The Master I Miss

“Strip! Naked! You’re not allowed to wear clothes in here.”

The man issuing the orders was dressed in a leather vest that exposed his tanned and hairy chest, tight blue jeans with a very prominent bugle, and worn black army boots.

“Get on all fours! Lick my boots.”

Having decided to expand my online bottom slut adventure into the BDSM/Leather world, not having had much direct experience with it, I had started an online conversation with Master Franco. That is how I found myself at his condo on a sunny October day, buck naked and licking his boots.

Over the next several years and dozens of visits, each would be different in the details, but all would begin with this ritual of me stripping naked the minute I entered the door and then planting myself submissively at his feet to await further instruction. But back to that first encounter.

“Does the slave want his master’s cock?”

There is only one answer to that question, so I gave it.

“You have to earn it. You can lick and bite it through my jeans.”

With my lip and tongue and teeth I worked his cock through his blue jeans. I could tell that it was going to be worth the effort.

“Take off my boots and jeans.”

I unlaced his boots and pulled them off. I undid his zipper and pulled off his jeans. Now he stood before me in his leather vest and a jock strap. I made a move to remove the jockstrap.

“Not yet, slave.”

He slapped my face away. Instead he sat down on a rimming chair and ordered me onto my back with my face below his hairy ass. I was a little nervous. I had said no scat, right?!

“Eat my ass, pussyboy.”

After I had teased, tongued, licked, bitten and sucked his ass to his satisfaction, he said, “Now, into the bedroom.”  He stripped naked and lay spread eagle on his back on the bed.

“Worship every inch of my body with your mouth and tongue, starting with my feet. Don’t touch my cock.”

I began with his feet and toes, working my way up to his groin. I licked his groin, and his balls. His big cock was hard as hell and too much of a temptation. I licked it. I got another slap on side of the face.

“Not yet, cockwhore.”

I continued up his body, licking his muscled abdomen, stopping to give his nipples a good working over, licking his pits, sucking, biting and licking his biceps and then his neck. I sensed he did not want to kiss.

“Now, cockwhore, suck my cock.”

Finally, I was allowed to suck his cock. And I went to town on it.

“Bite with your teeth just below the dick head.”

I was hesitant, as teeth are a big no-no for most guys, but I deepthroated him and came back up and as I went to go down again, I bit into his cock. He howled…with pleasure.

“Now, I am going to fuck you. Do you want that, slave?”

Again, there is only one answer to that question and I gave it.

“Get on all fours, put your big ass up in the air. I like to fuck a nice red ass.”

He lubed my ass up and produced a paddle from a bedside drawer. And delivered several blows.

“So, the cockwhore wants to get fucked?”

“Yes.”

Bam! Bam!

“Pussyboy wants to have his master’s big, hard cock in ass?

“Yes.”

Bam! Bam! Bam! And then BAM! He slammed his big hard cock into my ass.

He fucked me with me on all fours, on my stomach, one leg up entering from the side, the other leg up entering from the other side, on my back. He fucked me roughly, going ballsdeep and then straining his cock against my hole.

There was a wall-size mirror at the foot of the bed. While he was fully inside me, he grabbed my head and twisted it toward the mirror.

“Look.  You are getting fucked slave. Look at your ass with my big dick in it. You are such a cockwhore.”

Seeing my reflection, with him mounted on me, I had to agree. I was a cockwhore, pussyboy, slave.

“Now, your Master wants to cum. Get on the bed on your back with your big red ass over the edge.”

I positioned myself as instructed.

“Don’t move.”

He left the room. I maintained my position with my ankles in my hands. He came back with poppers and a riding-crop looking whip.

“Do you want your master to come in your ass, slave?”

“Yes.”

He landed two strokes.

“The slave wants the master to come in his ass?”

“Yes, Master.”

Slash. Slash. Slash.

He took several whiffs of the poppers, slammed his cock in and began to thrust rapidly. I was looking at him. He gave me two solid slaps across the face and then pressed my head to the side, pushing down hard on it while he fucked me.

“Don’t fucking look at me, slave!”

He came with a howl and delivered a couple of more hard slaps.  I was to learn that his orgasm time was always a danger time. He would slap me, punch my chest, or bite my chest or neck.

He often gave me badges of honor in the form of bruises to wear. One time in particular as I walked naked out of the shower at the gym I caught a reflection of my ass in the mirror. There were two nicotine and purple bruises, very recognizable as bite marks, one on each of my ass cheeks.  This was several days after our latest session, so I had unknowingly been parading them all this time.

For more than three years we saw each other regularly, sometimes once a week, but punctuated with longer breaks if he were out-of-town or otherwise unavailable. During that time, a strong bond formed, based on rough sex. We never did go deep into BDSM territory, staying more on the sexual side of things. At first, he mentioned the possibility of a threesome with the man he was married to, but he dropped the idea. I got the impression that I was to be his cockwhore, his pussyboy and his slave. He would keep me for himself.

Then came the day he announced that he and his husband were leaving Montreal to move thousands of kilometres away to the other side of the continent.  Our last encounter took place at my place and then he was gone.

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