Marked by Mark -- Part 2 bamaboi2serve
[Thanks to the readers who took the time to write to say they enjoyed Part One. I also heard from a Master who berated me for some typos, promising a serious bare-ass paddling and more if there are any in part 2. I promised him I would be careful, and I will. One mistake example is the story name. I originally planned to call the slave boi Mark, but ended up switching it, so the Master is Mark and the story name is actually "Marked BY Mark" Sorry, Sir. Bb2s]
I was still exhausted, still very hard and horny, when I finally climbed out of bed at 5:30 the next morning. I had not slept well.
Master Mark (that's how I already thought of him) hadn't said what time he expected to be served breakfast, and I kept waking up through the night, worried I would be too late for him.
As ordered, I showered, deciding not to do any body shaving until he told me what he wanted done, if anything. After the shower, my cock finally softened a bit, making it easier to work around the hot stove and toaster as I cooked breakfast.
Master hadn't told me what he wanted to eat, so I tried to put together a wide enough selection to make him happy.
I made coffee and hot water for tea, prepared some eggs for scrambling and boiled two others. I toasted both bread and an English muffin. I put out some cereal and fruit. I was covering as many bases as I could. When I had done everything possible to prepare, it was 7:00am. I went to the entryway and knelt down in a submissive position, naked, and again, hard from the mere thought of serving Him!
7:30 came and still no Master. My cock deflated somewhat as I waited. I craved him, needed to serve him.
At 7:40, the door opened and he walked in. I had made sure to leave the door unlocked. I kept my eyes on the floor and my hands behind me in what I had read was "presentation position" for properly trained slaves. He walked past me without saying a word and I heard him making his way around the house, going from room-to-room, perhaps looking for something. He went into the bathroom and I could tell he was going through the products on the sink countertop and in the medicine cabinet, tossing somethings into the little metal trashcan. The he went into the den and my bedroom, returning with my dog collar and the now dried out jock. He threw them on the floor below me.
"Put these on, cocksucker," he ordered.
I quickly complied and then resumed my position.
"Open your toilet mouth," he demanded as he unzipped, and I did.
He rested his cock on my tongue and in just seconds started pissing, quickly filling my mouth as I swallowed to keep up with his flow. Some spilled onto my chest and to the tile floor, but I managed to get most of it into me. It was apparently his first morning piss, acrid and strong, not at all like my own watered down piss that I used in my imaginary punishment/reward scenes. I swallowed it anyway, willing, hell, anxious to do what he ordered. Done, he pulled away and walked into the kitchen, tossing an order over his shoulders for me to lick up the few drops that had landed on the tile. I did so quickly, feeling grit from the entryway floor on my tongue.
The next thing I heard was his command: "Get your fucking skinny slave ass in here and serve me boi! What the fuck good are you anyway?"
I hustled in. He was seated at the kitchen table. I wondered if I would have to speak to ask him what he wanted, but he quickly ordered me to scramble him eggs with cheese and make some bacon. I had the bacon, but no cheese and took a chance in telling him so.
"Should I send you out to the store to get some cheese? Dressed like you are shithead? I mumbled "If you want me to, Sir"
"Get on your fucking worthless knees and wait for me to return!" he ordered. I immediately complied.
He left the house, again leaving the door wide open, inviting in any friend or neighbor who might happen to come by. I suddenly [pictured my little brother deciding to come by without calling, and blushed at what he might think of me, kneeling in submission with a dog collar on.
I could hear from Master's footsteps that he was going to his house next door. He returned quickly, went over to my kitchen counter, opened a drawer and pulled something metallic out. I was watching the floor, trying to figure out what he was doing by sound alone.
"Get that ass up in the air slut, just like you would if you were down on the corner begging for cock!" he commanded. My head was quickly flat on the ground, raising my ass up. I felt something placed at my hole and then pushed, unlubricated, in. I won't say it didn't hurt, but whatever it was felt semi-soft, almost dildo like. Then the object slipped all the way in, giving me a kinda filled feeling. He ordered me back on my knees.
"Here's the other half," he said, handing me half of a longways cut block of cheese. "From now on make sure you have cheese in the refrigerator or next time I'll insert a nice big foot-long cheese log and make you keep it in for a week! And on top of that I might make you walk to the store wearing that pitiful jock strap, to buy some more!"
I wondered if he knew that the thought of doing so turned me on, even though I knew I could never convince myself to actually do it. Then I recalled that he had witnessed me parading around on the back deck. He knew my exhibitionist side. Hadn't he also left the door open last night?
He ordered me to make breakfast.
I made the bacon, put his plate together and served it to him on a tray.
"Get the fuck down under the table and entertain me while I eat, pisshead!" He ordered.
I crawled underneath and saw that his cock was protruding from his jeans. I took him in my mouth and started sucking. As I suspected, He was big! I quickly had my mouth filled, but he reached down and put one of his hands on the back of my head, forcing his rigid tool deep into my throat. I was quickly unable to breath, but I didn't fight him, letting his shaft fill me, using my tongue to lick the root end of his tube, praying he would eventually pull out. He was in so deep his black kinky pubes filled the opening of my mouth. He removed his hand, knowing I would stay impaled on his cock, and calmly resumed eating. After a few bites of eggs and bacon, he pulled back and I was able to breathe for a moment.
He repeated that deep throat plunging several times. It never got easy to do, but I adjusted, holding my breath as he plunged in, grabbing air when he released me. It continued till he finished his meal, and my throat was raw from the exercise. Still, my own cock, untouched, was constantly hard.
"I already told you Rule Four, bitch," he announced as he removed himself from my mouth without cumming. "We'll see how you do without cumming for a week or two and then adjust as needed. You are here for my pleasure, not your own," he told me as I remained kneeling under the table at his feet.
"Part of Rule Two...and you had better memorize these rules!... part of Rule Two is you don't wear deodorant or use anything on my slave body that has a scent to it. None of those faggot soaps that smell like fuckin' flowers. I put your girly stuff in the bathroom trashcan. Empty it out when I leave. I want you to get used to smelling like the pig you are. Oh, and showers? Maybe once a week, when and only when I tell you to. After I leave, shave the man-hair off your legs. You're a worthless slave-cunt, not a real man. We'll deal with the rest of it later when I establish it as a rule..no fuckin' hair on bitches."
As he spoke, he had casually unlaced the short boots he was wearing and pulled them, and his socks, off. He positioned his foot at my mouth, pushing me back away from him to make it comfortable for him to stretch his legs out as he sat at the table. I didn't need an order to start sucking on his toes, using my tongue to lick between them, realizing immediately he had not showered that morning.
"Good boi! You may have slave material in you after all!"
I spent the next twenty minutes washing is feet with my tongue, learning the texture and scent of each toe as he read the newspaper I had left on the table for him. He would move his feet, positioning them so I could lick every part of them. I had never been "into" feet, but I was willing to learn his needs. Isn't that was servitude is about?
There were other orders that first morning. I was to make a house key for him, giving him access to come and go anytime he wanted, even when I was at work. He liked to smoke weed on weekends, he told me, ordering me to find some for him and to keep it in a special box in the kitchen. I had smoked some, but had never bought any, and the idea of finding it filled me with worry. I was to start a log book, writing down the rules and keeping an exact list of any violations, even those that occurred when I was alone.
Eventually he kicked me out from under the table, pulled off his muscle shirt, holding his arms behind his neck and having me lick his pits clean as he watched a morning news program on the little kitchen TV. After ten minutes working on each one, he stood, ordered me back on my knees and began fucking my mouth.
As I learned that morning, He was able to get hard very quickly, and I hoped it was my mouth that was responsible. Holding the back of my head with both hands, he pulled his shaft deep into my throat, breaking away at one point to go over and open the front door. It was a Monday holiday morning, and there was a weekend trickle of traffic on the street. If a driver looked over! Then there was the possibility of a jogger or...I gave up worrying and concentrated on giving him the best blow job he'd ever had. My throat was already primed for his substantial meat from the under-the-table exercise, and apparently my cocksucking was satisfactory, because after just a few minutes with the door open, he pumped his juice into my throat, saving the last spurt so it would land on my tongue. He ordered me not to swallow.
He pulled out. And leaned against a nearby wall, pushing the door closed as he did.
"Not bad cocksucking for a pissy worthless slave-boi bitch. Keep your mouth open wide and don't you dare swallow my seed till I tell you. Head back and mouth open all the way!" From his pocket he pulled out a pair of black metal tit clamps with alligator teeth on them. With no warning, no warm-up, he positioned them on my tits and let go. I struggled to stay still and in position. Eventually the deep pain ebbed and I adjusted.
Master came over to me and started spitting into my open mouth, some of it wetting my face. I worked hard to keep it all from sliding down my throat, since he had told me not to swallow. As I struggled to keep his fluids in my mouth, he left me alone and walked to the bathroom. I could head him rinsing his mouth out with mouthwash.
When he came back, he stood for a moment, and then gave me a one word order: "Swallow!" I did.
And that was it. He walked out, again leaving the door wide open, and I was alone in my house. It was just 9:30am on a Monday and I had been treated as I dreamed of being treated for two hours. I was sore but satisfied.
And I knew it was just the beginning.
[If you like the story so far, please drop me a line. That's the only reward we Nifty authors get, and it is a powerful incentive to continue! Storyline suggestions are welcome too. bamaboi2serve@charter.net]