To those of you who occasionally check for new posts, I thank you for your support. Due to further deterioration in my eyesight, however, it is unlikely that I will write more stories.

BCB90

BCB90

 (c) by the author 2018

“BCB90” was his online ID. He never revealed his real name to the men he met. If pressed, he would say, “Call me BC, or B, if you like.”

His name wasn’t the only thing he kept to himself. He never discussed his real interests. He liked to surprise his partners. Their reactions fed his lusts. Thrusting an unsuspecting victim into sudden danger added to his enjoyment. Their panic and terror fed him, aroused him.

He didn’t know if “Jacob” was the victim’s real name. He didn’t care. The young man was in his late twenties and obviously spent a lot of time in the gym. Jacob still had a lot of lifting to do to match his build, however. He could tell Jacob liked his body. The kid had been staring at his pecs even before he had pulled off his T.  Now Jacob was licking his lips.

He wrapped his arms around Jacob and pulled him tight against his body. Let the kid feel his strength and his hard body up close. He guided Jacob’s head so that the kid’s nose and mouth were centered in the groove between his pecs. Jacob liked the sensation. The boy responded automatically and began to kiss and tongue the muscles and to make small murmurs of pleasure.

He responded in kind. “Ah, that feels good. Keep doing that,” he said. His next move appeared to be no more than a response to the pleasure that Jacob was giving him. He placed his right arm around Jacob’s shoulders and held him tighter. With his left hand he pressed the back of Jacob’s head further into his chest.

Jacob growled. The kid was enjoying it. Jacob redoubled his licking.

He bounced his pecs. “Oh, baby. That’s perfect,” he cooed.

He pressed Jacob’s face further into his chest and ground his body against Jacob’s stiff cock. The lad was so aroused that at first he didn’t even notice how hard it was becoming to breath. Jacob’s nose and mouth were buried in his chest. He locked his arms around Jacob’s head. It wouldn’t take long now. Another fifteen seconds or so, and Jacob’s brain would register the fact that his body needed oxygen. Jacob would begin to struggle. He loved that—the feel of another man’s body trying to escape, writhing and moaning. Jacob would try to tell him that he needed to breathe, but he could pretend to misinterpret those muffled cries. “Oh, more, more,” he would say. Jacob would try to be polite. Jacob would try to pull back gently, but that would be his signal to clutch Jacob’s neck even harder. “Give it to me,” he would cry, as Jacob began pulling at his arms. Without breaking his hold, he would throw Jacob backwards onto the bed, his chest pressed even tighter against Jacob’s face.

It wouldn’t take long after that, another half-minute at most. The struggle would cease as Jacob blacked out—for the first time that night.

*****

“God, you’ve got great legs.”

BCB90 lay on the floor of his bedroom with his feet resting on a chair, alternately flexing and relaxing his thighs. The guy from the gym was lying on the bed watching him in the overhead mirrors. “Mike”—that was the guy’s name. Mike had been staring at him for weeks. Lately Mike had taken to dogging his footsteps around the gym, using a machine near him or lifting free weights at the next station. Today Mike had followed him into the showers and then stood in the locker room watching him as he changed into his street clothes.

As he left, he said, “Come with me,” and the guy did. Mike was about twenty-five, BCB90 guessed. He looked Hispanic. He had a decent body, and he could deadlift a couple hundred pounds. Mike would make a good victim.

BCB90 flexed his thighs again. “Let me show you a trick.” He stood up and walked over to the bed. “No, don’t get up. Just move over a bit.” He lay down on the bed. “Just lie back with your body between my thighs, face up, with your head resting on my groin.”  BCB90 spread his legs open. He didn’t have an erection, but his cock and balls mounded the crotch of his briefs.

Mike looked at him for a few seconds and then shrugged. The muscle worshippers always went along, no matter what he suggested they do. Mike carefully lowered his body into position. BCB90 raised his thighs so that Mike could stretch his arms and shoulders under them.

“Good. Now watch yourself in the mirrors.”  BCB lowered his legs over Mike’s body, pinioning Mike’s body beneath them. He closed his thighs around Mike’s head so that they pressed against the sides of his neck. His thighs were so big that they covered Mike’s ears. All that was visible in the mirrors was Mike’s face and a mop of curly black hair.

“Mmmm. Now, that’s pretty. Don’t you think that’s pretty? Watch what happens when I do this.”  BCB90 crossed his legs at the ankles, with his heels digging into Mike’s groin, and flexed. His thigh muscles leaped into prominence again.

Mike whimpered and tried to move. BCB90 squeezed harder. “Just relax. It won’t take long. Look how red your face is already getting. That’s because the blood can’t get through. My thighs are constricting the blood vessels in your neck. See—that vein in your forehead—that means the pressure is building up. It won’t take long. You’ll pass out in a few seconds”

Mike began struggling in earnest. Of course, he couldn’t escape. BCB90 wasn’t worried about that. He loved it when his victims struggled. It made him hard, especially when he had the guy’s head jammed up against his cock. He got so stiff. The last thing Mike would feel was his hard cock thrusting against the back of his head.

*****

“Just take a deep breath, TJ. Slowly fill your lungs. Now hold it for a second. And then slowly release it. And as you release, sink deeper and deeper. That’s it. Deeper and deeper. Good boy, TJ. As you go deeper and deeper, your mind empties. Deeper and deeper. More and more relaxed. More and more obedient.”

BCB90 continued the induction for another ten minutes. TJ was a good subject and tranced easily, but it was always best to prepare the subject thoroughly for reprogramming. Not that he had any worries about TJ. He had used TJ many times before.

“Now,  I am going to implant a post-hypnotic order in your mind. I’ve done that before. As always, you will carry out my orders completely and fully and easily. My orders are so natural. They become part of your being. When I awaken you, you will undress. I will confine your head in a doggie hood. When I do so, you will immediately become a doggy.  You will get down on all fours so that I can insert a butt plug with a doggie tail into you. When I insert the butt plug, everything human about you will drop away. When I put the doggie hood over your head, you will become a dog. You will walk like a dog. You will bark like a dog. You will think like a dog. You will be a dog.”

BCB90 repeated the instructions several times, each time taking TJ deeper and deeper into trance.

When BCB90 ended the trance, TJ stood up and took off his clothes. He said nothing, and his eyes were focused on the distance.  BCB90 pulled the hood over TJ’s head and secured it tightly around the neck. TJ’s head was now encased in a black rubber hood with floppy dog-like ears and a rigid snout that could open and close when TJ moved his jaw.

TJ immediately fell to his hands and knees and elevated his ass. BCB90 spread lube liberally on the bulb of the butt plug before shoving it in. TJ’s asshole gulped it down.

The change in TJ was immediate. The doggie wagged his tail in excitement.

“Here, fetch.” BCB90 held up the rubber chew toy shaped like a bone and threw it across the room. The dog scampered after it. It took several tries, but the pup eventually got his jaws around the bone. He pranced back to BCB and dropped the toy at his master’s feet.

“Good boy. Such a good boy. Today I’m going to teach you a new trick. You’ll like that, won’t you, boy? You like to learn new tricks.”

The dog went into paroxysms of joy, barking excitedly and wagging its tail so violently that it lost its footing and toppled over.

BCB90 picked up the stainless steel choke chain and secured it around the dog’s neck. He yanked up on it and shouted, “This is what happens to bad doggies. You were a bad doggie this morning, weren’t you? A very bad doggie.”

The pup whimpered and cowered, trying to avoid his master’s eyes. “Bad doggie. Bad doggies deserve to be punished. You’ve been a bad doggie. You are being punished.”

Choking noises came from the dog’s throat. BCB90 picked up a riding crop and struck the dog viciously across its hindquarters. “Don’t. You. Ever. Do. That . Again.” Each word was accented with a slashing stroke. The dog yowled in pain and terror. BCB90 pulled the choke chain even tighter, lifting the dog’s forequarters off the floor.

It was just the first of many rounds of “good dog, bad dog,” they would play that night.

*****

BCB90 sat in the dark waiting for the wimp to wake up from the drug. It wouldn’t take long. The drug was swift acting, and the effects wore off in ten or fifteen minutes. That had been long enough for him to strip the clothes off the wimp and secure the body spread-eagled on the bed using four of the wimp’s neckties. The wimp had a goose-neck reading light on the nightstand, and he had jammed the base into the space between the headboard and the wall and adjusted the lamp so that it shone directly into the wimp’s eyes. The wimp would be able to see, but not clearly. The light was positioned to illuminate his pleasures, and that’s what really mattered.

The wimp hadn’t believed its luck when BCB had approached it at the gym and started chatting. The little guy had drooled when he had whipped off his shirt to expose his sweaty chest. It hadn’t taken more than five minutes for him to get the wimp to invite him back to its place. Not that he had ever doubted his chances of getting what he wanted. It was always easy. The idiot had been only too willing to take the “performance-enhancing drug” he had offered.

The wimp’s wrists and ankles weren’t the only thing he had bound. He had wrapped a shoelace several times around the wimp’s cock and balls. The cock now stood straight up, engorged and purple with blood.

There. The wimp was waking up. Its eyes fluttered open and it moaned. He reached over and began stroking its cock. That got its attention. It was still confused from the drug, and it took a few seconds for it to realize that it wasn’t going anywhere.

He ignored the wimp’s cries of “What? “ and “Hey!”  They would soon be replaced by noises he liked better.

When he was sure that the wimp was awake, he leaned over its body and took its cock into his mouth. The wimp’s cock wasn’t the largest one he had ever used, but it was a decent size, big enough to satisfy him.

And now the wimp was getting into it. It moaned—louder this time—and tried a few tentative thrusts into his mouth.

He grabbed the cock and swiftly impaled himself on it. The wimp raised its head to look at him. It blinked several times because the light was so strong. He suspected that the wimp couldn’t see him very well, but it could see enough to tell that a god was using its cock for his pleasure. He could tell the wimp liked the idea. Would it like his next move as much? He didn’t think so. In fact, he was counting on that.

He pinched and pulled on his nipples as he raised his body up and then slammed down—hard—again on the cock. Let the wimp have a few more seconds of enjoyment before he really started enjoying himself. Let it think it had a big, beautiful muscle stud slavering over its pathetic body.

He reached forward and gently closed his left hand around the wimp’s throat, applying just enough pressure to constrict the carotids.  A puzzled look came into the wimp’s eyes. It was probably thinking, “This can’t be happening. He can’t be doing that on purpose.” He gripped a bit harder. The wimp’s face was already turning red, and the vein that ran down the middle of the forehead was beginning to throb.

The wimp tried to lift its hands to pull his arm away, but the neckties binding its wrists to the bedposts made its writhings futile. Poor wimp. It would have to spend a lot more time working out and lifting heavier weights before it rip a necktie loose. He threw his head back and laughed. “Yes,” he shouted in triumph.

The wimp was making gagging noises now. That was the sound he had been waiting for. Those lovely strangled “aaacks” coming from the victim’s throat as it struggled.  He placed both of his hands around its neck and began choking it harder.

The wimp panicked. It struggled against the  restraints. And now that wonderful moment he had been waiting for. It began digging its heels into the mattress. He had purposely left wriggle room for that. It tried to push its heels into the bed so that it could arch its body and throw him off, but all that did was to drive its cock further into his ass, increasing his pleasure. He almost felt grateful to the wimp.

Unexpected added bonus. The wimp’s thrashings dislodged the lamp. The metal cone shielding the lightbulb struck the wimp in the forehead and it screamed in pain. The cut began to bleed. Not a lot. Just enough so that a exquisite trickle of blood bubbled out. He moved the lamp to the side. The light was even closer to its face now. It must feel hot on its face. He would have to add a blow from the lamp to his repertory. Maybe even use the bulb to burn his victims. Their screams and useless struggles would be so glorious.

He loosened his grip enough so that the wimp could recover just a bit, before tightening his hands around its throat even harder. He would do that over and over, enjoying the wimp’s futile efforts to escape. He had honed his skills so that he could keep his victims struggling until their bodies orgasmed. They couldn’t help it. He controlled them. When the shuddering stopped, he would give them rest. It only took a half-minute or so to end their torment. That was small enough thanks for the pleasure they brought him.

*****

BCB90  strutted out of the shower at the gym clutching a towel against his groin, as if he were being modest and considerate of the other guys. In truth, he cared fuck-all about modesty. What mattered was that the gesture left the rest of his body on display, especially his ass. As he sauntered back to his locker, he slowly rolled his glutes from side to side. Even if he said so himself, he had the best ass in the gym. He could feel the other men’s stares. 

“Hey, Derrick, how’s it going?” Derrick didn’t know it yet, but he was today’s entertainment. He had had his eye on Derrick ever since the day Derrick had joined the gym and been assigned the locker next to his. Derrick’s body was nice enough, but that wasn’t the primary attraction. It was Derrick’s wide mouth and big tongue that had stimulated his imagination. Oh, he had plans for Derrick’s mouth and tongue.

"Doing fine, BC. Good workout?”

“Yeah. Worked on my glutes today, but I think I overdid it a bit. Need to stretch them.” BC dropped the towel to the floor and bent forward at the waist, clutching his ankles with his hands. He repeated the action several times, making sure that Derrick got a good view of his ass. After that, it hadn’t taken much to persuade Derrick to accompany him back to his apartment for a “protein shake.”  Of course, he didn’t tell Derrick that the drink was drugged. Not a lot—he didn’t want Derrick to pass out—just enough to make Derrick compliant and willing to go along with any suggestion.

Once he was satisfied that the drug had taken effect, BC knelt on the floor, offering his ass. He was careful to present himself in a submissive posture. Derrick was more likely to cooperate if he thought he was the top.

“Please, rim me before you fuck me,” BC simpered. “It makes me so hot.” He almost lisped.

Derrick took the bait. His tongue licked his lips in anticipation.

BC congratulated himself. The poor stiff must think he had hit the jackpot, found a faggot muscle bottom.

Derrick got down on the floor and used his hands to spread BC’s cheeks apart. He took a tentative swipe with his tongue. BC groaned as if with pleasure. Let Derrick think he was a sexy stud. Time to encourage the ass wipe to greater efforts. “Please, don’t stop. Work the taint too,” he moaned.

Derrick took the hint and applied himself. At least he tried to. BC moved his body to make it harder to reach the target. It didn’t take long for Derrick’s neck to feel the strain. “Why don’t you get up on the couch? It’d be easier then.”

 “I’ve got a better idea. Lie down on the floor and I’ll squat over you.”

The drug was working as planned. Derrick immediately stretched out on the floor. BC positioned his body so that his ass was over Derrick’s mouth. The stud went to work immediately. Soon his tongue was slurping wetly over BC’s taint and asshole.

As if overcome with arousal, BC lowered his ass and covered Derrick’s face with it. The first time, he pressed down only for a few seconds. The next time he let Derrick wait a bit longer before he allowed him to breathe. BC wasn’t in any hurry. He would get down to business eventually. In the meantime, he would enjoy the ride. He gradually let Derrick grow accustomed to having his face encased in flesh. It didn’t take Derrick long to catch on to the rhythm. BC would sit on Derrick’s face for a few seconds and then he would raise his body so that Derrick could take a breath. Derrick didn’t even notice that the opportunities for breathing were coming further and further apart.

“Ah, that feels so good. Now, stick your tongue up me. Really give it to me.”

Derrick obeyed. BC pressed his ass hard against Derrick’s face and gave himself over to the sensation of the dupe’s tongue darting into his asshole. That wasn’t the main point, of course, but it was a nice bonus. The main point would come in another half-minute or so when Derrick awakened to the fact that he needed to take a breath. When that fact penetrated his brain, Derrick would begin to squirm and try to push BC off his face. Derrick’s hot wet breath would feel so good against his ass. As the seconds passed, muffled cries of alarm would come from between his legs. When it became clear to Derrick that BC wasn’t going to let him breath, the idiot would grow alarmed and begin to struggle. That was BC’s reward for being so patient and not suffocating Derrick immediately—to have a man fighting for breath as your flesh smothered him. If Derrick was like his other victims, it would take another minute of so for him to black out

He would let Derrick revive a bit before he began again. Derrick would still be groggy but awake enough to struggle. Luckily he knew CPR in case Derrick proved to be weaker than he thought.

*****

“Make a muscle for me.”

BCB90 flexed his right arm. His latest conquest gasped. Mike’s reaction didn’t surprise BCB. He was used to other men gasping in disbelief when they saw the size of his arms. Even other bodybuilders admired his arms.

“Can I touch it?”

BCB stretched his right arm out full length to the side and then curled his forearm up. He leaned forward so that Mike could reach the muscle.

“God, you’re incredible.” Mike cupped the bicep in his hands.

“Lick it.” BCB stepped behind Mike and wrapped his arm around Mike’s head. He popped the bicep against Mike’s mouth.

Mike moaned and began tonguing his bicep.

BCB pulled Mike closer so that their bodies were pressed together. His cock pushed against Mike’s ass.

Mike shuddered in delight as BCB’s body engulfed his. BCB’s kisses on the back of his neck and his roving hands overwhelmed his mind. When BCB shoved his cock inside Mike’s ass, Mike’s mouth fastened onto BCB’s bicep as if he were trying to suck it into his throat.

BCB  reared up, forcing Mike to stand up, still impaled on BCB’s thrusting cock. BCB playfully pushed Mike’s head forward until it fit in the crook of his arm. He flexed, imprisoning Mike’s throat between his forearm and the bicep. He had the poor sap now. Mike probably thought he was being overcome by passion. He suddenly raised his arm, forcing Mike’s chin back, and lifted Mike off the floor.

Mike clawed at his forearm trying to loosen his grip. The lad’s struggles had the desired effect. Mike’s clenched his ass muscles and squirmed.

BCB laughed. A tighter ass and a thrashing body made his cock feel great. That was the kind of muscle worship he liked. And now the lad was gasping for breath. Even better. He would allow Mike just enough air to keep him struggling and on the verge of passing out.

*****

BCB90 preferred to use his hands. He liked the feel of flesh on flesh. Sometimes, a guy he met through one of the hook-up apps was into leather, and he would wear gloves—at least for the first choking. But once he had his victim subdued and pliant, he usually took the gloves off.

A plastic bag was OK, but only if the bag was clear plastic. He wanted to watch the victim’s eyes as the lights went out. But a baggie smacked too much of the kitchen for his taste—efficient but lacking the hands-on pleasures of grappling with a struggling body.

The other option was a garrote. It didn’t have to be the traditional wire or rope with handles on both ends. The raw materials for garrotes were everywhere in a victim’s house—closets yielded neckties, shoelaces, belts; bathrooms and kitchens had towels which could be rolled into an effective means of strangulation, many guys had rope or chains stashed somewhere; dog owners had leashes; practically every room had an electrical cord. If push came to shove, you could always rip the guy’s T-shirt off and wrap it around his neck. For those times when he wasn’t in a victim’s place, he kept a short length of rope in his car. It was just ordinary clothesline rope, but he had washed it until it was soft and pliable and tied a large knot at each end for a better grip.

One advantage of a garrote was the way it focused the victim’s attention. Like this morning. He had chosen his next victim from among the joggers using the path through the woods. It wasn’t the most popular route. It wasn’t paved or maintained. When it rained, the low-lying spots became muddy. And the hilly terrain discouraged all but hard-core runners. But it was secluded and provided good cover for his hobby. He chose his spot carefully. He could see the path and evaluate the joggers as they went passed, but he couldn’t be seen. When he identified a victim, he could be on the path within seconds. .

The guy wore only a loose pair of red nylon jogging shorts and running shoes. The shorts flapped with each step, revealing the straps of a white jock extending across the victim’s ass. His lean body glistened with sweat. His body fat ratio had to be under 10 percent. His taut muscles barely jiggled as he ran.

BCB barely made any noise as he ran. As he neared the victim, he pulled the rope from the pocket of his shorts. The victim was jogging at a steady pace as BCB approached. He formed the rope into a loop. When he got near enough, he swung it over the victim’s head.

The victim’s momentum tightened the rope around its neck. It stumbled to the path as BCB jerked the rope back. BCB pressed a knee against the victim’s back, forcing its body down onto the ground.

That’s where the element of surprise came in. All it could think of was that terrifying constriction around its neck, and its automatic response was to try to dislodge the rope with its fingers. It happened every time. The victim was so intent on the garrote choking it that it paid no attention to the man choking it. BCB had found that he could do anything to the victim at that point. It was paralyzed.

He gave the garrote a few more seconds to work. Its face was already turning red, and it was making gagging sounds. That was satisfying, but another jogger might come along at any moment and he needed to be off the path. He couldn’t wait for it to pass out to move it somewhere more private. He used the garrote as leverage to pull and push the victim into the woods. The undergrowth was so thick along this portion of the path that he was effectively out of sight when he was ten feet in. He had time now. He could spare a minute or two to make sure it was unconscious. The victim’s eyes were already glazing over. Dirt and old leaves stuck to its sweaty body, and in its struggles the shorts had been tugged off its ass. He liked that. He liked it when his victims looked like victims. They were helpless. He could do anything with them. Its breath was coming in ragged gasps. It wouldn’t be long now until it blacked out and ceased to struggle, and then he could move it further in.

He jerked on the garrote, tightening it even further. But he was already looking forward to discarding the garrote. He wanted to get his hands around its neck and feel its body writhing beneath him. He hoped he could get an hour or so of play in before it became useless. When he discarded it, it would have a lovely mark around its neck.

*****

BCB90 liked it when they fought back. There was nothing worse than a passive victim. That was a waste of his time. He couldn’t figure them out. It was almost as if they wanted to die—not that he ever obliged them. If they wouldn’t satisfy him, then he wasn’t going to satisfy them. Put up and be shut up—that was his motto.

His mistake had been to choose guys a lot smaller than himself. Sure, they were easy to manhandle, but he was in the mood for someone like himself—someone as big and as ripped. He wanted to feel a body as strong and as hard as his own writhing beneath him. For once, he would pick on someone his own size. Not that that was easy. His efforts to find a worthy opponent were stymied until the Western Regionals of the USBF.  It was the perfect place to carry out his plans. He had already identified several promising victims just walking around the hotel. In fact, in the room next door to his was his closest competitor for the top spot, Tom Katz.

The two rooms even had a connecting door between them. It was the perfect set-up. Earlier on the excuse of saying hi to Tom, he had casually dropped by. Several of the other main competitors were in Tom’s room, all of them trying to psych the competition. He had leaned against the door and waited until Tom had thrown some shade his way. In the general laughter that followed, no one heard the click of the lock. 

The noise from the TV in Tom’s room stopped at 10:00. A short time later, BCB heard the sound of the shower running.  He gave Tom another couple of hours to fall asleep. It was after midnight when he entered the room. Tom was a large mound on the bed. He had tossed the covers to one side. Luckily he slept in the nude.  And he was lying on his back, with his throat exposed. It was almost as if Tom were offering himself to an intruder.  Even in the dim light of the room, Tom’s magnificent body was apparent. He was a worthy victim.

BCB crept soundlessly to the bed. He had debated on the best approach. He had brought a bottle of chloroform with him, and he could have pressed a pad saturated with it over Tom’s nose and mouth. Tom would awaken immediately and try to fight him off, but his automatic response would be to take a deep breath. Tom would inhale a massive dose of chloroform and be out in a few seconds. Even after he recovered, he would be groggy and not put up much of a fight. That would be a waste of a great opportunity. BCB had also considered and rejected garrotes and plastic bags. No, tonight, he wanted to use his hands. It was a risk, of course, but that was the whole point. He took the precaution of putting on gloves. Ordinarily, he didn’t like to use gloves, but they would give him a better grip and he wouldn’t leave fingerprints.

BCB flexed his hands a few times. He bent over Tom and grasped him tightly by the neck. He shoved his thumbs under Tom’s chin and forced it back as his hands encircled Tom’s neck. He bore down on the carotids. It took Tom a few seconds to wake up and respond. He reared up in bed, pushing BCB back. The two men struggled across the bed, falling onto the floor, but BCB held on and flung his weight across Tom’s body, forcing it down.

Tom writhed beneath him, trying to find a purchase that would allow him to throw BCB off. Unlike most victims, Tom didn’t panic. He was thinking. He was trying to figure out how he could escape. He grasped BCB’s wrists in his hands and began squeezing.

BCB groaned in agony. Tom’s grip was strong enough to crush his wrists. It was a question of whether Tom would pass out before he broke BCB’s bones. The next thirty seconds were crucial. But BCB was used to pain. He could fight his way past pain. He tightened his grip on Tom’s throat. The big man was struggling to breathe now. His breaths came in gasps, that rasping, choking sound so welcome to BCB’s ears.

Tom’s groin pushed against his. Both of them had hard-ons. That realization made BCB’s attention flag for an instant. With a final heave, Tom rolled their bodies over so that BCB lay beneath him, but BCB didn’t let go of Tom’s throat. He hung on tighter than ever.

And then suddenly it was over. BCB sensed Tom’s growing confusion. His oxygen-starved brain was ceasing to send signals to his body. His hands loosened around BCB’s wrists, and his body spasmed and then relaxed. BCB held on for several more seconds until Tom’s body collapsed atop his. He savored the feel of Tom’s weight on him. The gods were rewarding him for a job well done. He paused for a bit to enjoy his victory. He almost came from his excitement. He had been in the room for at most three minutes, but it had been an exciting three minutes.

He couldn’t wait too long. Tom would come to in a minute. He rolled Tom over onto his back. He snapped the lock on the connecting door closed and exited by the hallway door. Within seconds he was back in his room and on the hotel phone, reporting a “commotion” in the room next to his.  He met the person the hotel sent in the hallway and joined him in entering Tom’s room, making sure to touch the doorknob and other surfaces. If his fingerprints were found later, he had left a plausible reason for their presence. When they switched on the lights, they found Tom clutching his throat and trying to catch his breath.

*****

“Now, Jeremy, slowly take a deep breath in. Fill your lungs. Hold it for a few seconds. Good boy. Now slowly release it, and as you breathe out, you sink deeper and deeper into trance. Deeper and deeper into that wonderful state of mental and physical relaxation. You’ve been there many times before. You love being in a deep trance. It makes you feels so good to be in a deep trance.”

BCB90  repeated that thought several times, each time taking Jeremy deeper and deeper into trance. Jeremy was one of his best subjects. After many hypnosis sessions,  he fell easily and quickly into a trance so deep that reprogramming him was a snap.

“Jeremy, you are in a deeply submissive state. I control you completely. You love it when I control you completely. It makes you feel so good when I control you completely.”

It was almost too easy. Jeremy never put up a fight, never resisted. He was becoming a hypno-robot—almost too eager to please and obey. But BCB had a few ideas of how to fix that little flaw.

“Jeremy, from now on, whenever you see my cock, you will want me to fuck you. The moment you see my cock, you will take off your clothes, and get down on your hands and knees, and present your ass to me. You will lower your shoulders and elevate your ass. Your asshole will feel empty unless my cock is in it. You will need me to fuck you. You will hunger for the feeling of my cock inside you. You will beg me to fuck you.”

BCB another five minutes to instilling that thought deeply inside Jeremy’s mind. The lad was ready for the second part of his reprogramming.

“But when I fuck you, it will hurt. When I fuck you, I will rape you. My cock ramming into you will cause you great pain. You will try to escape from it. You will beg me to stop. You will scream. You will struggle. You will try to get away, but you won’t be able to. You will want me to stop, but you will also want me to rape you. You want me to fuck you, but it hurts so much. You want me to rape you, but it hurts so much. You love it when I fuck you, but it hurts so much. When I fuck you, you will welcome my hands around your throat. You will welcome my hands around your throat choking you. It will hurt when I rape you, and you will struggle. It will hurt when I rape you, but you will love it.”

When BCB was satisfied that Jeremy was ready, he woke the lad up. He pushed down his shorts and exposed his cock. The results were all that he hoped for. Within seconds, he was raping Jeremy and enjoying Jeremy’s screams and struggles. He liked it when his victims screamed and struggled. It made his cock feel great.

*****

The boa constrictor kills by coiling itself around its victim and squeezing. Contrary to popular belief, death results not so much from an inability to breathe as from the compression of the heart. The resulting restriction of the blood flow and the victim’s understandable panic lead to a heart attack. The boa continues squeezing until it senses that its victim’s heart has stopped beating.

It was more an experiment than anything else. BCB90 had always wanted to try it. He had found tonight’s victim on the street. It hadn’t taken more than a smile and a few words to get the guy to invite into his apartment. The guy had an OK build. He wasn’t a bodybuilder but he was lithe and muscled. He was strong enough to struggle.

Right now, BCB was sitting on its sofa. The victim was kneeling between his legs with his face buried in BCB’s pecs, worshipping his muscles. To judge from the noises it was making, it was enjoying itself. “Here, sit here.”  BCB patted the sofa cushion between his legs. “With your back towards me.”

When it was in position, BCB wrapped his arms around its chest and crossed his legs over its stomach. He kissed the back of its neck and stroked its nipples.

“AH, that’s feels so good.”

“Umm.”  It did feel good.

It felt even better when he squeezed it. Not hard at first. He didn’t want to alarm it, just make it feel so good that it didn’t notice what was happening. It probably thought BCB was just getting passionate.

He increased his attention to its body, and it responded as he expected. It let down its guard and gave itself over to the pleasures BCB was generating inside of it. BCB waited until tts moans were continuous. It was, he judged, almost past the point of coherent thought. Time to act. BCB squeezed harder. The next moan was almost a grunt of pain.

“Easy there, big guy. Don’t get too excited. Don’t want to crush me.”

“Oh, but I do,” whispered BCB.

It giggled.

“It thinks I’m kidding,” thought BCB. He squeezed even harder.

This time it yelped in pain. “Hey, let go.”

When BCB tightened his arms across its chest and squeezed his legs around his abdomen, it began to struggle and tried to fight its way free. BCB’s embrace was so tight across its upper arms that it couldn’t move them. It balled its hands into fists and tried to punch and pull at the thighs crushing it, but it couldn’t gain any traction. It flailed its legs in the air and squirmed. It felt so good against his cock.

It was beginning to realize that BCB was not going to let go. It panicked and struggled even more. BCB’s response was to squeeze it even tighter.

Its face turned red as it rocked back and forth. BCB was surprised by how quickly it was succumbing. He had expected it to take longer. And now it was beginning to tremble uncontrollably. When it passed out, he would relax his hold a bit and let it recover. Then he would pounce again. He hoped it could hold out for a while. This was fun.  For the second round, he would flip it over and lie on the floor so that they were face to face. Then he would start squeezing again—see if that felt better.

*****

“Hey, BCB, Happy Birthday!”

“Hey, Gramps.”

The older man wasn’t really BCB’s grandfather. He was just someone BCB had met online who shared his interests.

“Your present is in the rec room. Just go on through.”

“Ah, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“What’s a birthday without presents?”

The present was on the floor. Its hands were cuffed behind its back, and shackles bound its ankles closely together. A short length of rope connected the cuffs and the shackles, forcing it to kneel. A heavy steel chain fastened with a padlock encircled its neck. A wide black leather gag was secured around its head. From the distance between its chin and its nose, and the distressed look in its eyes, you could tell that the gag had an attached mouth piece that was forcing its jaws apart. The gag was so wide that it was pushing the bottom of its nose up.

“Can I get you a beer?”

“No, I’ll wait until I’ve finished playing.”

Gramps settled into an easy chair and put his feet up on a footstool. “It’s all yours.”

BCB circled his present several times. There were so many ways he could begin, and he had so many favorites. Sometimes it was hard to know how to begin. But best to start with something simple.

He pinched its nostrils shut. It reared back, trying to escape. BCB’s grip on its nose didn’t loosen. He slapped its face. “Behave yourself.”

It glared at BCB and settled down for a few seconds. But when it realized that BCB wasn’t going to release it, it started struggling again. This time BCB had to put his other hand on the back of its neck and push its head forward. It just wouldn’t  hold still. It was struggling so much that it toppled over onto its side. BCB followed it down to the floor. He rolled it over onto its back. The rope linking its wrists and ankles was so short that it had to arch its hips upward. BCB kneed it in the stomach. The gag muffled its scream of pain.

That was more like it. BCB was going to enjoy this birthday.

*****

They had such a great rhythm going. Each time BCB90 pulled back, it pushed back against him. It wanted his cock so much that it wouldn’t let him pull out. And each time he thrust his cock into its ass, he forced it forward. BCB90 reveled in the feeling of his body, the way his buttocks tightened with each stroke, the tension in his quads and abs. He loved fucking. There was only one thing that was better than fucking, and nothing was better than combining them.

It had a great body, too. He ran his hands up and down its back, feeling the play of muscles beneath them as he fucked it. His hands came to rest on its shoulders as it looked around at him and smiled. He smiled back.

Its neck was thick and strong, so inviting. Its neck was just right for his purposes. He slid his hands across its shoulders and grasped the wings of the deltoids. It gasped. It thought he was being passionate. He slid his hands around its neck and closed them firmly, as if he were simply holding it in position. Well, in a way he was. He increased the frequency of his thrusts. The huge cock pounding in its ass caught its attention. It was making little mewling noises of pleasure now.

He tightened his grip. A half-minute passed before it realized what he was doing. It said something, but he ignored it---probably just the usual complaint that he was choking it. Well, of course, he was. What did it think he was doing? Massaging it?

BCB closed his eyes and gave himself over to the sensation of its sweaty body rubbing against him, its agitated struggles to free itself, the way it reared up and tried to pry his hands off its throat. Oh, he had a fighter today. He pushed its face down into the bed, forcing its ass back and up against his groin. Its asshole began to quiver and tighten as it fought for breath.

That was the moment BCB had been waiting for.

*****

“Cabrón.”  BCB90 slapped the bitch across the face. Jesus, the idiot had thousands of dollars worth of leather gear and toys in his basement, and it couldn’t even suck a cock without biting. It was an amateur.

He threw it onto the bed and rolled it over so that it lay face down, with its head hanging off the edge of the bed. He cuffed its hands behind its back before it had time to protest.

“That’s more like it, Señor,” it said.

Damn, it liked what was happening to it. The bitch probably bit his cock just so he would get mad. And he was tired of hearing it mangle Spanish in that exaggerated Mexican accent. “I like Hispanics,” it had said earlier when it had approached BCB at the bar. Well, he would see how it liked what he did next. It wasn’t going to be talking for long. It was about to get a real taste of Mexico.

He grabbed the mouth harness off the wall and shoved the tube into its mouth. He pulled the strap extra tight as he fastened it. Now, see if it could use its teeth on his cock. And no more ogling of his body. It had just lost the right to enjoy looking at his body. A blindfold would stop that. The idiot had enough of those to choose from. Just for good measure he grabbed a pair of nose hooks and fastened those on, pulling them as tight as he could. It looked like a pig now.

He grabbed a length of rope and tied a slip knot near one end, forming a loop. He grabbed it by the hair, pulling its head up, and slipped the noose loosely around its neck. To finish off, he threaded the rope through an eyebolt in the ceiling and tied its ankles together with the other end.

The fun was about to being. He pushed his cock through the rubber guard that forced its mouth open. His cock swiftly grew hard, and he fucked its mouth until it began to gag. When it tried to pull away, he stuck two fingers into its nostrils, plugging them. The convulsive movements of its throat around his cock as it labored to breathe felt so good. “That’s more like it, Señor,” he said..

When it realized that it couldn’t breathe, it began to struggle. Each time it moved, it jostled the slip knot a bit. At first it paid no attention to the rope around its neck. It didn’t know what was happening until the rope encircled its neck tightly.

Alarmed cries of protest came from its throat when it awoke to its predicament. BCB chuckled. “Hey, cabrónito, you heard that song ‘Despacito’?”  BCB sang a few bars. “Sure you have. Everybody’s heard that song. You know what despacito means in Spanish?” BCB parodied a stereotyped Mexican accent. “It means slowly. It means the longer it takes for you to strangle, the more fun for me.”

*****

BCB90 loved the look. It always happened. Whenever a faggot saw his cock, it got this look in its eyes. It was overcome with lust. It knelt. It sucked.

He wrapped his hands around the faggot’s neck and held it in place. It had taken only the first couple of inches into its mouth. It needed to learn. He thrust his cock all the way in. The faggot struggled. They always struggled. He liked it when they struggled. And now the faggot was gagging as he pushed his cock down its throat. He ignored the cries it was making. Its throat muscles quivered and tightened around his cock. As he fucked its face, it began to drool. Good. It was lubing his cock.

When the little faggot got his cock all nice and slick and shiny, he pulled it out. He grabbed the faggot and threw it onto the bed, face down. It squealed as he rammed his cock into its ass. He loved fucking faggots.

*****

“You’ve been a very naughty boy.”

BCB90 shook his head. Something was wrong. He felt tired. He wanted to go back to sleep.

“A very naughty boy.”

There was that voice again. He wasn’t sure how long it had been talking. Maybe he was dreaming. The voice had been speaking to him in his dream, he thought, but now he was awake—he was pretty sure that he was awake now—and the voice was still talking to him. The room was so dark. He couldn’t see anything. Whoever was talking was circling him. The voice had been on his right side, then it was behind him, and now it was on his left. But maybe the voice was standing still and he was turning. He certainly felt dizzy enough. He hadn’t drunk that much, He was always careful not to drink too much.

 He hadn’t even been at a bar. He had been in the mood for a twink, and he had found one on Grindr. The guy had invited him over—he couldn’t remember its name—and the twink had been lying naked on a couch, on its stomach. It had a beautiful tight ass, and its skin was so pale and smooth. The twink had been smiling at him oddly—almost smirking. That was the last thing he remembered. He had been drinking something before that. Yeah, the twink had made him a protein shake, and he had been drinking that. But how had he ended up in this dark room with the voice?

He was lying on his back in this dark room. He tried to sit up but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t feel any restraints, but he couldn’t move, not even a finger.

“Don’t be alarmed. The drug severs the connection between your brain and your muscles. It will wear off in a few hours, but until then you won’t be able to move.”

The voice was on his left now. He heard a clicking noise. A bright light came on overhead. He wanted to close his eyes and shut it out, but he couldn’t move his eyelids.

“Who are you? What are you doing to me?”  That’s what he wanted to say, but he couldn’t make his lips and tongue speak.

“Move his head so that he can see me.” 

His head was gripped between two hands. In the brief glimpse he got of them, the wrists were thick and hairy. The hands turned his head to face toward his left. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust.

A few feet away a naked man sat in a leather easy chair. He wore a leather hat on his head, and a  bullwhip was looped around his neck. He held it in both hands. The man leaned forward in his chair. “You’re wondering what’s happened to you, why you’re here. As I said, you’ve been a very naughty boy. You hurt a friend of mine, and I told him I would track you down and make you pay. It took me a while. You’ve been very good at covering your tracks, but not quite good enough. I found several of your victims. And guess what? They all want revenge. Tonight they’re going to get it.”

The man shifted in his chair. “So far, I’ve found fifteen men who want revenge. We’ve been talking about the best way to deal with you. Each of them had a different idea of what you deserved. All of them good ideas. In the end, we couldn’t decide. So we agreed that each of the fifteen would get to carry out his idea. When one man finishes, we’ll let you recover—catch your breath, so to speak—and then another man will put his idea into practice. We all agreed on one thing, however. When you leave here, you’re going to bear the marks of your ordeal on your flesh. You will be bruised. You will bear the marks of the garrote around your neck. So many marks by the time we finish.

“We drew lots to the order of your punishments. Sean won the right to go first. You may not recognize him. He’s gained about a hundred pounds since you left him unconscious on the floor of his bedroom after torturing him for several hours. He was so traumatized by what you did to him that he started overeating. Sean has chosen an appropriate revenge. We hope that it’s his first step on the road to recovery.”

The light was blotted out by a mammoth man. He was smoking a thick cigar. His pecs were pendulous mounds of flesh. “You smothered me between your pecs. When I was too weak to get away, you held the cigar you were smoking against my left nipple and held it there. I still have the scar.” The man knelt beside the bed. He took a deep drag on the cigar and blew the smoke in BCB’s face. He held the cigar over BCB’s chest and tapped it. The ash was still hot enough to singe BCB’s skin. “More of that later. But first.”

 

The man leaned forward and lowered his body over BCB’s face. His soft flesh oozed around BCB’s nostrils, blocking them. The man’s skin felt greasy and sweaty against his body. BCB knew from experience that he had at most a minute of consciousness before he blacked out. It would take over two minutes to suffocate him. He knew they planned to revive him. So he tried to remain calm. But he couldn’t stop the wave if panic engulfing his mind.  Good god, there were fourteen more to come.

*****

The pleasure of his hand on your throat guiding you. The pleasures of kissing. The pleasure of hearing him pull his belt off. The pleasure of being smacked. The pleasure of submitting. The pleasure of knowing that your submission pleases. The pleasure of knowing that your whimpers and gasps excite him. The pleasure of anticipating the moment when he forces your mouth down to his cock, elevating your ass and making it a better target for his belt. The pleasure of hearing him threaten punishment if he feels even a hint of teeth against his cock in reaction to the strokes of his belt across your ass. The pleasures of a well-reddened ass. The pleasures of being face-fucked while being beaten. The pleasures of his cum exploding in you..The pleasures of pleasing him.

Autowriter

Autowriter

© by the author 2018

Suggestions and comments are appreciated. Either leave one here or email them to me at z119z2000@yahoo.com. Thanks.

“How’s it going?” Ross looked up from his tablet as his landlord/roommate crossed the living room. Jay was headed toward the kitchen, coffee mug in hand. Jay couldn’t write without coffee. He called it his “liquid muse.” He wasn’t joking. On an active day of writing, he went through a dozen cups, sometimes more.

“Pretty good. The book’s coming together. I should be able to finish the first draft this month.” Jay had to squint to make Ross out. His tenant was sitting in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that separated the living room from the back patio. He could barely make Ross out against the afternoon glare coming through the windows. The image was so nebulous that it was almost as if no one was sitting there and Ross’s voice was originating inside his own mind. “What have you been doing?”

“Just reading.”

“Anything interesting?”  From the kitchen came the sound of coffee splashing into Jay’s mug and the click of carafe as Jay sat it back on the warmer. .

Ross shrugged. “Just the latest crop of stories on Gay Mind Warp. It’s been a busy week there.”

Jay reappeared in the doorway to the kitchen clutching his mug. “Jeez. How can you read that crap! The writing is wretched. It’s all some fantasy about converting a straight stud into a gay sex maniac with a twelve-inch cock or about being controlled and forced to do ridiculous things.”

“I like it. And you read it too.”

“No, I don’t.” Jay’s face was a study in disgust. He looked ready to spit into his coffee to get the taste of the Gay Mind Warp site out of his mouth.

“Then how come you know what the stories are about?”

“I was curious why you spend hours glued to the screen salivating over that shit. One look was enough. I wouldn’t go near that site again.”

“You’d love the one I just finished reading. Another MikeX story. He outdid himself this time.”

“Oh, god, he’s the worst. That guy’s mental. He should be put in a straight-jacket and locked away in a rubber room.”

Ross and Jay were unlikely roommates. Ross usually spent his days in the living room, lounging in his favorite overstuffed easy chair. He rarely left the house, spending his days watching TV, reading or looking at online porn, or playing games on his tablet or phone—sometimes all three at once. He seldom bothered to dress. Day and night he could found wearing only a frayed pair of boxer shorts and flip-flops. He never exercised. To judge from the width of his shoulders and the bulk of his body, he had once had a muscular body, but in his present incarnation the pasty-white remains of his pecs dropped over a bloated gut. A high oily-looking forehead crowned a broad face, made even broader by a sporadically maintained three-inch-long fringe of beard growing along his jaw line. Thick eyeglasses magnified and distorted his eyes, which was a pity in Jay’s opinion, because Ross had nice eyes. When they talked, Jay sometimes found himself staring at Ross’s eyes. It was easier to focus on them then elsewhere on his body.

How Ross earned a living was a mystery to Jay. At night he disappeared into his bedroom on the second floor and did something on his computers that he claimed earned him enough to support himself. Whatever he did must have been profitable. He always paid Jay the rent on time, and he gave such generous tips that the pizza and liquor delivery guys fought for the privilege of delivering the two foods that constituted his daily sustenance.

Jay prided himself on being the exact opposite. To be sure, he wore casual clothes around the house—chinos and polo shirts or Tees were his usual choices—but he never ran around nude, or even shirtless. He even put on a bathrobe to walk the few feet between his bedroom and the bathroom he shared with Ross. His hair was neatly trimmed. He shaved daily. True, like Ross, he worked at home, but he was rigorous with himself. He spent at least eight hours a day writing the novels and short stories that gave him a substantial income. He got up at five in the morning to jog and go to the gym. His muscular and lithe body testified to his daily exercise regimen. He ate only healthy food. He never smoked, drank, or took drugs. His was a healthy mind in a healthy body.

In Jay’s view, his tenant’s worst habit was the awful cigars he smoked, but at least Ross stepped outside into the back yard when he smoked one. When Ross had moved in, Jay had insisted that Ross promise not to smoke inside the house, and Ross had kept that pledge. Jay had grown accustomed to glancing outside when he got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom to seeing the lit end of Ross’s cigar glowing in the night. If it hadn’t been for the rank odor, he might almost have enjoyed seeing the red circle moving slowly in the dark. Sometimes he stood at the window watching it for minutes as it slowly described arcs in the air as Ross lifted it to his mouth. The way the end flared brighter as Ross sucked the smoke into his mouth was almost beautiful.

Sometimes he thought about telling Ross to move out. But he worried that without someone to interact with daily, he would end up talking to himself and inventing an imaginary friend. An even better reason for keeping the big slob around was that Ross was a negative example of what he could all too easily become if he gave into temptation. Ross was a lesson in what he would look like if he began indulging himself. It would be great to lounge about the house all day, not bothering to get dressed, eating pizza, drinking beer, and smoking. Well, not smoking. He’d never sink that low. But still he could gain thirty pounds in six months if he stopped exercising and watching his diet. He wasn’t that far away from becoming Ross. There were enough physical resemblances between the two of them already that one deliveryman had asked if they were brothers.

“No, not a straight jacket. He obviously likes men too much to be straight. Maybe a tight leather harness and a studded jock strap. I bet he’d like that.”  Ross licked his lips at the thought of MikeX in leather.

“He probably would, to judge from his stories.” Jay shook his head in disgust.  “Jeez, they’re revolting. I can’t read more than a couple of paragraphs of them”

Ross chuckled to himself. “No, MikeX’s works wouldn’t be to your taste. He writes about normal, horny guys. You won’t find any of your sensitive, well-educated, opera-loving poetry-sp   outing gays in his works.”

Jay refused to rise to the bait. “Nope. No horny gay guys in my stories. Speaking of which, I’d better get back to my opera lover du jour. He’s about to start quoting Rimbaud. Or maybe Verlaine. In French, of course.” Jay raised his coffee mug in a salute and started walking back to his work room.

“Relax, Chill, dude.”

Jay stopped in mid-stride. He sat his mug down on an end table and sank to his hands and knees “Master,”  he whispered. He voice faltered as an overwhelming desire to serve convulsed his body.

Ross spread his legs. The fly of his boxer shorts gaped open.

The sight triggered a sequence of actions. Jay sprawled face-down on the floor. He crawled across the room using his forearms and toes to propel himself. The steel studs on the leather harness and jock strap he wore tore tufts of fibers from the carpet, but the normally fastidious Jay ignored the trail of damage he was creating. His body swayed from side to side as he maneuvered himself across the room and came to rest with his face buried in the rug just in front of Ross’s feet. He lifted the leash attached to heavy black leather collar encircling his neck and offered it to Ross.

“Cigar.”

Keeping his face averted—he was never to look at Master—Jay raised his body up just enough so that he could remove a cigar from the humidor. Master’s favorite brand of cigars was expensive. Jay knew because he had to drive into the city every Saturday to purchase them. A week’s supply cost over a thousand dollars. Master was very particular about the cigars he smoked. Master said that Brennan’s was the only shop in the area that stored these cigars at the proper temperature and humidity to keep them fresh. Master didn’t allow him to buy more than a week’s supply because otherwise the cigars would get stale.

As he had been trained, Jay used the cutters to snip the cigar. He had to be careful to make a clean cut so that the end wasn’t frayed—it would be unpardonable for Master to get stray bits of tobacco in his mouth—and to remove just the right amount so that Master could get a good draw on the cigar. Master would punish him if he got it wrong. Indeed, he would deserve punishment if he made a mistake and ruined the cigar.

“Good boy. You love to prepare my cigars, don’t you, boy?”

Jay knew better than to reply. He nodded enthusiastically. It was a privilege to serve. His purpose in life was to serve Master. He felt so good when Master allowed him to serve. Nothing made him feel better than serving Master. Keeping his eyes fixed on Master’s crotch, he  raised the cigar in his open palms and presented it to Master.

Master had to light his own cigars because Jay never got it right. Jay heard the sound of Master scrapping the match across the sandpaper and then the whoosh as the match flared. He breathed in the sulfur smell. It was a prelude to the magnificent aromas that would soon surround him. Master waited for a second for the flame to die back a bit and then slowly rotated the tip in the flame. He puffed on it several times until it was just right. He sat back in the chair and took a drag on the cigar.  He formed his lips into an O and blew the smoke toward Jay’s head.

Jay felt weak with delight. He loved the smell of Master’s cigars. He loved it when Master blew the smoke in his face. Sometimes when he had been extra good and had pleased Master and earned Master a lot of money, Master would lean over and blow the smoke into his open mouth as a reward.

“Footstool.”

As soon as Master spoke, Jay shifted position so that his back was as level as possible. He dropped his head. Master raised and lowered his legs until his heels rested on Jay’s back.  Master leaned back in his chair and continued to smoke.

“How is my next novel coming?”

“Fine, Master. It is 76,000 words now. It will be finished next week.”

“Good. Sales of the last one are beginning to slow. My readers are ready for a new one.”

“Yes, Master.”

“You are following the plot I gave you?”

“Oh, yes, Master. I wouldn’t change that.”

“Good. And I’ll need a MikeX short story for Gay Mind Warp and Nifty and the other sites. Something to pique readers’ interest in the new novel. I’ll give you the outline for that shortly.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Suck.”

Ross lifted his legs off Jay’s back and spread them so that the fly of his boxers gaped open. Jay obediently buried his face in Master’s crotch and sucked Master’s cock into his mouth.

“Just get it hard and keep it in your mouth for now.”

Jay sucked on Master’s cock until it got hard. He had learned how to keep Master erect without stimulating an orgasm. Master liked to have his cock sucked for a long time. It would be wrong to rush Master and give him an orgasm prematurely. In any case, he loved the feel of Master’s hard cock in his mouth. He loved Master’s hot sweaty balls pressing against his chin. He loved Master’s pubic hair scratching his nose and eyelids. He loved Master’s smell. Being allowed to suck Master’s cock was a reward for pleasing Master and obeying him. Sometimes while he was waiting for the command to being sucking Master in earnest, Master would squeeze out a drop of pre-cum as a reward. Jay loved the way Master’s pre-cum tasted of the cigars he smoked.

Master leaned forward in the chair and began stroking Jay’s right nipple with the fingers of his left hand. Master rested his right hand, the one cradling the cigar, on the back of Jay’s neck.

“Relax and go deeper. Breathe deeply. That’s it. Now hold it. Absorb the smoke into your body. You love the smell of my cigars. The smell of my cigars makes you so submissive. You love it when I stroke your nipples. Your nipples are so sensitive. It feels so good when I stroke them. You feel so good when I reward you for being obedient by stroking your nipples. You love the feel of my cock in your mouth. You crave the feeling of my cock in your mouth. It makes you feel so good when I put my cock in your mouth. My cock is your reward for being obedient. You are so obedient. Master rewards obedient boys. Just relax and focus on the smell of my cigar. Just relax and focus on the wonderful feeling of submission and obedience that fills your mind and body.

“You exist to serve me. Your only thought is to please me. Your only thought is to submit to me. Your only thought is to obey me. My thoughts are your thoughts. My wishes are your wishes. My desires are your desires. You instantly submit. You instantly obey. You are a good boy. Good boys submit. Good boys obey. You are a good boy. You submit. You obey.”

Deep within Jay’s mind, the smoke swirled around him as he floated in a wave of rapture.  He felt so wonderful. The smoke, Master’s fingers playing with his nipples, Master’s hand on his neck, the smoke from Master’s cigar filling his lungs, Master’s cock in his mouth—he was a good boy. He submitted. He obeyed. Master’s thoughts were his thoughts. Master’s wishes were his wishes. Master’s desires were his desires. Good boys submitted. Good boys obeyed. He was a good boy. He obeyed. He submitted.

“You will continue to work hard on the new MikeX novel. You will not deviate from the plot outline I gave you. Understood?”

Jay nodded his head. Master’s fingers tightened around his nipple and pinched. It was the right answer. Master was pleased. He was being a good boy. He would work hard on the new MikeX novel. He would not deviate from the plot outline Master had given him.

“Good boy. My readers love MikeX. You love writing the MikeX novels for me, don’t you?”

Jay nodded his head again.  Master’s cock surged deeper into his throat. Again he had given the right answer and Master was rewarding him. He was being a good boy. He loved writing the MikeX novels for Master.

Submit to Master. Obey Master. Write for Master. The rewards of obedience overwhelmed his mind. He waited for Master’s next orders. He would do whatever Master commanded. He existed to serve Master.

“Karl will be here soon with the beer. I’m getting six cases today. When he gets here, I want you to let him in and pay him. Give him a $20 tip. Put one case of the beer in the fridge up here and carry the rest of the cases down to the cooler in the basement. Then come back here. You understand? You remember how Karl likes it? You will give him what he likes.”

Jay nodded his head yes. He pressed his face tightly against Master’s groin, taking all of Master’s cock into his mouth. Master took a long draw on his cigar and blew the smoke into his face. He was being a good boy. Master rewarded him when he was being a good boy.

Jay was so intent on servicing Master’s cock that he didn’t hear Karl knocking. Master had to tell him to get the door. He was so embarrassed. He hadn’t been a good boy. He wasn’t serving Master as he was supposed to. He couldn’t look Karl in the eye when he opened the door. The burly deliveryman stacked the cases of beer in the front hallway. By the time Jay had stowed them away and returned to the living room, Karl had already unzipped his pants and was stroking his cock.

Jay knelt and started sucking Master’s cock again. Karl got on his knees behind him. He spat on his cock and gave it a few tugs until it was hard. He slapped Jay across the ass and then guided his cock forward into the crack. Jay lifted his ass until Karl’s cock pushed against his asshole. When Karl felt the slight give of flesh, he rammed his cock in.

Jay squealed. Karl liked it when he squealed. He didn’t care what Karl liked, but Master had told him to do what Karl liked. Jay existed to please Master. Each time Karl thrust his cock into Jay’s ass, Jay moaned. With each thrust, he moaned a little louder. That was the way that Karl wanted him to respond. He didn’t care what Karl wanted, but Master had told him to do what Karl liked, and he existed to please Master.

Without conscious thought, he counted Karl’s strokes. At the hundredth thrust, he grunted and stopped sucking Master long enough to gasp, “Harder. Fuck me harder.” That was all the sign that Karl needed. As Karl assaulted his ass, slamming into him faster and faster, Master put a hand on the back of his head and held his head tightly. He could barely breathe as Master’s cock began plunging into him. He loved it when Master fucked him. He loved serving Master. He loved it when Master spewed his cum down his throat. Master made him feel so wonderful. Each time Karl slammed his groin against his ass, his body snapped forward, pushing Master’s cock deeper and deeper into his throat.

He loved to take Master’s cock deeper and deeper into his throat. He made sure to grunt each time Karl thrust into him. That excited Karl and made him fuck even harder and faster. Karl was a battering ram now, a piston driving Master’s cock deeper and deeper into his body. He loved going deeper and deeper. Karl and he were a sucking machine now. He tightened his lips and mouth around Master’s cock, rubbing his tongue back and forth with each thrust forward.

Behind him, Karl cried out, “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum.” Master’s thighs tightened around his head, wedging him in place as Karl’s hammering reached a peak. It felt like Karl was splitting him open and driving Master’s cock even deeper into him. He was pinioned between the two cocks. Karl shuddered and screamed, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Karl’s orgasm drove Jay forward into Master groin and held him there. Master came, shooting load after load of cum into his mouth. He held as still as he could. Master filled him. He didn’t even feel the hot cigar against the skin of his back.

The deliveryman slumped over, his breaths coming in rasping gasps. “Arrrgh. FUUUCK, FUCK, FUCK, Fuuck, Fuck fuck, fuck fu. . , f . .  .” His body slowed as he shot the last of his cum. Karl rested his weight on Jay’s body until his breathing slowed. He swallowed several times and then guffawed as he pulled out. “Aw, fuck, Jay, you’ve got a sweet ass. So tight. I love delivering your beer and I really love the way you ‘tip.’ Every time I hear that Mr. J. Ross has put in an order, I make sure that I’m the one who gets to deliver it.”  He gave a final slap to Jay’s ass before stuffing his cock back inside his jeans. “I’ll see you again in two weeks. Don’t drink all that beer yourself.”

Jay vaguely heard the sounds of Karl zipping up and leaving. He was in heaven. Master had filled his mouth and throat with cum, and he was waiting for Master to tell him he could swallow it.

“Good boy. You’ve been a very good boy. Now bring me a beer, and then get back to work. You won’t remember anything of what happened. All you will remember is that you came in here to get a cup of coffee, we talked for a few minutes, and then you went back to work. You will think you are wearing clothes again. You will think you are working on your own novel, but you will be working on the MikeX story. You will continue to work until 7:00 o’clock. Then you will come down here again to tip the pizza guy.”

Master took another drag on his cigar. “Now lift your head and open your mouth.”

Jay closed his eyes and raised his chin. Master hadn’t told him to swallow the cum. He would have to hold it in his mouth until Master did. A beatific smile spread across his face as the smoke from Master’s cigar enveloped his head. He opened his mouth and extended his tongue to show Master his mouthful of Master’s gleaming cum.

“Oh, good boy.” Master leaned forward and took a drag on the cigar. The tip of the cigar glowed red through the ash. Jay could feel the heat on his face. Master exhaled directly into his mouth. He drew the smoke gratefully into his throat. Master examined the ash on the end of the cigar and then held the cigar over his upraised mouth and lightly tapped it. A hunk of ash fell onto the pool of cum. “There, now. That will add of bit of flavor. Swallow.”

Jay swallowed. Reluctantly he stood up and retrieved his coffee cup. He enjoyed these breaks from his writing, but work called. He wanted to get a couple thousand more words done before he stopped for the day. A pity that Ross existed only in his imagination. But at least he now had the next sex scene locked out. All he had to do was write it down.