Perceptions - Chapter 5
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Once again I knocked on his door at the appointed time, was silently greeted and ushered to the attic. I didn't expect to see him today, but an after practice text told me to be there at 9:00. I complied.
He was quieter than usual tonight, and moving with a sense of urgency, but I made nothing of it. When we reached the top of the stairs, I could not miss the ropes hanging over the ceiling beams high above us. "Strip down to underwear queer", was all he said. I didn't test him tonight, he embodied a quiet seriousness. I could feel something boiling beneath the surface. Before I knew it my hands were secured over my head to the ropes hanging from above. Taut enough that I could stand, but more on tippy toes than on flat feet.
Next he shucked off his t-shirt and jeans, displaying his perfectly ripped body for my hungry eyes and submissive mind. In this state, he literally could do anything to me and I would be complicit. Next he retrieved a small gym bag from the corner and proceeded to pull on a pair of small sparring gloves. Even though he was the picture of perfect male pulchritude, I still got nervous, and gathered my courage to inquire about this evening. "Master, I'm not sure what is going on. Is everything ok?" I questioned. After another 30 seconds of him fitting his gloves and surveying the area, he redirected his attention to me, looked me directly in the eyes and spoke. "Tough day today, that's all you need to know faggot."
He assumed a fighters stance and circled, making his plan. Testing me with short jabs and light taps. As he developed his mindset it became more earnest, punches connected to my midsection and he became like a machine. I knew he was pulling his punches or else I would have been a bag of mush, but he was working his ass off, HARD, executing his fight plan on me. Thank god he never lost control, because if he did I would be really hurt.
My flinching and low groans were testaments to his restrained power. When it was over he had a heavy blanket of sweat coating his god-like body and a contentment that emanated from him. My honest feeling at that moment was gratefulness that I was able to be a small part of the of service that made this perfect being relieved or content.
When he cut me loose and I bore my own weight on both heels, I took some inventory of my body and decided I was going to be sore tomorrow. I instinctively bowed my head, and as if trained, I spoke, "Thank you for letting me be of service to you Sir". He considered me for a split second and simply acknowledged, "Yeah.", with a heavy breath. Then, he surveys the room for my clothes and struts over to my jeans on the floor. Picking them up he fishes the wallet out of my back pocket and flips it open, finding the $75 I have in there, saved up to use on new trainers since my old ones are already pounded to dust. He fingers the fold of cash, holds it up and shows his movie star smile, then tosses his find on the table. I nod obediently.
"But you're not done faggot, get over here." He slid his right arm up the back of my head, taking a fistful of my hair. He pressed my face into his left armpit and commanded "Drink queer." I lapped every bit of sweat from his left pit before being repositioned in the right one. He didn't stop me either when I wandered to his perfect chest and worshipped it with my lips and tongue. It was the most magnificent thing I had ever accomplished in my life to this point. When he would flex his pecs and abs as I sucked the sweat from his body, I felt totally satisfied and owned, which must have been the reason I croaked, "I love being your bitch Sir". He chuckled.
"Ok", he interrupted. "Time to blow me, swallow my baby-makers, and then get the fuck out of here fag." I did just that.