This is my first story, so all feedback is welcome. Contact info is at the end of this installment. Please remember that you have to be 18 or older to read this, and that this is totally a work of fiction; nothing is intended to represent real persons or places and for fuck's sake, wear a condom with every play date! ------------------------------------------------
Accepted At Last By: Hunter Stearns
I was a drinking man, and that is why I have found myself in this situation. I'm 27 years old, 6'2 and 180 pounds of hot redhead. With my porcelain skin, green eyes, little body hair and size 14 feet, you would think that I could bring home any man I want from the club. My problem was that I couldn't stop drinking once I got started, and the men noticed; I was a person to avoid, a person with issues – the least of which was whiskey dick.
Ever since my third DUI, my license was revoked and I had to walk everywhere. Lost a lot of weight that way, and got a nice high, tight ass for it too. Since I usually found myself with cops after the clubs, I would take alley ways to avoid them. Over the last month of stumbling through dark alleys on the way to my downtown loft, I managed to successfully avoid those pigs; but, the pigs were fucking saints compared to who I ran into last Tuesday!
I was feeling like partying so I took a shower and threw on a blue v-neck tee, a little green thong that really showed off my sizeable package, a pair of tight jeans ripped at the knee and my flip flops. I combed my hair forward and spiked up the bangs, and was off to the club. I drank, and I flirted, and after four hours I found myself stumbling home alone again- or so I thought!
Time and time again, I stumbled down the dark alley between 18th and 19th streets and never saw another living being. Maybe I never paid attention because I was so self focused or because it was dark, but this time I found out I had been watched. A foot came out from behind a stack of pallets and tripped me, causing me to fall face down in a puddle. As I started pushing myself up, I heard the click of a switch-blade being exposed and I froze.
"I've been watching you, faggot! Always drunk, always taking the same route home alone. Well, you're not going home alone tonight cause I need a place to stay."
"What the f—" I started.
Before I could finish my sentence, the mysterious bastard kicked my side hard. I coughed and the force from the kick rolled me onto my back. I threw my hands over my face out of fear. He bent down and, threateningly, held the point of his knife against my chest.
"Get your faggot ass up and take me to your place!" he ordered as he slid the knife down my torso.
I slowly stood up, stumbling backward a little.
"Before you even move, queer, you're going to empty your pockets. Your phone, wallet, keys, whatever's in your pockets goes in my hand!"
As I slowly pulled out my phone and handed it to him, he put it in his pocket. The same thing happened with my wallet and keys. When I finished and put my hands up he stepped forward, placing the point of the knife up to my neck, and sliding his other hand around my pockets to be sure he got everything.
Satisfied, he grabbed my arm and turned me around and shoved me. "Let's go!"
It was about a half hour walk to my place from where he caught me. We arrived at my loft building and I opened the door for him. We took the elevator to the fifth floor where I lived and I stood at the door, looking at him. "This is mine. The door key is the silver one with the box head"
He opened the door and walked in, looking very pleased with the modern décor. He saw my landline telephone and took it off the wall, throwing it out the window. Turning around, he looked at me and grinned wide.
"Alright, faggot. Strip off." He orders with a growl.
My fingers shaking, my eyes glued to the knife in his hand, I pull off my shirt and then kick off my sandals. I opened my jeans and he yelled "Stop! What the fuck, faggot?!"
I was so confused. I stared at him questioningly and he asked "Is that a fucking thong?! You're not just a faggot, you're a whore aren't you?! Bwahahaha! Okay, lose the jeans and keep the thong, I like it."
I did as I was ordered. He walked to the door and closed it while I stood there, utterly humiliated, nearly nude, and my 8" cock growing, pushing my thong pouch out. Once the door was closed, he turned and spoke in a firm tone.
"Okay, faggot, here's how it's going to be. I like this place, so it's mine now. You're still responsible for everything though." He set the knife down at the entry table and began to walk towards me. "You will call me Master JP, or Boss. Your name is faggot, or bitch, or whatever I want to call you. Can your drunk ass faggot brain understand that?"
"Dude, you can't just—" I began to protest but he was quick and slapped me across the face with the back of his hand. I fell backwards and landed on my ass, holding myself up with my arms.
"Let's try that again. Can – Your – Drunk – Ass – Faggot – Brain – Understand – That?!" he slowly and pointedly asked again as he crouched, straddling my body with his face inches from mine.
"Yes Boss" I said, defeated.
"Good." He said, his smile returning to his face. It was a gorgeous smile, too. If he had been at the club, I would have flirted with him. He stood about my height, but with a skinny and muscular build. His black hair was cut short and frosted blonde at the tips. He wore a black tee shirt, baggy skater jeans and a pair of chucks. He wore a bike chain bracelet and a leather strap as a choker, and his ears were adorned with small silver hoops that hugged the lobes. Master JP looked to be about 19 or 20. His steely blue eyes pierced into mine as I lay there quivering.
Boss turned and walked to my easy chair and flopped down. "Faggot, get me a beer and get your ass over here to rub my feet. It was a long walk here and they're tired."
I scrambled to the fridge and grabbed a bud light bottle and brought it back to him. Dropping to my knees, I untied his shoes and slipped them off. He wore no socks, and apparently had been wearing the shoes for quite some time because his soft, sweaty feet reeked. As I began to rub his right foot, he shoved the toes of his left foot under my nose and pushed my gaze back onto his eyes. My cock was now hard as a rock, and pushing the pouch of my thong to the max, making it useless in keeping me modest. The mix of humiliation and rank stench of his feet made my eyes well up with tears as he pierced my soul with his stare, and I kept rubbing.
To be continued...
Any advice as to how the story should go in the next segment? Please email me with comments and criticism! This is my first story for nifty and I'm pretty excited to continue it. Son_of_the_stars@yahoo. Put the story title in the subject line so that I don't accidentally delete it!