Steve carried the bale of hay into the empty stables. Everyone had gone off to the races so he had the entire place to himself. He loved these sorts of days: him with the horses, or the few that remained. A simple day out in the summer sun, without the annoying boss or his son to nag him.
His arms bulged as he lifted the bale over his head. Sweat slowly slipped down his forehead, and he shock it off with a flick of his head. His black hair sweeping back in place. He plopped the hay into the empty stable, and took a sip of water from a bottle of water, pouring some of it over his head. The water did little to cool him down from the August heat. His white shirt was already drenched from the day's labour. The wetness accentuated his tight muscles. They weren't bulging, they were taunt, well-formed. He had always been well-proportioned, and people often thought him taller than his 5'6" stature. He took another sip of water, mentally organizing what he would have to do, when presently he heard a noise come from a nearby stable.
It came once again. A low grunting sound. Steve's heart pounded: he had just seen to all the horses and they were all okay. It was the sound of a human -- teenagers. There had been a few break-ins in the past; stupid scruffy ne'er-do-wells. Chavs. They'd come in and drunkenly try to ride the horses, pretend that they were jockeys. Steve had never scarred them away -- someone else had always been here to help. The noise came again. One person. A man. He would have to see to it. Just to be careful, he picked up a block of wood that happened to be in the empty stable. Tiptoeing, he edged ever closer to the noise. Around the corner now, towards the blacksmith's station. His heart thumped.
At the edge of a stable, he slowly turned his head around the corner. At the blacksmith station, sitting on the anvil used to mold the horseshoes, sat a figure silhouetted by the evening light behind him. Steve squinted, allowing his eyes to adjust to the light. It wasn't any local youth. Reclining, head tilted back, his hand pulling up and down, the blacksmith, Michael moaned in the heat.
When Steve had first started working at Yerling Farms, he had been introduced to Michael and was immediately drawn into his good-humour, his dimples, his smile, his deep blue eyes. His biceps. They were massive guns of muscle, perfectly sculpted, able to carry out the most onerous of task with lissome ease. Then there was his chest. V-like and sculpted. No shirt seemed wide enough to cover his chest, and every time he moved, his muscles would quiver in perfect unison. When they had first met that summer, Steve couldn't string a sentence together. His face had gone beet-red and thoroughly embarrassed he slipped away to begin his duties. Since then Michael had acknowledged Steve, and Steve, ever conscious of Michael's perfection, would bow his head and scurry back into the darkness of the stables.
Steve had thought Michael had gone with the team down to the races, but he must have come back while Steve was riding a few of the horses. But now there he sat, this perfect blacksmith: In his hand he held his cock, thick and long, it mushroomed at the end. Steve gulped and froze staring at this perfection. Michael's hand slipped up and down his shaft in a syncopated rhythm of passion. Steve was absorbed by the show. Michael leaned back in ecstasy, his panting growing heavier and heavier, and then a grunt and a jet of white seamen shot out over the stable floor. Another grunt and another jet. And another. Steve's cock pulsated against his jeans and in a moment of weakness, as the blood rushed to his dick, Steve dropped the piece of wood. The sound echoed throughout the stable, Michael turned to look at Steve in the distance.
"Oi!" he shouted.
Steve was immobile. He couldn't run. It was all but obvious that he had been watching Michael wank. "I um...." Michael was walking to him, his cock, still out, dribbling cum and semi-erect, was flopping up and down as Michael made his way towards Steve. Steve tried to look away; tried to move; tried to think of anything but the massiveness and perfection of the 10inch thick manhood bobbling forward.
"I um... I thought you um..."
"Went to the races?" Michael hissed.
"Um.... I.... Yeah.... I...."
Michael was inches from Steve's face. He wasn't that much taller than Steve, but still Steve had to raise his eyes towards Michael's blue eyes. Michael, his head still straight ahead, only lowered his eyes at the mumbling mess below him. A crooked smile emerged on his face.
"Did you enjoy the show?" He said.
"Um...?" Steve was distracted by the Michael's sweaty manly smell.
Michael grabbed the back of Steve's hair and pulled him back. "Perhaps you didn't hear me," Michael said through clinched teeth. "I said, did you enjoy the show ?" Steve's cock twitched with delight at the pangs of pain as Michael held him back. Michael saw that Steve wasn't scared, he was being turned on. And so was Michael. Michael's smile quickly jolted from curious to sadistic as he registered Steve's innate submissiveness. Most men would have tried to fight back; most men would have resisted the tug of the hair; most men would have wanted to punch Michael. But not Steve. Steve seemed to invite the sadistic Michael to come out. Steve's pathetic mumbling a desire to be used. Michael pulled Steve's hair harder, and Steve smiled unconsciously. Michael now knew what he had already suspected.
Still holding onto his hair, Michael grabbed Steve's cock which was rock hard. He squeezed tight and Steve whimpered.
"I take it you did enjoy the show then." He pulled Steve in two directions, back with his hair and forward with his dick. "I bet you want more, don't you boy?" He tweaked Steve's dick and Steve, his head still being pulled back, tried to nod. Michael laughed. Pushing Steve's head down, Michael guided Steve onto his knees. Inches away from his cock which had regained its hardness. Steve could feel the heat from the manhood, he could smell the sweat and cum and he wanted it.
"Go on boy. Lick it." Michael released Steve's head and Steve went straight for the cock. He opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, delicately licking the fat purple head. It must have been a good 6 inches wide and slowly he suckled it. He took in the salty stinky smell and for a moment he thought he was going to blow his load. His tongue darted in and out of the piss slit, catching onto a few wayward sperm that hadn't been jettisoned out. The bittersweet taste was better than anything Steve had ever tasted. He wanted more. Slowly he began to take the 10 inch monster into his mouth and down his throat. Michael began to moan, Steve knew he was pleasing him. Despite the gag reflux that was causing him to cough up saliva, he pushed Michael's manpole further down until at last his nose was in Michael's pubic hair. "Fuck yeah!" Michael grabbed the back of Steve's head and held him in place. The cock throbbed in the back of his throat and he coughed up saliva several times.
It happened all of a sudden, Steve could feel it. A warm stream of piss began filling the back of his throat. He coughed and gagged, but Michael wouldn't budge and just kept holding him in his crotch. Steve began gagging and squirming, he tried to push away from Michael, but Michael was stronger and just held his head in place. Finally after what seemed like hours to Steve Michael let go and Steve fell back coughing. Michael looked at Steve as he was spitting and regaining his composure. Michael shook his head in disapproval and then when Steve looked at him with longing eyes, Michael kicked him in the balls. Having just recovered from the rape of his throat, Steve had another pain to deal with. His cock, painful as it now was, had never been in so much pleasure.
"Fucking faggot. I thought you had promise, but I don't know now. Look at you. Pathetic. Better get back to work."
Michael turned away from Steve and tucked his fat cock back into his tight jeans. Steve finally got up and watched as Michael went towards the blacksmith station. Steve stood, his throat sore from the abuse, and his balls aching, and a smile filled his face. He wanted more.
"Michael?" He said as he walked towards the blacksmith. His voice squeaked a little bit. Michael turned around, unamused. "What?"
"I... thank you." Steve lowered his head, he didn't know why, but it just seemed the right thing to do. Then he fell to his knees, "please use me more." He said in a near whisper.
"What's that boy?"
"Please use me more."
Michael slapped him across the face. "Say it with fucking respect boy"
"Please use me more Sir."
Michael looked at the man on the ground. When Steve had first arrived, he had fantasised many a time abusing this beautiful boy. Beating his muscular chest, his bubble butt, making him squirm and beg. He knew it would only be a matter of time, and here it was. The boy was kneeling before him, his throat and balls aching, begging for more. But he didn't want to make it too easy for the faggot.
"Why should I?"
"I am yours, Sir. I am nothing. I am a useless slave." Steve slowly raised his head, his eyes pleading with Michael. Steve could see Michael's cock throbbing behind the thin denim.
"I don't think you mean it." Michael said. He turned around.
Steve crawled towards him. "Please, Sir. Master. I need your cock. I need to feel your strength on my arse. I need Ñ"
"You need? You need?" Michael was standing over him now. "You don't fucking need anything fag. It's what I want. Not what you want. There is no you in any of this!"
A sudden panic went through Steve. He did need Michael. He needed a master. Then without thinking, he began to lick Michael's boots. The leather tasted of farm yard and horse, but he kept going. His eyes looking up longingly at Michael. Michael sat down on the anvil that moments ago he had wanked off on. Michael was hard again.
"Take off the boot," Michael's voice was calm and steady filled with authority. Steve licked up to the laces and using his teeth he undid the strings. And then, he slowly began to slip the boot off. The pungent smell went straight into Steve's nose and he almost wanted to gag, but his faggot dick was hard. After the boot was up, he took his teeth to the wet sock and began to pull it off with his teeth. Michael buried the foot into Steve's face. The smell, pungent as it was, was filled with the authority and sweat of an alpha male, and Steve cock began to harden. Part of him wanted to play with it while he licked between the Michael's feet. Michael could see the desire in Steve's face. He pushed Steve's head back with his foot, and Steve fell back. Then Michael put his sweaty foot ontop of Steve's face, pushing Steve's face down onto the cold pavement. With his other foot, Michael began to tap Steve's cock and balls. Steve squirmed, trying desperately to lick the foot and ignore the throbbing pain in his balls as the kicks became increasingly stronger.
Then Michael sat back down and gave Steve a strong kick in the balls and a slap across his face with his bare foot.
Michael looked down at the fag. "Not bad."
"May I suck your cock Sir?"
Michael whipped out his cock. Steve's mouth watered and he went towards it. Michael slapped him across the face with the weight of the cock. Then once more. Then he pushed Steve away.
"Not so fucking fast, greedy fag." Steve froze his mouth stupidly open, when suddenly a stream of warm golden piss started to enter his mouth. "Swallow it pig."
Steve gulped down the bitter liquid, it wasn't as bad as the first time. In fact he was almost starting to like the taste. Michael watched as his piss filled Steve's mouth. Then he shifted his cock and started pissing all over Steve's body. His shirt already wet from the day's heat and work, was now soaking with the Michael's piss. Finally the stream ended. Michael looked at the piss pig at his feet, and he shook his head. Without saying anything, he quickly put his sock and boot back on. He turned around leaving Steve squirming in a pool of piss.
Michael wanted to keep going, he wanted to do so many things to that body. Make it red. Make it burn. But he had to make sure Steve was ready. If he were, he would come crawling back. Michael was sure of it. A lesser sub would be wanking now. A true fag would be thinking only of continuing the Masters pleasure.
This was the critical moment. Michael was pretending to clean, trying to forget the image of a boy covered in his piss begging for more. When he heard a noise, he glanced around and found Steve standing right in front of him. His body wet with sweat and piss.
Steve's voice was even and controlled. "You want more, Sir." It wasn't a question. It sounded like an order. Michael starred into Steve's eye.
"I do," Michael whispered, "but it's not going to be easy."
"I don't like easy."
"I'll push you to your limits."
"I have none." This took Michael by surprise and Steve smirked. This was no good the slave was gaining an upper hand on Michael. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out something silver. All the while, their eyes were locked. Michael smiled and pressed a button and the silver transformed into a shimmering switchblade. The light caught the silver of the blade , reflecting Steve's terrified eyes.
"No limits boy?" Michael said. Panic flashed onto the fag's face. Michael didn't allow Steve to answer. He quickly cut down the white shirt, shredding it off Steve's tight muscular body. Steve didn't move and Michael was so skillful that though Steve could feel the blade it never cut him. In a second the white shirt fell onto the floor. Then with equal dexterity Michael cut Steve's jeans and they flopped onto the floor revealing Steve's white jockstrap that hugged his cock.
"There's no going back." Michael hissed into Steve's ear.
"I understand Sir."
"You will be my play thing."
"It is an honour Sir."
"I will push you to your edges. You will never have felt so much pain. You will whimper. You will beg for more. You will cry. But I won't stop. I won't budge one inch. I'll just keep going." Michael's voice was hypnotically subdued as he whispered Steve's new reality into the slave's ear.
"You will be pleased with me Master."