Called to Serve Him

CALLED TO SERVE HIM

ROSCOE WILDE

E-mails welcome at wilde.roscoe@gmail.com. I aim to please.

CHAPTER ONE

"Wanna take a break?" asked my companion.

"Are you kidding?" I replied. "We just had lunch."

"So dedicated you are," he said in a tone that was not complimentary. "Give it a few months. You'll relax."

I didn't reply. I didn't see myself ever being as lazy as Elder Beckstead. I liked structure and discipline, but my companion just liked getting by. I should clarify that when I say "companion", I don't mean he was a boyfriend or anything. "Companion" was just the word used to describe each other in our assigned partnership as Mormon missionaries. I want to emphasize that he was assigned to me; I would never have picked him myself.

We had spent our lunch hour at a local internet cafe. That way we could use the internet for its only mission-sanctioned use: email. The church was strict about shielding us from anything that could remotely tempt us away from our purpose, so we weren't allowed to browse the internet beyond the email page. We even had assigned email accounts that were operated and filtered by the church. During our lunch, I had dutifully written family members using the prescribed email account and tried not to notice as my companion browsed through some blog.

I wished he would be more discrete. I wasn't going to tattle on him for something so innocuous, but I hated that he put me in a position where I had to pretend to not be aware of his rule-breaking.

"Fine, then you get the next door, Elder Bastian," he said.

It wasn't my turn, but I was the "greeny"–the new guy–and I didn't have much say in things. I would have been fine with being the newbie, but Elder Beckstead didn't use his seniority to help guide me as much as he used it to get away with slacking. It didn't help that he was "trunky"–our slang for missionaries who had already mentally checked out and were ready to go. He had already packed his metaphorical trunk, and he was just waiting for his sentence to end. Honestly, I couldn't wait for him to go either.

"That's fine," I said. "I could use the practice." Besides, someone needed to set an example, and he clearly wasn't the one to do it.

The internet cafe was right across the street from a row of small residential houses, so I headed to the first one on the corner.

Going door-to-door kind of sucked. We had much better luck speaking with people who were referred to us or had already inquired about the church than we did with randomly knocking. We were more likely to have doors slammed in our faces than anything with this approach. Still, I was determined to be the good missionary, and that helped motivate me past any reluctance I might have otherwise felt.

No one answered at the first house we knocked at, so we moved on to the next.

"Okay, I did one. Now it's your turn," I said.

"Uh... no. All you did was knock. It's still your turn until someone actually answers."

"Okay, whatever." I had a feeling it would never actually be his turn, but so be it. It was the middle of the afternoon anyway, and people were not likely to be at home in this working-class neighborhood.

Someone actually did answer at the next door, though.

"Can I help you?" asked the man who answered the door.

I caught myself before I audibly gasped at the shirtless man who greeted us. He was taller than me by at least an inch or two, which would have put him somewhere north of 6'2". He had broad shoulders, washboard abs, and massive pecs–clearly he worked out–and it was all covered with dark brown hair that looked to be trimmed but not completely shaven. Between his muscular torso and a short haircut that wouldn't have been out of place in the military, he looked like a drill sergeant. The only thing he wore was a loose fitting pair of sweatpants made from a thin material that draped lightly over his prominent soft bulge.

I realized that I had been silently staring when Elder Beckstead jammed his elbow into my side. The guy in front of us smirked at me.

"Uh... hi, I'm Elder Bastian and this is Elder Beckstead. We're from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, and we have a message we'd like to share with you today."

"I'm an atheist," he said, his expression unchanged.

"Uh... right. Well... we bring a message for people of... of all beliefs," I said haltingly. I was always a little nervous talking to strangers, but something about this guy was completely throwing me off. I could feel sweat droplets start to form at my temples as he continued to regard us silently.

"If now is a bad time..." Elder Beckstead spoke up, always the first one to suggest a strategy of avoidance.

"Nah," said the guy, looking me up and down. "I could use a little Jesus in my life today. Come on in."

The front door opened directly into the living room, and he gestured for us to sit on a old-looking couch. The room was clean, but the furniture looked worn and inexpensive, like it was all purchased from secondhand thrift stores. He sat down on an arm chair, his legs spread wide and his hands on the armrests.

I willed myself to look him in the eyes. Every other part of him screamed for my attention, the large pink areolas, the ripples of his stomach, and the muscles of his massive arms, not to mention the prominent bulge between his legs. The thin fabric of his sweatpants didn't leave much to the imagination, and I was pretty sure I could make out the location of the mushroom head of his flaccid cock. It didn't appear that he was wearing underwear.

Usually if we got so far as to be invited in we were offered some sort of hospitality: an offer of something to drink and perhaps some small talk, but this guy just stared at us.

"So... uh..." I began. "And you are...?"

"I am what?"

"I mean, what's your name, sir?"

"Sir will suffice." he said. His replies were short, but he didn't seem to be at all upset with us. If anything, he seemed to be amused. I could tell I was being a weirdo nervous wreck, so I didn't blame him exactly.

"O... kay," said Elder Beckstead. "Are you sure this is a good time? We can always come back later."

"You don't seem to want to be here," the guy said. "You're the one who knocked on my door."

"No, of course not," said Elder Beckstead. "Just... trying to be courteous. So you, uh... work out?"

It was typical of us to try to ease into a conversation with small talk. Ideally we'd try to find some common ground we could build our message on. Family was a common go-to topic. Mormons loved to talk about families, so we always looked right away for something like a wedding ring or family photos, but he had neither, and there were no other signs that he had any family. I had to admit that his physique was about the only clue to his personal life I could see, but I was having enough trouble not staring at his body already without Elder Beckstead making it the center of conversation.

"I work out some," he said. "Why? You like what you see?"

"No, uh... I was just... I mean... It's not that I don't like it. I mean... You look fine," Elder Beckstead replied, uncharacteristically flustered. "I was just mentioning it because... Elder Bastian here works out too."

I shot Elder Beckstead a look with daggers in it that he gave no indication of noticing. It was true; I did work out daily. It was one of the few things we were allowed to do daily outside of missionary work, and it gave me something to keep me occupied while Elder Beckstead was more often than not breaking the rules by sleeping in.

"Oh yeah?" the guy said. "Show me."

It was clearly a command and not a question, and his tone reinforced this. I felt my face grow warm, and I was sure that I was blushing.

"You uh... want me to flex or something?" I asked.

"Take off your shirt," he replied.

It's not that I had anything to be ashamed of. Daily exercise and countless hours on a bike had firmed up my nineteen year-old body, and though I did not share this stranger's bulk, I came close in muscle tone and definition. Sure, this guy was taller, broader, and hairier than I was, but I had always gotten compliments on my good looks. As a 6'0"-tall teenager with blond hair, blue eyes, and a smooth toned body, I should have been happy to show off.

I was serious about my commitment to my mission, however, and that mission did not involve taking off clothing in an investigator's home. I wouldn't even have considered it normally, but there was something about this man's commanding presence that was alluring to me. I had never met someone like that, and a small part of me was drawn to his authoritative presence. It certainly was a refreshing change from Elder Beckstead's aimless "leadership".

Still, being the serious missionary that I was, I ignored his request and instead resolved to focus on our message.

"We, uh... actually we wanted to share a message with you about our Heavenly Father. Do you believe in God?" I asked.

He laughed at this question before replying, "Sure kid. I'm an atheist that believes in God."

There were three kinds of people who invited us in when we knocked door to door. The most common were those looking to argue. Be they Bible-thumpers or atheists, they were looking for a debate. Less common were those who were simply too polite or timid to say no. They entertained us without really engaging us for as long as it took them to build up the resolve to send us on our way. In a distant third were those who were genuinely interested–a rare breed. I couldn't place this guy, though. Sure he was an atheist, but he didn't seem interested in defending that position. Nor did he seem particularly open to our point of view either. He certainly wasn't too polite to send us off, so I couldn't figure out why he invited us in.

"Oh right, well we, uh... we think that..." I said, surprisingly unsure of myself.

"How about you, redhead?" the guy said, interrupting me.

He was referring to Elder Beckstead, who had flame-red hair everywhere that was visible, from his arms to his head. I sometimes wondered if he had the same red hair everywhere not visible as well, but I had never seen him without his garments.

Garments were our Mormon-issued underwear, and they were loose and conservative in their coverage, with a t-shirt and almost knee-length loose-fitting bottoms. So even though I had seen him many times in his underwear, much was still left to the imagination.

"Me?" asked Elder Beckstead. "I believe in God. Yes, sir."

"Fascinating," the guy said, sounding bored, "but I was asking you if you were going to take off your shirt."

"Oh... I uh... I don't work out," he said, shifting nervously.

"I didn't ask," the guy replied, his smirk gone and his face now expressionless. He was now casually running his thumb over his crotch. It might have been mistaken for a casual scratch, but you could see where the head of his penis was, and he was clearly flicking his thumb back and forth across it.

Elder Beckstead gave me a look that was verging on panic before turning back to look at our host.

"I, uh... I think we really need to be going," Elder Beckstead said, his voice shaky.

"Suit yourself," the guy replied.

Elder Beckstead rose to his feet, but I didn't move. The guy had caught me gazing at his crotch and had responded with a wink. I had never met anyone so brazenly forward and cocky, and I found it compelling.

"C'mon, Elder," Elder Beckstead said to me with a whiny, pleading tone that reminded me of how annoying I found him.

"He wants to stay," said the guy. Again, it was a statement and not a question.

I was surprised to find myself internally agreeing with him. Mind you, I wasn't gay or anything. Sure, I appreciated the beauty of a male body as I did all God's creations. And sure, I often daydreamed about what guys I met looked like underneath their clothes, but I had told myself that was the casual curiosity of the idle mind, and I was sure everyone did it.

I certainly never imagined having sex with a man. I never imagined having sex with anybody, in fact. Any time my mind turned to lustful thoughts, I would sing a hymn to myself or utter a silent prayer. I was committed to my faith and its tenets, and I had never allowed myself a sexy daydream that I did not squash immediately. I had never even masturbated for fear of angering God.

Something about this guy's presence compelled me to stay, however. It wasn't like I was signing up for anything illicit, I told myself. This guy was probably just really interested in working out and comparing physiques, and when he touched his crotch it probably really was just a harmless scratch. I convinced myself that I had been reading too much into the situation.

"Well I'm going, whether or not you're coming with me," said Elder Beckstead.

Elder Beckstead knew the rules. The only time we were allowed to be out of each other's sight was when one of us was using the restroom. We even slept in the same room. It was so like Elder Beckstead to think nothing of breaking the rules to leave me behind, and I told myself that I was doing the right thing by staying with this man who had graciously invited us in. It was my companion that was abandoning me, not the other way around.

"Fine," was all I said.

Elder Beckstead stood there for a moment looking at me stupidly, as if he did not believe I was staying. After a few minutes of silence, however, he turned and practically ran out the door, slamming it behind him.

"He's kind of a pussy, isn't he?" the guy asked.

"Yeah... I mean, I don't really use that word. But he's kind of a wimp."

"I don't really use that word, Sir," he said.

"Huh?" I didn't immediately understand why he had repeated what I just said.

"When you address me, you call me Sir."

"Oh, I'm sorry, uh... Sir," I said, the apology coming out almost impulsively. I wasn't sure why an apology had seemed like the natural response. "I don't really use that word, Sir."

"Better," he said with a satisfied expression. I felt my heart inexplicably flutter at this, the faintest sign of approval. "But you'll say whatever I tell you to, boy."

"Uh, okay..." I said, although I don't know why I would ever have agreed to such a statement.

"Okay?"

"Okay, Sir. I mean, yes, Sir," I corrected myself.

"That's right. Now take off your shirt," he commanded for the second time.

Something about the way he said that silenced any objections I might have uttered. It wasn't that I was intimidated by him, though I was. I didn't object because I wanted to obey him. I wanted more of that approval from him and the warm feeling it gave me.

"Yes, Sir," I said as I loosened my tie. It felt so good to say "Yes, Sir" to him, though I couldn't explain why such a simple statement felt so exhilarating. Maybe it was because I had been missing the simplicity of strong authority in my life since I'd been spending all my time with my companion.

"Leave the tie on," he instructed.

It did not even occur to me to defy him. I simply moved on to unbuttoning my white shirt. I fumbled with the buttons, my hands filled with a mixture of nerves and excitement, but I managed to undo them and get my shirt off quickly enough. I sat there for a moment, anticipating the comments and questions about my unusual undershirt, but he didn't acknowledge it.

"Well?" he said.

I understood that meant there would be no questions and that he wanted me to continue, so I slid the shirt off over the tie still around my neck. There I sat, bare-chested but for a tie. I noticed self-consciously that my nipples looked harder and more prominent than I could ever recall them being.

"Nice," he said with a mischievous look. I drank in his approval. "Now stand up."

Again, it did not occur to me to do otherwise. I stood up as he approached me. He reached out and placed a thumb on my chest which he gently traced downward, sliding it softly over my right nipple. I let out a gasp that was both from pleasure and surprise as I felt my flesh tingle. He continued to trace his hand all the way down my stomach towards my belt where he stopped. He grasped the buckle in his hand.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked, tugging gently at my belt, but not undoing it.

If there was any question of his intentions up to that point, it was all perfectly clear now. So far, my eagerness to please him had overridden my self-control. I had followed his instructions with barely a second thought. Now that I knew he clearly wanted to take this further, I found my doubts returning. Was I ready? I wondered. To this point, I was trying to convince myself that he was harmless, and that his attentions were pure. Now, with his hand just above my crotch, there was no question of what he wanted.

And I wanted it too, I realized. I wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything. I wanted that authority and discipline in my life; I always had. There was something more, though. There was something magnetic about his confidence and control, but there was also a gentleness in the way that he had so tenderly touched my body and a thoughtfulness as he now waited patiently as I stood there in hesitation.

He did not demand a response or force himself on me. He just stared into my eyes and waited. For all my self-reflection, though, my penis had a mind of his own. The combination of his piercing stare, our bare chests just inches apart, and his hand so close to my groin was more than my adolescent body could resist. I was fully erect, and the fabric of my black dress-pants puckered and strained against it.

"Ready for what?" I asked lamely. I knew what he wanted and what I wanted, but I was scared too. I thought he might reassure me in some way.

"Are you ready to submit to me?" he asked, his voice lowered to a seductive whisper. "To do as I say? To serve me? To worship a real man?"

It was more than I could resist. Every fiber of my body was ready for this. He could have asked anything of me at that moment, and I would have been powerless to refuse.

"Yes, Sir. Oh please yes, Sir."

I didn't just agree; I was practically begging for it. When I said those words, I wasn't just saying I was ready, I was giving in completely.

CHAPTER TWO

"Good boy," Sir said as he unbuckled my belt and yanked it out in one deft motion.

I realized that I had started calling him "Sir" in my head as if it were his name and not just an honorific. It seemed fitting, though.

"Now, take your pants off," he said.

"Yes, Sir," I replied and began unzipping them. I was a little surprised at myself and how quickly I gave in to instructions I would have never imagined following before today.

"Uh uh," he said, placing his hand over mine as I was about to shuck my pants. I felt a jolt of warmth shoot up my arm from the electricity of his touch. "Do it slow, like a striptease. Show your master how much you want to turn him on."

I had never even seen a striptease before, much less performed one, but I tried to imagine what a stripper would do. I liked the idea of arousing him, and I didn't want to let him down. I slowly pulled down one side of my pants with one hand while I ran my hand over my chest with the other, trying to look sensuous.

"Good boy," Sir said, and I was encouraged to hear that I was pleasing him.

I switched hands, pulling my pants down just a little on the other side while feeling up my pecs and abs. I had only gotten my pants down an inch or so when I realized my dick was sticking out through the fly in my garments. If I pulled down my pants any further I would be completely exposed, and I hesitated nervously for a moment.

"Turn around; show me that ass." he said. He might as well have been reading my mind. He seemed so in tune with me, understanding my hesitations and helping me through them.

I did as he instructed and swayed my hips from side to side as I uncovered a little bit of garment on one side and then a little bit more on the other.

My pants were halfway down my ass when he said, "Underwear too. Take them off together."

I had been nervous about exposing my dick, but I was strangely relieved that he wanted me to remove my garments at the same time as my pants. I realized I was nervous about him seeing my strange underwear, and this way he would only be focusing on my body.

I pushed my dick back inside the front flap of my garments and under the elastic so that I could maneuver it over my raging hard-on and then pulled my pants and underwear slowly down so that my entire ass was exposed.

"Mm... nice," Sir said behind me. Encouraged by his approval, I bent over slightly, pushing my ass back as far as I could. I wiggled it back and forth, thinking that he might enjoy seeing my round bottom bounce as it moved.

"Oh you like showing off that pretty little ass, don't you, slut?" he said.

I had never thought that guys could be sluts, but it seemed to describe perfectly how I felt. I wanted his sex, craved his sex, and being called a slut just intensified those desires. Being called a slut felt dirty, and I was realizing that I really liked feeling dirty.

"Yes, Sir," I agreed.

"Tell me."

"Tell you what, Sir?"

"Tell me who much you like it."

"Oh... I... love showing you my... pretty little ass, Sir."

"And?"

"And... I want to please you, Master." I don't know where "Master" came from; it just slipped out. I quickly corrected myself. "I mean, Sir."

"Master is okay," he reassured me. "Just as long as you show me respect."

"Yes, Sir... Master," I said, relieved. Actually I think I liked "Master" better. I wanted his total control over me. I wanted him to be my master.

"Very good, boy. Now tell me what else you like."

"I like... I like being called a slut, Master. And... I like calling you Master."

"That's a good slut," he said. I couldn't see his expression, but I could hear the approval in his voice. "Keep it up, and I'll give you a treat."

"Thank you, Master," I said and meant it. I was so full of gratitude I could burst. "I'll be a good slut for you, Sir."

"I know you will, boy. You're being a very good slut for your master. Now turn around."

I was so happy to have his approval that I didn't even think about exposing myself to him now. I turned around without hesitation. More than anything, I wanted him to have what he wanted so that he would continue to praise me.

My dick was so hard it felt like it was going to explode as I turned to face him with my pants at my ankles.

"Lose the pants," Master ordered.

I couldn't think of a sexy way to get pants off my ankles so I kicked them off quickly. He stared at my crotch the whole time. I had never seen another man erect, but I had shared showers at the Missionary Training Center, and I felt like I compared favorably with the other guys. Not huge or anything, but not smaller than average.

"How big is your cock?" he asked.

"I... uh, dunno. Average, I guess, Master."

"I mean inches, boy. How many inches?"

"I don't know... I've never measured it... Sir."

I suddenly realized how silly that must have sounded, but it was true. Any time I had an erection, I had always been determined to will it away to avoid the temptations of sin. The last thing to have crossed my mind was to pull out a ruler.

"Don't lie to me, slut," he said, looking annoyed. His disapproval stung.

"I'm not, Sir. I swear," I said, fearing that I had disappointed my new master. "I've never... I mean... I've been taught not to... I mean..."

Master's expression softened as he saw my distress, and he pulled me to him in a tight embrace.

"It's okay, baby. I believe you."

I felt an immediate sense of relief from his tender comfort. At the same time, I could feel his hard member pressing against mine through his pants. He kissed me lightly on the forehead. He then grabbed my hand and started to pull me down the hall. He silently led me into the bathroom, my hard-on pointing straight ahead the whole way.

He pulled an electric razor out of the medicine cabinet and handed it to me.

"Shave," he said.

"Shave... what, Sir?" I asked while rubbing my baby-smooth face, self-consciously.

"Everything," he said. "I don't want to see a hair on your body."

"But..." I began to protest, not thinking.

He interrupted me with a slap to the face. I yelped, but more out of surprise than pain. It stung a little, but he hadn't hit me hard.

"No 'buts'. If you want to make your master happy, you'll do as you're told. Do it in the bathtub so you don't make a mess."

"Yes, Master. I'm sorry, Sir," I said as he turned and left the room, not acknowledging my apology.

I didn't delay any further. I had a feeling he expected it to be done by the time I got back, so I quickly got to work. I assumed he wanted me to shave my chest and groin, but I didn't want to upset him by not following his instructions literally. So, I set about shaving everything: my armpits and arms first, then the hair on my chest–there wasn't much, just a little around the nipples and between my pecs–then the treasure trail from my belly button to my groin. I skipped my pubes and did my legs next.

The mirror in the bathroom was large and I could see most of my body at once in it. It was so strange seeing myself with no hair. Nothing covered my chest but the loose dress-tie I was still wearing. It had felt emasculating to do, but I kind of liked shaving myself smooth. It made me look younger and even a little bit like one of those billboard models from Abercrombie or Hollister, with their skin all waxed and airbrushed.

I hesitated for a moment before I shaved my pubes. I wasn't even sure why it mattered. No one would ever see it but my master and I, but it still felt like I was surrendering something deeply personal. I couldn't dwell on it too long, though. I wanted to be done by the time Master returned so that he would be pleased with me. I imagined him praising my obedience as I began to remove the dark hair from around my cock.

The act was surprisingly erotic. My erection not only did not subside, but seemed to grow even harder. When I went to shave my balls, it didn't hurt as I expected it to, but rather tingled pleasantly. I had to admit I enjoyed doing it. I felt so lucky to have met a man who was introducing me to these pleasures I would have never thought of myself.

I looked up to see my master smiling approvingly in the doorway. My newly bare skin tingled, and I felt beautiful because he was looking at me like I was beautiful.

"Well done, boy. You may just earn your treat."

I beamed.

"But you forgot your scalp and eyebrows," he continued.

He laughed as my expression turned to horror, and I felt my cheeks turn a deep red. It seemed like an impossible request, but I had given in so far already that I couldn't stop now. It was definitely outside the mission appearance guidelines, but I decided I'd figure out to explain it later. I wanted to feel his touch again so badly that even the hair on my head felt like a small price to pay.

"Yes, Master." I said softly, trying to hide any sign in my voice that I would even think of refusing his order.

I picked up the razor, but Master reached over and placed his hand over mine, pushing it down and away from me.

"I was just testing you. You can keep the rest of your hair. You really do want this, don't you, slut?"

I did want it, with an intensity that was almost scary.

"Yes, Sir. I'd do anything to please you, Master."

"That's a good little cumslut," he said, patting me on the head.

I had never heard the phrase cumslut before, but just hearing it sparked this sudden lust for tasting my master's seed. I wanted so badly to drain his essence into me. He was right; I was a cumslut, and I hadn't even known it until now.

"Now let's see what we're working with," he said.

I then noticed he was holding a tape measure. I was still standing in the bathtub when he placed it on my hard dick. I shivered at the sensation. No one but me had ever touched my cock, and somehow that made the sensation so different from when I did it. It was electric.

"Six inches," he said.

I really had no idea if that was good or not; I was so naive about these things. I hoped he would give some sort of indication of his approval. In fact, I suddenly realized that I kind of wanted him to tell me how inferior mine was to his, though I couldn't say why. He offered no appraisal either way, however.

"All right, boy. Let's show you what a pussyboy you really are."

Cumslut... Pussyboy... I had never heard names like this before, but every time he used them on me I felt this strange mix of humiliation and arousal. They were derogatory terms, no doubt, but he said them almost affectionately. They felt right to me somehow. I was a cumslut. I did want to be his pussyboy.

I stepped out of the bathtub and followed him back into the hall.

"Get down on all fours," he ordered. "I want you on the ground like the pig you are."

I got down on my hands and knees, and he reached down and grabbed the end of the tie around my neck. He led me back to the living room like a dog on a leash as I watched the shifting globes of his gorgeous ass through the thin material of his pants.

He sat back down in his chair and left me on all fours in the middle of the room.

"All right, slut. Now beg," he said.

He didn't have to ask twice; I knew exactly what I wanted.

"Please, Master. Please let me see your..." I hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Was I even allowed to ask?

"What, slut?" he said, looking smug. "You want to see what a real man's cock looks like?"

I blushed again.

"Yes, uh... yes, Sir," I said. "I want to see what a real cock looks like."

"You want to see how it compares to your little boy penis?" he said. The word "penis" stood in sharp contrast to "cock". He had a cock–a manly tool for pleasure; I merely had a penis.

"Yes, Sir," I agreed.

"Say it."

"Sir, I have a little boy penis," I said. The humiliation of that statement turned me on, and I found myself continuing. "It's nothing compared to your cock, Sir. I'm just a... a... pussyboy. I need you to show me what a real man has."

"That's right," he agreed.

He pulled the elastic of his pants down over his clearly erect tool, and I gasped when I saw it. It was no wonder he called my penis small, his cut cock easily dwarfed mine by comparison.

He gave me a cocky smile in response to my obvious astonishment.

"Can I... Can I ask how... you know... how big it is? Sir?" I asked, unsure if I was being too presumptuous to ask such a thing of my new master.

He was clearly proud of his endowment, though, and didn't hesitate to answer.

"Nine-and-a-half inches."

"Wow," I said, and he laughed at my reaction.

"Do you want to touch it?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir."

"Tell me."

"Sir, I want to touch your cock. I want to feel a real man in my hands. I want to... I want to..."

"Spit it out, slut."

"I want to taste it, Master."

I was surprised to hear myself say that. I said the words before I even realized I was thinking them. I looked at him while nervously anticipating his reaction. I felt so inadequate asking anything of him. It seemed insolent of me to have any desires at all other than pleasing him, but he did look pleased at this request. That was enough to reassure me.

"Then come here, slut. Put your tongue on it."

I practically lunged at his dick at the invitation. I pressed my tongue at the base of that massive tool and greedily licked up the shaft to the tip. It tasted salty and masculine and wonderful.

"Licking it like the dog you are," he said. "Keeping doing that. No mouth. Just your tongue."

I licked up and down the shaft furiously. I relished bathing his cock with my tongue, but it made me want to put it in my mouth even more. It was all I could do to fight that urge.

"That's it," he said. "Now lick my balls."

I attacked his sac with the same enthusiasm and marveled at how large his balls were as I pressed my greedy tongue against them.

"Now the tip. Remember, no mouth."

I had never done this before, and I was so grateful to my master for guiding me through it.

I flicked my tongue back and forth across his slit, and he tensed a little and let out a soft moan. I felt elated that I had provided my master pleasure, and the reinforcement drove me practically into a frenzy. I licked his balls, then his shaft, and then his head, slobbering messily as I switched quickly from each one to the other and back. I wanted every part of that delicious meat on my tongue at once.

"Wow boy, you really are a little cockwhore, aren't you?

"Yes... mm... Sir. I... mm... am... your... mm... little... mm... cockwhore," I said between licks. I was so desperate to taste him that I couldn't stop licking long enough to get out a full sentence.

"Okay, boy. You can use your mouth now. You've earned it."

I didn't wait a second. I grabbed his massive cock and shoved the tip of it into my mouth. I only took in the head at first, and even that filled my mouth. I was preparing to work more in when he suddenly thrust his hips, ramming his cock into the back of my throat. I gagged and pulled away in surprise, coughing.

"Never had a cock this big down your throat, eh boy?" he said, with a twisted smile.

That was an understatement. I'd never had any cock down my throat before.

"No, Sir. Not at all, Sir."

"It's okay, slut. We'll work on breaking you in later. Just take what you can."

I felt ashamed that I couldn't handle his whole member. I wanted him to use me as he wanted, to fuck my throat with abandon, but I fell short. I was determined to make it up to him, however, so I poured all my efforts into giving him the best blow job my inexperienced mouth could provide.

I used my mouth with the same animalistic enthusiasm I had shown with my tongue, swallowing as much as I could, then pulling away and running my tongue along his mushroom head. Every time I did this his body tensed, but I also intrinsically knew that if I focused only on the tip that the intensity would dull, so I mixed it in with deeper swallows and occasionally a lick to the shaft or balls, all while my hand ran up and down the parts I was too weak to swallow.

I was surprised at how quickly I seemed to be developing a technique here. I really was a natural-born cocksucker.

"All right, slut," he said pushing me away suddenly. "I don't want to cum yet. I'm going to do that inside you."

I hadn't even considered the possibility of that massive thing inside me. It seemed too large to possibly fit, and I was suddenly horrified at the prospect that I'd let him down again by not being able to handle it. I wanted to have his whole nine-and-a-half in me, but I was afraid I wasn't capable.

"Don't worry, slut. I'll keep you safe. I have a condom," he said, apparently reading my expression as one of concern for safe sex. I was so naive and new to this that I was ashamed to admit that I hadn't even thought about a condom.

He reached into a pocket in the side of his chair and pulled out a condom and a clear bottle of some kind of gel. I wondered if he had sex in his living room often.

"Put some lube on it," he ordered, handing me the bottle. "Warm it in your hands first."

The way he instructed me made me wonder if he could detect my inexperience, but I was determined to conceal it. I squeezed some of the lube into my hands and rubbed them together. It felt slippery and cool, and I wondered how it would feel on my own cock, though I dared not try it without my master's instruction.

I worked it onto his cock instead, sliding my hands all over his massive member while enjoying the slimy feeling of it.

"Now put the condom on me," he ordered, handing me the small square packet.

I ripped it open and pulled out the rubber and froze. I realized suddenly that I did not have the slightest idea how to put one on. It seemed like it should be a simple task, but I expected something shaped more like a plastic tube, not this flat disk I held in my hand.

"Well? What are you waiting for, pussyboy?" Master asked, a hint of impatience in his voice.

"I... uh... I've never... I mean, this condom..." I stammered.

"Never used a condom? What, you just let guys dump their cum in your ass like the pig you are?"

"No... I mean. I've never..." I lowered my voice to an embarrassed whisper and confessed, "I'm a virgin."

I was so ashamed I felt like I could cry, and I hung my head to hide my eyes from him.

He reached out to grasp my chin and gently pulled my face back up to look at him.

"It's okay, baby," he said, the edge gone from his voice. "You're being a brave little boy. Master is proud of you. I'll take care of you, okay? Just trust me."

His touch was so soft, and his voice so reassuring that now I wanted to cry for an entirely different reason. I was so glad to have met this man who was strong and assertive and yet so kind.

"I do, Sir. Thank you, Master," I said, the confidence returning back to my voice.

He grabbed my hand and led me over to the sofa.

"Here," he said. "Just kneel here and rest on your arms on the cushion."

I followed his instructions and positioned myself so that my vulnerable ass was facing him and my elbows rested on the couch. I looked back to see him putting the condom on, and I took notice of how he rolled it down his shaft so that I could do it for him next time.

"Okay, baby. I'm just going to lube you up a little first, okay?"

"Okay," I said. "I mean... yes, Sir."

"That's a good boy."

As he said this, I could feel a wet and slightly cool sensation on my pucker as he spread the lube in my crack. His touch was light at first, gently circling my hole with his moist finger. Then suddenly I felt him push through. His finger penetrated into my hole, and I gasped in surprise.

"You okay, baby?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," I replied. I was surprised to find that his penetration didn't hurt at all. In fact, as he probed his finger in my anus, I had to admit that it felt kind of good. I found myself feeling disappointed when he pulled his finger out.

"Now I need you to relax your muscles. Okay, baby?"

I didn't know how to relax my ass muscles, but I was determined to try.

"Yes, Sir," I said.

He scooted close to me, and I could feel the pressure of an object much wider than this finger pressing against me. I tried to tell myself to relax, but the more I did so, the more tense I felt. I could feel him putting pressure on my hole, but it wasn't giving way.

"You're doing great, baby," he said reassuringly, even though I didn't believe him. "Now, push out. Push, like you're trying to shove my cock out of your body."

The instructions seemed strange to me. It seemed like I should be doing the opposite, but I trusted him. I did as he said, and suddenly his cock slid in as I felt my anal muscles loosen.

"There you go, baby. I knew you could do it," he said.

I was so proud of myself, I could barely contain my smile. I couldn't see from my perspective how far he had penetrated me, but I felt like I was full of him. I didn't even know he was in all the way until I could feel the flesh of his torso press against my ass. I must have taken all nine-and-a-half inches of his manhood, and it didn't hurt at all.

"There we go, baby. What a nice pussy you have," he said. "So tight."

He was right; I did have a pussy. There was no other way to explain how I took his huge cock so easily. My hole was made to be a pussy, designed solely to please a real man like my master.

"You like my cock in you, don't you, slut?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," I replied. "I love having your cock inside me. I'm not complete unless you're inside me."

He was starting to move back and forth, and the pressure of it felt amazing. I looked down between my legs to see a long drop of pre-cum clinging to the end of my cock. My balls bounced as his larger sac slammed against them with each thrust.

"That's a good cumwhore," he said, thrusting harder this time.

"Unh!" I exclaimed as his body rammed into mine. "Thank you... unh... Sir!"

He had grabbed the end of my tie and held it firm, pulling my neck back as he pressed into me. He steadily increased the intensity of his fucking, and the pounding was coming harder and faster. The whole length of his massive cock was sliding in and out of me each time, and when he slammed his body into mine, my whole body shook from the force of it. I moaned in ecstasy.

"Your pussy was made for this, slut. Not many guys can take this cock. You're a natural," he said, breathing hard as he spoke without slowing down.

"Thank you... unh... Sir. I only want to... unh... please my master," I said. I meant it, too. The feeling of providing this man pleasure was as exhilarating to me as any of the amazing physical sensations I was experiencing.

"You're doing that, kid. Master is pleased," he said and gave me a hard smack on my ass.

The lingering tingle from where he slapped me only added to the overload of sensations I was feeling, and I wanted him to do it again.

"Please, Sir," I begged. "Please slap my ass again."

"You like that, slut? You like being spanked?" he asked, slapping the other side even harder.

"Yes, Sir. I deserve to be spanked."

Smack! His hand connected again.

"Oh God, Sir. Yes, Sir!"

Smack!

"Thank you, Master. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God!"

All the sensations were exploding at once. His firm grip on my waist, the pounding of his torso, the cock sliding in and out, the burning tingle where he spanked me... I couldn't even speak anymore. All I could do was yell out in pleasure.

He pulled out again, but this time he didn't thrust back in. He flipped me around roughly so that I was facing him. I placed my hands on the floor to steady myself.

"Sit up," he ordered.

I rose up on my knees so that my face was level with his beautiful enormous cock. He pulled the condom off and threw it to the floor. I wanted to taste his member again, but he was furiously stroking it, and before I could ask, a long stream of hot cum spurted on to my face.

"Oh!" I exclaimed in surprise, and as I did so, another spurt flew into my open mouth. It was warm and salty, and I spread it around my mouth with my tongue, enjoying the intimate feeling of tasting his essence.

Another spurt hit my cheek, another landed on my chin, and his dick jerked each time. He squeezed the last of it from his cockhead with his thumb and forefinger. He placed his thumb, covered thickly in that creamy white spunk, on my lips, and I greedily took it in. I ran my tongue all over his thumb in my mouth, savoring every drop of his seed. He smiled approvingly at me.

"That's a good boy. I knew you were a cumslut."

"Thank you, Sir," I said when he removed his thumb.

"And since you've been a good boy, now you get your treat."

I couldn't even imagine how this could get any better, but I was eager for him to show me. To my disappointment, though, there was a knock on the front door before he was able to reveal my treat.

"Go get the door, boy," he ordered.

"Yes, Sir," I said, reaching for my pants on the floor.

He slapped my hand away.

"No. Just as you are," he said. "Don't clean your face either."

I was just thinking about covering my nakedness, I hadn't even thought about the sticky cum all over my face. I was scared to follow his instructions, but somehow I felt even more aroused than afraid by the upcoming humiliation. I must have looked horrified, though, because he laughed gently and stroked my forehead.

"Don't worry, baby," he said. "I won't let anybody hurt you."

I believed him, and the feeling of fear began to entirely give way to arousal. Having my new master at my back made me feel like I could do anything.

"I know, Master. Thank you, Sir."

"Wait a sec," he said just as I was turning to head to the door.

He slipped my tie off my neck and then placed it on my still-erect penis so that it dangled between my legs. He smiled at it in satisfaction.

"There you go, slut," he said. "Just want to make sure that Master's little boy is presented well. And don't cover it, either."

"Yes, Sir," I said and went to the front door.

I opened the door, standing there hairless with cum dripping off my face and nude but for a tie hanging off my dick. I didn't think I could have been any more humiliated until I saw who was on the other side of the door.

Elder Beckstead stood there in front of me. His jaw dropped at the sight of me.

"Oh good," Master said, approaching me from behind, still nude himself. "Your treat has arrived."

CHAPTER THREE

"So are you going to come in, boy?" my master said to my companion.

A lump formed in my throat. I was sure Elder Beckstead had come back with the intent to retrieve me, and now here I was standing naked and erect with the evidence of the sex acts I had just performed literally all over my face. I had thoroughly allowed my arousal to block any thoughts of consequences when I was with my master, but now here the consequence was, standing at the door.

But to my surprise, Elder Beckstead did not turn away. Instead, he stepped timidly into the house. Surely he must have known what he was walking into. I would have expected him to run off. Avoidance was his usual strategy even under normal circumstances, and these were not normal circumstances.

Master walked back to the living room and sat down in his chair. My companion and I followed him wordlessly, consciously avoiding looking at each other.

"So, you a virgin too, kid?" Master asked, leering at my companion.

"Uh... yeah," he replied, staring nervously at his feet.

"Slut, smack that boy's ass," Master said, addressing me.

I didn't hesitate to comply. I could barely tolerate Elder Beckstead, and I was happy to take out my feelings on his ass. I reared back and gave it all I had. He yelped as my hand connected.

Smack.

"Now that," my master said with a wicked smile, "is for not addressing me with respect. When you speak to me, you will call me Sir or Master. Understood?"

My companion nodded meekly, his expression appropriately chastened. I couldn't believe he was taking this.

"I asked you a question, boy," my master said with disdain in his voice.

"I'm sorry... Sir. Understood, Sir."

I forced myself not to smile. I was enjoying seeing Elder Beckstead being put into his place.

"Now you're going to do what I tell you to. Understood, boy?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You're going to stand there and let my slut here undress you. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir," my companion replied. His voice was trembling, but whether from excitement or nervousness, I couldn't tell.

"Leave the tie on him too, slut," Master said to me, and I took this as direction to get started.

My companion's breathing was ragged and heavy as I unbuttoned his shirt and then slid it off him. When I removed the garment top next, I was secretly gratified to see that he wasn't nearly in as good a shape as I was. He wasn't fat or anything, but his stomach and chest were soft with no definition like I had. He wasn't one of those redheads who had a lot of freckles on his face, but it did turn out that he was hiding quite a few below the neck. They covered his chest and stomach.

As I unbuckled his pants, I saw the bulge of his crotch, and I could tell that though he was obviously nervous, he was enjoying this as well. As I slid his pants off, it was clear to me that his endowment was less than mine. I hoped that my master could see that this lazy shit had a soft body and a small dick, and I hoped that he would prefer me instead.

I liked being in a position to humiliate my companion, but I didn't want to give up any of my master's attention to him.

Elder Beckstead gave me a pleading look as I grabbed the waistband of his garments, but I don't know what he expected from me. He had already committed, and I wasn't about to defy my master. I tugged with both hands, exposing him to us both.

"How big is it?" my master asked, eyeing the dick that looked small even to me, especially as it was dwarfed by a wiry bush of flame red hair.

"Uh... five inches... Sir," he said, blushing deeply.

"Slut, smack that boy's ass again," Master said to me.

I gave him another hard thwack to his rear.

Smack!

"Now try again, boy. How big is it?" Master repeated.

"It's..." my companion paused for several seconds, looking humiliated. I don't know why he was being such a pussy about it. We could all see how small it was. "It's... four inches, Sir."

Master let out a condescending laugh, and I stifled a grin. Elder Beckstead was always putting me down. It was good to see him taste his own medicine.

"Go ahead and get him ready, slut. Your treat is that you get to fuck him," Master said, tossing me the bottle of lube.

I thought for sure that Master was going to fuck my companion, and I couldn't believe he was giving me the honor.

"Thank you, Master," I said. "I don't deserve this, Sir."

"Of course you do, baby. You've been such a good little pussyboy for your master."

My companion grimaced silently. As dim as he was, he apparently had figured out that if he protested he'd get another spanking.

"Get on your hands and knees," I commanded him, feeling a rush from my newfound dominace. He was always bossing me around, and it felt good to do the same to him.

I squeezed some lube onto my finger. I didn't bother to warm it up for him; I wanted to see him squirm. He did exactly that as I pressed the cool gel to his pucker and slid it around. I shoved my finger in just as my master had done to me, and he let out a soft grunt. I could feel his muscles clenching around my finger.

"Do you have another condom, Sir?" I asked as I pulled my finger out of my companion's glistening hole.

"No baby, two virgins don't need one," he replied. "Well, one virgin at least."

When he said that I realized what a gift he really was giving me. I felt special when I had surrendered my cherry to him. Now my master was giving me the honor of taking it from my roommate when he could just as well have had it for himself.

I positioned myself directly behind my companion and pressed the tip of my cock against his hole. I could feel his body resist me.

"Loosen up, man," I said and then remembered what Master had told me. "Push against me like you're trying to push me out."

"Good boy," said my master approvingly. "You're my little slut protégé."

I beamed with pride at my master's praise and then with pleasure as his hole gave way and my cock slid in. Elder Beckstead let out an even louder groan.

I had never felt anything so magnificent in my life. It was warm and wet and tight against the skin of my cock, and I felt the sensation not just in my groin, but all over my body as my skin tingled in ecstasy.

I began to thrust back and forth, and the feelings only intensified. I began to lose myself in these feelings as I sped up my fucking, moving hard and fast as Master had done to me.

"Whoa, dude, slow... unh... down... UGH..." Elder Beckstead said as I plowed into him.

I ignored him, however. I would have never thought to give directions to Master when he fucked me, and I certainly wasn't going to take it from my companion.

I saw from the corner of my eye that Master was looking at me approvingly as he stroked his cock. This drove me to fuck even harder. His soft freckled ass jiggled each time I slammed into it.

I would've liked to shoot my load all over Elder Beckstead's face, but I was too inexperienced to tell when I was about to cum until it was upon me.

I felt this incredible warmth come from deep within my groin in a way that I had never experienced before. The sensations in my cock intensified, and the feelings emanated through my body. My skin felt alive with electricity as my cock twitched. I knew then that I was cumming, but I didn't stop pounding him as I did. I wanted my seed deep inside him.

The sensation subsided, and I slowed to a halt. My dick felt unusually sensitive as I pulled it out. My companion just sat there hunched over, breathing heavily.

"Well done, boy," master said. "Now come lick this up for me."

I saw that he had cum again, and his seed was all over his chest and stomach. I eagerly licked up every drop, enjoying both the opportunity to taste more of his cum as well the opportunity to worship his body with my tongue. I hoped my companion was jealous.

"All right, sluts. Now get the hell out of here. I've got shit to do."

I was gratified that only I had earned praise from my master, but I was disappointed that he now wanted me to leave.

Elder Beckstead and I got dressed while Master watched silently.

"Well, good-bye, Sir," I said.

Master nodded blankly in response, so we headed for the door. I was sad that he didn't have anything to say to us.

"Hey sluts," he called after us as I was opening the door. "Same time tomorrow?"

My heart skipped a beat. He wanted me after all.

"Yes, Sir," my companion and I said in unison.