PREFACE
In 2008 I wrote "My Leather Daddy" from the perspective of a sub, loosely based on some of the interactions I frequently have with my own subs. Now, six years later, I'm following up with a story told from the dom's perspective. As before, this is a work of fiction, but loosely based on reality, somewhat auto-biographic. Any of my boys who may happen to read this will recognize the setting, protocols, and rituals/interactions described between the narrator and his sub, since the scene depicted roughly follows a typical session I conduct with my own boys.
Unlike the previous story, this one introduces some supernatural concepts that are more in the genre of muscle growth. Fantasy is healthy and helps us explore our feelings and desires in a safe yet exciting way, and there is a healthy dose of it here, to be sure! But the notion of having lived previous lives and retaining knowledge from them is one that has gained much credibility in my own experience as a human being, as well as a leather daddy.
-Criggums- Oct 2014
P.S.: I don't think I'm a god, but it sure would be fun if I were!
Born a Leather Musclegod
by Criggums
I've known since childhood that I was destined to be a man whom other men serve, both sexually and in everyday life. Like many men, at an early age I had learned about my penis, and how it was designed by nature to control others while bringing me intense pleasure. Unlike other men, I was born with additional, enhanced talents, abilities and physical traits that predestined me to a position of uncontested superiority. The source of these differences isn't clear to me. Mutation? Metaphysical changes through reincarnation? Dumb luck?
I think that I'm an "old soul" - the outcome of a combined effect of reincarnation and mutation, rather than just some hot leather muscle daddy who has found his way from societal repression into fulfillment of true manhood. It's no joke: I've lived before, many times, and in my most recent lives (as in this one) I was an incredible specimen of a man, loved and feared by many, worshipped, adored, served and serviced, and damn well deserving of everything I had and/or took. With each incarnation, I improve myself. Tribal leader? A war hero, perhaps? Perhaps that soul, having been released from a previous life, chooses the next body carefully, even influences its genetic composition at conception, to further evolve not just the spirit, but the vessel it inhabits in the next cycle. These are just guesses, although they "feel" very right to me. Even so, I'm less interested in the cause than the effect.
It would be natural on your part to think me self-delusional at this point. Descriptions of this kind are more of a fantasy than reality. I assure you it is the truth. If you meet me in person, you will understand. The best way I can explain it is that I am more than the physical man you see, and that I've existed much longer than the scant 50 years he has lived on this earth. I've earned my place as a god among men, and I don't abuse the privilege. Instead, I seek to elevate and further evolve the men I choose. I physically alter them and train them not just to service me as their master, but to love me as they would a strict and caring father who is raising them to become something more than they would have been without my influence.
Looking at me today, you would see a 6-foot 3-inch, bearded, muscled bear-of-a-man dressed in worn denim and leather, from boots to chaps to vest to cap. I'm confident, commanding, in control, and never lacking men to do my domestic and sexual bidding. I believe in understated clothing and accessories: simple and never flashy, but clearly and carefully chosen as a statement of who I am, not a fashion statement. My body is massively muscular, but not the ripped bodybuilder you see at a pose-down. Instead, you see a big bull with a salt-and-pepper full beard, imposing physique, and intense yet reassuring blue eyes.
My chest is broad and deep, dusted with soft brown fur and accented with large, beefy nipples - spigots of raw male power that naturally draw men to them for nourishment, then rest in the cleft between them. My arms are thick and roped, endowed with great strength to keep a boy in line, or to protect him when needed. My neck is thick, traps rising from bunched deltoids to the base of my skull, as if I am wearing a fantastically sculpted, high collar one can throw his arms around and hold on to. My legs are like concrete pylons, massive and thick, that can stand up to the most brutal assault of any enemy who may try to knock me down, or tantrum a boy may stupidly decide to throw. My abdomen is a huge slab of muscles covered by a soft layer of belly fat and more fur, making it a warm, safe place to curl up and sleep. But my cock... my cock is what makes me a god.
Among the many things I have developed through improving myself physically over many lives is the ability to control penis size at will. Most men are subject to the whims of their dicks as to when they will get hard, how hard they will become, and when the will reach climax. I can will my cock to be any size and shape within reason. When I am ready to use a man, I assess his limits and capabilities, then adapt my cock to the situation. As I train him repetitively, and as he physically changes from exposure to me, he may eventually take me at my full size.
My ejaculate is sweet and addictive. More than just the taste, it induces several changes, both physical and emotional, in any man who ingests it. I will revel in my ownership for an hour or more before releasing my essence into him. The sheer power that flows through my cock when it is in his mouth or ass, and the transformative effects of my seed once inside him, create an unbreakable affinity between us. Almost immediately upon absorbing it, he develops a very deep devotion to me. He never forgets the overwhelming sensation of pure male energy entering and changing his body as I extract my pleasure from him. He becomes my "son" in a very real way. The more often I cum inside him, the more devoted, solicitous, and like me he will become.
My semen is like a benign virus - protein molecules that change and replicate inside a man's cells, modifying his genetic code to include sequences from my own, superior genes. Over time, and depending on the amount consumed, he becomes more muscular, confident, sexually competent, and able to conquer other men as a daddy in his own right, further spreading a moderated, less powerful derivative of my seed to other boys.
All of this I now know as an adult. Looking in retrospect upon my formative years, I only knew then that I had needs, desires, expectations of how they should be met, and the destiny of which I spoke. In my youth, I could only attribute this knowledge to a wildly active fantasy life. I was masturbating at an early age, looking at adult men with lust and longing. Bearded. Muscular. Cigar smoking. Ideal images of rugged manhood. Although many of them brought out a boyish response in me - to be close to them, to feel and touch - the overriding drive was to conquer and use them.
But fantasy was all it was for many, many years. I was born and raised in an ultra-conservative region, and religious injunctions that had been foisted upon me sexual thoughts of any but the most puritanical origin. (They say you can't choose your parents, and apparently, this also applies to masters reincarnate.) My fantasies were so far-flung from the accepted norm that I buried my true nature deeply. As I matured through adolescence and into adulthood, I battled constantly to keep my real self at bay, constrained.
I must say that growing up in such an environment was not without its advantages. For in battling 24x7 to contain that self, I developed strengths of character in perseverance and patience. I learned compassion for others, seeing them as caged animals often kept from what they wanted and desired by the artificial limits of a fearful society. Not only did I see myself in a trap, being denied my real identify, but I also saw other men similarly shackled. The difference was that the man I held in prison was destined to a superior station in life. The others wanted desperately to submit and be ruled.
As I grew older, keeping that man in chains became increasingly difficult. He was not accustomed to confinement, as clearly in my past life I had been uncontested in dominion of myself and my chattel. He incessantly nagged me to grow and change physically into the bullish brute that would bend other men to his desires. Although I had what would be an insatiable appetite for the male form, I was very careful not to feed it. Men who had developed their bodies into those of muscular gods were a particular hazard that I avoided. I also worked especially hard to avoid any physical development of my own body, knowing that to begin catering to that desire would be to empower the man inside to break free. I was convinced I must go the grave with him inside that closet. Otherwise, I would disappoint everyone whom I thought really cared about me.
But the man inside proved too strong. My true nature would not be constrained. As I entered early adulthood, a change began that could not be stopped - only delayed. I focused on academic endeavors during my 20s, only briefly giving thought to the problem of the bound titan god inside me who was slowly loosening his bonds.
By my 30s, I had a career on steroids, but my life was miserable and my health a mess. Still, the once-all-powerful master wrapped within me was breaking through the barriers I had set before him, one by one. By age 40, it was too much. I realized that my reasons for living a chaste life and denying the man inside were not worthy of my efforts. Through many events, I learned that the people I held in high esteem - those whom I wished to impress and not disappoint - didn't really care about me. This was the last chain to break, and my alter-ego was free to emerge.
Things happened quickly after that. By age 42 I had been working out constantly for two years, and my body had undergone changes nothing short of miraculous. At first, I felt regret that I had not figured this out sooner so that I would have the supposed advantage of youth to further fuel my transformation. But I was wrong.
As I observed other, much younger men, laboring daily with weights and machines to add a few millimeters to their dimensions, I was rapidly passing them in how much work I performed, as well as sheer size. I was already tall, but I had been either skinny or obese my entire life, on purpose. Now, the muscles practically blossomed overnight. My chest quickly grew to an astounding 54". My biceps, 22". My triceps stood out in huge, bulky mounds on either arm. My pecs were deep, with insanely large nipples resting atop each one, just slightly turned at a 45-degree angle towards to floor. And although I still had a good bit of belly, there was no doubt to anyone that huge slabs of hard abdominals dwelt just below that superficial layer.
As I grew into my full manhood, I learned how to bring a man to heel, press him into service, and use him as I saw fit - all of it with his willing and enthusiastic support. I say "learned" but it was really just a matter of exercising old knowledge. I knew exactly what to do, and did it instinctively once I took my skeptical self out of the picture - all I had to do was mentally step back from the situation, then watch as the old-soul part of me deftly orchestrated the scene and the man in expert fashion.
My first attempt to let go and "see what happens" was also when I discovered the latent abilities I had inherited from previous lives, now that the man inside was free. I had been chatting with a hot little muscle man online. (Well, he was little compared to me.) Initially he had been cocky in his interactions, using informal language and typing shortcuts that I disdain, referring to me as "man" and typing things like "how u doin?" and, in general, taking a very familiar attitude with me. This was disrespectful and required correction if I were to continue in our chats.
I soon established myself as an authority figure through using only the power of my written words. Then, I quickly taught him basic protocols that I supposed I had heard or read about, but now I realize, were bits of the old knowledge already seeping through to my conscious mind. The first lessons were that he referred to me as "Sir" and that he remember he had (I assumed) learned to write proper English at school, and I expected him to use it.
Slowly, he fell into line. Over time, his real desires started coming to the forefront. For weeks he had begged to come serve me. Although I had been experimenting with man-to-man sex for many months, I was still being very skittish about meeting men like this cocky asshole. I had enjoyed what I had done so far, but it was too tame. I had decided to become much more assertive and dominating in my sexual relations, and I wasn't sure I could put him and keep him in his place. He nagged me to the point that I finally issued orders of when and where he was to appear, and how I wanted him prepped and dressed.
I dressed in a pair of old Levi's, a black wife-beater, utility boots, and master's cap with a scorpion bracelet around my left wrist, assuming he knew the importance of that placement choice. Dominants flag left. Everyone knew that, didn't they? Otherwise, how could I have known it? Again, the unexplained knowledge dribbling through the chinks separating me from my aggregate past life was beginning to show itself.
I prepared a space to receive him by placing my black leather chair in front of a full length mirror. I placed candles on either side of the chair and turned out the room lights, then I lit a large cigar just as he arrived. I had been developing cigars as part of my leather daddy persona, and I was surprised at how natural it as to me. It was as if I had smoked them all my life. I also had a penchant for strong bourbon, a large glass of which was on the small table to my left. I had noticed in bars how others took so much pride in downing a shot of it. I drank it in gulps with no problem, but never bothered to question how I was able to do that when others couldn't.
The boy arrived on time; I had warned him about being too early or late. Keeping his eyes down at all times, he removed his clothing, and took a position between my booted feet at the foot of the chair as I had previously instructed. I had told him this was called "First Position" but I wasn't sure where I got that name. By this time, I had put my "new self" on the sidelines and given my "old self" complete control. (He) I drew heavily on the cigar and took my damn sweet time before acknowledging the boy. A few sips of bourbon, then finally I raised my boots and put them on his back as if he were a stool. My new-self was astonished and hugely turned on. My old-self simply continued smoking and drinking bourbon while admiring his boots and the candle-lit scene reflected in the mirror. The boy was shaking, with little gasps and whimpers escaping from his lowered mouth as he breathed rapidly.
After many minutes, I removed my boots and placed my hand on his head. "Lift up, boy. Look at me."
He did, and his eyes went very wide with a look of awe. "Oh, my god!" he gasped.
"Yes, boy. I'm your god. I'm your master. And I may yet be your daddy if you please me." I said simply. He nodded, not taking his eyes from mine.
"Stand up." He did. I walked around him, inspecting him while continuing to fill the room with cigar smoke. He was shorter than I, his head coming up to my nose. About 28 years old, he was muscular, but with a swimmer's body. His hair was wavy and unkempt, but clean. He had no facial hair to speak of. His chest was well defined, but not what you would call "overdeveloped" by any stretch. His ass was ample, and appeared as if it would be yielding to my touch. He was soft, naked, and cold standing before a hot, hairy brute who was intent on using him for all he could deliver. My cock twitched at the thought as I slapped his ass, grabbed it, put my mouth next to one of his ears and said "Mine." My voice was low and brusque, with an almost imperceptible growl.
The boy made no response other than a violent shiver and whimper that ran through his body. I slapped his ass again twice as hard and grabbed the globe of his left butt cheek viciously between my fingers. At nearly triple the volume, I barked into his ear, "Mine, boy! What do you say?"
He hesitated a moment, then understood he was expected to respond. "Yes. Yes, SIR!"
"That's better," I grunted as I violently released the ass cheek, which would surely bear a bruise the next day. He stumbled forward, then regained his balance, though still shivering and not daring to look behind him, where I stood.
Without warning (to my new-self, or the boy), I quickly moved around to stand in front of him, took the cigar into my left hand, and with my right at the base of his skull, tilted it upward to face me. Within a second of this lightning move, my tongue invaded his mouth deeply and brutally. The boy squirmed and whimpered at first, but my firm grip gave him nowhere to go. Soon, he settled down and gave himself up to the reality of his situation. My tongue fucked his throat deeply, and the taste and smell of the cigar and bourbon were overpowering his senses even more, with the roughness of my beard and moustache against his tender face creating red patches from the friction. After nearly a minute of this, I gave him one final deep thrust and roughly pulled his head away. He gasped for air, breathing heavily and sobbing, "Oh, Sir... Oh, Sir!" then he looked up at me again, with that expression of awe mixed with fear and longing.
I smiled down at him. "Good boy, but my cock will be much more trying." I returned the cigar to my mouth and used my hands to guide and position his mouth near my right pec. Although I didn't set him on it, he instinctively started straining towards the large, mesmerizing nipple hidden beneath the stretched fabric of the wife-beater. I intensified my hold on his neck, causing him to wince and yelp. "Not until I say so, son!" I bellowed. He rolled his eyes up to look at me again. I held him in my gaze as I puffed on the cigar a few times, blowing smoke down and over my massive chest, then released my hold on him.
I removed my hat and placed it in reverse on his head, whispering "Hat rack, son," into his ear. Then, carefully manipulating the cigar from hand to hand, I pulled the wife-beater over my head to reveal my chest, threw the shirt to the side, and retrieved the cap, returning it to my own head.
"Oh, wow!" exclaimed the boy. The broad expanse of my chest glowed softly in the candlelight, and the fur gave it a fuzzy, soft texture with the two nipples rising above the dense layer, bullets of flesh demanding his attention. Reapplying a vice-like grip on his neck, I tilted his head down and redirected his gaze directly at my right pec and once again covered it with smoke. He whimpered and let out a small moan, wracked with the longing to latch on to that source of masculine power just an inch away, yet helplessly prevented from it.
"How does that make you feel, son, being so close to this chest? A little weak? Small? Do you want to touch it? To suck it like a little boy needs to suck so he'll grow up strong? You're just a faggot hoping to drain a little bit of power from a real man, now that you've finally met one. You want it, boy?"
I slowly moved the nipple closer to his mouth, and hairs from my chest surrounding it grazed his lips. He could feel the heat of my body and the thick smoke hovering between us, but he still could not suck it. Quickened puffs of air escaped his nostrils, causing ripples in the soft fur and disturbing the heavy, murky veil. He was whimpering again, so I jerked him by the neck to get his attention. "What? I didn't hear you, boy! DO YOU WANT TO SUCK IT!?" I shouted. The sound of my voice was so loud and unexpected it surprised even me. He winced in pain as the explosion fell upon his ears.
Then, through sobs and heavy breathing, with his eyes fixated on my nipple, he said "Yes, SIR! Oh, god, yes SIR! Please let me suck your beautiful chest, SIR! I want so bad to taste it, and to make you feel good. Oh, God! You're so incredibly beautiful and handsome. So fucking hot!" Here he broke down and tears began to form at the corner of his eyes.
The boy was actually crying, he was so overwrought at discovering his inferiority compared to me. "I wanted to serve you and do anything you command me, but now I know I'm not good enough. I'm afraid of what you said about your cock - I know it must be truly massive, and I don't think I can suck it. And your chest..." More sobs. "...it's so, so incredibly huge, it makes me feel so small. I've never felt so tiny. I've always thought I was such a hot fucker. But I'm nothing. Not compared to you, SIR. You're such a man. So perfect. Why did you tell me to come to you? A god like you can have anyone he wants. Why me, SIR? Why me? Oh, god, I feel like such a worthless worm..." He trailed off, closing his eyes.
His tears dripped off the end of his nose and fell into the jungle of hair covering my belly. I felt sorry for him. The cocky asshole was just a subterfuge for an insecure boy. Here was a man faced with the brutal truth of his inadequacy when confronted with a superior being. Here also were the beginnings of contrition, and a desire to take his appropriate place in the order of things, now that that order was beyond doubt.
I reinforced my grip on his neck and barked "SUCK!" as I drove his mouth onto my waiting nip. He instinctively opened his lips and began sucking, stilly crying, with his whimpering increasing in tempo and pitch. His tears flowed faster, splashing onto my pec which was also beginning to glisten with the sweat of my excitement in breaking this man. But I found myself dissatisfied with his efforts, feeling that I was not receiving the full benefit of what he should be able to provide. After a few minutes of very tentative nursing, I said "What the fuck are you doing, son? Are you even on that teat? You'll have to be a lot less timid to get my attention, little man. Suck harder, and chew a little bit and let's see if you can!"
Again some hesitation, then compliance. I could feel a faint tingling as he began to apply something more like what I really wanted, although he still had a long way to go in learning to service me this way. "Harder, son!" He sucked and chewed harder. The pleasure in my nipple increased, and my cock began to grow in response. "FUCK YEAH, BOY! SUCK THAT MAN NIP!" It was like turning up a volume knob. The boy went into a frenzied overdrive of sucking and chewing, beginning to sweat. The pleasure he was creating was something I had not felt before in this life. It was an intense mix of pleasure and pain that was further drawing out old-me and getting him plenty aroused.
"AWWWWW.....FUCK!" I heard myself yelling, expelling huge clouds of cigar smoke with every breath. Then, without warning, I forcefully relocated his head to the other side. "Now the other one, boy. SUCK!"
By now, he was getting the idea of nipple service, and I was feeling for the first time the intense pleasure I could experience when I had a slave to do my bidding. Clearly, my old-self was used to this, quite accustomed to this level of stimulation that could only come from a submissive man rendering service. (He) I let the sucking continue for a few minutes, then simply moved the boy's head away from the nipple and forced it to the cleavage between my mounded pectorals. "Lick."
By now I had generated rivulets of sweat between the mats of hair that grew most dense in that valley, and I wanted to feel his tongue clean it out completely, which he did. I then raised my right arm and turned slightly to the left, guiding his head to my right pit. "LICK! Clean out that pit, boy!" He approached hesitantly until he got wind of the scent coming from there. Then he moaned softly and practically fell against me as he buried his face in the pubic hair, devouring the sweat and salt that had accumulated. I flexed the biceps of my right arm above him and commanded "Feel my arm, boy!" He only slightly disengaged from his pit diving expedition to raise his hands to feel. The muscle stood in a massive mound opposite the similarly flexed triceps beneath it, and the boy moaned as he realized he could never hope to encircle my arm with both of this hands.
"Lick my biceps. Taste some man muscle." Dutifully, he began licking the mountains of muscle, and his whimpering increased. Under his breath, he began to moan "Oh, SIR! You're such a fucking MAN, sir! Oh, god, I want to please you so bad, SIR! I want you to use me. You deserve to use me. Please use me, SIR! Oh, god, use me, SIR! Please!"
"FUCK YEAH, SON! Good boy!" I barked, continuing to smoke the cigar and blowing smoke over the whole muscle-worshipping affair. It intoxicated the boy further and he seemed to be on the verge of hyperventilating, gasping "...use me... ...so fucking huge... ...oh daddy... ...so hot..." between labored breaths. Rather than moving him to the other arm as the old-self seemed to think would be the appropriate next step, I instead caught the boy in my arms and lowered him to the floor on his knees, before the chair. I sat down, removed the cigar from my mouth, took a healthy swig of bourbon, replaced the cigar and drew heavily on it, then placed my left hand on the boy's head, guiding it to the crotch of my jeans and pressing his face there.
"Nuzzle," I said, the smoke rolling from my mouth down my chest and belly and over the boy's head. I pressed him again for emphasis. He began to rub his nose around the area, and I felt irritation at his timidity. "NUZZLE, BOY! Get it wet with your spit!" Again, I pressed his face into the rough fabric, eliciting another yelp. But he got the message, and soon I could see a wet spot develop across the buttoned fly.
My cock was beginning to take notice, stiffening quickly. The boy was getting excited at the growing member just inches from his face, though hidden still by the denim. I became concerned I might reach a climax too soon, he was getting me so hot. "Not yet!" I said to myself.
My cock instantly stopped growing.
Then, like a childhood memory you've forgotten until you hear a song you haven't heard since those early years, I had full recollection and utility of the ability, developed over past lives, to create and alter erections and ejaculation at will. "Fuck yeah...." I said out loud, regarding the import of this revelation. The boy, of course, thought I was further complimenting him and mumbled "Thank you, SIR!" through the folds of my jeans. I realized there was no danger of pre-ejaculation, so I willed myself to continue enlarging until there was a sizeable, constrained lump beneath the fabric. The boy's state of arousal grew with my cock, and he was moaning as he covered the mound of my hidden dick with his spit.
After a few more minutes of smoking and enjoying the boy's nuzzling, I lifted his head. "Look at me, son. How are you feeling? Do you like what you're doing?" I was truly interested to hear what he would say. I knew instinctively that some boys just want to be fucked, and they'll do anything, including faking the submissive role, to get it. Although I had little doubt about this boy's sincerity after all that had happened so far, I wanted to hear it out loud.
"Oh, yes, SIR! I will do anything you tell me to do! Just, please don't send me away. Even if you let me sit in a cage in the corner to be in the same room with you, don't make me leave! I will be your footstool again, SIR, or clean your house. Anything! Just tell me, beautiful and powerful master. Tell me and I will do it!"
My new-self was flabbergasted at this outburst from the man before me. Old-me wa not surprised in the least, but seemed to fully expect the reaction based on a vast experience of similar interactions. The boy had totally given himself to me and was mine to do with as I pleased. The formalism of his speech made it impeccably clear that he now revered me and saw any service he could render as an act of holy devotion. These thoughts made my cock jump beneath the saliva-soaked denim. I knew I wanted to breed him, and make him mine. His admission only served to make me crueler and more abusive in my use of him, because I could, and he craved it.
"Lick my boots, boy!"
"Sir?"
"I SAID FUCKING LICK MY BOOTS, FAGGOT!"
With that, I bent over, placed my firm hand on the back of his head again, and maneuvered it to the floor and my right boot. "LICK."
He dutifully began to lick. I thought it was amazing he even had the courage to lick a dirty boot, but old-me didn't think so, nor was he satisfied. "That's piss-poor, boy. Not how you lick a man's boot! Get that tongue going. I want to feel the pressure of it on my foot inside the boot. And cover every goddamned inch or you'll know what it means to feel some real disciplinary pain. I want to see it shining with your spit in the candlelight."
The boy increased the pressure of his licking, and the feel of his pathetic tongue trying to reach me through the thick leather of the boots had me vocally encouraging and degrading him simultaneously. "Aw, yeah, son! That's how you lick a man's boots. You're a fucking faggot that was born to lick my boots, boy. Don't forget it!"
"Yes, SIR!" he managed to get out in gasps between licks.
"I WANNA HEAR YOU SAY IT, SON: I'M A FUCKING FAGGOT THAT WAS BORN TO LICK YOUR BOOTS, SIR! SAY IT!" I was yelling at the top of my lungs. Even though I live on five acres, I was sure the neighbors had probably heard that one. Old-me hoped they had.
Immediately, in a high-pitched hurried stream of words he shouted, "I'm a fucking faggot that was born to lick your boots, most beautiful, handsome, and all deserving SIR!" The embellishment was unexpected, but very pleasing and I said so.
"DAMN RIGHT, SON!" THAT'S WHAT I WANTED TO HEAR. NOW, OTHER BOOT!"
It took a moment for the command to sink in, and I started to bend forward to enforce the order when he quickly jumped to the other side. "Good boy!" I roared, sinking back and puffing on my cigar in approval. He was learning. I was pleased. This one would be a good, long term project to train. And that thought, I knew, came from the old-me, who was used to identifying and sorting boys based on their abilities and potentials.
After another few minutes of verbal encouragement mixed with abuse, I retargeted the boy again. "Crotch. Nuzzle."
Without hesitation this time, the boy was back to the wet crotch, lathing it again with more of his spit. He didn't seem sure what to do with his hands, though. He just held them out to the side, apparently afraid to touch me, and it annoyed me. "What's wrong with your arms, boy?"
He responded without removing his face from my crotch, "Nothing, SIR!"
"Then why the hell are you holding them out there like some kind of rag doll?" He stopped nuzzling and looked up at me quizzically.
"I don't dare touch you, SIR, without your permission."
"Damn, good boy," I thought. "Learning fast and definitely a keeper." I was immensely pleased at this response, which further confirmed that he now regarded me quite appropriately as a godlike figure. I said out loud, "When nuzzling, you are permitted to reach up and feel my chest, or to feel my legs or boots. In fact, when you eventually service my cock, I'll expect you to damn well worship chest, belly, arms, balls, legs and boots with your hands while your mouth continuously pleasures me."
"Yes, SIR!" he said, clearly excited at the prospect.
"In fact, son, I think it's time for you two to meet," I said as I placed the cigar in mouth and reached down to unbutton the fly. I thought that my cock should be semi-erect and average length for the introduction. It responded to the thought in seconds, taking its new shape just as I exposed it.
"Oh..." the boy gasped. He was wide-eyed and hypnotized by this display of pure manhood.
"You like it, son?"
"SIR, it is beautiful! Oh, Daddy! Let me worship and please you through it! Please?!"
He had called me "Daddy." I wasn't going to object. We had already established my superiority, my worthiness to demand his worship, and now we were further establishing my role as mentor and father-figure. "We'll have to train you, son. It won't be easy, and you will be damaged unless I prepare you for it. Do you think my cock is large?"
He slowly nodded his head, "Oh, yes, SIR! So perfect!"
"It is only half hard, boy. I want you to see the full extent of your daddy's manhood, and you'll know why training will be important."
With that, I extended my cock to full length, girth, and hardness. The new-me was as astonished as the boy. I had no idea I could achieve such dimensions! Until now, I had measured 7-inches in length and just under 6-inches in circumference. The fleshy column that now sprung from my loins was more than formidable. Without a ruler I couldn't be sure, but it was at least twice as long and half-again as big around as normal. Only the most trained of mouths and holes could hope to satisfy it in that form. The boy was clearly thinking the same thing. He turned white as a sheet, his face fell with dismay, but an expression still mixed with awe. I thought he would remark at the unexplained change in size, but any observation or comment was cut short by the dominating, hypnotic effect of the fully erect 14-inch monster cock.
"Oh, SIR! You are a god, SIR! Your cock is a god-cock, SIR! Oh, fuck, what am I going to do, SIR? I want to suck it and service it so badly! I want to show you that I can be a good boy and bring you incredible pleasure as you deserve and demand, to have it in me, but it would kill me!"
"Not necessary for you to die, boy. You'll learn to handle it over time," said the old-me with assurance. The new-me was not at all sure any man could take this phallus in its fully grown form, especially this boy of a man; but, then I had yet to learn about the transformative powers of my cum. Clearly, old-me had already taken this into account.
"Sniff it, boy." I puffed on the cigar and sent smoke to enwreathe the pillar of flesh, the mushroom head of which rose as high as my sternum. The boy dutifully brought his nose closer and inhaled. "Good boy. Smell my god-cock!" He took several more deep breaths before I further commanded, "Now, kiss it. Up and down the shaft." Which he dutifully did. The feeling of his tender lips on the flesh of my rock hard fucker was creating tiny explosions of pleasure up and down that freakishly huge shaft, and I knew that this boy was going to work long and hard to fully satisfy my needs this evening. I was damn well going to make sure he did.
"Now, I know you can't take it all, son, but just put the head of it into your mouth as far as you can. You'll gag, and I want that. It will help your body to understand just how inferior of a man you are to me. You need to feel and experience the physical reality of what your head and heart already know." Old-me was really well versed in how to cow a man quickly. The boy opened his mouth as wide as he could, but couldn't bring it down over the great domed head of my cock. Getting past it was impossible as long as I kept it in the fully engorged state. "Here, son. I'll help you." I placed my hand on the back of his neck, pressing down, while at the same time reducing the circumference of the shaft and glans until it slid tightly between his cracking lips. His eyes closed, he didn't witness the unnatural diminishment of my girth, but sighed contentedly at having accommodated me, though he didn't yet understand how he had done it.
Slowly he advanced his painfully stretched lips, having to stand up and bend over slightly in order to align his mouth and throat with the near 90-degree angle of my cock. But he could take no more than an inch of my length before he began to gag and cough, and my cock twitched with pleasure on every vibration that emanated from his straining body. I laughed, hand on his head, pressing his head further onto my godlike appendage. I began to experience the distant desire to achieve a release, but I knew I wouldn't allow myself the luxury of it for some time yet. The boy dutifully continued in his impossible assignment. In spite of the amusement and sexual enjoyment his spasms provided, I finally said, "Alright, son. Back off of it." He pulled his head up and off the imposing fuck tool, leaving a string of thick spit between his lower lip and the head. "Well, son, how does it make you feel, trying to suck that cock?"
"Very small. Very unworthy. Very puny, SIR. I'm surprised I could even get the head of it into my mouth." At this thought, he tilted his head slightly as if realizing something was amiss. Again with the formal style, which he clearly was getting off on using to interact with his new master, he continued: "Since I can't bring you the pleasure you deserve with my pathetic mouth, I beg you to take pleasure from my ass, instead, even though I know it will likely kill me. I would die very happy knowing you had received the satisfaction you are due, and that your god-cock had found enjoyment from my body, even if only for a few moments."
I was moved by his devotion, and decided I would also adopt the stilted, formal style of communication he had initiated. It seemed proper. Old-self clearly found it appropriate to the situation. "Again, I say 'not necessary,' boy. I will moderate the dimensions of my cock to suit the situation, as I have already done twice and you failed to notice. Your cock has a mind of its own, but mine is always under my control. Over time you will be able to take the full extent of my godhood." Again, new-me didn't understand why I said this, but it felt right. And, immediately, I willed my cock to a 7-inch by 5-inch slightly larger-than-average dick that the boy could manage, though still with a great deal of effort. His eyes flew open in shock as he saw my penis diminish on cue.
"Fuck, SIR! How did you do that?!!" He was truly awestruck now.
"Because I am, as you have already acknowledged, a FUCKING GOD." Then, with cigar in mouth, I abruptly stood up from my chair, causing the boy to topple onto his back, nearly missing the mirror. As he looked up at me, I struck my most impressive muscular double-biceps pose, bringing my cock back to full size and heavily drawing on the cigar to release thick, billowing clouds for added effect. Looking down on him with an imperious expression through the dense smoke, I said loudly and flatly:
"WORSHIP ME."
I held the pose and produced more smoke, growling deeply at the pleasure I felt in displaying my superiority and the effect it produced. The boy recovered to get back on all four knees, head down between my boots, mumbling, "Yes, my master! Yes, my god! Use me, my master! I will be and do anything you want me to, master, just let me worship and serve you!"
I continued to hold my pose and smoke, listening to his words of worship and praise, and his heartfelt request to take him into my service, and I was moved to do just that. I would make him mine, and he would be the first of many, though I didn't understand that at the time.
Restoring my cock to the size he could manage, I relaxed my pose, tousled his hair, and sat down. The fabric of my jeans was constraining to me, even though the fly was open. I also wanted the boy to get the full picture of my physical superiority, which included my massive legs. "Let's get these jeans off, son," I rumbled. "Remove my boots, first. They zip on the inside."
It took a few moments for these words to register, but the boy dutifully chose a boot and searched for the zipper. Finding it, he pulled it down to the base and began pulling the boot off. It was a more difficult chore than he had surmised.
"Harder than you thought it'd be, huh, son? I'm a big man, so it takes a good bit of strength to manage my footwear - especially my boots. Just pull straight out and you'll have better success." He took my advice and the boot was soon off. He was about to set it aside, when I caught him. "Smell it. Inside. Deep." He opened the top of the boot like a Halloween treat bag to look inside and tentatively sniffed. I leaned forward and grabbed the back of his head in my right hand and the bottom of the boot in my left, forcing them together. "DEEP, SON! Smell me!"
He inhaled deeply and sighed. Then he took several more draughts before reluctantly setting the boot to the side. "Not too far away, son. It goes back on in a minute. Now the other one."
After repeating the same routine on the other boot and setting it aside, I stood up briefly to let my jeans slide down to my feet. I was wearing no underwear, anticipating having him suck me off tonight. My cock sprung forward in its limited yet semi-rigid configuration. My quadriceps and glutes filled his view from his knee-level vantage point. He looked up at me, now mostly naked in the flickering candle light except for my hat, leather bracelet and socks, and said "Oh, fuuuuuuck.... Oh, fuuuuuuck!" I sat back down as he regained his composure and slid the garment over and off of my feet.
"Fold them. Set them aside." And he did.
"Now, boots back on." And he quickly and dutifully replaced them, albeit with a great deal of effort, and pausing ever so slightly to let his hands wander up the extent of my calves and thighs.
"Now come closer, son, on your knees." He took the submissive position between my naked legs, boots on either side of his shins and I stiffened my cock. Then, I put my hand on the back of his head and pulled him down onto it. "Suck, son. Take your time. There's no hurry."
As I gently pushed into the confines of his sweet mouth, he began to suck so tenderly and so purposefully that I was launched into a state of sheer ecstasy. Although the dimensions did not change, my cock achieved rock hard firmness as my sweet boy made love to it. His worship, his sacrifice of bodily exertion, and the look of earnest devotion on his face as he labored to please me made me feel like a god, indeed. I luxuriated in the knowledge of my superiority over not just him, but any man I might choose. Then I heard old-me giving orders to change the boy's technique.
"Up and down the shaft, boy. You're sucking cock, not just nibbling on the head." Dutifully, the boy began moving his lips up and down the length of my swollen member. I had thought he was doing a good job, but now the pleasure more than doubled. Old-me knew how to work a boy well. "Good, son. That's it. Just like that for now. Don't forget those nips!"
By this time, my cigar was nearly a nub and the glass of bourbon was empty. With my cock fully engaged in the boy's care, his eager fingers tweaking my nips, caressing my big chest and belly, I unwrapped another cigar, cut the end, and lit it, then poured some fresh liquor. Sighing contentedly, I settled back a little in the chair to resume my reverie as the boy continued his service.
"Fuck yeah, son...." I rumbled lazily, "...that's how you do it. Just like that."
And for the next 30 minutes, I was not inclined to change a thing. The boy sucked. I smoked and drank. The pleasure was intense yet sustainable. I could have gone for hours, but he was clearly beginning to tire, so I said, "Ok, son, let's pick up the pace a little. Faster, but not much."
And he did as ordered. The change in tempo again heightened the pleasure, which I thought wasn't possible, but still wasn't enough. After a few minutes, I started fucking his face instead of letting him simply suck. He became a receptacle of pleasure. His teeth scraped against my mighty cock as I viciously raped his beautiful orifice. I was breathing and sweating heavily, and I could tell that an immense load was building up inside me. Although I now knew that I could control my orgasm and have it at any time I chose, it didn't mean I wanted to defer it indefinitely. Far from it - I wanted to release my seed into this boy and take ownership of him for good.
That is exactly how the thought entered my mind, and it seemed very strange: taking ownership, with absolute certainty, forever. This certainty that, by feeding the boy cum, I would irreversibly own him did not make sense to the new-me. Old-me was, of course, quite comfortable with it. Then the idea of owning the boy forever scared me, because of the responsibility it would entail. But old-me knew that the boy would rather live owned by me than not, even if it meant receiving my seed just this one time.
As I mulled these thoughts and ferociously ravaged his mouth, the image in the mirror drew my attention. I saw me, the unassailably impassioned, insanely masculine leather musclegod, cigar aflame, smoke pouring from his bearded mouth, lustfully using his property for its intended purpose. His powerful thrusts were sure and intentional, and the look of intense bliss on his handsomely mature face as he looked out of the mirror and back at me showed that he was being served as he was accustomed, in the manner that was due a god of his magnificence. In contrast, the boy was harshly used, but hardly a mere accessory. Submitting to the will of his master, unable to smile due to the nature of his service, he nonetheless exuded contentment in his posture and motions as he provided the pleasure he knew his god could justly demand from him.
I imagined what it would be like to enter the boy's ass and fuck him, depositing my superior seed directly into his bowels. Cigar clenched between my teeth, his ass exposed as he bent over my chair, offering up his warm, wet hole to his god, who had every right to take and enjoy it. The cock enlarged to its full extent, plunging beyond his tight sphincter and into depths of the fleshy cavity beyond. The drive to pound him, fuck him, use him, teach him, and even love him as one would a devoted and faithful pet. The moment of release, him yelling beneath me as he reached his own puny orgasm, followed by my own roar of satisfaction at breeding him.
And I saw, too, a vision of how his cells would begin to change, the process that would rewrite his DNA with my own, to better serve his god and master. I fully understood who and what I was, and what the boy was, and how our relationship was good and right. This image was so hot, so perfect, so exactly what I wanted that I made the decision to cum at that moment - the fucking would eventually follow, but for now I wanted to seal the boy's fate as my property. I wanted other boys. I wanted as many as I could get. I wanted to own them and use them and teach them to do the same within the limits of what they were capable.
"CALL IT OUT, BOY!" I suddenly yelled. "CALL OUT MY CUM, SON!"
The boy began to moan and wail while my cock continued to pound his mouth. The added vibrations put me over the edge, now that I had allowed it. With a growing rumble that became a sudden roar, I went rigid with my hand holding the boy's head down on my cock, and the cigar lodged firmly between my teeth.
And then I came.
I had never come like this. The spasms seemed endless. My roar was sustained and filled with animal lust, and the satisfaction of that lust. The boy at first tried to disengage from my cock, but my hand gave him no options. Then, as my semen pumped directly down his throat, he realized he must swallow or drown in it, so he swallowed. Cum was spitting from his nose as he struggled to keep up with the flow. Finally, the stream waned and I sank back into the chair breathing heavily, to recover from the sudden release of so much energy.
I still held him down on the cock and he was breathing heavily through his nose now, with thick white globs of cum still spitting from his nostrils and dangling from the corners of his mouth. I released his head, but he didn't try to disengage. Instead, he resumed sucking my still hard cock, moaning softly to himself, and working to recover as much cum as he could. It was obvious he relished the taste and wanted more. I now knew how it would affect him, and why he would relish it and want more. The transformation would take many months, and it would become more profound the more I fed or fucked him. His chest would deepen. His beard, thicken. Voice, deepen. Height, increase. His mouth and ass would become more flexible and better adapted to service my cock at full size. Parts of me would be reborn in him, my son.
After recovering from the explosion of cum and energy, the boy instinctively went to the first position I had taught him - face to the floor kneeling between my boots - and waited.
"Well done, son," I said, tousling his hair while blowing more cigar smoke over and around him, enveloping him like a tangible cloak.
"I am yours, SIR. I belong to You. Please use me!"
And I acknowledged him. "Yes, you're mine, son. And, yes, I will use you, and teach you to be more suitable for my service." I handed him a small towel from beneath the table at my side. "Wipe down, dress up, and go home. We'll stay in touch. Dismissed." I went back to smoking and enjoying my bourbon as if he no longer were in the room. He quietly dressed as instructed and left.
That was the first of many similar encounters that saw me quickly grow into and reclaim the abilities I had acquired in recent lives. I also learned that, with every ejaculation, I recharged to be even more powerful, more strong, more muscular, more in-tune with myself and my boys than I had been before. The changes were very subtle and only noticeable over many months and years, but over time, I was transformed further into the fully matured musclegod I am today.
But physical size and masculine features aren't the full extent of what I have become. Stamina has increased. My endurance seems endless. Although I have the face of a brutally handsome older man, my body doesn't seem to age. Disease and sickness are distant memories.
And I've learned to love. It's new this time around, I think. Until now, my lives focused on achieving superiority and learning to wield it without question. Now I am experiencing the new dimension of caring for my boys, cultivating them, raising them up from the status of mere men. Certainly, the physical transformation brought about by the peculiar characteristics of my ejaculate is unusual, even miraculous. But "training" is more than just restructuring genes, teaching protocol, and drilling skills pertaining to sexual and domestic service. It is much more about touching the boy's soul, evoking a deep and devoted love response, putting me in the center of his life, and him being thankful for any involvement I may have in his, even if only a one-time encounter.
In this life, I find that I don't like the idea of forcing someone to love me - that seems inhumane. And though I may be superior, the compassion that has evolved inside me would never coerce a boy to love me, although none I have ever engaged has failed to do so. The truth is that any man I claim comes to me willingly and happily. Once he experiences me, sees my superiority first hand, and I breed him, he's mine. His only desire is to satisfy my desires, make me proud perhaps as a leather daddy himself, or just see me glance down at him as he serves me and say "Well done, son!"