tagGay MaleOn Loving Men Ch. 01

On Loving Men Ch. 01


"Do you want the job or not—stop wasting my time—I have ten other boys I can interview—do you want the job?"

I stood there speechless; stunned. I couldn't believe my ears. His words reverberated through my mind. It was the most bizarre description of job duties I'd ever heard.

The older man had just said: "The job is dishwasher. You'll wash all dishes and pots and pans and then mop the kitchen floor. In addition to your pay, you'll receive two free meals every day. Now, when I inspect your work, if I am dissatisfied in any way, I will take corrective measures. You will be required to submit to a spanking. I will bring you here, to my office; you will undress then lie across my lap. I will spank you with either my hand, or a leather belt. I will spank you hard and long--you will not make the same mistake twice. If during the course of the spanking you cause me to have an erection, you will use your hands to bring me relief. Do you want the job or not?"

I searched his eyes for some sign that he was joking with me—I saw nothing but his cold, brown eyes burning a hole through me.

In the past five days I had been to over twenty businesses in the area. No one was hiring. I knew the economy was bad, but I didn't think it was this bad. The money my mother had given me was running out. I had to have an income, and this was the only job that was offered me.

"If you think about reporting me to anyone remember this: I have been a well-respected business owner here for thirty years. Who would the authorities believe? Me, or a wet-behind-the-ears punk kid? This might be your only opportunity for work in this job market. What will it be? Do you want the job or not?"

He was right. I was eighteen with no talent or skills. If I turned this down, I could very easily end up sleeping in my car. The pay was minimum wage, but two meals a day was extremely important. Besides, I'm a good worker, if I do my job, he wouldn't have a reason to spank me.

"Okay—yeah, I want the job."

"And you accept the conditions I told you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. You'll begin today at three—come in at 2:30 and you can eat before you start work."

He didn't offer to shake hands so I left and walked home.

I thought about my mother and how hard she struggled to keep me and my younger sisters clothed and fed. My father had worked for the electric company and was killed while working on a power pole. My mother received a small lump sum payment and she had a good job so our family didn't suffer. But when she got laid-off from work our lives changed dramatically.

She was forced to do menial, part-time work to keep us going, and most of the time that wasn't enough. Then I began to notice that strange men would come to the house and they would disappear into her bedroom for awhile. I suspected what they were doing, but my sisters were too young to understand.

Through it all my mother remained positive and always had a smile on her face although I saw her once crying in her room. I asked her what was wrong and her face immediately brightened and she smiled and said, "Nothing, sweetie—I just miss your dad."

When I graduated from high school she came to me and said it was time I found a job and move out of the house; she couldn't afford me living there anymore. It was the second time I saw her break down and cry.

"Sweetie," she said as I was preparing to leave the house for good, "it's a tough world out there and you're going to have to do things you may not want to, but you have to survive. Do you understand me? Do whatever you have to do to survive!"

I assured her I would I do my very best.

The restaurant wasn't very busy when I showed up for work. I went to the counter and a waitress in her forties asked if she could help me.

"Ah, hi, my name is John—I'm the new dishwasher—I'm supposed to start work today."

Her eyes looked me up and down then a wry smile spread across her thin lips.

"Oh my," she said. "You are a pretty one, aren't you? I gotta admit The Old Man still has good taste in his boys."

I followed her to the kitchen wondering about her comment. She introduced me to a cook and his first reaction was to smile, too. He prepared a plate of food for me and directed me to a small break room and told me to eat in there.

I was hungry and the food was delicious. I hadn't eaten anything but ramen noodles for a week.

When I was finished eating the cook introduced me to the daytime dishwasher, Bob. He found me an apron and showed me what my duties were. I was grateful he stayed an extra hour to teach me.

I caught on quickly, it wasn't exactly rocket science. I finished up the last of the lunchtime dishes and pots and pans and then the dinner rush began. The dishes and glasses and silverware began stacking up, but I did my best to keep up and made sure everything was sparkling clean.

At 7 o'clock the cook handed me a plate with my dinner. The food was excellent again. I began to feel good about taking this job.

Everything began piling up again. Sometimes it felt like I was fighting a losing battle but I managed to keep up. Then the cooks brought me the pots and pans; they were grimy with burnt food stuck to the insides. I had to use all my strength to get them clean. I was falling behind.

"John," the head cook said, "The Old Man doesn't pay overtime so if you're here past eleven you're working on your own time."

I thanked him for the info and told him I'd get faster as I learned the job. It was half-past eleven when I finally finished mopping the floors. I double-checked my work and didn't find any mistakes. I felt good about my first day on the job.

The Old Man inspected my work. He made approving comments then he examined one of the large pots.

I heard him click his tongue and he said, "Uh-oh".

He motioned me over and I looked into the pot: sure enough, there was burnt food still stuck to the bottom. My heart sank and the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight as he watched me clean the pot.

When I was done he said, "Follow me."

As I walked behind him I felt like a kid going to the principal's office after getting caught misbehaving in school. I began to tremble.

He sat on his leather couch as I stood before him.

"You did a pretty good job for your first day, but you missed that pot—you made a mistake—what did we agree to this morning if you made a mistake?"

"Ah, I...that I would get a spanking if I made a mistake, sir."

"Do you agree that you deserve a spanking?"

"Y-yes, sir—I deserve to be spanked," I said. I thought total honesty might impress him and he wouldn't spank me too hard.

"What must you do now?" he asked.

I was confused, but finally said, "I have to take off my clothes."

"Very good," he said. "What are you waiting for?"

My face flushed and remained beet-red as I stripped in front of him. When I was naked he had me stand directly in front of him close to his knees. He instructed me to clasp my hands behind my neck and spread my legs apart. I was acutely aware of him ogling my body and specifically my dangling penis and scrotum.

He cupped my balls in his hand; I thought I would die from shame. He squeezed my balls until I winced in pain. He chuckled.

"Boy," he said. "One thing I didn't tell you was you have a choice. You will either accept a spanking, or you can choose to bend over for me and take my penis in your bottom. If you choose to bend over, I won't spank you and on paydays, I will give you an extra twenty dollars in cash. Now tell me, do you want me to spank you, or do you want to bend over and take my penis in your bottom?"

What kind of a choice is that? I asked myself. This is unreal. How does this dirty old man get away with this?

"Answer me, boy. What do you want?"

"I want you to spank me, sir."

He smiled and had me lie across his lap. I was scared—I had never received a spanking in my life.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw his hand raised above his head then I heard a whoosh of air when he brought it down hard on my bottom.


That wasn't so bad, I thought. He was old and would probably tire easily.


Tears formed in my eyes but I was determined not to cry. The spanking went on for a long time. I could feel my bottom-cheeks burning.

Suddenly I felt something press against my belly. I knew what it was—he had an erection. I shuddered at the thought of what was coming next.

The spanking stopped. He stroked my bottom-cheeks. I squirmed under his touch; my cheeks were on fire and his hand made it worse.

Suddenly I felt an oily substance on my bottom and he massaged it onto my burning flesh.

"This will help ease the pain and heal your skin," he explained.

He poured more oil on my cheeks. Then I felt an oily finger slip between my crack and begin to rub my anus. He applied more oil and massaged my anus and perineum. I couldn't help myself—my penis became stiff.

I heard him softly laugh. His fingertip pushed at my opening and it entered my asshole. I wriggled my hips trying to escape the intruding finger but he held me still. He applied more oil and slowly pushed his entire finger inside me until I felt the palm of his hand on my cheeks.

"Relax," he said. "Loosen yourself and it won't hurt."

He was still for a moment then withdrew his finger to the tip then pushed it inside me again. He began to finger-fuck me. It was the most incredible sensation I'd ever felt. My hard penis had a mind of its own and began to throb.

He suddenly removed his finger and made me stand before him again. I was red with shame and humiliation as I stood in front of him with a raging boner. He took it in his hand and stroked it a few times. I don't know why I didn't protest.

He removed his hand and opened his slacks and pulled them down to his knees along with his boxers. His erection sprang into view. It was the first hard penis I'd seen outside of my own.

He saw me staring at it and asked, "Do you like it?"

Once again my face flushed a deep scarlet color.

"What hand do you use to masturbate with?" he asked.

I was speechless. Here was this strange, old man asking me a deeply private question.

"I, ah..." I stammered.


"Ah, my left hand," I said.

He had me sit on the edge of the couch to his right. He told me to hold out my hands and he poured oil on them and I rubbed the oil into my hands. He took my left hand and placed it around his erection. His penis was six inches long but slender, my small hand fit easily around it.

"Hold my balls in your other hand," he instructed.

His ball sac was heavy. He told me to rub his balls and stroke his penis. My hand moved quickly trying to get it over with, but he told me to slow down.

"I'll tell you when to go faster," he said then added, "and look at it while you jerk me off."

I was both horrified and fascinated at what I was doing. His penis was hot and smooth in my hand. I felt his veins and small bumps as I squeezed it tighter. I settled into a steady rhythm, and stared at his cock. My own erection began to throb again; much to my dismay, I was getting excited at the feel of a man's penis in my hand.

He sat back as I stroked his cock and massaged his balls. I began hoping he'd touch me. I wanted him to masturbate me while I did him. All the while I stared at his cock.

"GO FASTER," he commanded.

My hand became a blur on his cock. I found myself excited at the prospect of watching a grown mans penis shoot cum.

I felt his balls contract in my hand and I squeezed his cock tighter and stroked it faster. Suddenly he cried out and I was mesmerized by the sight of semen gushing from his slit. I kept stroking him and his cock continued to explode cum.

By the time he pushed my hand away I was sweating and breathing hard. I felt an odd sense of satisfaction at making him cum.

"That was pretty good, boy—you must have done this before."

I blushed. "No, no I never did this before."

He laughed at my discomfort then said, "Go get a warm wash cloth and clean up this mess."

I walked naked to the bathroom extremely conscious of my erection bobbing in front of me.

As I cleaned up his semen he put his arm around me.

"You're a beautiful boy--I think we'll get along just fine."

I was blushing the whole time I dressed. I was ashamed and confused that I had begun to enjoy the feeling of his hard cock in my hand.

Before I left he said, "When you masturbate tonight—and you will—think of my penis—imagine the feel of my cock in your hand."

I was in a daze the entire walk home. I wondered what kind of guy I was that I had liked beating-off an old man; that I had enjoyed stroking his hard cock.

Am I queer? I'd never ever thought about cocks before, but now all I could think about was the sight and feel of his six-inch hard cock.

When I went to bed I was determined not to masturbate. I tossed and turned and couldn't fall asleep. Finally I said, "To hell with it" and stroked myself to the most explosive orgasm of my life while picturing his hard, six-inch cock.

I dunno, I thought, maybe I am queer.

In the morning I looked at my butt in the mirror—it was glowing red. I was determined to be very careful at work. I would not give him any reason to spank me again.

When I went to work and the cook handed me my food he said, "Go sit in the break room—if you can sit, that is." And he laughed.

I blushed. It became clear to me that my co-workers were fully aware of the relationship between The Old Man and the night dishwasher. I tried not to think about it. Lunch and dinner were very good. It felt great to have a full stomach two days in a row.

My heart pounded as he inspected my work. I was positive he wouldn't find anything wrong. When I saw the dour look on his face and he motioned to me my face went white and the hair on my neck stood out.

"You missed this area with the mop. Clean it up then come to my office."

I was overwhelmed with foreboding. He was right: I had skipped a small area—it was a stupid mistake and I cursed myself for it.

He was sitting on the couch wearing only his boxers. A sense of utter helplessness flooded over me.

"You know what to do," he said.

I stripped naked before him and stood with my hands clasped behind my neck. He fondled my private parts again. He rolled my balls in his fingers. I was glad my penis didn't respond.

"Since the spanking last night obviously didn't correct your mistakes, from now on I'll have to use the belt on you," he stated flatly. "Go take the belt off the wall and bring it to me."

I saw where he was pointing. When I lifted the belt off the hook on the wall the weight of it surprised. It didn't look like any belt that someone could wear; it was at least four-inches wide—it scared the hell out of me.

This was really going to hurt, I thought.

"Do you want me to spank you?" he asked, "or do you want to bend over and take my hard cock in your ass?"

"I want you to spank me, sir," I said softly.

"If that's your choice—get over here."

To say that the spanking was painful would be a huge understatement. After just four whacks of the belt I began to quietly sob. By the time he was finished I was crying loudly with a river of tears flowing down my face. It was, by far, the most painful experience of my life.

I continued crying as he applied oil to my bottom and gently stroked my cheeks. When he oiled my anus and pushed his finger inside me I gasped for air. He finger-fucked my asshole until my penis betrayed me and became erect.

My bottom recoiled in pain when I tried to sit beside him. I had to kneel on the floor to masturbate him. I watched myself caress his penis and balls. Once again I found myself fascinated with his cock. The heat from his penis seemed to shoot through my hand directly to my crotch.

I was kneeling so close to him that when his balls erupted and his cock spewed shot-after-shot of cum some of it landed on my chest and belly. Once again I stroked him until he pushed my hand away. I was breathing hard and perspiring; my cock throbbed and begged for release. I felt totally degraded by my reaction.

He stroked my face and hair then said: "You know, boy, if you make another mistake tomorrow—I don't think your bottom could take another belt-whipping. You may want to consider the alternative."

And with that he told me to clean-up and get dressed. It was difficult to even walk home. Every stride brought a painful reminder of my blistered bottom-cheeks. There was nothing I could do or say to anyone to change my circumstances. I had never felt so alone in my life.

I had to masturbate lying on my side. I closed my eyes and pictured his cock as I pumped my shaft. I had another exquisite orgasm.

I had to sleep on my stomach. The next day I couldn't sit down. My cheeks were one big mass of purplish-black bruises. I was terrified of going to work and making another mistake. I began to consider the other option. How bad could it be? I wondered.

My co-workers laughed when they saw me eat my food standing. Once again I thought I did my job perfectly. Everything was clean and spotless. When he found a speck of dirt in the garbage can and told me to clean it then come to his office tears welled in my eyes.

It finally occurred to me that he would find a mistake every night. I finally understood what this was all about, and what he wanted from me. I had a decision to make: I could meekly go to his office and surrender to him, or I could leave without getting paid, and be out on the streets looking for another job.

He was sitting on the couch in his boxers. I stripped naked and stood before him. He fondled my penis and balls.

"Do you want me to belt-whip you, or do you want to bend over and take my hard cock in your bottom?" he asked.

I took a deep breath and replied: "I want to bend over and take your hard cock in my bottom, sir."

His face remained impassive. "Tell me you want me to fuck you in the ass."

"I want you to fuck me in the ass," I said softly while looking at the floor.

"Look me in the eyes and say it again! I want to be sure it's what you want."

I was petrified. I stared into his cold, brown eyes and repeated: "I want you to fuck me in the ass, sir," I gulped, "please fuck me in the ass."

A small victory smile crept across his lips.

"Good boy," he said, "I have a feeling you might like this as much as I will."

I blushed then followed his instructions. I bent over and placed my hands on the couch then spread my legs wide apart. I immediately felt his hands on my sore flesh.

He poured oil on my bottom and worked it over the bruised and battered skin. I felt his finger at my anus. He applied oil until his finger was inside me to the hilt. He finger-fucked me a long time until he was satisfied my passage was well-oiled and ready for his penis.

"Reach back and show me how much you want it, boy," he said. "Take hold of my cock and put it inside you."

I reached between my legs and found his hardness. I guided it to my hole and felt the mushroom-sized cockhead press against my anus. I pushed my hips backwards until his cockhead was inside me. I waited to get accustomed to his size; I relaxed my sphincter then thrust my hips back against him impaling myself on his cock.

I could feel every inch of his cock inside me. I fought to keep my asshole relaxed. I felt full—felt like I needed a bowel movement. My penis stiffened when he grabbed the side of my hips and began to slowly fuck me.

He pushed my hips forward until just the tip of his cock was inside me then he pulled me back hard impaling me over-and-over again. One time he thrust so hard he bumped my prostate and I screamed out in pleasure.

"I knew you'd like it, boy..."


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