Chapter 35 – Adventures of Fag Dad
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Disclaimer: This story contains explicit descriptions of adult men engaged in sexual activity with other adult men and is intended for adult gay male readers. All characters depicted having sex are over 18 years and you also must be over 18 to read about them. Thank you.
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Chapter 35
"Is your breakfast pleasing, Sir?" Ken asked.
"Yes, faggot. It is. You two get dressed. It's time to experience the town." Sinclair instructed.
Sinclair showed another side. He became fun and a tourist. They commenced with a three-hour bike tour. Lunch was at a little café near Sacré-Coeur.
The two followed Sinclair as he walked up the hill and into the Basilica of the Sacred Heart of Paris or Sacré-Cœur sitting in the prayer section. Sinclair sat between them. Joe observed Sinclair crying. No one said a word during or after. This was Sinclair's moment. They sat for an hour while Sinclair wept.
Climbing the stairs was fun. The view from the top is the best in the city.
From there the three walked to Musée d'Orsay. Sinclair cried again.
The threesome, or so it seemed, strolled the Right Bank to Saint Michele and Shakespeare & Co. Sinclair bought a book on Stoicism.
By this time the City of Lights sparkled. The three sat at a café in the Marais, talking, drinking, smoking and laughing for hours. None smoked, but it's Paris. All was right with the world.
"Yeah. Okay. Meet us at Cafe Cox for a drink around 7."
"Who was on the phone, Sir?" Joe asked.
"Someone we are going to play with tonight. Let's go. Time's a wasting."
Sinclair ordered an Uber heading to Versailles. Since it was late morning as they strolled the gardens. Nestled to a fine lunch Sinclair bought himself this morning at a boulangerie. He didn't ask the fags to run the errand.
This was a side Sinclair never shown. He did not reveal fun and playful side. There were delight and gaiety all around.
The morning crowd left giving an opportunity to tour the building without the line. Another Uber back to the city for a short nap.
"Jean-Pierre, this is Joe and Ken. Joe is my slave. And Ken is my fag."
"Hello. Nice to meet you both."
"My partner and I sent them here for some rest. I overworked Joe to exhaustion. Demonstrate my work, Joe."
Joe stood taking his shirt off exposing his muscled, mangled and pumped nips with a turn his scarred back.
Sinclair scrutinized shock or uncomfortableness from Jean-Pierre. There was none. "I must say, Sir. Nice work. He is a handsome slave. You must be proud."
The fag felt the pangs again with the obvious ignoring by Sinclair. His Master did not ask for the fag to show off its exquisite body. During this conversation, it was as if it didn't exist.
"Come on. Let's go have dinner."
"Ok. Fag. Stand here. Put your arms out." Sinclair ordered after their arrival at a rented dungeon space. Sinclair roped the wrists threading the rope through a wench. The fags arms raised over its head with his feet touching the cold floor. He did the same with his feet. Duct tape over the mouth. Taking his penis he injected it with Tri-Mix greatest strength. Before the cock swelled, Sinclair tied the balls and wrapped the base with bootstrap. This made the fag's cock turn a deep purple and hurt like shit.
Both Jean-Pierre and the slave were on their knees waiting for instructions. "Fetch."
"Good boys."
"Fetch."
"Good boys." Each smelling his crotch.
"Fetch." Sinclair undressed to his underwear.
"Good. Smell. Sniff. You are both good boys."
Jean-Pierre was trussed like the fag opposite. The show each was to watch the slave and Sinclair.
The fag saw a simulated slave hanging. He couldn't believe this was happening to his love and his love was fine it. Ken and Joe did not speak about the sexual/scene relationship between the slave and Sinclair.
The choreography between the slave and Sinclair was something to behold.
Sinclair ran his hands over every inch of the slave's body during the hanging. He milked the cock. He sucked the nips. He ate the ass. He worshipped the feet. He kissed the lips. He licked the armpits. He ran his fingers through its hair. He gave several hickeys to the neck.
After so much tenderness, severe lashings followed to the back. Sinclair's fist entertained the slave's cunt. Sinclair threw the body on a mattress. He fucked it hard with his hands around the slave's neck turning it black and blue.
And, the slave got off on it.
The slave moaned and affirmed and loved the abuse.
The fag now believed what his love said to him, "I love you. But, I love being a slave more." As this thought came to the fag's mind, everything went dark.
Sinclair ended with kissing the slave lying on the bed. Sinclair snuggled to his slave saying, "I love you."
Sinclair unleashed Jean-Pierre ordering him to attend to the slave's wounds. Jean-Pierre saw what happened, but the slave was not aware yet. The slave screamed in pain as the antiseptic oozed into the fresh cut flesh. Jean-Pierre administered a strong pain reliever.
"Get up."
It was at this moment the slave observed. There on the side where his love hung to watch was a rope dangling from the wench.
While the slave had great mental courage, a small tear formed. The slave didn't say a word as they dressed to walk the streets sans the fag.
"Jean-Pierre, thank you for being with us tonight." As if the three were finishing an evening out on the town.
Jean-Pierre hadn't cum. He saw a sex scene more intense than anything he could ever imagine. Not to mention the other things. And, Sinclair acted as if it was a simple evening in Paris.
"Thank you, Sir." Jean-Pierre knew not to ask if they would connect again. If Sinclair wanted him, he would be the one to say. "bonne nuit Monsieur." Jean-Pierre's Uber came to the curb.
Sinclair turned to Joe, stared him straight in the eyes, "I love you." They stood on the street corner kissing. Sinclair's embrace hurt Joe's wounds. He didn't care. His love's disappearance... this was who Joe was with now. The man kissing him who said he loved him.
"Come on Joe. It is time to say goodbye." Sinclair said finishing his croissant.
`What did he mean by goodbye?' Joe thought.
Joe threw on clothes racing out the door to an Uber. There was no talking in the car. Sinclair's energy was in a mode Joe had no experience with. The trip was about 20 km in a warehouse district in the suburbs; nothing like Paris. It could be America with French signage.
There were cars, limos, and vans; no sign on the building. "Come on."
Stepping inside even slave Joe winced. He could make out the auctioneer over the crowd.
"Come on. This is good stock. Let's get this going. 20? He's young. He will last awhile. You'll get your money back. Do I have 15?"
The crowd was picky today. The slave didn't sell.
"Now here's a fine specimen. You will not get much better than this. Behold such a handsome face and the beautiful, unmarred body. This could be a model for the Greek sculptures at the Louvre. Do I have a bid at 30?
"Yes. Do I have 35?
"Yes. Thank you, Sir.
"Do I have 50?
"Good. You know your market, Sir.
"Do I have 75?
"Fantastic. The crowd loves this one.
"Do I have 100?"
There was a slight pause.
"How about 110 and the fag will jack off for you right now? Come on fag, stroke a load out. The better you do the nicer home you will be going to."
The fag stroked. He was familiar with public jacking. Through all the emotional pain going on the slave turned inward to his body and gave a show. When he orgasm, the crowd scream with approval and applause.
"Do I have 150?
"Yes.
"150. Going once. Going twice. Sold to this fine gentleman for 150,000 euros. Thank you, Sir. You will not regret your buy. It comes with its own chaturbate channel. You will be getting your money back in no time."
The handler took the fag away while the audience gave another round of applause.
Sinclair walked over to the cashier. "Yes. This is my account."
"Sign here, Sir. And, here. Your money is now in your Coinbase account in Etherum, which is your preferred crypto."
"Yes. It is. Thank you."
Sinclair put his arm around Joe leading to a waiting Uber. He let Joe be with his thoughts in the back seat of a beautiful, black Peugeot 508. A tear fell.
Arriving back at the flat, "Pack our bags. We are leaving tonight. Let's go take a walk." The ID and all the personal effects of the fag were gone. Joe's and Sinclair's stuff remained.
They found themselves at Notre Dame. The line was short. Sinclair led to the prayer section. A mass was in progress.
This time both Sinclair and Joe cried through the whole mass. Sinclair held Joe's hand resting it on his leg. Halfway through Sinclair put his arm around Joe who put his head on Sinclair's shoulder. When it was over, they turned to each other and kissed. Sinclair said it again, "I love you."
"Now in final boarding Air France..."
Sinclair and Joe were the last to get on. Airline forgiveness comes with business class. Sinclair let Joe sit in a corner window seat by himself. This gave Joe the time to process what happened.
"Hey Paul, Kevin, we're home." Sinclair yelled out.
No answer.
"Unpack. I'll check what's going on."
Sinclair headed to the basement. There was Kevin. Naked, asleep on the iron cross. His average penis locked away in the belt. He appeared exhausted.
Sinclair sent a text. "Where are you?"
"Be right there."
Within a few minutes, Paul came in through the garage.
"Hey, asshole." Paul gave Sinclair a big kiss and hug. "Where is everybody?"
"You mean, where's Joe? He's upstairs unpacking."
Paul gave Sinclair a stern glance knowing full well what occurred.
"It was for the best. You know it. I know it. Joe knows it."
"Yeah. I know. The fag was not a fit. He will be better off." Paul said.
"I thought about bringing it back saying he could return to his old life. We would set him back in business and get him a space to live.
"The other option for the fag would be what happened in Paris here in the States. I felt it was better to make the decision for him. Why bring him back to do the same thing?"
"I'm sorry to say because I know Joe loves him, but I'm glad the fag is gone." Paul admitted.
"Me too."
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