me, finally leaving me lying in my degradation.
I love to visit my dad on weekends. Not every weekend, only two weekends a month, but boy do I look forward to them! Although mom got custody of the two of us, when my big brother Adam turned 18 he moved back in with dad.
I can't wait for those Fridays when Dad picks me up from school. I always get in the back seat, even though I could have sat in front. As we drive out of the city I slowly begin taking my clothes off, starting with my socks and sneakers. I keep my shirt on until we get off the highway and onto the back roads. Dad won't let me wear any clothes when I'm staying at his place. It's one of his rules, and I always follow it.
Dad never lets me suck him off while he's driving, since he doesn't want to have an accident.
It's too bad my mom makes me pack all those clothes and my toothbrush and stuff, since I won't be using any of it at Dad's place. I leave everything in the car. So for the whole weekend I don't wear clothes, brush my teeth or bathe. That's the way Dad and Adam like it. I like it that way, too.
My dad lives on a quiet country road, and there are enough trees and bushes around so that nobody sees me when we pull into the driveway. It's always fun to get out of the car naked as a jaybird and walk into the house.
Usually Adam is sitting on the couch watching TV and drinking a beer when I get in. Dad lets him drink, but I'm not allowed. His legs are spread wide and I can already see his cock bulging through his jeans. The first thing I always do when I get there is I get down on my knees in front of him and rub my face against his crotch.
"I love you, Adam" I say as I start to kiss his throbbing teen cock through his jeans. Adam never speaks to me until I've swallowed my first load of his cum. I rest my head on his crotch for a minute, enjoying the warmth for a minute before I begin to unzip his jeans.
I love the smell of Adam's piss-stained underwear as I pull it down. Alex doesn't move a muscle, so it usually takes me a minute to get his cock out. Mmm, it seems a little bigger each time. I love how full it feels in my hand as I plant a tiny kiss on the big fat head. I lick the piss slit a little before I open my mouth wide and take him in as far as I can.
By this time Dad has parked the car, picked up the mail and come into the house. He nods approvingly when he sees me servicing my brother. He sits down in his recliner and watches us. When I am finished with Adam I will fetch Dad a beer and do the same for him.
I spend a long time savoring my brother's cock, licking it with long strokes and then taking it deep down my throat until I gag. I think they like to hear me gag. I'm loving the salty taste, the funky smell in his pubic hair. I let his dick slide out of my mouth and start to lick his balls.
I have to be very careful when I lick Adam's balls. He loves having his balls licked but they're very sensitive. If I'm too rough he will twist my ear or pull my hair to let me know I need to be more gentle.
I can tell when Adam is about to shoot by the way he tenses up. When he's about to cum I make sure his cock is as far down my throat as possible. I love the feel of the squirting against my tonsils. Sometimes he grabs my head and shoves it down on his cock so I'm forced to swallow, sometimes he pulls out a little and shoots it all over my tongue so I can taste it. But I must never spill a drop because Adam will be mad if I make a mess.
When I am finished with Adam I carefully pull his underwear back up and zip up his jeans. Then he speaks to me. "Jaden, throw away this empty can and bring me another beer."
"Yes, Adam." I go to the fridge and get two beers, one for Adam and one for my Dad.
I love sucking my Dad because his cock is so much bigger than Adam's. I can't fit it in all the way down my throat, but it tastes and smells so much better that I try even harder to please Dad. And Dad thrusts harder, which is always more fun for me. I usually have a raging hard on when I'm sucking Dad, but I'm never allowed to touch myself. I have to save my jerking off until I get back in my own bed at my mother's house.
Adam took a nice picture of me with my lips wrapped around Dad's cock once. They threw away my school picture that my mom sent them and put that one in the frame instead. They've got lots of pictures of me around the house, me smiling with Adam's jizz on my face, my mouth open with Dad's jizz on my tongue, me sticking things up my ass, Adam fucking me. I guess they must hide those pictures when people come over to the house. But they always leave them up when I'm around, even if Dad or Adam have friends over. I guess their friends don't mind, since they usually have me service them too.
Once I've swallowed my two loads for the night I go into my cage and wait for Dad to lock me up. There's nothing in the cage for me to sleep on, so I usually look around for some of their dirty laundry that I can pick up and use for bedding. I love using Dad's dirty underwear and Adam's smelly socks for a pillow.
I like to help out around the house. When Dad lets me out of my cage on Saturday morning I like to do the laundry for them. They never pick up after themselves. They always leave the laundry for me to do, so I get to go around the house picking up underwear, socks, t-shirts and jeans and then lovingly washing, drying and folding them. For the most part, I stay inside the house on these weekends since I'm not wearing any clothes. I do all the laundry and chores when they are out so I can relax and let them fuck me when they get home.
Doing the laundry is so much fun because I get to smell Adam's socks, which usually reek from running and playing basketball. I also like to suck on the piss stains from Dad's underwear, too.
I have dinner ready for them, usually something simple I know how to cook like fish sticks or frozen pizza. I've usually eaten something beforehand, since they don't let me sit at the table with them.
"Adam, will you please fuck me?" I always have to ask because Adam is really lazy and would rather just sit back and have me suck him.
"Why don't you suck my dick instead?"
"You'd fuck me if you really loved me."
"Fine. Sit on my dick and ride it."
"Thanks Adam! You're the best!"
There are never any condoms or lubricant in the house, so I always start by sucking his dick so it's nice and wet. Then I sit in his lap and slide down on it. It always hurts a little at first, but once I feel he's all the way in, a warm feeling of pleasure fills me up. I begin to ride up and down.
Since we don't use lube, the saliva dries out pretty quickly. When that happens, I get off his lap and put his dick back in my mouth for a bit to get it nice and wet. I usually have to do this a whole bunch of times before Adam shoots his load into me.
Dad, on the other hand, likes to fuck me hard. That's why I always do Adam first, to get loosened up. I wait for Dad on his bed on all fours with my ass up in the air. I usually don't need lubrication at that point because of Adam's cum dripping out of my ass. Dad does not go in gentle. He shoves it in hard and pushes my face into the pillow. With Adam I can control my pleasure, but with Dad I have no control. Dad fucks me like an animal and when he's done he's done, leaving me to clean up the sheets.
I give them back rubs and foot rubs. I especially like the foot rubs because I can smell and lick their feet all I want. I trim their toenails for them. I suck the toe jam out.
If Dad or Adam invites their friends over, I make sure they feel at home. I bring them beers and snacks, take their sneakers off and give them foot rubs, and offer to suck their cocks. Usually I get to suck every guy off before the night is through.
One Sunday night Dad had invited a few friends from work over for a barbecue. That was the day the toilet broke and we couldn't figure out how to fix it in time for the guests. Then Adam had a brilliant idea. He found a way for me to help.
Before the guests came over, Adam told me to run the water in the bathtub and get in it. I needed to take a bath anyway, so mom wouldn't notice how bad I when Dad brought me back.
"Now, Jaden, you stay in that bathtub and don't come out."
"But Alex," I whined, "how can I serve any of Dad's friends if I'm taking a bath?"
"Oh, you'll serve them all right. Since the toilet won't flush, you'll be filling in."
"Yeah, that's right. You're gonna be our urinal. I hope you're thirsty!"
I smiled. I loved the taste of dried piss on Dad's dick, but it never occurred to me that I might like fresh piss, too.
So I sat in the bathtub and listened as Dad greeted and entertained his friends. In a little while Adam came into the bathroom. "Okay, Jaden, I'm gonna test you out. Open wide."
Obediently, I opened my mouth and waited to drink my brother's salty piss. He didn't aim too precisely, and got a lot of it on my face. Once he got the stream going my mouth began to fill up. It was awkward to swallow and keep my mouth wide open at the same time, but I soon got the hang of it. When he was done I licked my lips.
"You'll do fine tonight, Jaden."
"I can't wait for my first customer!"
In a few minutes, one of my Dad's friends from work came in. I didn't recognize him. He looked older than Adam but younger than Dad, so I guessed he must have been in his early 30's.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" he blushed when he saw me naked in the tub. "I didn't realize you were in here!" Then he started to back out the door.
"You gotta piss?" I asked.
"Yeah. You don't mind, do you?"
"Come on in!"
I guess the man didn't know my dad too well, since he didn't know what to expect. "I didn't know Claude had another son." He was trying hard not to look at my dick, which was sticking up in the water.
"My name's Jaden. I'm only here on weekends."
"Oh, hi. My name's Mark." Mark lifted the toilet seat, clearly looking uncomfortable about pissing in front of me.
"Toilet's broken," I said. "Can't use it."
Mark looked confused. "But I just saw your brother come in here. And your dad told me to come in here if I needed to use the bathroom."
"Well, if the toilet's broken, how did Adam-"
"I took care of him" I said, proudly.
"Huh?" Mark looked confused. He looked at my bath water to see if Adam had pissed in there, but it was still crystal clear. "How did you, you know,"
"Like this." I opened my mouth for him.
Mark looked stunned. "Claude's more twisted than I thought he was!" I realized that Mark must have had some idea of what kind of things went on in my dad's house, but he wasn't expecting anything like this.
"So you gotta piss?"
"Okay, then give it to me." I sat in the tub with my mouth open, waiting for my dad's friend to unzip his fly.
"Are you sure?"
"Sure I'm sure." I opened and waited.
There was a knock on the door. It was Don, another one of my dad's friends. "Hurry up in there, I gotta take a leak!" I was glad to know that Don was there, since I especially liked the way Don's cum tasted and was looking forward to drinking his piss.
"Okay, here goes." Mark nervously unbuttoned his fly and pulled out a medium-sized dick. I could see he was having trouble pissing. I probably made him uncomfortable. He fed me a little dribble and then changed his mind. "No, I can't do this. I think I'll go piss outside somewhere."
Although Mark was a disappointment, Don was not. "Hey there, Jaden. I'm glad to see you know your place."
"I hope you've got a lot of piss for me."
"I sure do, little buddy. Get ready."
I opened my mouth wide as Don unzipped himself. He put his hand on my head, grabbed a handful of hair, and tilted my face back even more. He put his dick right up to my mouth and let loose. He had already drunk a lot of beer, and the piss just kept flowing. I tried to keep up with it but some of it began to trickle out of the corners of my mouth. When he finished, I licked the drops off his dick and then wrapped my lips around it. I hoped he'd start fucking my face.
"I'm not ready for that now, little buddy."
He could tell I was disappointed. "Don't worry, I'll come round again and give you a good load before I leave."
"Gee, thanks, Don."
So I spent the whole afternoon in the tub while a steady stream of men came to piss down my throat. When I had to piss I just peed in the tub. A few guys did come back to get their cocks sucked. I also got to drink a lot of piss from my dad and Adam. I was a happy camper.
When the barbecue was over I got cleaned up and went out into the car. As Dad drove me back to my mom's house I slowly put my clothes back on so I'd be presentable for her.
"So what did you do with your Dad and Alex this weekend, Jaden?"
"Oh, we had a lot of fun. We went to Six Flags and then we went fishing. I can't wait to go back!"
Other Parts of the Urinal Boy Series: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
Originally posted on https://statdig.com
I hit the “Send” button, logged off, closed the laptop and sat back. I was on a business trip to the States and as always I’d arranged some free time in my schedule which was a particularly good thing on this occasion as I’d made contact on the internet with a guy and had arranged to meet him. He sounded interesting and we had some mutual interests.
We’d first made contact on GearFetish and had been emailing for around 6 months. He’d told me that his name’s Joe and that he’s 25 years old. We exchanged photos although by mutual agreement there were no face shots. If the photos really were of him, then he was of athletic build, hairy and – well, interesting.
From the start it was clear that we have a mutual interest in restraints. He said that he’d got a large collection of handcuffs – and he liked using them! His other interest was tight clothes and he left me in no doubt that his particular fetish was tight breeches and jeans. He elaborated by saying that he particularly enjoyed wearing the polyester and spandex 4-way stretch type of breeches – “as worn by motorcycle cops” and he added “but tighter!” Well that was fine by me, here was a guy into cuffs, cuffing and tight pants ….. and he’d suggested a meeting – it couldn’t be better!
When he heard that I’d be visiting Georgia he immediately suggested a meeting and although it was a tempting suggestion I was naturally cautious. Was he a bit too eager? What did I know about this guy? Well, not a lot! If he was levelling with me, I knew his name, age and I had a rough idea of his appearance, that was all. So I asked a few more questions and suggested we had a chat on the phone; he sent me his phone number straight away and I called him as soon as I had an opportunity. He answered after a couple of rings and we chatted for several minutes, small talk really but it broke the ice and he sounded like a genuine sort of guy – in fact he sounded very promising, especially when he explained that his place was out in the country, surrounded by fields and woods! I asked him what he did for a living and although he wasn’t evasive I didn’t get a direct answer so as it wasn’t important I let it go, unanswered.
He’d suggested meeting at his place and he was understanding when I expressed some reservations about that (haven’t we all heard the warning “never visit a stranger at his place if you’re alone”!). So the deal was that he would let me have his address, I would drive to his place, stop outside, sound my horn, he’d get in my car and we’d go off to a bar for a couple of beers and a face-to-face chat so as to decide our next move. That’s why the next email I got from him gave me his address – which was a house in Pine View Road, together with his zip code. I checked it out on Google Earth. Sure enough, it was a modest looking house surrounded by fields and woods – just as he’d said.