“I bought you, slave—YOU BELONG TO ME!” my Master screamed. I felt the whip lash my skin open and as warm blood spilled out, the most incredible orgasm I’d ever had flooded through my body and I shot a gigantic load clear across the room.

And as I sank into unconsciousness, I was dimly aware that the blows hadn’t stopped—that He was still whipping me—but that the exquisite pain had been replaced by exquisite pleasure.

“I belong to you, Sir,” I whispered, and never doubted it again.

Under the Table

Dale Chase

Sitting in my truck on Outpost Drive in the Hollywood Hills, six-pack at my side, I finish my second beer and think about a third. Across the street is the house where I’m due for my first $300 gig. Like so many up here it’s a classic Spanish style, white stucco with red tiled roof, but this one’s got a blue Ferrari in the driveway. Probably costs more than I make in a year. My hand finds the tear in my vinyl seat and I run my fingers over the familiar ragged edge and laugh. It’s like being on a different planet. I open another beer.

Outpost Drive looks like it hasn’t been paved in years. Its cracks and patches give things an odd run-down look, which is crazy since it’s all money as soon as you start the climb off Hollywood Blvd. I was at a house up here once that was so big you could get lost trying to find the bathroom. Guy did so much coke he couldn’t perform, so we compromised with him sucking my dick and I got my money and he went back to his nose candy.

It suddenly occurs to me that it might be a problem coming home with so much cash this time. So far Linda hasn’t questioned anything, happy with the “OT.” She thinks I’m getting paid under the table for extra construction work but I don’t want to think about my wife just now so I look back over at the house, know I should get to it.

Three fucks, three different dicks up my butt. As I think about what it will be like my cock stirs so I push it all away, take a long swig of beer. I try to concentrate on something else but it doesn’t work because selling my ass hasn’t turned out to be as easy as I thought, not when I start anticipating things. I can almost smell the sex and hear that squishy fuck slap. I clench my muscle, shift my weight because deep down I know getting drilled up the ass ain’t all that bad.

I don’t know how many it is now but I do know it’s eight months and several thousand dollars and my butthole is ready for anything. I let the last guy shove a cucumber up me for an extra fifty. He did me in his kitchen, had a thing for veggies, put a carrot up himself while we fucked, then asked me to take the cuke. He came a second time, squirting jizz on my ass.

“The butthole can accommodate,” Mr. G had said way back when. He sure as hell wasn’t wrong. Mr. G—Frank Giordano—is my boss and the guy who got me into this whole scene. Friend of the family who hired me out of high school, he made me his apprentice and taught me everything I know about carpentry and a whole lot about life. He’s a cool guy, big, well built, strongest man I know with thick gray hair and rugged looks. He’s also got a personality where he gets along with everyone. Big Frank G. He’s always had a pat on the back for me, always tells me what a nice-looking kid I am.

I’d worked for him almost two years, had just turned twenty, when it all started. We’d finished the day’s work and he asked me to stay behind. I went into the trailer, he offered me a beer, and we talked about the job. He told me again how I was doing well, learning fast, and he told me about the next job he had lined up. By this time I’d finished my beer and then it happened. He went quiet and as I sat waiting, I saw his look had changed. “You’re a fine-looking fellow,” he began. “Bet you’ve got women coming after you all the time, making your wife jealous.”

“Not really.”

“Men then? You get looks from the gays?”

“Not that I notice.”

He nodded as if he’d seen them hovering. “Good-looking as you are, bound to stir up one or the other.”

I didn’t reply because I wasn’t sure where he was headed and then he said it. “Ah, what the hell, nothing ventured. You want a quick fifty bucks, let me fuck you.”

There it was, one of those life-changing moments when you’ve got about ten seconds to decide and you realize your answer will have years of fallout. He waited patiently and when I said nothing he unzipped his pants. He was at his desk, kicked back in his big chair, and he got out his cock like I’d already agreed. It was good sized and halfway along.

“You ever take a prick?” he asked.

I shook my head, aware I could flee, not sure why I hadn’t.

“The butthole can accommodate anything, but you’ve probably gotten up your wife that way, no? Fuck her up the ass? Fifty dollars if you let me do you here and now. I’ll take it slow, being it’s your cherry.”

I liked Mr. G, he’d been good to me, but this was something else. I thought of the $50, how Linda and I were always short of cash. It all ran through my mind as I watched him stroke his dick.

“Fifty bucks, you just drop ’em, bend over, and let me do you. It’ll be our little secret and some easy cash.”

He got up and came around the desk and I meant to stop him but there was so much to consider and then he was undoing my jeans and pushing them down. When he turned me around and bent me over the desk I started to speak but he pushed something wet up my butt and it took my breath away. “Grease the path,” he said.

This was the time to stop, to push his hand away, get the hell out, but I didn’t do any of that. I’d fallen into some in-between place, a cushiony spot where nothing has to be decided. I squirmed on the finger because it felt good and then he said, “Okay, I’m gonna add a second finger so just relax, let it in.”

I cringed when he went back in because it was too much, but he kept saying to breathe deeply, relax, think of the fifty, and he kept prodding me until I was really wet and saw it would work. “Now,” he said and his fingers left me.

I heard the condom wrapper and he said, “Just a sec,” and then I felt his knob pushing at me, which made me suck in a breath. Before I could say anything or even think anything he popped in. “Hey!” I yelled without thinking.

“Easy, easy.” He talked to me like you would to a skittish horse, while in the back of my mind it registered that I had a dick up my butt.

Concerns about what I was doing were quickly lost to the feel of what was happening inside me, his cock snaking up my ass and starting to thrust. I looked down at my hands gripping the desk, tried not to think about what we looked like. Easy, easy.

He was right about the butthole because mine sure as hell relaxed. Pretty soon he couldn’t hold back and started in hard, which caused me some pain, but this didn’t last. “Oh hell, I’m there,” was all he said before he slammed into me, letting go his load. At that second my mind kicked in big time and the thought of a dick spewing cum up my ass caused a wave to roll through me, disgust or something, not sure.

When he’d finished he pulled out and I turned to see him strip off the rubber. Panic set in then and I started scrambling to get my jeans up. “Hey, Chris, it’s okay, you know it’s okay. Don’t mean a thing a guy fucks another guy. We’re both married men, right? Just a way to get off.”

He paid me after he’d put away his dick. I didn’t say much, couldn’t, and I called Linda, told her I was going for beers with the guys, then went out alone and got drunk. I tried to fuck her when I got home but couldn’t.

Nothing was said when I got to work the next day. Mr. G was in a good mood, joking with the crew, and that made it easier. And I figured the sex was a one-time thing until the following week when he asked me offhandedly if I’d like to make some more extra money. When I didn’t reply he said, “Hang around after quitting time,” like I was a given. Was I?