Milking the Bull
Note: Any resemblance to real people is strictly coincidental. No real people are depicted in this piece of fiction. This story contains explicit male to male sex, domination, bondage, and s/m. If you don't enjoy reading this sort of material or are under the age of 21, DO NOT CONTINUE READING. If you find this material offensive or morally objectionable, then do not read this story. This story is fantasy and I do not espouse or endorse unprotected anal sex!
The men at the Meat Factory were the most macho guys in a city known for its "broad shoulders", union workers, and legendary tough guys. They were rougher, tougher, butcher than even the straight blue-collar guys they appeared to be (and many of them were blue collar workers, thought not at all straight, in real life). And of all the butch daddies and muscle bears and slavemasters at the Meat Factory, Mike Bulkowski was the biggest, baddest, and butchest of them all.
Most of the guys who knew him here called him "The Bull" or even "Da Bull" (an SNL reference that guys who became men in the late 1990s would recognize - especially guys who grew up here in this city of pro sports teams called the Bulls and Bears). But to those who worked with Mike in the straight world – or those of us who had known him longer, like me – he was simply "Bull." He hadn't been called Mike since he was a little boy, although even when he was a boy he'd never really been what you'd call little.
I knew Bull from our college football days together, playing for a Big Ten powerhouse. I was a placekicker – I didn't make first string until junior year. But even as a true freshman, Bull was a multiple-threat player. He could play middle linebacker, outside linebacker, and even defensive end on defense, and Coach would even use him occasionally at tight end on offense. After junior year, Mike had the option of going into the NFL draft or staying for a potentially great senior year so that he might raise his prospects for a higher round draft pick (and help us win the conference). He gambled and lost. A series of concussions during the brutal schedule of our senior year ended his football days completely.
He managed to create a decent career for himself as an assistant coach and defensive coordinator at a nearby two-year college. Because he was really successful, he was often the subject of speculation in the local media for positions with more prestigious universities. But concerns about a different kind of speculation - about his personal life - that might arise at a more high-profile school kept Bull from improving his station. (Homophobia was much worse a few years ago, when this all took place, than it is today, and even today I doubt an out gay college football coach is going to happen any time soon.) Which was fine with him, because anyone who watched Bull in action at the Meat Factory knew that his day job was just to pay the rent, because his real job in life was as master of a stable of hot dudes.
Among men – and women – who are attracted to the rough kind of macho man epitomized in our culture by the likes of action movie stars, MMA fighters, football and hockey athletes, Mike Bulkowski was possibly the hottest man they had ever seen. He was 6'3" of pure sculpted, shredded muscle, with a naturally (almost unnaturally) low body fat percentage that prevented even a university athletic meal plan from fattening him up. But there was no need for bulk on this guy anyway. He was built like a steel tank – a stainless steel tank with the angles and beauty and sex appeal of a Porsche roadster.
Shirtless, he could pass for a fitness model. His pecs were perfectly sculpted mounds of meaty mammary muscle, covered by a pelt of thick but silky smooth straightish hair that formed a whorl pattern in the middle of his sternum. The brown fur cascaded down over his jutting pecs onto his abdomen, where it spread out to completely cover his shredded six pack abs. His ass was a perfect bubble butt (and perfectly furry), his thighs like sinewy tree trunks, his calves large inverted teardrops covered with more of that hot brown fur.
The perfect body wasn't wasted on anything less than the perfect face for it. Imagine a shredded Mike Vrabel or Aaron Rodgers with a leaner, movie-star handsome face (like I said, he could have been a fitness model) - that was Bull. He wore his straight, fine, receding-at-the-temples hair cut short, forming, with his permanent five o'clock shadow, a symmetrical frame around his lean, rugged face. Steel blue eyes, a Roman nose broken and reset multiple times, a square jaw, chiseled chin with a deep cleft and a small scar, and sharply angular cheekbones combined in such a way as to just make you wet your pants just looking at him.
While he was gorgeous, there was nothing remotely pretty or feminine about any part of him, the way some handsome guys are. No Brad Pitt pretty boy shit with this guy. Well, with one possible exception – his nipples were unusually large, even on such big pecs on such a big man. They weren't grotesquely large, but the aureoles were about two inches across, and the nipples the size of pencil erasers. I thought they were hot as hell. But apparently Bull didn't like anyone to handle them - he was "touchy" about them, "sensitive", or so I heard from guys who had slept with him. Whether it was psychological or physical or (most likely) a combination of both, he let it be known that he didn't like anyone to touch his nips.
But I also knew something else about Bull's physical assets that only a lover – or a football teammate whose seen him in the showers – could have known. And that was that his nickname was appropriate as more than just a reference to his size and physical strength. While his nipples were disproportionately large, his testicles were outright enormous. He really was hung like a bull. This wasn't where his nickname came from – like I said, he'd been "Bull" since he was a boy – but the gossip of his lovers and slaves confirmed and extended his legend. The only man I've ever seen to compare to him was a video of a Puerto Rican hustler who had the same kind of huge low hangers. And just as with his nips, Bull was very "touchy" about his balls. They were as sensitive as they were large, and maybe they were something of an Achilles heel for him, both in terms of being a physical weakness and a sexual one. In the wrong hands, I guess he could be easily brought to his knees, made to beg for release. And in the right hands... the same thing, but in a sexual way.
Usually if a guy is well hung, we mean that he has a big dick, and usually a big dick makes the guy's balls look small in comparison. With Bull it was the other way around. Hard, his dick was I'd estimate about nine inches long and as thick as a salami, with a big missile shaped head; soft it was around six inches long and about as thick as a Polish sausage (appropriately enough, given his ethnic background). But on such a big man, and surrounded by such big balls, his soft dick looked a bit slim and short. Being Polish, he was also uncut, which also made him stand out in a shower stall full of more typically circumcised American men. Balls are often compared to eggs, but in reality most guys' balls are the size of robin's eggs not chicken eggs, and some guys literally have nuts ranging in size from walnuts down to peanuts. Bull's were truly the size of grade AA large hen's eggs if not bigger. Any larger and they would have looked pathological. And they hung down, literally, halfway to his knees, the left one a little lower (and a tiny bit larger) than the right. Yeah, I spent years secretly scoping him out in the shower. As, I learned later, he scoped out me.
The first year or two that he frequented the Meat Factory, Bull was very popular. Personally, he's a nice, fun guy, even a little shy at first. And he was so hot that every gay guy in any room he walked into instantly wanted him. Lifelong tops willingly bottomed just to sleep with him (and there was never any question who would be the top in any coupling involving Bull). You could always pick Bull out of the crowd; he always wore blue jeans, black boots, and a t-shirt or football jersey.
But then the Meat Factory started its Meat Market Mondays, and things started to change, both in terms of the Meat Factory's vibe and with Bull's personality.
The Meat Market was a slave market – it was an auction of sorts, but involving machismo, not money – and Bull got into it like a man who had finally found his true calling in life. At first it was fun – just a regular slave auction with a twist – you had to wrestle for the right to claim a slave. There was a huge room at the Meat Factory that had once been part of the processing plant where the club's owners had installed a boxing/wrestling ring, complete with regulation turnbuckles and ropes. However, it was on a platform only about a foot off the ground, so you could really see all the action well (and had to be careful not to catch a flying elbow or boot in the face). If a slave was contested, you had to wrestle for him in this ring, and sometimes the wrestlers lost sight of the prize and instead got into one another – sometimes playfully, other times in a full-on domination/submission scene.
For some really hot guys, this led into a "playoff" situation where the winners of successive rounds were challenged until all challengers were defeated. As a top, and an athlete (though not much of a wrestler), I got into this action and kind of accidentally ended up with my own stable of three studs. I had never been into the whole BDSM, master/slave thing before, but once I fell into it I found I really liked being in command of other hot, masculine men.
But no one enjoyed it as much as Bull. He'd wrestled in high school in addition to playing football (he played just about every sport), and with his strength and aggressiveness, this made him a natural to dominate the scene. Bull started to contest some of the wrestling auctions, and before long he was as into that life as any of the hardcore daddy doms. The Meat Market "auctions," quickly became known as "cockfights" and the slaves as "hens" and "chickens" (feminine guys, boyish guys, twinks, and sometimes former masculine tops who'd been "neutered" or "feminized" by their masters). In the beginning, Bull was simply the most respected and desired of all the masters, and he went easy on the masters who wrestled him for ownership of slaves at auction – those few who dared to take him on. But one night a wrestler known as Stonie – taller and heavier though less muscular and fit than Bull – decided to teach Bull humility in a very aggressive way. Well, things didn't work out well for Stonie. Bull got mad and really put the hurt on him. And then when he was done, Bull not only claimed him as slave at auction but also took two of Stonie's studliest slaves, beautiful guys who had once been tops before being subjugated by Stonie. Stonie wasn't seriously hurt, although he easily could have been, but he was badly bruised and shook up, and his ego and reputation were destroyed. He never showed his face at the Meat Factory again. Some people said he left town.
After this, Bull got a little too serious and a little too greedy. He was determined to take all the hottest guys for his stable. And other guys started poaching from other stables too. Pretty soon, the good time vibe had turned really serious. And then things got really hardcore, when Bull decided he wanted to challenge another master, a hot black guy named Andre, and when he defeated him, he just let Andre's slaves go and made Andre a slave in his own stable. Andre's humiliation was incredibly hot, but at the same time it seemed like a really bad idea, and it was, because other masters followed suit. Some ended up claiming other masters as their bitches; some had the tables turned on them and ended up as bitches themselves. It seemed that the only guy who was never challenged in this way was Bull.
Until the night that Bull more than met his match.
Among the enthusiastic regulars at the Meat Factory there was this one Filipino guy named Pablo that was just kind of an oddball. He was short and slight, not particularly muscular, and not especially good looking. He looked like a thuggish twink, kind of boyish but in a hoodlum sort of way. But he was a master, and he dragged two respectably hot and muscular slaves, both in their late thirties, along everywhere he went, one blond guy and one black guy. He kept them both completely shaved and on leashes, and called them Boy 1 and Boy 2. Boy 1, the blond guy, was a bit shorter and not as well hung as the black Boy 2, but it was apparent that in Pablo's hierarchy, Pablo was the superior of both "boys" and Boy 1 was the superior of Boy 2. I found it really hot that both Pablo's "boys" were full grown men being dominated by a twink who looked like he was seventeen even if he was in fact in his twenties. Even with all their manly body hair removed and forced to wear cartoon y-front underwear and high top sneakers like little boys (or sometimes even made to wear female bras, panties, and hose), they still looked like men, whereas Pablo looked like a boy despite his thug clothes.
Bull didn't pay Pablo any attention; he already had hotter guys than Boy 1 and Boy 2 in his stable, and wrestling Pablo wouldn't have been "sporting". But Pablo paid a lot of attention to Bull. He watched him constantly. I watched Bull a lot myself, which is why I noticed. I really loved the idea of sex with Bull, but I'm a top too. I didn't see any sexual encounter with Bull working out to my liking. Also, I didn't want to get my ass kicked, and I'd got to the point where I liked having my own slaves and didn't want to risk losing them. Still, I thought about how much fun it would be to dominate the mighty Bull, and be the first guy to fuck his tight virgin ass.
Seems like I wasn't the only one to have such thoughts. One Tuesday things were slow. A lot of the interest had gone out of the Meat Markets; the stronger, tougher guys had pretty much stolen all the best slave merchandise, and it was kind of the situation where "resistance is futile". I began to wonder how long before Bull or someone almost as strong was going to try to turn me into his bitch. So the auction almost closed after two boring battles when Pablo stepped up to the bell, on a pole attached to one of the turnbuckle posts, and rang it, signaling he wanted to challenge a fellow master to a cockfight.
At first, everyone was just stunned. Then the place erupted in laughter. Some guys started mocking him. His status as a master had always been something of a mystery, if not a joke. Pablo just ignored the laughter, and then announced who he wished to challenge. Bull.
The place quieted down again. Shock again. Then louder laughter and louder mocking.
All eyes turned to Bull, but he wasn't laughing. This was a joke, all right, and he didn't like being part of it. The mockery rubbed off on him, too.
And Bull was right. He couldn't decline the challenge, but beating up on such a little guy would make Bull look small too. He enjoyed dominating butch men, not twinks.
But then the crowd started chanting "Bull! Bull! Bull!" and he had no choice. He wasn't dressed that night for a challenge; he hadn't brought his wrestling shorts. So he stripped out of his leather #12 jersey, his blue jeans, and his boots. All he was wearing under his clothes was a jock strap, and it looked like it had been stuffed with a grapefruit. His muscular hairy ass poked out the back. God, I got hard at the idea of popping that muscular hairy cherry!
Pablo likewise stripped, but he was prepared. He was wearing a pair of tight, shiny gold trunks that looked like they'd been stolen off of Rocky from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. He had on blue leather boots. And then he donned a red cape. He looked ridiculous. Maybe that's how professional wrestlers from the Philippines dress, I thought. He looked like a crazy Mexican Luchador.
The two men climbed into the ring, and that night's auctioneer, Joe Martin, was acting ref. He spelled out the rules (there were only four): no biting, no grabbing or hitting the crotch, whoever forces the other man to submit (or renders him unconscious) wins, whoever wins gets his pick of the other man's stable to enslave, including, if he wants, the other man himself. The two men were asked if they agreed to the rules; they said they did; the ref had them "shake hands and come out fighting".
Bull was embarrassed to even be a part of what he regarded as a sick joke. He just hung out in the middle of the ring sneering contemptuously, waiting for Pablo to make the first move. God, Bull was hot. His hairy pecs were glistening with sweat (it was a hot summer night), as were his hairy buns. His jockstrap seemed to be the most overworked piece of apparel in human history, straining to contain its wearer's giant balls and thick cock.
Pablo darted around him, making weird karate like moves, swishing his cape for good measure. He was surprisingly fast and nimble, but he still looked idiotic. Bull watched him, but didn't deign to even turn his head when Pablo darted around behind him. The guys in the audience started to boo. This was a farce all right. Bull was starting to turn a bit red with anger. He felt humiliated, and that was not a good thing. Humiliating others was his thing, not being humiliated himself. But still he just stood there, determined not to be seen as bullying a littler man by striking first.
Well he shouldn't have worried, because on his second pass around the big man, when he was behind Bull and out of his line of sight, Pablo jumped forward and spanked Bull hard on the ass not once but twice, so that each asscheek wore the red mark of Pablo's hands like twin brands!
Bull wheeled around quickly, enraged not so much at being attacked but at being attacked in such a sneaky manner, and treated with such contempt. A man like Bull being spanked like a little boy, by a mincing little twink no less! He was furious. To make matters worse, everyone was laughing at this brazen affront, this mockery! And the balls on little Pablo to insult Bull like this had started to move the crowd into his corner a bit. "You go, Pablo!" someone called out, then people started cheering for him. Bull started to get really angry, and that led to his first mistake.
Pablo pulled off his red cape and yelled, "Toro! Toro!" ("El Toreador" was stitched in black on his ass. He was having fun with this luchador-superhero thing.) We were all amazed at the balls on this kid – he wasn't just challenging Bull to a fight, he was openly mocking him. But just like his namesake, Bull took the bait and charged. But Pablo was ready. He easily sidestepped the much bigger man, gave him a swift kick to his left knee, and Bull dropped to his knees, cut down to size a little.
A hush filled the huge room as the crowd took in what had just happened. Someone had brought the mighty Bull to his knees! Many big, muscular, macho men had been crushed by Bull, and here a 140 pound weakling had brought him to his knees!
But as shocked as everyone else was, I was more so, because I understood Bull's strength and speed so much better. I've seen Bull outrun professional caliber athletes, I've seen him hit by much bigger men than himself, I've seen him take out guys with killer strength, speed, and instincts. For a little guy to do that to Bull told me three things: first, this guy was an exceptionally good athlete himself; two, he was trained in martial arts at a very high level; and three, most important, he'd really done his homework on Bull. He knew that Bull had once had serious problems in his left knee, and he'd hit him just right, so as to temporarily cripple the big man.
Bull tried to get up on his feet, but before he could do so, Pablo had again lunged in and punched him on the side of the head. Bull looked dazed; he staggered up, but between his confusion and his bad knee, he just kind of collapsed on his knees again. Once again, Pablo seemed to know of Bull's history of concussions, and had somehow hit him in just the right way to fuck with his consciousness.
Just as Bull was struggling to his feet again, Pablo threw the cape over the big guy's head, blinding him. Pablo again spanked the muscle stud on his hairy asscheeks, in exactly the same places, reinforcing his "brand" on the Bull's haunches. Bull tore the cape off, livid, but Pablo was already in mid air, landing a flying kick into Bull's chest, knocking him on his ass in a corner. Pablo scooped up his cape and, climbing outside the ring, had it around Bull's exposed throat, and then wrapped it around the turnbuckle post, in seconds, where he twisted it like a giant tourniquet. Bull grabbed the silk garrote and tried to pull it loose, but despite Bull being several times stronger than the little man, Pablo had too much leverage. Already dazed and hurt, Bull quickly passed out. Pablo released the big man; after all, he just wanted to knock him out, not seriously hurt him.
He dragged the unconscious Bull into the center of the ring, put his boot on the stud's muscular hairy chest, and flexed his muscles. Joe came up to him and raised his right hand, proclaiming Pablo the winner. The crowd went nuts. Partly because they loved how Pablo, the underdog, had had the balls to take on Bull – and win! Partly because everyone had kind of felt like Bull was getting too big for his britches. (Well, literally that was definitely true!) But mostly because the whole thing was just so fucking amazing. Not to mention, hot as hell.
Joe told Pablo that as winner he could now state the terms of his conquest. The dozen slaves in Bull's stable were all lined up outside the ring. Pablo claimed them all, but told them he'd decide their fate later. For now, he was more interested in claiming another spoil of conquest, more prized booty – literally. He declared that Bull was now his slave.
The entire room reacted at once, but the reactions differed. There were gasps of shock at this overthrow of the king. You could hear some guys laughing at Bull's comeuppance, other guys plotting how they would get their slaves back, the ones Bull had stolen from them. And then other guys like me were shouting to Pablo our ideas of what he should do with his conquest – right here and now (hey, I was Bull's friend but that didn't mean I didn't think he was owed a good fucking, or that I wouldn't enjoy watching it!). We shouldn't have bothered, because it became apparent immediately that Pablo had his own ideas, and he definitely planned to turn them into reality here and now.
Pablo had come prepared. He ordered his dozen new slaves – the conscious ones – to drag his other new slave – the unconscious one – out of the ring and into the main part of the room that contained it.
This huge old room was the main meat processing part of the old slaughterhouse. Chains on rollers hung from the ceiling; once animal carcasses had hung from huge hooks on them. They could be raised and lowered with the touch of buttons that likewise hung on keypads from the ceiling. Chains that could be raised and lowered, moved back and forth, designed for manipulating big hunks of flesh? Perfect for what the elite tops of the Meat Factory's clientele had in mind for the rest of the bottom men there.
Pablo had brought more toys than just his "El Toreador" wrestling outfit. He pulled over a large canvas duffel bag and pulled from it straps made of conveyor belt material, stainless steel spreader bars, leather cuffs. It suddenly became apparent that Pablo had planned this out in great detail for some time. He had previously arranged eight chains in a cluster that he now lowered from the ceiling, and attached two straps just inside each of Bull's big round deltoids running under his underarms, another two just above the elbows, a big one running under his waist at the hips, and four more around his thighs just above his knees and on his ankles. He put what looked like boxing gloves with the thumb sown to the palm over Bull's hands, so that he couldn't grab anything. Pablo joined the elbow, knee, and ankle pairs with spreader bars to limit movement, then he pressed the buttons to raise the big stud up at a 45 degree angle so that he looked like a four legged animal being examined from underneath. Although Bull was lifted up off the ground, he was on all fours at such an angle that his head was a little lower than eye level with most of us (and his ass exactly at dick level) and we all got a great look at the mighty Bull trussed up like the prize stud animal he now was.
Meanwhile Boy 1 and Boy 2 proceeded to carry six full length mirrors into the room and set them up in a semicircle about 10 feet in front of Bull. Whatever was going to happen next, Pablo wanted Bull to be as much witness to it as the rest of us.
Pablo then cut off Bull's jock strap, and the stud's huge nuts and dick flopped out and swung back and forth. I was already hard and leaking precum at the sight of this hot hairy superman helplessly trussed up. Pablo then took out some smelling salts and ran them under Bull's nose. The big guy sputtered to life and immediately started cursing and struggling against his bonds. Pablo stripped out of his shorts and jock and stuffed his own jock in Bull's mouth and taped it in place with duct tape. (Pablo was hard as a rock but his own cock was small and thin, no more than five inches long and only about as thick around as a hot dog.)
"Well, it looks like I won a prize animal at the Meat Market tonight," Pablo said, smirking. He ran his hands over Bull's hairy calves, his muscular thighs, his perfectly rounded asscheeks. He swatted the big man's ass like he was a prize animal too, just to taunt him some more, then he spun him around on the chains and proceeded to examine this slab of Grade A Prime manmeat from the front, starting with the man's oversized nipples that capped the huge slabs of manly muscle protruding from his chest. I'd always thought of them as perfect pecs, but to Pablo they were...
"Tits! If you're such a man, what are you doing with such big tits? I think you've been living a lie, `Bull'." He said the name as contemptuously as he could. "These titties look like they belong on a woman, they're so big. All this hair on your chest doesn't fool me. These nipples give you away. They're too big to be a man's. I bet they're as sensitive as a woman's too." He turned to the assembled men, all of them were to a man rock-hard. Most guys had pulled their peckers out and were stroking them. "I bet I could make this bitch beg to come just by working her tits over. What do you boys think?" The men laughed and encouraged him to "tease the bitch" and "make her come".
Pablo grabbed Pablo's huge nipples in his small hands and deftly began to squeeze and pinch and pull and twist them. It was soon clear that Pablo was as gifted with his fingers as he was with his fists and feet. Bull tried to struggle, to break free, to pull away from Pablo's magic touch, but it was no use. Bull's tits - and his cock - betrayed him. It seemed that once again Pablo had found Bull's weak spot. To physically dominate him, it was his knee, but to psychosexually dominate him, it was his nipples. The man was a born tit-slave, no matter how much he'd tried to deny it to himself. All the rumors about how sensitive he was about his nipples were all just because - his nipples were so sensitive. They were his Achilles' heel and as a top man Bull couldn't stand the idea of having a weakness, especially one that seemed so feminine and made him into a helpless nymphomaniac. It began to seem possible that Pablo could actually get Bull to come from nipple play alone.
Bull groaned and moaned and with Pablo's jock in his mouth and the big guy sounded exactly like a cow mooing and lowing. Well more like a bull water buffalo in agony - or in heat - but bovine in any case. "That's it moo cow - moo, moooooo," Pablo laughed. Bull turned red with humiliation but continued to moan like a one man herd of cattle all the same. The guys gathered around him laughed their asses off. But with each tug on his nipples, Bull mooed and lowed louder.
Bull's cock went from a soft six inches to a rock hard nine incher within minutes of Pablo's tit treatment. The power twink was now aggressively pulling up and down on Bull's tits as if he were milking a cow, and Bull couldn't get enough of it. His cock was so engorged it seemed you could see it throbbing, and precum was leaking out of it and running down the rock-hard shaft and dripping on the floor. Where once he had struggled to get away from Pablo's touch, now Bull was straining to make sure Pablo didn't stop. But with a final twist and a slap to both tits, Pablo said, "Enough of that for now, bitch." Bull hung his head in frustration and groaned - mooed - again.
Next Pablo moved on to the giant balls that made Bull seem so much like his namesake animal. But Pablo wasn't impressed. "I don't think these are balls at all. I think these are just more udders. And I'm going to milk them. Just like a dairy cow. And I'm going to breed my little cow while I'm at it. And when my bitch is full of my seed, she's going to spurt her milk all over, proving that she's just a cow, not a male animal at all. What do you think of that, `Bull'?"
Bull was livid, and raged into his jock-gag, and struggled some more against his bonds, trying to grab Pablo with his dangling free hands made useless by the modified boxing gloves on them. Pablo just continued lightly squeezing Bull's big balls in one hand and then began working the bound man's foreskin back and forth with the other.
"Yeah, these udders are full of rich, thick, tasty white cream... you just have to know how to milk them..."
Bull struggled to resist the effect Pablo's obviously talented hands were having on his cock, but it was seemed to get harder and harder with each stroke. The veins on it looked like they might pop.
"And look at this tit!" Pablo said, shaking the swollen cock. "It's filled up fast. She's going to need relief soon!" Pablo continued to squeeze and tease Bull's dick and balls until the big man was leaking precum like a slobbering dog. You could see the humiliation on his face as once again Pablo had completely controlled him, with both his cow tits and his bull balls. As Pablo squeezed the big guy's big dick, a creamy knot of cum actually emerged from the engorged piss-slit.
But Pablo wasn't going to let him off - or get him off - easily. He let go of Bull's cock and balls and let the balls swing back and forth as the big dick poked impotently at the air. He walked around behind Bull and pretended to be shocked at what he saw. "Flies! Flies on my prize dairy cow! Shoo fly!" Pablo swatted the bound stud's bare ass again and again, hard enough to make Bull wince and groan in his gag.
Then Pablo squeezed and kneaded the plump, muscular asscheeks. He spread them, and teased the stud's virgin asshole with a moistened finger. Bull bucked and writhed, trying once again to break free. He seemed as terrified of being fucked as a young virgin girl.
"Well no wonder my little cow can't keep flies off her furry ass! Someone removed her tail! Well, I can fix that!" Pablo exclaimed, as he once more reached into his bag. He removed an animal tail butt plug from the duffel bag, but this butt plug didn't end in the tail of a pig or dog, like ones I'd seen before. This one had a cowtail attached to it.
Even though the plug attached to the tail was small and shorter than Pablo's cock and no thicker, Bull started to wiggle and buck again when he saw it. But the more of a pussy he acted about it, the more we all wanted to see his pussy poked.
"Now this is a very delicate operation, restoring a cow's tail to her ass. First, you need to clean the area to be operated on..." Pablo spread Bull's hairy asscheeks, then bent down and slowly, teasingly licked the stud's mantwat, then ran his finger around the tight pucker of Bull's asshole until it was gleaming with spit. He bent down again and applied his obviously talented tongue to the job of malecunt cunnilingus, while Bull's engorged cock continued dribbling precum like a leaky faucet. The bound stud's hairy body was now soaking with sweat, as he strained and struggled against his bonds – and against his body's response to his own unmanning.
Given how brutally he'd disposed of Bull in the ring, I expected Pablo to be abusing him roughly now, but Pablo was gently dominating him. I didn't get it – until I realized that Pablo very wisely wanted to truly, completely conquer Bull by forcing him to enjoy his domination, subjugation, emasculation. Pablo wanted to turn him into a total bitch. I looked over at Boy 1 and Boy 2 and thought about how these two guys had once been butch tops too.
Pablo ordered Boy 1 to start massaging Bull's big nipples again and commanded Boy 2 to work over his huge nuts. His cow tits and his bull balls - these were the secret to controlling Bull, Pablo had shown, and he wasn't going to stop until he made Bull come and by making him come, completely dominate him once and for all. Boy 1 and Boy 2 thoughtfully stood to the side as they worked the big guy over, so that we got a great view of his rippling hairy torso, and his huge cock and balls, as he was being slowly, methodically turned from studly stallion to bred bitch.
Pablo now slowly worked his finger into Bull's tight manpussy. At first Bull tried to clench and deny him, but a quick slap to Bull's oversized nuts quickly changed that. Pablo eased his finger into Bull's asshhole, a little bit at a time, until he slid it all the way in and reached Bull's prostate and began to milk it. Bull again struggled against his bonds but you could tell it was half for show now; it was obvious that Bull was conflicted over the pleasurable sensations he was feeling physically versus the humiliation and shame he was feeling psychologically. Like many a top, Bull could also be turned on by having the tables turned on him. He had just never realized it before now. Maybe it was his own narcissism at work - he liked seeing hot studs get humiliated and dominated and now here was the hottest stud of all being humiliated and dominated and he had a front row seat in front of the mirrors Pablo's "boys" had set up. Or maybe it was just the cliche about powerful guys liking to be dominated. Either way, Bull was starting to get into it in a major way. He was fighting it in his head, but his heart and cock and balls and nipples and mancunt all betrayed him.
Now Pablo removed his finger and took the well-lubricated cowtail butt plug and slowly twisted it into Bull's tight pussy. Bull reared his head back and thrashed and tried to howl with the pain and humiliation - and pleasure of feeling it against his prostate and rectal rim - but again he just sounded like a lowing farm animal. Finally the butt plug was all the way in and Pablo flipped the switch on a remote. The tail started sweeping back and forth and with the movement Bull bucked and struggled again, trying to escape. It was obvious he was enjoying being ravished and ravaged like this, but his top-pride was at stake. Boy 2 was now working the big man's foreskin up and down and his cock was as hard and straight as a steel pipe with a locknut joint on the end. And the pipe was leaking. precum.
"I never thought of Bull as swishy before, but look at him work that ass for the boys!" someone cracked as the tail ... swished ... back and forth.
"No flies on him!" some other comedian added.
I'm not going to lie. I was as hard as a steel pipe myself and my underwear was soaking. This was literally my favorite fantasy come to life. Except I wasn't Bull's master - some puny twink was. I'm not sure if that didn't make it even hotter. There's something about a "boy" dominating a daddy that I just find super hot. I guess if you like seeing studs dominated and humiliated there's nothing like seeing it done by a supposed weakling. Or maybe I'm just a subversive. I like porn where thug black guys dominate white cops and corporate types too - the whole power play turned on its head thing.
So now Pablo had retrieved a riding crop from his bag of tricks and had made a game of alternately swatting Bull's buttcheeks as the tail swished back and forth. He wasn't holding back either - Bull twitched and barked in his gag with each crack against his ass, and red welts started to form. Then Pablo lay down the crop and gently stroked the reddened asscheeks with his fingertips. All the while Bull's big cock remained fully erect and hard as steel - Boy 2 was now working over his huge balls again and Boy 1 had started sucking on the big man's oversized nipples. Bull thrashed and struggled but the more he did the harder Boy 1 and Boy 2 worked at driving him crazy with lust.
Pablo went back to his bag of tricks and pulled out a cowbell. It looked like the musical instrument but it had a tongue in it - it was a real bell - a big, heavy brass number that looked like something Pablo had picked up in an antique shop. It had a leather strap attached. Pablo attached it to Bull's ballsac right above his balls. The heavy bell dragged his already lowhangers down even further. Pablo swatted the bell, Bull mooed outrageously, and the bell sounded a few times before settling down.
Pablo then went around behind Bull and pulled out the cowtail dildo, then lubed up his index finger and worked Bull's ass with his fingers again. Bull moaned into his gag in an out of control fashion now, truly like a bull rutting - or now, I guess, a cow in heat. Pablo massaged his prostate but warned Boy 2 to be careful not to let Bull spew his milk until he'd been properly seeded. Bull turned his head to try to face Pablo when he heard this, looking enraged and apparently shouting something into the gag that sounded like more angry animal noise, but Pablo just grabbed the big muscular bubblebutt with one hand on each buttock, spread his asscheeks wide, and positioned his dick at the opening of Bull's mancunt. He teased the opening gently with his small mushroom shaped cockhead, then slowly started to push it into the hairy manpussy. Bull resisted, but Pablo slapped his ass hard and the stud in momentary shock let up and Pablo eased his cockhead in. Bull dropped his head and bellowed and tugged helplessly at his bonds again as Pablo slowly slid all the way in, until his small bush was pressed tightly into Bull's crack and Bull was no longer an ass virgin, a top, or, in Pablo's eyes, even a man.
Then Pablo slid in and out slowly. Boy 2 timed his stroking of Bull's cock to coincide with Pablo's fuck-rhythm. Bull moaned and groaned and it was impossible to tell from his face whether he was in pain or ecstasy or both but Bull never looked more handsome than now, his face sweaty and defeated and contorted in pain/pleasure and his muscles straining against his bonds, corded like cables.
Then Pablo started fucking him fast and hard. The bell clanged crazily each time Pablo's own small set of nuts slapped Bull's muscular hairy ass. Bull's huge balls swung back and forth like a pendulum on speed.
"More cowbell! More cowbell!" some wit called out, "Breed and seed!" called another, "Ring his bell-ell-ell, ring his bell," sang someone else offkey, and the assembled men laughed wickedly at Bull's conquest. Bull tried to hide his face in shame but couldn't - he was too far gone - his head reared back as he moaned - mooed - louder and louder into Pablo's jockstrap gag. Pablo ordered Boy 2 not to let him come and his slave complied, slowing the pace. But Bull was desperate to come now, and started fucking Pablo's cock back and fucking Boy 2's hand by thrusting his huge engorged tool forward. Pablo stopped thrusting and Boy 2 stopped stroking, letting Bull do all the work. "He's fucking himself," someone muttered, and it was true. Bull alternately ground his ass backward onto Pablo's cock and thrust his dick forward through Boy 2's greasy grip, and was doing it faster and faster now, literally fucking himself coming and going.
Pablo was so turned on himself now that he couldn't help himself and with a wild howl emptied his seed into his new slave's manhole. Taking a cue from his master, Boy 2 worked Bulls cock expertly until the big guy exploded almost at the same time as his new master, sending huge gobs of cum flying forward. And waiting for it was Boy 1, who had taken a miniature milkpail that Pablo had bought at a costumes store out of Pablo's bag of tricks and used it to catch every last drop of Bull's manmilk as it sprayed through the air. Bull just kept coming and coming in big jets of milky cum. It seemed like the stud's giant balls had contained a pint of man-cream.
The exhausted Pablo withdrew from Bull's cunt and slapped the former stud top's hairy ass. "Good girl," he said. "Now for your reward."
Pablo went around in front of Bull and tore off the duct tape and removed the jockstrap gag from Bull's mouth and gave him a loving slap on the cheek. "Good girl," he repeated. Bull scowled and tried to look threateningly at Pablo but Boy 2 had attached a leash to a ring on the leather strap holding the cowbell around Bull's ballsac, and Pablo tugged it hard now and said, "And you're going to keep being a good girl for your master or lose a couple of things very precious to you still!" Bull groaned and grimaced in pain as the bell clanged to remind Bull of his new lowered status and how his manhood was literally in the hands of this domineering twink. "The bell tolls for thee, bitch!" Pablo laughed.
Frustrated, angry, and defeated, the beaten Bull's face showed us something that no one had ever seen before. Yes, humility, defeat, even fear - these were all new and they were there etched into those handsome, chiseled features in a way that we knew meant they were permanently inscribed into his psyche now. Yeah, we saw all that - but we saw something more. Bull's eyes were watering despite his efforts to control himself and now two tears, one from each steel-blue eye, trickled incongruously down the macho stud's angular, scruff-covered cheekbones.
"Oh, Bull, don't cry over spilled milk!" Pablo said laughing. The men in the crowd started howling with laughter again too. "Think of all the men here that you've made swallow your sweet cream and douche their asses with it too! Now you're going to get a taste of your own medicine. Hope you're not lactose intolerant!" The twink master grabbed Bull's square, stubble-covered jaw and pulled it forward, squeezing his mouth open. "Open wide," he said mockingly, then with his other hand reached into the milkpail held aloft by Boy 1 and scooped a big handful of cum out, forcing it into Bull's mouth. He then forced Bull's mouth shut and patted him on the cheek and said, "Drink up, bitch." Bull looked like he was about to spit his cum out when a sharp tug on his depleted and aching balls reminded him of his new position of humiliating helplessness. Bull swallowed deeply, his adam's apple bobbing up and down in his taut corded neck like a golfball. Pablo squeezed the stud's mouth open again and again scooped a big handful of cum into Bull's mouth, but this time Bull had surprisingly stuck his tongue out like a choirboy getting communion and swallowed without having his balls jerked.
Pablo continued to hand-feed the stud his own cum until it was all gone except for one last blob. With this Pablo drew a "milk mustache" on Bull's heavily stubbled upper lip. "Got milk, Bull? Oh yeah you do! God, so much milk from you, my little cow!" Pablo sneered. Then he ordered the trussed up stud to lick his fingers clean. Bull resisted for a second, then did as he was ordered. Bull was losing his manhood by the minute to this twink.
And then, to complete his conquest of his new slave, Pablo went back once more to his bag and pulled out new, professional strength, battery powered electric dog shears. He put the edge of the shears at the top of Bull's right pec, just under the collarbone. "No!" Bull cried out. Apparently he had some pride left. "Not that!" After everything Bull had been through, it would seem that having his hairy chest shaved would be a minor humiliation, but apparently Bull's masculine identity was still heavily tied to his macho self image. "Please, not that," Bull pleaded, sounding as if he might start crying in earnest. Pablo just laughed and told him to shut up or he'd be sheared like a sheep and not just 'branded.' Then Pablo shaved a large "K" into Bull's chiseled, hairy right mantit, an "O" in between his tits, across his sternum, and a "W" into Bull's left pec. He then shaved one inch thick circles around both of Bull's aureoles, making his already large nipples look even bigger and feminine. The Bull was erased from Bulkowski; only the Kow remained now - that was Pablo's message to him, and to us.
Pablo grabbed the keypad and lowered Bull - I just can't bring myself to call him Kow like some of the guys did after that night - to the floor, where he removed his straps and spreader bars. Bull started to raise himself up - everyone was expecting to see a different battle with Pablo now, one with a likely different outcome, but Pablo put a booted foot on Bull's shoulder and forced him back down on all fours, tugging hard on the leash that was still connected to the big guy's big balls as he did so. "Down, Kow," he commanded. Bull looked up at his new master with a helpless look on his face, intimidated, submissive, broken. I guess the best way to put it is - he looked completely cowed.
Then Pablo mounted Bull's back and ordered him to carry him out of the building. With the leash pulled up tight through the middle of Bull's asscrack, the big bull nuts mashed up against the stud's bubble-icious buttcheeks, and Bull's huge flaccid cock flapping from his ass like a tail, Pablo rode the defeated former topman out of the building, whipping his ass with the other end of the leash from time to time, just to remind him who was boss.