Okay guys, this is what you have been asking for, so Scott's side. As a warning, this is a bit on the violent side at first -- from talking with a couple of my more vertically challenged friends about what they had to go thru (including one who was as much of a fighter as Scott is), I realized how easy I had it, and how much they had to prove to others . I also want to say sorry for the delay, but between work and the holidays, I got bogged down. And this was not an easy chapter to write for me -- I can whip out the Jake chapters, since they are me, but trying to write from Scott's perspective... let's just say I am gonna have to grow as a writer.
As always, this is a work of fiction, so some of action in this is unsafe -- always use protection in real life. Also, when playing rough establish both limits and a safe word before hand -- that way both sides can enjoy the fun without worrying about it. Now, to Scott:
I was born in Athens GA, and spent most of my life there. My dad was a lawyer in town, very successful, and my mom was a professor at the University of Georgia, teaching psychology with an emphasis on power structures in relationships. I was always on the short side, though, which in middle school ended up getting me into a lot of fights at school and around the town.
See, at 5ft 8in I was always seen as the weak kid. And at first, I was. I mean, I had grown up being the leader in my group of friends, and they all accepted it. But when I got to junior high school, I had to prove myself -- prove I was man enough to stand toe to toe with guys six inches and 50 pounds heavier then me. At first I got my ass beat, but I alwys hung in there, which earned me some respect. And then I started hitting the gym every day, building myself up. I got known for being a mean scrapper, though I never started a fight -- I had too much self-control to do that. And then the last fight I ever had at school happened.
It was in the 9th grade, I had just started high school, and of course the various junior highs all merged into just a couple of senior schools. So I had a whole new bunch of people to deal with, and when the first guy decided to fuck with the freshman, just made up my mind to make sure nobody fucked with me again. I had gone to public school because I hated the private kids -- I came from a great background in terms of money, but I never showed it off, nor gave a shit about material stuff. So I refused to go to those schools, and ended up in the district that had the largest high school.
I beat the hell out of the guy (but before you think I was some punk ass hellion, should tell you HE hit me first AND when he realized I was going to win, he pulled a knife on me -- so in truth it was straight up self defense). He was 6ft1in, and a new wide receiver on the football team. He worked out enough to intimidate most people, but he was trying to earn respect from the older players, so he decided the new frosh with the bad rep would be who he would take down to prove himself. And of course, he was one of the school studs, so he hoped to get some attention from the girls, too (why is it guys think beating someone up is going to make them more attractive? I mean, shit... all it proves is you are an ape -- find another way to get attention, fellas!!!)
Anyway, he did the whole "meet me after school" routine, and we did, with two of his fellow players there to watch. I did not bring anyone with me, simply because I did not think I needed backup. I was lucky, the two other guys just watched and never stepped in. As I said, I whipped his ass pretty good -- he thought I was going to be slow, since I was short and built, which was his mistake. I made (and still make) a point to run and do cardio and aerobics in addition to weights, to keep myself balanced. Plus I had been boxing for a couple years, so I knew how to hit, which this pansy never did.
After about ten minutes, I had him on his hands and knees, panting, and begging me to stop -- he had black eyes, and I thought I might have cracked a rib or two (I didn't but hey, he hit me hard enough to make me not pull my punches, and he DID crack one of mine). I stood over him, and I suddenly had a huge power rush -- here was this tough stud, on all fours in front of me, begging me to stop. In the other fights, they just sort of ended -- never was as rough as this one, but then I never had as much to prove. I knew if I did not win this, I was gonna have the whole fucking team down my ass every day, and I knew I would get kicked to hell. So by god I was gonna win (yeah, yeah, go ahead and say it -- short guys feel like we need to prove so much... and it might even be true, but for me, it was survival in a very rough high school).
I looked down at him and said, "You want me to stop, lick my sneakers, faggot." I expected him to argue, and looking back now, probably would not have pushed it if he had. But he did it... he moved forward, sobbing, and licked them. His buddies gasped, then started yelling about how sick that was. But the kid just kept it up.
"Like that you fucking freak? Huh?" Where was this coming from, I was always more the quiet brooding type, and here I was verbally abusing the guy -- and to my shock, my dick was growing!!! Something in me liked this, a lot.
He just looked up and me and slowly nodded his head. I looked at his friends and grinned, and asked them what I should do with him. They growled and told me to use him how I wanted, they were not gonna help him and left. So here I was with this macho stud at my disposal, and I had so many ideas go thru my head.
I had found out I was gay a couple of years before, but it had never been rough. Some blowjobs and some fucking, but always nice and gentle. The guys I topped were regular friends, and though I had some wilder thoughts, I was too afraid to push it. I had never given in to the rougher side when I had fought before this, so until that moment being the dominant abusive stud had never really occurred to me. But now... now I was going to enjoy it.
I grabbed him by the hair and slapped his face, not too hard but enough to test him, to see if he was truly docile. He whimpered but did not argue or resist -- and that was when I knew I had him. I pulled his face to mine and in a low voice said, "You are now my bitch, understood?" His whole body seemed to jerk, as the words hit him like a sledgehammer, and he shuddered in almost horror. But still he did not pull away. Instead, after about thirty seconds, he shook one last time, then seemed to resign himself to this, and meekly said, "Yessir."
God DAMN, having this guy -- who was a total hot fucking stud, with blonde hair, blue eyes, enough muscles to make women drool when he took his shirt off, and who was significantly taller then me -- having this guy call me sir snapped something in me. All the years I had been "helping" my friends make decisions, or had been the one planning what our circle was going to do -- all that suddenly popped into place and I knew THIS was where I belonged, as the one in charge, the one who had other people serve him. I mean, it had been that way before, I had just never seen it for what it was.
I pulled this guy's face into my crotch, and told him to inhale -- and have to admit, even with what had happened, I was shocked when he did, with just a moment's hesitation. I used his hair as a handle, and steered him all around my bugle, and was amused at how he started to kiss it -- the butch football player obviously had done this before now.
I jerked his head back, and aimed him to look at my face. "So little piggy, you like this... done it before, huh?" He blushed but he whispered "Yes sir.." as my other hand stroked his face. He moaned lightly and rubbed his chin against my hand.
And that was how I came to own my first slave. I used him off an on for the next two years, and in the process, I made a few more of the jocks into bitches -- trained them well enough that when two of them went to college, they became the house fucktoys for their fraternities.
But that was only part of what I went thru in high school. My senior year, my dad got sick -- cancer. It came on quick, and by the time they had diagnosed what it was, it was too late. I saw my parents thru different eyes -- I saw their friendship and partnership, and I saw how the last few months with him tore her up, but also gave her the time to say goodbye. And it taught me what I want in life -- a true partner, someone who made my eyes light up when they came in the room, like they did for each other. But I also was learning I wanted someone who liked to serve, which was NOT like either of my parents.
When my dad died, he left behind a small fortune, with the bulk going to my mom, of course, but I was shocked when they said I got a large sum myself, but with a catch. My dad had put himself thru college, having come from a very poor background. So he had set the condition that I would get the money only if I a) got myself thru school on my own -- only nominal support from my mom, and b) I got a job after school and paid back all my loans.
Now, do not get me wrong, I was not expecting to be a lazy waste of a man spending my inherited money, but I could not get help from family for school??? Luckily, I had worked my ass off in school, so I was able to apply for and get scholarships, but I still had to take out loans -- I had chosen Emory for school, and I did not want to have to work during school, so I took out the maximums. Yeah, it was going to mean paying it all back would take longer, but I was determined to enjoy my college experience. It did mean, however, I had to skip some stuff other guys got -- like a car. I had an old junker back home, but I left it there, since it would have been too much work to keep it running.
I graduated high school early, on the strength of my AP classes and taking college classes during my junior year. Even with the time I took to mourn losing my dad, I was able to start Emory in what would have been the second half of my senior year. I spent my first year doing what everybody does -- partying, hanging out with friends, avoiding classes. But I also kept up with my papers, and studied when I was not amusing my friends. I also spent a lot of time playing in my new field of study, S&M/B&D. And I was as dedicated a student with that as I ever was in any class -- and I practiced, often.
In the process, I found my more sadistic side had run its course -- where in high school I had enjoyed the physical side almost too much, now I was seeing what I liked was the simple control, and having the other guy know I was the Man and he was the boy. I grew to see roughing them up as the training tool it is supposed to be, not something for my pleasure. Of course, every once in awhile, the old me emerged, but that was just the fun times. And the boys loved it. But I never found anyone worth more then a simple roll in the hay -- there was never a real man among them. But I enjoyed the search...
In the process, I kept coming across subs who talked about another dom named Jake. Now, it is not too unusual for guys to have a lot of ... playmates in common, but it was how they talked about him. He was tall, masculine, handsome, successful, and from everything they said he was not a real top. If he did not pass himself off as one, would not have been a big deal, but the more they talked about him the more I wanted to take him down. Call it my small man complex, but I wanted to conquer this stud.
And that is where I came to meet you at the bar, and the rest is history.
Any and all comments to sublawyer1965@yahoo.com -- positive or negative (just be polite), all are appreciated. And if you happen to be a real-world Scott living anywhere in the southeast US, drop me a line -- would love to find a man to own me!!!
Jake