I'm Not Your Slave

"I'm coming. I'm coming," I yelled, and I forced his head down, until his face went red from lack of air, and his nose was buried in my hairs, and he was coughing and choking. Coughing and choking, and yes, gobbling. Gobbling down the hot milk that was pouring into his throat. What a great cum. Damn. Fuck. I needed that. I had totally forgotten that my willy had his needs. But now I had Andy, here, to take care of my willy. From now on, that was gonna be one of his duties.

My cock softened in his mouth and slipped from his red, puffy lips. He looked up at me, and I thought I saw a smile. But that couldn't be. It must have been just the stream of cum dripping down from the side of his mouth.

"Okay. Now we're gonna go up to bed, and tomorrow you're gonna clean the fucking house and do the fucking laundry, and start cooking some fucking decent meals. You hear me?"

"Yes, sir," he said.

He had called me 'sir.' I liked that.

And for a few days everything went back to the way it was, and Andy was behaving, and the house was clean, and the underwear and socks got washed, and we had beef bourguignon, which I had never tasted, but it was terrific.

But I didn't get a blowjob, because Andy was behaving so well, I had no need to punish him. But then the inevitable happened. He started to slack off again, and I had to give him another asswhipping and make him suck my dick again. But the punishments weren't working on a long-term basis. Every few days, he would back slide.

Clearly, I was going to have to escalate the punishment. But I didn't know what else I could do. I was totally at a loss. But leave it to good old stupid Andy. He went and proposed his own downfall.

One night, we had frozen chile for dinner, and after dinner I looked around the house, and it was a disgusting mess. I went up to my dresser, and sure enough, low on socks and underwear.

"Andy. Get up here," I screamed from the bedroom.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?" I screamed at him in a fury. "You're not doing your fucking job. I let you stay here. I let you wear my wife's clothes. I let you sleep in my bed, and this is how you repay me?"

With that I gave him a couple of vicious slaps across the face. Then I tore off Greta's clothes, and threw him down on the bed, and began wacking away on his bubblebutt.

"What the hell am I gonna do with you? What is gonna get through that thick skull of yours, that I mean business? That I want obedience?"

I was slapping away, and his cheeks were getting redder and redder, and he was squirming all over the mattress, trying to get away from my painful palms, and he was moaning and crying.

"Oh, stop. Stop. Stop. It hurts. It hurts. Just don't fuck me. Please don't fuck me. Please. Please."

"Please, who?" I asked.

"Please, master. Please, master. Please don't fuck my ass. I'm begging you, master. Don't fuck me in the ass."

'Master.' That was even better than 'sir.' I liked that. And more than that, he had planted a seed in my brain. He was begging me not to fuck him. That thought would never even have entered my mind, if he had not mentioned it. Yet what could be a more effective punishment, than for me to fuck his ass, when he was begging me not to? It was all so simple. And it never would have even entered my mind, if he hadn't brought the subject up. Stupid fuck.

"You know what, you lazy fuck. I'm gonna fuck you. Yeah. I'm gonna fuck your ass." The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. What a great punishment.

I ripped off my clothes, and climbed over his upraised ass on the bed. My willy was hard as a rock. I had been getting to really love spanking Andy, and then getting a blowjob. But now I was not just getting a blowjob. I was going to fuck his little ass. Yeah. That's what I was gonna do. Fuck his little ass. Plow in as hard as I could. Teach the little bitch to play games with me. Wasn't I his master?

I could hardly wait to stick it into him, so I aimed down and plunged. He screamed. I could feel a dry scraping against the head of my dick. I guess I really should have used some sort of greasy stuff, but I was in a mindless frenzy. I wanted to stick my willy into his asshole and pound away as hard as I could, to teach him not to mess with me. But as I was slamming away, it was getting moister and looser and easier.

He was sobbing, and crying, and there were tears dripping down his face, so it really must have been hurting, but if it was hurting him, why the fuck did he have that stupid grin on his face? Dumb fuck.

It was starting to feel real good on my willy. His warm asswalls were totally gripping my plunging tool. Yeah. Yeah. This was really nice. This was better even than a blowjob. This was even better than fucking my loosecunt wife. Yeah. This was fucking nice. I liked this. It was so good, that I was even hoping Andy would slip up every now and then to give me an excuse to have him feel my rigid rage.

"I'm getting ready to come. I'm getting ready to shoot my load," I screamed, as my head flew back. I couldn't hold it in much longer. What an unscratchable tickle was edging up my tube. Holy Hannah. "I'm gonna shoot my hot cum into your hot little asshole, cunt," I yelled into his ear. Yeah. 'Cunt' was the right word. Demeaning.

"No. No, please," he begged me. "No, master, please. Please don't shoot your hot sticky sperm up my asstunnel. Please don't blast your wad inside me. Please. Please," he begged, all the while moving his ass as if it were the eye of a tornado, all around my helpless lightning rod. It was almost as if his ass were trying to suck the cum out of my balls. I know that sounds crazy. But that's what it felt like. "Please, please," he moaned. "Not inside me. Pull it out. Pull it out."

"Too late, bitch," I screamed into his ear. "Here it comes. Take it. Take it." And it blasted out like a hurricane inside his tornado ass. And the ten tidal waves of my cum flooded into him. We both just lay there in stunned silence. Not moving. I didn't even have the strength to pull my cock out of his ass.

"Thank you, master," he whispered.

The stupid fuck was thanking me for plowing his ass. "You're welcome," I said, and I kissed his head, and we both drifted off to sleep.

I wish I could tell you that this punishment had solved all the problems in my house, but it hadn't at all. I was forced to repeat it regularly. Why was he always being so recalcitrant? I couldn't figure it out. He couldn't have liked getting beaten and fucked all the time. Could he? Of course not. Who wants to get beaten and fucked all the time? But why was he always getting this strange look of contentment on his face after I disciplined him? Contentment and maybe even triumph. Like the cat who swallowed the canary. Was he some kind of sicko? No. It couldn't be contentment and triumph. It just couldn't. Maybe he was just trying to put up a brave front. Yes. That must be it. It was a brave front.

We did go downtown and buy Andy some clothes. But it's funny. Even with all his new clothes, I come home and he's still dressed in Greta's wardrobe. He says it feels nice and silky against his skin. And sometimes, if it gets cold at night, and he doesn't want to sleep in the raw, he puts on one of Greta's silky lacy nightgowns. And you know, he doesn't look bad in it. He looks kind of nice. Kind of sexy. I almost want to kiss and cuddle him in bed, but then I would want to fuck him and I can't, because that's a punishment. And I certainly can't punish him if he's been good.

But he's not always good, and sometimes I do have to lift the nightgown and let him have the full force of my anger on and inside his behind. And now sometimes he calls me 'daddy,' which I like a lot. But mostly he calls me 'master,' and tells me that he's my obedient loving slave.

I remember when my wife went out the front door, she had said "I'm not your slave." But now I have Andy, who cleans my house, and does my laundry, and cooks my meals, and sucks my dick, and whose ass I fuck. And it seems like Andy is my slave. And you know what? I like it. I love having a slave.