Just Another Confused Eighteen Year Old

This is a fantasy story that involves unprotected sex between two virtual strangers. Hey, guys, this is fantasy. Back in the real world, play safe.

I was just another confused eighteen-year-old. And, boy, was I confused. I’d hang out with my mates but, more and more, we wanted different things. Most of all what they wanted was to chase the girls and, somehow, I just didn’t. Sure, I’d had one or two dates, mostly making up a foursome, but I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about and, unlike all my friends, didn’t spend all my time fantasising about girls and getting inside their panties.

And then, alone in bed at night, as my fist tugged frantically at my prick, the visions that swam before me were very different, very different indeed, and I knew from the bottom of my heart that I could never, ever, tell anyone about them. Was I sick? Was I perverted? Was I evil? Why couldn’t I just be normal like the rest of my mates?

And then it all changed.

The start of the change happened when my best mate Dominic started going steady with this girl. I hated her, really hated her. Oh, it was nothing specific but she was changing him. Suddenly he never seemed to have the time just to hang out any more. He was always doing stuff with her and, when we did go out together, she was always around, taking up all his attention. And then they would get all lovey dovey and that made me feel awful. She really got her hooks into him and Dom just wasn't the same guy any more. He had been best mate and then he became too busy with her to spend any time with me. I really missed him, missed just hanging out, chatting and such like.

The end result was that I became a bit of a loner. Sure, I had plenty of other mates but none of them understood me like Dom.

And then the pub round the corner changed hands and, with that, a lot of things changed. First of all they changed the name. The Rose And Crown became Heaven On Earth and, in place of the old pub sign, they hung that multicoloured flag gays use. My mates thought this was a right laugh. All the old jokes came out about how they were all ‘queers' or 'turd burglars' or  ‘fudge packers’ or how you should keep your back to the wall when you went past. I joined in with these jokes because I didn’t want to be an outsider but it all seemed wrong and I hated myself when I did. From time to time I'd find myself walking past and, whenever I did, it just seemed like a normal pub to me.

Oddly enough, I found I was going past more and more. It was on my way home from work, well, with a slight change of route, and, when I went out of an evening I would also find myself going past on my way into town. Come the summer and I would see the customers sitting out in the beer garden. There were all sorts, all men, of course, and some of them looked so damn sexy in their tight teeshirts and rippling muscles. Look, it’s not queer to notice that other guys look sexy, they just do, OK?

And then I found myself wondering what it would be like to go inside. What were these guys like, these queers, these gays? Would I be safe? Would I be groped? Would they laugh at me? Whenever I thought about it I found my heart racing and, although it scared the shit out of me, I couldn't stop thinking about it.

In the end it was almost an accident. It was Saturday night and the rest of the crowd were off down town on, as Mike put it, a cunt hunt. The idea of standing around paying for overpriced drinks while pretending to admire the girls... well, it didn’t appeal. At first I stayed in and watched the match on the telly. Chelsea were playing and I’m a massive Drogba fan. He’s big and strong and just fantastic. Chelsea won three nil with Drogba scoring two of the goals but then it was all over and it was still only ten o’clock. I couldn’t just sit around the house. I thought about phoning Mike and seeing where they’d got to but it just didn’t appeal so, with nothing else to do, I just went for a walk heading towards town.

And, before I knew it, there it was. Heaven On Earth. It looked bright and lively and just so tempting. It wouldn’t hurt just to look inside, would it? I went up to the door and looked inside and, having done so, I felt I'd look silly if I didn't go in and have a drink. I went up to the bar. It was pretty crowded but I found an empty spot and, after a minute or two of waiting, got myself served with a pint of lager. God I was scared. I kept my head down and tried to stay inconspicuous. I’d just finish this drink and go.

“Hello, I’ve not see you in here before.”

I turned to see who had spoken. The first thing I noticed was the smile. He seemed really friendly but I was still too scared so I just mumbled something and went back to my drink.

“First time, eh? All a bit scary? Afraid I might bite? Maybe you're afraid I won’t bite? Look, my name is Alan. Why don’t you come and join us?” Alan indicated a long table where quite a crowd were sitting round drinking.

“I… I… I’ve got to go…”

“No you haven't, you’ve only just got here. Please, come and join us, just while you finish you pint. Come on, I’ll look after you.” And, not taking no for an answer, Alan led me over to the table.

I don’t know what I was expecting but they were all great. Just regular guys who were really friendly, really welcoming. Of course they were all gays but no one tried to grope me or anything like that. I was introduced to Sam and George and Steve and Mike and Graham and… and every one of them made me feel right at home. Well, nearly every one. Down at the far end of the table was Chester. He wasn’t exactly unfriendly; he was just quiet, sitting back, letting everyone else make all the conversation. While we all chatted Chester just sat and watched with a slow smile on his face. I kept glancing at him. Like so many others he wore jeans and a tight tee shirt but, unlike many of the others, he had the body to match. I could imagine him in the gym, the sweat rolling down those perfect abs as he worked on his six pack. He looked a bit like my hero, Drogba and I wondered if, like Drogba, he was originally from the Ivory Coast. What's more, as I stared, I started to wonder if that old thing about black men and huge cocks was true. His jeans were tight but, with the way he was sat at the table, I couldn't see if there was a big bulge or a small one.

Chester caught me staring at him and looked straight back at me. God, I was embarrassed. What must he think? I blushed from my roots and, in my confusion, turned back to the conversation which, ironically enough, was about the Chelsea match which, apparently, the guys had seen on the telly in the pub. From time to time I stole a glance at Chester and, each time I did, he seemed to be watching me. He was still smiling but it was the smile of a crocodile and it deeply disturbed me.

Before I knew it, it was midnight and the crowd was beginning to break up. I’d had so much fun, met so many nice guys and, what’s more, not one of them had made a pass at me. I’m not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. I was a bit light headed from the booze, not drunk, exactly, but not sober either and I had to go to the bogs. Even there it turned out that all my mate’s jokes were wrong. It was just like going to the bogs in a normal pub and no one harassed me or tried to take a look at my prick or anything. I came back out and found that the crowd was thinning so, saying good bye to all my new friends and promising to come back soon, I started to make my way home.

I’d hardly made it to the end of the street when this big black SUV pulled up next to me. The electric window wound down and a voice called out ‘get in’. I looked to see who it is and find that it’s Chester. Grateful for the lift I opened the door, climbed in and sat in the passenger seat.

“Thanks,” I started. “If you could just drop me at…”

“That's not how it works,” Chester said shaking his head. His voice was quiet and controlled. He looked me up and down, slowly, assuredly. I sat quietly wondering what was going on.

“OK, boi, let’s see what you’ve got.”

“What!”

“You call me Sir and you don’t answer back. That’s the way it is between us and, if you don’t like it, then just get out of the car and start walking. I won’t stop you. Now, I’ll ask you again; let’s see what you’ve got.”

Now I was really scared. I was so far out of my depth I didn’t know what to do. However, what I didn’t do was get out of the car.

“I’m sorry… err... I'm sorry, Sir… I don’t know what you mean,” I said eventually.

“I mean, my pretty little child, that you’ve been flirting with me all night and, if we’re to take this thing any further then we have to lay down some ground rules. I’m in charge. Your job is to do what I say without question and without answering back. Have you got that?”

“Yes… Sir,” I answered. My heart was still going nineteen to the dozen but, for the life of me, I couldn’t have answered otherwise.

“So, let’s see what you’ve got. Undo your pants and push them to your knees.”

“What! Here?”

“What did I say about answering back? Do it now or get out of the car. I can’t be doing with time wasters.”

I glanced about. There was no one about and the SUV was quite high so I wasn’t that exposed. Even so, this was a million miles outside of my comfort zone. I was right on the edge, right on the verge of bottling out.

“Come along, you know you want to,” he urged and, I knew he was right so, prompted by that, I undid my jeans and, with a bit of wiggling, pushed them down to my knees.

“And your boxers.”

I should have guessed they would have to go as well and, feeling a little stupid at not having pushed them down in the first place, I put my thumbs in the waist band, hoicked myself up off the seat, and tugged them down to join my jeans.

“Now, sit up straight and clasp you hands behind your head,” Chester ordered.

This was all a bit much. If anyone saw me then, surely, I would stand out like a sore thumb in that position. I looked at Chester, pleading with my eyes but he just stared back and, after a moment or two, my arms seemed to move of their own accord.

“There, that wasn’t too difficult, was it?” Chester said. He undid his seatbelt so that he could turn towards me, reached over pushed back the bottom of my tee shirt to find….

I was so embarrassed. Heaven knows where it had come from but I had a stonker of a stiffy. I've never known my prick get so hard. I’ve no idea why. I hadn’t touched it and neither had he but there it was, poking out for all to see. Chester reached over, took it in his hand and stroked it up and down a couple of times. Then he changed his grip so that he was clutching my balls in his hand. He gave them a gentle squeeze.

“You and I are going to take a little ride. You’re just to sit there, just like that, and, if you’re a good boi, then, maybe, I’ll see what I can do. Are you a good boi?”

“Yes, Sir,” I answered.

“Hmm... We will see.” He gave my balls another squeeze before letting go, reaching across and doing up my seat belt. The bit that went across my lap needed adjusting so that my prick was still free and then, with me settled in, he refastened his own seat belt and turned back to his driving.

We’d gone maybe a block or two before I started to feel a bit silly with my hands behind my head but, for all that he was watching the road, as soon as I started to change position he told me to stay still and stop fidgeting. More than that, he also told me off for slouching and insisted that I sit up straighter. For reasons I didn’t comprehend this just made my prick stiffer and I longed to touch it. He must have understood this as well because, when we stopped for some traffic lights, he reached across and gave me a smile as he stroked it up and down. If only the lights had stayed on red for a little longer!

Ten minutes later and we had pulled into the driveway of one of the posher houses in one of the better parts of town. I guess the sort of guy who can own a top of the range SUV can also afford that sort of house. He drew to a halt, put the handbrake on, took off his seatbelt and turned towards me.

“This is it, this is decision time. I’ve been easy on you so far but, if you come inside, then I will be far harsher. As soon as you go through my front door it means that you are agreeing to be my boi for the night. I will demand, and get, total obedience. You will do everything I say and, if you don’t, then you will be punished. If you can’t do that, if you don’t want to do that, then just pull up your jeans, get out of the car and walk away. I won’t stop you.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Well, what is it to be? Are you coming inside or going home?”

“Please, Sir, may I come inside, Sir.” Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was my stiff prick, maybe it was just the sound of his voice but I never, for one moment, considered going home.

“Very well. Keep you hands clasped behind your head until I tell you otherwise.” He got out of the car, walked around it and opened the passenger door. He reached in, undid my seatbelt and gestured me to get out. My jeans were still around my knees and, with my hands clasped behind my head, that was where they were going to stay. It was a bit awkward but I slithered out of the car until was standing on the driveway.

“Follow me,” he ordered and shuffling along with my jeans now fallen to around my ankles I followed him to the front door and inside the house.

“Strip!” he ordered as soon as the front door was closed. “Come on, quickly now. Faster, don’t keep me waiting.”

In a near panic I found my trainers under the bunched up jeans and pushed them off. That meant I was free to step out of my jeans and boxers. Then I took off my tee shirt and dropped it onto the pile of discarded clothes on the floor.

“Stand up straight, hands behind your head, feet apart, further, further. Come on, head up chest out! Look at you,  you're pathetic. What are you?”

“I'm pathetic, Sir.” There was a teacher at school who used to play this game so I knew the rules, or at least I thought I did.

“A pathetic what?” Sir prompted.

I thought fast and remembered what he had said I would become.

“A pathetic boi, Sir,” I replied.

“And whose pathetic boi are you?”

“Yours, Sir. I'm your pathetic boi.”

“And don't you forget it.”

All the while Sir had been walking around me, feeling my body. The one part he didn't touch, the one part I really wanted him to, was my prick which was still as stiff as it gets. However nervous I was, however much I was quaking with fear, my prick was as excited as it's ever been and loving every second.

He stood in front of me and with each hand, pinched my nipples. As he squeezed harder and harder my eyes started to water but I just knew I wasn't to say anything. As the pain got worse I bit my lip and closed my eyes, trying to cope with it all.

“Eyes front, boi, eyes front,” Sir ordered.

He pinched harder and twisted until I could take it no more and cried out.

“Pathetic, just pathetic,” Sir sneered. “You'll learn to take a lot more than that by the time I'm finished with you. OK, boi, on your knees, now.”

I sunk to my knees but even then it wasn't good enough for Sir. He ordered me to put my knees further apart, to kneel up straighter, to keep my head up and to stick my chest out.

“I suppose that will have to do. Follow.” He turned and went through a door on the right which let into the lounge. It was hard to keep up and hard to keep my balance as I shuffled after him but I did my best and was soon knelt in the middle of the room.

“Wait here,” Sir ordered and, with that he was gone. Through the open door I saw him pick up my clothes from the hall floor and then he was off upstairs. I didn't move a muscle. First of all he might reappear at any time and I knew I'd be in trouble and, secondly, it would have been cheating. He had made it quite clear that, by entering his house, I'd agreed to complete obedience and I didn't want to break that promise the moment his back was turned.

After what seemed like hours, and was probably about five minutes, I heard him coming back down stairs. I looked up at the door and there he was wearing a black robe a bit like a dressing gown. It had a Chinese style dragon motif down one side and he looked so hot wearing it. The robe came to mid calf and I could see that his legs and feet were bare. He was carrying a leather holdall which he put down next to his armchair before sitting down.

“Come her boi,” Sir ordered. I shuffled over until I was knelt in front of him. He reached out with his foot until he was pressing my still hard prick against my stomach.

“You're a pathetic little wimp, aren't you boi?” he asked as the sole of his foot massaged my prick “What are you?”

“I'm a pathetic little wimp, Sir,” I replied.

“And do you know what I do to pathetic little wimps like you?”

“No, Sir. I don't Sir.”

“I give their arse a damn good thrashing. See if I can knock some of the wimp out of them. Teach them a little respect, teach them to be a man. And what about you? Should I thrash your arse or are you so pathetic you're beyond help.”

“Please, Sir, I don't know Sir,” I replied and I really didn't know. The thought of being thrashed by Sir was both terrifying and incredibly exciting.

“I don't know, Sir,” he echoed mockingly. “I'll say you don't know. You don't know anything. You're useless, absolutely useless. What are you?”

“Useless, Sir,” I replied. All this was getting to me and I was on the edge of tears but, all the while, the sole of his foot was playing sweet music against my prick.

“Well, let's see if there's anything you do know. Do you know what to do with this?” Sir undid the belt of his robe and flipped it open to reveal that he was naked underneath. God, he was gorgeous. So strong, so well formed. His abs were perfect and his prick…. I still don't know whether all black men have huge pricks but right there, right then, Sir seemed to have a monster. He wasn’t fully erect but he wasn’t soft either. He looked at me expectantly. My mind was a whirl, a maelstrom of confused emotions. What was he expecting me to do? It was pretty obvious but, up until then, I had never even dreamed of taking another man's prick in my mouth and now it seemed I didn't have any choice. And when I did so I didn't know what to do; did I kiss it or lick it or swallow it whole? I just didn't know. I felt so unsure. Maybe I really was a pathetic little wimp.

But I wanted so much to please him. I wanted so much not to be a pathetic little wimp. I wanted so much to win his favour. I wanted to be his boi. I leant forward.

“Keep your hands clasped behind your head,” Sir warned me.

I leant further forward. His foot slipped from my groin but this wasn't about me, it was about Sir. Tentatively I stuck out my tongue and, for the first time in my life, I got to taste another man's prick.

Almost immediately it responded, starting to grow, to swell, to stiffen. Because I didn't know what to do I tried to think what I would like if it were the other way round. I played with my tongue over the tip of his glans but I knew that wasn’t enough so I opened wide and took as much of him as I could in my mouth.

It wasn't much. I couldn't get the angle right and he kept hitting the back of my throat threatening the gag reflex but, by the way he was getting ever stiffer, I knew I was on the right track. I bobbed my head up and down, letting my lips run up and down his ebony shaft. As I did so I was thrilled to the core. To be knelt in front of this gorgeous man, on my knees with my hands clasped behind my head, to feel his big thick black prick filling my mouth, fucking my face, all this and more awoke a need in me I had never known before. I wanted to take him deeper, have him completely fill me and I pushed my head forward so that he really was fucking my mouth. I felt him put his hands either side of my head, holding it so that he could ram it down onto him, force his way into me. In reality he must have been a lot more gentle than that sounds but that is what it felt like and the symbolism was clear. I was his boi to be used as he wished and I wanted more than anything else was to be the best boi I could be. The tempo got faster, more urgent and I realised he was going to come. It suddenly came to me what this would mean. What should I do? Was he really going to...?

But, even if I’d wanted otherwise, Sir gave me no choice. He gave a massive groan and it was obvious right from the start he had no thought of withdrawing. I felt the warm spurt hit the back of my throat as he started to shoot his spunk into my mouth. Again and again and again he thrust into me, pumping his load deep into my mouth. Again and again I had to swallow until he was replete and, with a sigh, he sat back and relaxed.

I didn’t want it to stop so I kept his prick in my mouth, sucking the last few drops of spunk from its tip, feeling it gradually grow flaccid. Then, as Sir relaxed, I gently kissed it with tiny butterfly kisses as I waited for him to have time for me.

“More enthusiasm than skill,” Sir commented once he had recovered. “I suppose you think that lets you off your thrashing.”

“No Sir, of course not, Sir,” I replied although my stomach was full of butterflies at the thought of a thrashing.

“You can kneel up straight for a start. You have a lot to learn about posture. You slouch about as if you’ve got no backbone. Here, try this.” He leant over to the coffee table and picked up a book that was lying there. He then balanced it on my head.

“If you can keep that book on your head I’ll limit your thrashing to thirty strokes. If you let it fall then it becomes fifty strokes. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He reached into the hold all and pulled out a short length of chain with a crocodile clip at each end. I was still wondering what it was for when he leant forward and attached the clips to my nipples. As the sharp little teeth bit into me I gave an involuntary jerk and, for a moment, I thought the book would fall.

“Oh, dear,” Sir said. “Nearly fell at the first hurdle. You can do better than that, can’t you boi?”

“Yes, Sir, I’ll try Sir,” I replied a little breathlessly. The clips were far from unbearable but they did throb somewhat.

Sir reached back into the bag and, this time, he fetched out a leash like the sort you would use on a dog. He clipped the end of the leash around the chain and then sat back in the armchair.

“Are you a pain slut, boi?” He gave the leash a little flick causing bolts of fire to shoot from my nipples. “Do you like a bit of pain? Do you like being hurt?”

“No, Sir, I don't, Sir,” I replied.

“Well, you like something about this, don’t you?” He reached out with his foot and nudged the end of my prick with his toes. “Something’s turning you on. What is it boi?”

“I don’t know, Sir.”

“Don’t know, Sir,” He mocked as, once again, he gave a tug on the leash and the book on my head wobbled precariously. “Don’t give me ‘don’t know, Sir’. What’s turning you on so much? What’s got your dinky little lilly white prick so stiff and hard?”

Whether Sir knew it or not this was a big question for me. I wasn’t gay, was I? And, even if I was gay, was I really the sort to get off on being some sort of sex slave to… And then I remembered having his prick in my mouth, how good it had felt. He was so big, so strong, so manly, so wonderful that I just wanted to bow down and worship him. Maybe I was that sort. But I wasn't a pain slut; the constant tugging on my nipples told me that. It wasn't the pain that turned me on, it was something else. Sir was still waiting for an answer. And then it struck me.

“Please, Sir, being your boi turns me on, Sir.”

“Does it indeed,” he said with a smile. Still he played with the leash and the tugs on my nipples were agony. “And do you think you’re good enough to be my boi?”

“No, Sir, but I’ll try my best, Sir.” And, right on cue, my struggles to keep still against the ongoing torment from my nipples failed and, with a thump, the book fell to the floor.

“Oh, dear.” With a weary shake of his head Sir reached down, picked up the book and put it back on the coffee table.

“Come closer, boi,” he said, not unkindly. I shuffled forward and he reached out, took hold of my chin and looked me straight in the eye. “Do your best, boi, that’s all I ask. Now, there’s a small item of fifty strokes to be dealt with, isn’t there?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” I said, although I had no real idea what I was thanking him for.

“Well, get over my knee then.”

It was a little awkward as Sir still wouldn’t let me move my hands from behind my head and, with the nipple clamps in place, I had to be careful not to knock them but it wasn’t long before I was in the classic ‘over-the-knee’ position. Sir reached between my thighs and rearranged me until I was how he wanted me, with my buttocks uppermost and my still rigid prick poking down the gap between his thighs.

“Have you ever been thrashed before?” Sir asked.

“No… no, Sir, I haven’t,” I admitted.

“Hmm… I’ll go gentle with you then.”

As he reached down to the bag beside the chair I glanced sideways so I was able to see him take out a leather paddle. Then, with one hand set in the small of my back he set to. If that was being gentle then I know I could never have taken hard. He gave five thwapps of the paddle to one buttock and then switched to the other for another five. This done he paused for a minute or so, stroking my battered flesh with his hand. He even reached between my legs as if to check that my prick was still hard. And then he started on the second set of ten. This time my buttocks were already raw and pain just piled on top of pain. I swore to myself that I would be strong, that I would be brave, but, for all my resolve, this was far beyond what I could take. Again the pause, again the stroking, again he reached between my thighs and then, again, we were off for the next ten.

At this point I broke. I couldn’t help it. “Please, Sir, please, I can't take it,” I cried out as I removed my hands from behind my head and flailed behind me, trying to ward him off.

“Put your hands back behind your head!” he roared. “Don’t you dare do that again or I’ll have to tie you up and then you’ll find out what a real thrashing feels like.”

“Please, Sir…”

“Silence!”

Slowly, still shaking like a leaf, I put my hands back behind my head. I wanted to beg, I wanted to plead, I wanted more than anything for this punishment to be over but, tellingly, I never once thought of leaving.

“Now, because of your appalling behaviour we’ll start that batch again. See if you can manage to control yourself this time.”

Once more he set to and we were maybe three or four strokes in before, once more, I lost control. Once more I couldn’t stand it and, although I managed to stay silent I couldn't help but thrash out again with my hands.

“Right, boi, you've had your chance. Now stop squirming and lie still.” He grabbed my wrist and held it tight.

I did as I was told.

“You're not doing very well, are you?”

“No, Sir,” I admitted.

“So I'm going to have to take steps to keep you still, aren't I?”

“Yes, Sir, I suppose so, Sir.”

“You suppose so. Well I damn well know so. Not stop squirming about or I'll really lay into you.”

With a sigh Sir put down the paddle and reached for the bag. The next thing I knew was he was fastening some sort of wide leather collar around my neck As he fastened the buckles I could feel something dangling down from the collar on either side of my neck. As soon as he had done up the buckles, he tugged my right arm back into place and I found that what had been dangling from the collar was a leather cuff which he fitted around my wrist. The chain which attached the cuff to the collar was quite short and, once my left wrist was similarly attached, I had one wrist either side of my head and was completely helpless. During all this I had slipped somewhat so Sir rearranged me until I was back in the position he wanted. But this time he didn't hold me with one hand on my back. Rather, with his left hand, he reached between my legs and grasped my balls, holding them not that hard, but firmly enough to show that he wasn’t letting go and to make sure I stayed in place. Then he started back on my punishment.

Now that I had my hands chained to my collar he was far firmer than he had been previously. It had hurt before but this time was far, far worse. I thrashed about, I kicked, I screamed, I called him all the names under the sun, I begged, I pleaded, I used all sorts of language but it didn’t make the slightest bit of difference. Slowly and steadily the blows rained down on my poor backside. And the more I thrashed about the tighter he held my balls so that, by thrashing about, it was as if he was playing with me. In amongst the pain there was this pleasure. As a counter to the unbearable fire from my buttocks there was the sweet music coming from my still excited prick.

And then it was over. He let go of me and I slid to the floor.

“Get up,” he snarled. “On your knees, you know how.”

I struggled to my knees and tried to kneel up straight. I was sobbing my guts out and my arse was a ball of fire but that meant nothing to Sir. He sat forward, unclipped the nipple clamps, which was a whole world of hurt in itself, and, after dropping the nipple clamps back in the hold all, reattached the leash to a 'D' ring on my collar. Then he stood up and, with a sharp tug on the leash, headed for the door. I got to my feet and stumbled after him.

We went upstairs and into his opulent bedroom. The main feature was an enormous bed with steel grey satin bedding. He ordered me up onto it, kneeling so as to face the ornate wrought iron headboard. Then he took the pillows and piled them in front of me. He tugged on the leash, pulling me forward so that I flopped over onto the pillows. Then he tied off the leash to the headboard so that I was effectively stuck, bent over with my arse in the air. From underneath the bottom corners of the mattress he pulled out some ankle cuffs. What sort of person has ankle cuffs ready for use tucked under the mattress? I already knew where this was heading and wasn't surprised when they were attached and my ankles were drawn back and apart.

So, there I was, my arse up in the air with my legs wide open. It didn't take much to guess what was coming next.

Now that he had me suitably fastened he opened his bedside drawer and took out a tube of lubricant. Almost immediately I felt a generous dollop of the cool gel being squeezed into my arse crack. Then, placing one hand on my buttock, he used the fingers of the other to push the gel inside me. As he pushed and probed his finger felt enormous and that just worried me further as I already knew the size of the log that lay between his legs. After a while he took his finger out only to replace it with two fingers which he used to push the gel in further and open me up ready for him. Satisfied that I was ready he took a tissue from the box beside the bed and wiped his hands.

“You're a little virgin, aren't you boi?”

“Yes, Sir,” I whimpered.

“No one has ever fucked you up the arse?”

“No, Sir, no one.”

“Well, you're not going to be a virgin much longer, are you?” He climbed onto the bed between my legs and the next thing I knew I could feel his prick pushing at my bum hole. I was too tight. He wouldn't fit. He pushed harder and still he didn't fit.

“Please, Sir, I'm too tight, Sir. You'll hurt me, Sir.”

“Shut up and take what's coming to you,” and, with that, he pushed that bit harder, broke through my bum hole, and I could feel the tip of him push inside me. He was enormous and I felt as if I were stretched to the limit. He eased himself back a bit and then pushed some more. This time it was a little easier, if not much. Then, starting with long, slow, strokes he worked back and forth, each time pushing just a little further in. I bit down on the duvet in an effort to stop myself crying out but then, as one last push found him buried to the hilt, I couldn't suppress a massive groan.

“Oh my god, Sir, you're too big, Sir, I can't take it, Sir, please, Sir, please” I whimpered but he took no notice, nor, to tell the truth, did I want him to. It may have hurt but I loved the way he was taking his time. I loved feeling him ease himself all but out of me before that long, slow, plunge back in until he was buried to the hilt. I wanted to be taken, used, I wanted to feel him all the way inside me. I wanted to give myself up to him. My pain was my gift to him, my way of saying I was his and his alone. Again and again he plundered my arse, stretching it wide open as he took his pleasure from my virgin bum hole. The tempo was building and he was thrusting harder. He grabbed my shoulders and pulled himself into me until it felt like he would split me asunder. The long slow strokes had been replaced by shorter harder thrusts, harder, harder, faster, faster until, with a mighty groan, he pulled on my shoulders, forced himself as deep as he could go and, as his hips jerked against my bottom, for the second time that night, I felt him shoot his seed deep into my body.

Maybe half a dozen times I felt his hips thrust into me until, with a massive groan of satisfaction, he collapsed across my back.

For a while he just lay there as he recovered. Then, as his prick started to lose its rigidity, he eased out of me and got off the bed. He undid the ankle cuffs and rolled me off the pile of pillows onto a suitably placed towel so I wouldn't spoil the bedding Then he returned the pillows to the head of the bed before laying down beside me.

“Well, boi, not a virgin any more, are you?”

“No, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” I replied. Heaven knows where the 'thank you' had come from but it seemed to fit. My arse was on fire, inside and out, but I felt as if I won through, I had survived.

“And what about this little man?” He reached down and took my prick in his fist. “Now that Sir has had his pleasure is it boi's turn?”

“Please, Sir, yes please.”

He began to stroke me up and down and it was the best thing ever. No one had ever touched my prick before and to feel his big strong hand wrapped around me was sheer heaven. I looked across at his strong black body and knew I just wanted to be held by him forever.

“You're mine, boi, aren't you? That skinny white arse of yours is all mine, all mine to do with as I wish, isn't it?” he asked.

“Oh yes Sir. Oh, please Sir,” I gasped.

“And you like to feel my big black prick inside you, don't you.”

“Oh, yes! It feels so good inside me. I want to be fucked by you forever. Please, Sir, please fuck your boi with your big black prick.” I was getting close and Sir could tell. He eased back a bit with his stroking.

“Wait for it, boi, wait for it. You don't come until I let you. Is that understood.”

“Yes, Sir, but please, Sir, your boi needs to come so badly. Please let me come, please, please.”

He just looked at me and smiled but it wasn't a wicked smile. It was the smile of a Master playing with his boi. And all the while his fist was playing sweet music with my prick.

“Please, Sir, I can't last much longer. Please, Sir, please...”

“OK, boi, come for me. Come for daddy, now!”

And with that my groin erupted. Never before had it felt so good. Never before had I come so strongly.  My spunk shot out, great gobs splashing all over my stomach and chest. Some of it even splashed on Sir. His hand pumped away until I was drained, until the last drop had been wrung from me and, together, we collapsed exhausted onto the bed.

And then he kissed me.

I was lost, totally lost. This wonderful man had unlocked my very soul. I never thought that a kiss could be so good, so fine, so wonderful. I just wanted that kiss to last forever.

In the end it was my arms around my neck that got in the way so Sir broke from the kiss, and undid the collar and cuffs, dumping them on the floor before sweeping me back into his arms and, for a while, we just cuddled. There, laid beside him, I had never felt so safe, so at home. I loved the look of my pale white skin against the dark chocolate of his body. I loved the feel of his muscles, his strong chest, his arms, his thighs. I wish I could have stayed here forever but in the end practicalities got the better of us. I was still a sticky mess and needed to get cleaned up. Indeed, quite a bit of my spunk had ended up smeared across Sir's chest as well. I offered to lick it off but, in reality, it needed far more than that and Sir told me it was time to get washed. He took me into his en-suite and I was such a mess he decided we needed a quick shower. Even then I wasn't allowed to touch myself. In the shower he did all the washing and, when we got out, he rubbed me down with a towel. Then he took me back to bed.

As I lay in his arms, drifting off to sleep, I could still feel my battered arse and the stretched feeling where he'd been deep inside me but I didn't mind. In fact I loved it. My only worry was that I was just a notch in his bed post, another virgin boi that he had seduced into submission.

When I woke in the morning I was alone in the bed so I got up to see where he was. I looked about for my clothes but I couldn't find them so I took a towel from the en-suite, wrapped it around my waist, and set off to find Chester. I tracked him down in his home gym where he was pumping iron. No wonder his body was so fit and strong. When he saw me at the door he put down the bar-bells and turned towards me. He was wearing tracksuit bottoms but nothing above the waist. I just loved the way the sweat was trickling down his body and wanted to lick it all off for him. However, what I wanted wasn't important. I was sure that Sir would have had enough of me.

“Please, Sir, I can't find my clothes. I guess it's about time I was making tracks.”

“Making tracks, boi? You want to make tracks, boi? Have you had enough of me already?”

“No, Sir!” I was horrified at the thought. “Of course not, Sir.”

“So why are you running out on me?”

“Because... because...” How could I explain?

“You're my boi and you ain't going nowhere. And, as for your clothes, you don't need clothes. You get dressed when I tell you to get dressed and, right now, I haven't told you to get dressed. Talking of which, what's that towel doing around your waist. Did I tell my boi he could wear a towel around his waist?”

“No, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir!” I dropped the towel to the floor and stood there naked in front of him. In two strides he came across the room and put his strong arms around my waist. I let my head rest on his shoulder.

“I told you last night, you're my boi now. What are you?”

“I'm your boi, Sir.”

“And don't you forget it.”

Well, that was five years ago and, now, five years later, I'm still Sir's boi. He looks after me and I look after him. Of course, some of the lads were more than a little uncool when I told them but, fuck 'em, I have to be what I am and what I am is Sir's boi. Anyway, I've lots of new friends now, down at Heaven On Earth and they accept me for what I am. Mum also freaked out a bit when she found out that Sir is black. I think that worried her even more than finding out that I'm gay but when she met him he turned on the charm and now she thinks he's the best thing ever. And then, when my mum met Sir's mum at a family do, well they just clicked and we're all one big happy family nowadays.

But, when it comes down to it, if people freak about us being gay, or him being black and me white, then I've had to learn that it's not what other people think, it's what I think that counts. I love Sir, I love being his boi and, more importantly, he loves me. I'm not quite the wimp I used to be but Sir still finds plenty of reasons to keep me in line, and, if from time to time we play a little rough, well, that's the way we like it.