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Even The First - PART SEVEN
THE USUAL WARNINGS APPLY TO THIS TALE.
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Even The First - PART SEVEN
[quote]
Keep your slave in constant discomfort, humiliated, bullied and broken, craving your approval, fearing your anger, and eager to obedience without a thought for the consequences. This, for the slave, is the correct condition.
[unquote]
Even when I felt as appalled as I should have felt at what I was being made to do by Paul's manipulations, it still fed into a loop of sexualised disgust that excited and engulfed me, it corroded my head like a vicious drug, and actually turned me on still further. To think that I was as excited by the fullness of the shameful denigrations I enacted for Paul's satisfaction, as I am shamed now by the emptiness I feel when I am not subject to these abuses.
"I want you to realise, this is not a request. I am telling you. I am giving you everything, I am looking after you; I don't think you realise. You'd be a homeless waster if it wasn't for me. I've helped you. I've lifted you up. You were heading for the gutter. Do you understand what I am saying? You owe me. Now do it."
I turned reluctantly and faced Paul's friend Nigel who stared at me goggle eyed, "Wow! Pretty boy!", with his fat round face and his round fat body and his prick poking like some shy animal through the fur beneath the rolls of his belly. He looked like he was thinking how he'd never dreamed of having such a sweet and beautiful male to use all to himself, to bully and humiliate. He was incredulous. My obedience intoxicated him. Paul told me to help Nigel undress. Nigel had looked confused. He had never had a slave undress him before. I undressed, and dressed Paul daily.
I started by kneeling at his feet to untie and remove his trainers, gently holding his ankle so he would not be unsteady. Then I stood and unzipped his hoodie top. I went round behind him to ease it from his shoulders and arms. He wore a stretched nylon vest underneath, thick with smell. I gripped the hem and started to pull it up over his fat back. He lifted his fat arms up above his head revealing his pits to the air. I peeled the top up and off his head. Then I returned to the front and untied his trackie bottoms. They were tight over his giant bum as I tugged them down and helped him step out of them.
"Thanks, er, what's the name," he said.
Paul interjected, "Don't bother with a fucking name. Just tell it what you want it to do!"
Nigel was standing before me now in just a cheap gold chain and a pair of bleached tanga briefs. He laughed.
"Better take them off, bitch," he grinned and I knelt once again to comply. He made disgusting references to my fuckface, my fuckhole, said I was a fuck sick, told me to "Lick my nob", and laughed when I crawled to serve his small penis, search for his tiny furry balls and bury my face in his fat arse. Nigel who talked constantly whilst I was rimming him about my pigslut qualities.
I knew Pauls was watching. It made me feel special. I was conscious of Paul's eyes approvingly enjoying the spectacle of me debasing myself towards his pathetic associate. I was doing it for Paul. Paul wanted me to make his friend happy, so I did my best. I slavered over the sweaty folds of his flesh as though Paul's was the body I was worshiping.
Maintaining eye contact with Nigel, "Hey look at me pigslut!", his narrow piggy eyes, I licked the thick moist folds of his salty blubber, extending my tongue into the sweat trapping crevices. I carefully sucked the pink jelly limpet nipples stretched over his drooping man boobs.
His skin was glossy and naturally hairless except for his small bushy pubes and sketchy armpits.
"Oh yes, it likes that flab... it likes that moob!" gurgled Nigel delightedly. His undersized erection poked out pink and pointed and excited like a puppy prick. He pushed my head onto it.
When he was well pleased he'd cum in my mouth, a slight and congealed release (I said, "Thankyou Sir."), he announced he'd like to keep me for a weekend and Paul immediately said yes. I was aghast to think we could be separated for such a long time, but then I heard Paul say he needed me looked after while he was away. I didn't know he'd be going away. He said he'd be gone for a week and Nigel said that wouldn't be a problem. He said I could stay in the kitchen with the dog. Nigel had a dog. He said I could share the kitchen with it. He said we'd have some fun. In the upright kneeling position, arms behind my back, I hung my head obediently. I could not see their expressions. I could only tell Paul's coldness, and Nigel's flagrant excitement, from the way their voices modulated. Nigel patted my head. Then he spat in his hand and gave me it to eat.
"I'm going to have fun..." he said. He kicked my penis, which was pulsing and semi-erect. "I thinks it turns it on," he laughed. "I like it! It's such a bitch fag! Go on, bitch, kiss me!" - I stood and gave a kiss to his loose wet lips - "No! Kiss me like you mean it!"
I opened my mouth wide and put my tongue against his.
I was embarrassed to see that my humiliations were turning me hard. My penis was dripping precum and they knew I was excited. Nigel grabbed it and squeezed it, pulling the foreskin painfully so that I winced and inhaled sharply.
"Oh yes!" Nigel said.
Paul said, "Good to show it some variety. Do what you like. Go on: Disgust me." He laughed.
I don't know what further deprivations he meant. I had been kept in a state of disgusting humiliation since the day we met. My basement room was a prison where I showered and slept and shat in a bucket that had to be disposed of. Paul hung me by the neck (a chain went through a hook in the ceiling) and whipped me. He spat at me and kicked me. He pissed on me and called me names. When I was whimpering with pain and humiliation he led me upstairs and fucked me painfully, face down, and made me lick up his product.
Paul had demanded one thing after another in the name of me repaying his generosity in giving me a roof over my head and also in the name of my earning his cock up my hole when he felt like it. My gratitude showed itself in the servile role I played in his house, always naked, cleaning and preparing food. Paul let me do everything.
He stipulated that I work out. He wanted me strong. He wanted me fit. There were weights in the basement. I liked using those. Sometimes Paul would come down and watch me work out, criticising my reps and technique. He insisted I swim in the cold river. He insisted I jog. I had my tight running gear and ran round the estate.
That's how I met Roger. He lived in the estate as well, different street. He befriended me and told me not to tell Paul that we were aquainted, until one day when Roger came round and introduced himself...
The week with Nigel went well. He was not as demanding as I had feared. He treated me like a special prize.
"Ha ha you've got such a sexy body!" he said. "Lean. Not an ounce of spare flesh. All those muscles. And the way your spine curves, out from your neck, round, in, and out again where your arse," he ran his palm creepily over my back, "starts." He poked a finger uncomfortably up my anus and then gave it to me to lick.
I am familiar with my own smell.
He was amazed. He was in awe of me. But he also took great pleasure in pressing his temporary ownership rights. He took advantage. Whilst I worked he watched me closely. Sometimes he'd start touching me whilst I was actually doing something, like if I was in the kitchen. He liked holding me; it felt strange because we were physically so different. He'd squeeze my arms and say, "So strong..."
He inspected me all over and found some marks.
"What are these? Scars? Paul do this to you?"
I didn't know. I didn't even know if they were scars or just marks from a recent beating. I don't know what Paul was thinking being so hard. I think he lost it. He got so excited he lost control of his sense of what I could ... Well, on the other hand, I'm strong, and I tensed and tightened and I bore it. I can do that. I feel it, and I scream, but, you know how it gets necessary even when you're afraid? Paul gets excited by taking me beyond my limits. He just goes mad. By the time I'm screaming, he loves it, I can tell, cs he's getting more and more exhausted and more and more angry. That's how he fucks as well, like army fucks where the lads were so angry, exhausted of fear, they'd fuck me like jackhammers and fuck it all out. Squigger was like that.
All week Nigel told me what a good body, and how good it was to have something athletic and beautiful and strong serving him - like a Roman, he joked. He asked how I stayed in shape and I told him about the weights I used and how I went running. Nigel said I was lucky to have such a great physique. He said I had a great arse and asked me how often I was fucked. I told him Paul fucked me all the time. Nigel said, "I bet he does!"
He asked me if I enjoyed being Paul's slave for everything. I didn't think about it then. I just said that Paul was very good to me and that I was grateful to him for everything. That's when Nigel laughed. "You really are well trained!" he said. He told me to kneel down between his legs and lick his bush and whilst I did that he stroked the back of my head and repeated, "well trained..."
"Paul tells me you were in the army. Why were you in the army in the first place?" From then he called me 'soldierboy' and had me stand to attention more or less constantly when I wasn't serving him. When I got an erection he laughed, "Standing to attention! You like the discipline - that's why you joined up."
"Yes Sir."
"You don't say much."
"No Sir."
"Paul doesn't talk much, does he?"
"No."
"What does he talk about?"
"What he wants me to do."
"What has he told you about himself?"
"Nothing really. "
"Don't you think that's strange?"
"I've never asked him. I'm very grateful to him."
"Why?"
"He put a roof over my head."
"And his thick cock. You like that."
I was embarrassed.
"Yes Sir."
"'Yes Sir.' Soldierboy. You like that up you."
"Yes Sir."
Later, during one of our 'conversations', he said that if ever I needed someone to talk to I could talk to him. I don't know why he said that cs there was no way. I couldn't even contact him.
I was a prisoner in Paul's home. I had no money except what he gave me for grocery shopping. I had a phone so he could contact me, a simple mobile, but he checked my bill. "Cs I'll not have you taking the piss," he said. Whenever he said that, it made my cock hard, and he knew that. I had no desire to phone Nigel in any case. But I enjoyed sleeping with Nigel's dog, a large golden retriever that snored when it slept and curled its warm body up curled in my body.
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END OF Even The First - PART SEVEN