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Even The First - PART FIFTEEN
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Even The First - PART FIFTEEN
Q. What do you do when you don't know what to do?
A. You do nothing.
I must've sat on that bench for a couple of hours shivering into my freezing wet clothes. I could feel the cold water moving within the knit as I breathed. My breath seemed to move through my skin like a sweat of cold blood. It didn't matter; I had the strength to endure discomfort. That's something I knew for sure. Now for as long as I could remember, pain had dominated my existence. Now, as the cold air and hard bench tested my resilience I felt some pride in the knowledge that no amount of physical hardship could overcome my innate strength and will to endure.
Indeed I had always known that this was the only way I could feel whole and safe and alive, overcoming the loneliness and loveless emptiness in my life: I was utterly alone. No one cared for me. I was a sex tool and servant, a convenience for men who were only interested in their own egos, orgasms, fetishes and fantasies.
Even that was a feeling I knew I could embrace. Nigel was right, I valued my own worthlessness. He had said that at one point, cradling my head as I cried, his bloodied whip still stiff in his hand. He sighed almost as though he could feel and empathise with my pain, though he had inflicted it and felt its richness, its luxuriant control and power with an excitement and pleasure I would never experience. As his fingers stroked my ear I knew he was waiting impatiently for the moment my suffering subsided just enough for him to inflict it again. I could feel the blood charging through him. I could sense his hunger, urging me to recover, barely capable of restraining itself. Then he said, "I want to hurt you again. I think you are ready."
Afterwards he said, "What I love is, Paul has so destroyed you, you don't know what your own pleasure is anymore. You've completely lost it. You're just a tool for other men. You do as you're told, you fuck as you're told, you even feel as you're told. Even you're raw emotions are controlled by your owner. aren't they?"
I nodded, "Yes. Sir."
"I mean, I kind of understand, or I think I do, but then," Nigel tapped me on the scalp with the stiff end of a rider's crop he just happened to be holding, letting it slide across my hair and fall into the notch behind my ear, "I realise that I don't. Because for me there is nothing, absolutely nothing horny about being treated the way you get treated. I can't imagine that being a fulfilling, enjoyable existence." He laughed. "But then again I think how much of a turn on it is for sadists like Paul and me to have our passions fully exercised and a just stop caring what's in it for a worthless piece of shit like you. If you are stupid enough to let this happen then why should I question it?"
He had a point.
I sat on the bench. Sometimes I held my knees and leaned forward and cried. Sometimes I leaned back and spread my big arms along the back of the bench and stared at the sky. When the sun came out I let it warm me, inflating my chest with warm air, feeling the warmth spread over my pecs, heating my stone skin. When the clouds came back I shook with cold once more, folded myself for protection. I could feel every one of my muscles as they quivered to warm me.
I knew I'd have to go back to Paul eventually, back to the dungeon that was my home, back to the household chores that filled my days, back to the total concentration on his desires, tastes and requirements.
I thought of the punishment Nigel had given me the night before, I got hard at the thought of it. Nigel really enjoyed hurting me. He really enjoyed humiliating me. He loved making me crawl and degraded. He loved seeing me out of my mind with pain and confusion. He loved whipping me - that was his thing. His small fatty eyes lit up when he thought of it. He said something like, "I think I need my whip, can you get it for me please, boy," and his eyes would light up with a vicious light that wasn't cruel, it was just the pleasure of knowing that he could give it and that I would take it - like we were a team. I'd crawl over on my hands and knees, my naked balls and my hot raw buttocks swinging for him to look at, and find the whip where he had thrown it last time he'd used it, pick it up in my mouth like a dog stick, and fetch it back for him. I'd let him take it gently from my mouth and then present myself for him to beat me with it.
It was strangely magic the way he loved that.
He loved that I could take it. He loved bringing me to the edge and then over it. Once I was crying and sobbing and begging him, he'd stop and wrap me in his fat body and hold me into his deep soft flesh and whisper softly, there, there, and blow on my hair. He loved that.
Nigel had said, "I could never be beautiful, but I could own you."
He spread his palm on my skin, rubbing me incessantly until I could hardly bear it.
He had me on all fours, licking his feet.
"See how trapped you are?"
I did see how trapped I was.
He had me kiss him, kneeling astride his massive belly so my junk rubbed against it. I held his head and fed on his face
"O want you to stop doing that. Come here and kneel between my legs. That's it. Rest your head on my stomach."
I did so. He rubbed my head.
"Suck my dick boy." I slid down and found his small penis in a forest of rancid pubic hair. "That's it. Lick it. Suck it. Good boy.
A man sat next to me. For a long while he didn't speak. Then all he said was, "So." He got up and I followed him into the bushes. Once we had some privacy he stopped. I continued walking until I was standing in front of him. I turned to face him. He looked at me for some time, then indicated with a flick of his wrist that I should kneel. He was wearing grey trackers which I pulled down to flip his long pink cock out. It was moist with sweat, filling in my hand. I pulled the fire skin back, wanking it, and quickly sucked it into my mouth, looking up at the man as I did so.
He was a bit younger than me. Scrawny faced and scrawny bearded, but his dark eyes were clear and intense. He was wearing a dark cap and a grey hoodie with a white zip which he undid, staring at me, to reveal his lean muscular chest with an overall covering of fine dark ginger hair that continued down to his fine short ginger pubes.
As I serviced his cock he started to pat my head, encouraging me to take it deep and then holding me on it when it was deep in my throat.
"Good boy," he said, the magic words that turned me on so much. Man, his cock was so good; properly filling my neck, and rock stiff. As he started to take over, holding my skull and fucking it, I just had to keep my concentration on satisfying him. I wanted him to fuck me but I thought he was going to lose it soon. I was right. He pulled it out and pumped it a few times before shooting all over my face, into my open mouth and onto my tongue, running its salty yoghurt taste down my throat in powerful spurts.
When he'd done he let me suck on it for a while. Then he flipped it up into his tracks. He patted me on the head again.
"Thanks, boy, that was good," he smiled, pulling my face into his crotch where I could feel it still hard, pointing down inside. I could still taste him and licked my lips. His cum, running down my cheeks, rubbed into his clothes, but he didn't seem to notice. His face had that slightly gormless state that you get when you've just cum.
It was a beautiful moment. In the stillness of the park I couldn't hear anything and concentrated on the feel of his clothes and his penis inside, pressed against my face. I felt so safe.
He reached into a pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes, lit one and offered me a drag.
I shock my head.
He seemed satisfied. So, we stayed in that position for some time whilst he finished.
"Come here often?" he said at last, as if that's all he could think of.
"Not often, Sir," I replied, looking him in the eye.
"Sir? Ooh." He was smiling. I noticed his dark ginger curly hair. He was lovely. "Cool," he said with a grin. "Guess that's it. Be seein'ye". With that he flicked his dog-end into the bush, released my head and walked off. I knelt in the wet leaves and rubbish covering the ground, watching him go. When I stood I returned to my bench, wondering how long I should stay there until returning to Paul's place.
Shortly after that I became aware of someone standing behind me. I don't know how; I just felt it. When I turned, it was him. He smiled. That was it. I just knew.
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END OF Even The First - PART FIFTEEN
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