I'd just arrived in New York City for my vacation; I made my way to the friend's house where I would be staying, only to find them gone. They had, however made arrangements with the super to get me a key, so I was OK. The only problem was that my "guides" were gone, and I was left in an unfamiliar city alone.
Recalling a bookstore that the cab had passed a few blocks away, I did some quick unpacking and went to the bookstore, and returned armed with some maps of the city. Pulling my handy gay guide out of a suitcase pocket, I set about locating myself, and something interesting to do that evening.
Fortunately for me, my friends lived in a nice section of Greenwich Village, so many of the places I planned to visit were but a short walk away; I wouldn't have to deal with the subway system on my first outing. I finally decided on the infamous Spike.
I wound up there fairly early; even though it was a Saturday, the place wasn't terribly full yet. I strolled around the bar, admiring the collection of posters from other bars, the artwork, and some of the more bearlike men. Between the beers I'd had and my wandering thoughts, I stopped paying real attention to most of the bar. Rather suddenly, it registered on me that I could only move with difficulty. I looked around the room, and discovered that the place was full, and rapidly approaching packed. I had been warned that the Spike was popular; but I never expected it to get so full one could hardly move!
Fortunately, I was against a wall, and was able to keep out of the press as I watched some of the hotter men in the room. Eventually, though, I decided that this wouldn't do at all: if I decided I wanted to make a move on a man, there was no guarantee I'd be able to get anywhere near him, much less make myself heard. I decided to give some of the other leather bars in the neighborhood a try; hopefully they would be less full.
As I exited the bar, my glance ran down the alley by the door, and I stopped right there. The Spike sits on a corner where an alley runs into a major street along the Manhattan waterfront. Undoubtedly due to the crush inside, here lined up along the alley wall of the Spike were five or six hot numbers in leather taking a piss. Clearly this had been going on for some time, as the entire sidewalk was wet, and the gutter was carrying off a torrent of piss. As each man finished and stepped away from the wall, another took his place and kept the river of piss in the gutter flowing.
Watersports has always had a particularly strong hold over me; before I had a chance to think I walked over in the midst of the group, turned my back to the wall, knelt and bowed my head.
"Well, lookit this... been a long time since this alley's seen a piss-pig, by my recollection!"
"Damn right... *too* long, if you ask me!"
And with that, the second speaker, a tall guy in his 30's with a thick blonde moustache, started a strong stream of piss going which he ran slowly up my leg from the knee, soaking my crotch as he trailed it up my bare chest, then my neck, then pissing full in my face, soaking my hair and beard. I opened my mouth, and started gulping down the saltysweet piss by the mouthful.
Clearly, someone had run back into the bar to let the patrons know what was up, since within fifteen minutes, I was surrounded by a semicircle of leatherclad hunks at least three deep, waiting to piss all over the guy in the alley.
The next hour turned into a constant warm shower of piss; the occasional load of cum flew out of the wall of leathered bodies in front of me to land in my hair or beard, only to slowly be washed away by the relentless flow of hot piss. Several times, I pissed my own pants to make room for me to suck down yet more of the hot liquid. Finally, the crowd of men started to thin out; my head was spinning, whether from the intensity of the public scene, or unmetabolized drugs in some of the piss I drank, I didn't know. Suddenly there was a man in front of me, and I looked up.
He was tall and slender, with what some call a "swimmer's body"; that compact, deceptively nonbulky kind of muscle underlying a thickly furred chest. He was dressed in old, worn, dirty-looking 501's, chaps, boots, a heavy body harness and a worn leather jacket, and a similarly old leather rebel cap. His hair was black, with grey at the temples; his short-clipped beard also had grey at the temples, and some at the chin. What immediately captivated me, though, was his moustache: a heavy jet-black, thick, long, and waxed immaculately into two sweeping arcs at the ends. Many people look hot in leather; this man looked like he belonged in it, lived in it.
He looked down at me with a degree of amusement, and asked, "Are you ready to come home with me now?"
"Yes, Sir, but..."
"Come on, boy. I've had my eye on you since I first saw you in the bar. But, because of that damnable crowd, you were entrenched in your little scene out here before I could get to the door. So, I've just been kicked back, watching the show and waiting for you. Come with me." He helped me to my feet, making no comment about the piss that rubbed off on his leathers, and held me upright until my cramped legs could support me again. With a firm hand on the back of my neck, he quick-marched me (dripping all the way) to his car, where he handed me a plastic bag and ordered me to strip, then towel off and get in the car. I followed his directions, stripping to the skin right there on the street, placing my drenched clothes in the bag, then wiping off the rest of the piss and finally climbing into his car. As he walked around to the driver's side, I saw the bright yellow hankie prominently displayed in his left rear pocket.
"That's better; you'll be wet enough again soon, boy." He grabbed the wet hair on the back of my head and pulled my face to his, forcing his thick, long tongue deep into my mouth. I relaxed into his rough embrace, sucking on his tongue and inhaling the peculiarly familiar spicy/musky odor that he had. He pushed me back into my seat, and fixing me there with a look of command, drove us to his place. When we reached his small apartment house, he parked in a basement garage, and we took the elevator to his flat; I was petrified about my nudity, but more afraid of him if I didn't follow, or of what I would miss if I tried to leave. We made it safely to his apartment, and I slumped in relief.
"You needn't have worried, boy" he said with amusement. "Everyone in this building is a kinky gay guy; a bunch of us decided it would be easier to have a building of our own rather than have to deal with straight or vanilla neighbors."
I followed him into the kitchen, where he downed at least a quart of water, virtually pouring it down his throat without swallowing. "Handy talent for a piss Master to have, don't you think, boy?" he said, smiling. "I refuse to disappoint my bottoms."
"Now," he said, downing another quart of water the same way as the first, "into the bedroom, boy. Go ahead and lie down on the bed; I'll be back in a moment." I followed his gaze, and walked up a couple of low steps into the bedroom. The bed was a large waterbed, covered with a waterproof cover, and was sunk about 2 inches into the floor. All around the bed was a black leather covered padded bolster about a foot wide. I lay down on the bed and tried to clear my mind and relax.
When he returned, he was wearing only the harness and his chaps; his large cock swung freely between his legs; the long, loose foreskin hung about half an inch beyond the tip of his cock. He climbed on the bed and locked my head into his armpit, so I could smell the rich sweat there, but my tongue couldn't reach it.
"Before we go further, we get to know each other. I've never seen you around before; are you new to town, visiting, or just what, boy?" "I'm here on vacation for a week, Sir. I'm staying with some friends in Greenwich Village."
"No, you're staying here; we can get your stuff tomorrow. What's your name?"
"George, Sir"
"I'm Master Leo, boy. Do you trust me?"
I looked into his dark eyes and considered. My intuition gave its response, and that's how I answered him. "Yes, Master Leo, I do." "Good boy. Suck my cock."
With that, he shoved my head down to his sweaty crotch. As I pulled his heavy foreskin back, I caught a stronger whiff of that spicy musk I'd noticed before, and looked up at him quizzically. "That's right, boy. I use my head cheese to wax my 'stache. Just the right consistency, it's free, and the smell attracts hot men like crazy, even if they don't know what it is. Now, get to it!"
My mouth opened obediently, and his thick shaft slipped into my mouth. His thick, creamy dickcheese tasted even better than it smelled as he slowly thrust in and out of my mouth. As I pulled back, his foreskin slipped forward again; I slid my tongue in between the skin and the head and flipped it from side to side before pushing the skin back again. My reward was a sudden thrust which popped my throat open and lodged Master's big hairy balls against my bearded chin. He held for a moment, then pulled quickly out of my throat.
"Lie on your belly; that's it." He knelt between my spread legs and smeared grease on my gasping asshole. The tip of his dick at my asshole, then -- shove! -- and he was in me, stroking slowly back and forth, letting me feel his foreskin slipping back and forth in my ass. He slowly worked his entire shaft into me, then stopped his stroking and just lay quietly on top of me.
"Sir? What...."
"Shut up, boy." He clamped a hand over my mouth to enforce the order. "I think you got more than enough piss down your throat this evening; it's time for a change."
I finally noticed the growing sensation of warmth in my ass as Master filled my butt with his hot piss. The moment he finished, he resumed his fucking, quickly building up to a fast, hard stroke that would have pushed me across the bed if he hadn't held on to me while fucking the hell out of me.
"OH...Sir..."
"You want it harder, boy? Good!"
With that, he clamped his hand over my mouth again, shoved down on my upper back and started ramming me even harder than before. Between the hot piss sloshing around in my gut, the sensation of his foreskin slipping back and forth in my butt (I'd never had an uncut dick before) and his cockhead expertly pounding my prostate to a pulp, I couldn't hold back and came all over the black cover beneath me. That must have been what he was waiting for, because as soon as I finished cumming, he whipped out of my ass, flipped me over and straddled my chest. His hand whipped his foreskin back and forth three times, then his dick blasted out a continuous stream of hot cum all over my face and beard. The moment he'd finished cumming, he grabbed a handhold over the head- board, pulled himself to his feet, and began pissing all over me, wetting down my entire body. He finished and lay down beside me in the piss, grabbed me by my again-wet hair, and looked into my eyes. "Now you can thank me."
My cum and piss drenched face was guided to his armpit. I eagerly began lapping the heavy mat of sweat-drenched hair in his pit, rubbing my face through his pit as he groaned and wriggled at the touch of my tongue. After a bit, he grabbed my hair and moved me to the other armpit, and finally he rolled onto all fours and pushed my face into his asscrack.
I started slowly working my tongue through the sweat-tangled hair in his crack, avoiding his asshole until he grabbed my hair and growled, "Get with it, shithead!" In response, I quickly plunged my tongue as deep into his twitching hole as I could. He reached back, spreading his cheeks, allowing me to work my tongue even deeper into his musky shithole. After a very few minutes of my tongue lashing in and out of his tight hole, he flipped over, shoved his throbbing dick into my mouth, locked his leather-clad legs around the back of my neck, and filled my mouth with his sweet cum. After a moment, he pulled me up, slipped his tongue into my mouth for a long, gentle kiss, then we both drifted off to sleep together.
I awoke late the next morning to Master's bark of "Time to get up, shit-head!" and a stream of his thick morning piss in my face. My mouth followed the stream up, until my lips closed over his skin-sheathed cockhead. He finished, I swallowed a last time and licked a few stray drops of piss from my moustache.
"Get dressed" he growled, throwing my clothes -- which were still rank with last night's piss dried in them -- at me. "We've got a lot to do today."
The first order of business turned out to be collecting my things from my friend's apartment, and leaving them a letter explaining why I wasn't there. Master insisted that it explain that I was spending the week as a slave, and not just say that I'd met a "friend." After I finished, he took the letter, added something he wouldn't let me read, and marched me out the door.
The next stop was a leather shop I could smell half a block away from the door. The proprietor looked rather sinister, dressed in nothing but black leather with his precisely trimmed jet-black Van Dyke. "Give him the full treatment; I'll be back for him later."
I was led into a back room, and measured in every way imaginable. Since my only breakfast had been Master's salty morning piss, I asked if I could please have a drink. Rather to my surprise, the proprietor smiled briefly, and got me a glass of soda, and told me to be seated and wait. Soon after I finished the drink, I fell asleep (Master later confirmed that the soda contained a sedative). When I awoke, I was in a dentist-like chair before a large mirror; I didn't recognize myself at first.
To begin with, I was now dressed head to foot in leathers much like my Master's. "Oiled leathers" the proprietor corrected me. "Perfect for a piss slave -- or Master -- because they are waterproof." When I inquired after my old leather vest and boots, the proprietor just smiled and said, "Gone. Don't you think what you've got on is an improvement?" On a second look in the mirror, I had to agree; the dark luster of the boots, chaps, jacket, vest, harness and cap spoke of a much finer grade of leather than I'd ever been able to afford. The chaps had a narrow stripe of yellow leather down the right leg, proclaiming to all my status as a piss bottom. Other touches, like the bright chrome cockring in my right epaulet rein- forced the message that I was a slave. I took in my image again, from the boots up. It was then that I finally noticed the other change.
While I was asleep, my rather long hair had been cut in a neat, but quite short style. My similarly long "mountain man" beard had been clipped short, to complement my hair's length, though my moustache retained its full length, made more impressive by the relative shortness of my beard. "Your Master is waiting outside; you'd best not keep him waiting."
The proprietor helped me to my feet, and steadied me as I threw off the lingering effects of the sedative. When I came through the leather curtain into the front of the store, Master turned around. For a brief moment, surprise flicked across his face, then turned into a wide grin of satisfaction.
"You've done your usual good job, Nick. Put it on my account, we've got to be getting on."
"Yes, sir. Always a pleasure doing business with you."
As we left the shop, I noticed with a shock that it was dark; I glanced at my watch, and realized I'd been in that shop for almost eight hours, most of that unconscious.
"Well, what did you expect, boy?? Making up a full set of custom leathers takes time, even when you've got it down to as exact a science as Nick does." His eyes raked up and down my body, and a lecherous grin grew on his face. "Nick does fine work, doesn't he, boy?" With that, he grabbed the back of my head, and simultaneously slipped his tongue into my mouth and started squeezing my balls. I kissed him back with equal lust.
He broke the kiss. "Damn, I knew there was a good looking boy under all that extra hair, but I never realized just how good looking... you're going to drive all the men at the club crazy tonight!"
"The club, Sir?"
"You'll find out when we get there, boy. Get in the car, we're going to grab some dinner, then off to the club."
I was a bit nervous about going into a restaurant dressed as I was, until I saw the inside of the place. All the waiters wore leather chaps and vests, and the menus were bound in black leather. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw that the walls were ornamented with various sex toys, from the ordinary to the outrageous.
Dinner was quickly dealt with, and we were off to this club that Master refused to explain. He parked the car in a run-down looking area near the waterfront, and we walked through some pretty disreputable looking alleys until we came to a nondescript black door. He knocked, and held up a small card to an opening in the door, which promptly opened. Once inside, I got a long look at the doorman as Master paid the entry fee. This guy could have defined the term "Grizzly Bear." His thick black chest hair, his full black beard and moustache, and the thick wavy black hair on his head were all lightly and evenly sprinkled with pure silver hairs, with rather more at his chin and temples; the hair under his arms, and that between his pecs, on his muscled abdomen, and even part of his beard sparkled with drops of sweat. His thick, powerful chest was strapped into a heavy leather harness, and I could just see the tops of a pair of chaps and the very top of an impressive basket-bulge over the top of the little table in front of him. From the way he moved, I could tell he was both quick and limber, qualities most very muscular men don't have.
"And you'll be off at the regular time?"
"Yes; the door closes for the evening at the usual time, and I'll be down after I check in my cashbox."
"Good!" Master said, grinning. "I think you'll like my boy, here." Master led me down a flight of stairs to a leather curtained
doorway; a red spotlight hidden somewhere above illuminated a sign made of chrome rivets on black leather above the door: "The Urinal." Master pushed me through the curtain, and into the club.
I looked around the room; it was full of some of the hottest men I'd ever seen; none were clean-shaven, and virtually all had some leather on. Yellow hankies -- left, right, or both -- blossomed from pockets everywhere in the room. Master drew me over to the bar, where he got us two huge mugs of cola.
"Caffeine's a diuretic, you know" he said with a grin. "I know, Sir." I relaxed my throat and knocked off about a quarter of the big mug in one throw.
"You learn fast, boy. I like that. Now I'll show you around." The floor of the place was concrete, and there were drains placed strategically -- and frequently -- across the floor. In one corner under a spot- light was an old-style tub with feet, standing on a kind of platform. One man was in the tub, drinking his beer. He reached down, and held his cock up; another man saw this, and scrambled under the tub. The stud in the tub let loose with a big jet of piss, which splashed into his face and ran down through his blonde beard and soaked into his shirt. The stream kept coming, faster than his clothes could soak it up; the man under the tub opened his mouth right under the drain and started drinking it down as fast as it came out; even when two hunks walked up to the tub and started spraying their piss all over the hunk in the tub, the dude under the tub didn't miss a drop.
Watching all this, Master and I had both finished our drinks, and I went back to the bar for refills. When I returned, Master showed me some peculiar padded contraptions; when he put me into one, it was clear that it was designed to keep a man's head at crotch height, while not putting stress on his knees or back, so he would be able to stay in position comfortably.
Master obviously decided to take advantage of my position, and popped open his fly, pulling out his hardening dick. I opened my mouth, and he started fucking my throat with his tasty meat. It wasn't too long before he pulled out and tucked his cock back in his pants, saying he wanted to save it for later. Just as I was starting to get out of the padded contraption, Master saw someone coming over and pushed me back into place.
"Long time since I saw you here last, pal!"
"Too long. He yours, or just trying before you buy?"
"He's mine. Slave, this is my good friend Dirty' Don. If it's sleazy and raunchy, he loves it. Damn, Don; you get smellier every time I see you!"
"Yeah! Ain't it hot?" At that, he lifted an arm and took a deep, satisfied sniff.
"Don, I need a refill; take care of Slave George here while I'm gone." "Sure thing!"
He moved a bit closer, and as he did, one of the brighter lights in the room caught him and let me get a good look. Incredibly grungy levis a patchy black-brown instead of the accustomed blue, with a thick bulge showing down his left leg. A t-shirt that must have been white some time long ago, now adorned with heavy sweat marks in the pits and down the front, with a worn leather vest over that, and a thick pelt of dark fur curling out the neckband from underneath. A heavy dark beard, matted with dried cum, and two of the hairiest fuckin' armpits I'd ever seen. He was standing next to me, and his smell dominated my senses. Thick with manmusk, and spiced with piss, cum and motor oil, the smell began to make my dick rise; even faster, as I thought about sucking his filthy dick, or licking those raunchy pits.
"Nice to meet you, Sir."
"Aw, ya don't hafta bother with that Sir' crap with me, boy. Dirty Don's my name. I hope ya don't mind my stink; some dudes aren't into serious raunch."
"As a matter of fact, I like it, Don. I've often fantasized about getting it on with a heavily raunchy stud, but you're the first one I've met."
He looked at me closely. "Unusual for such a young'un to be so hot into sleaze -- but then you're with Leo, and to be with him you've gotta be serious into piss. Guess it makes sense after all." With that, he turned his back to me and shoved my nose into his asscrack through a rip in the seat of his filthy jeans.
"Smell that funky ass, boy... lots of hot, workin' man sweat in there." I moaned my appreciation. He turned back around, and started popping fly but- tons.
"Smell that stinkin' crotch, boy... yeah, get yer fuckin' nose in there and breathe it in deep... lick those hairy balls, eat the sweat and scum off 'em... get with it, boy, suck them balls!"
"I see you two are getting along just fine; I'm always pleased when my friends hit it off so well!" Master said, with amusement in his voice. "Oh yeah!" Dirty Don exclaimed, as he pulled my face out of his crotch and rubbed it into his scum-encrusted pants. "This is a hot little piece of raunch-lovin' slavemeat you got here, Leo; I hope you're plannin' to share!"
"That's why I brought him here tonight, Don. You know that my friends are welcome to anything I own... including my slaves, as long as they're careful."
With that, Dirty Don turned back around and shoved his cock into my waiting mouth, grabbed the back of my head and started fucking my face, *hard*. His low-hanging balls were smacking against my Adam's apple, and his thick cockhead was plunging in and out of my throat. Suddenly he pulled out, stroked his cock a couple of times, and anointed my face and beard with his cum. When he'd finished, he carefully wiped the cum away from my eyes (wiping his hand on my chest fur) and helped me out of the brace. He locked me into a heavy, deep, sloppy kiss which was quickly replaced by my slurping at his rank pits; I was so into his stink and his taste, that it took me a while to notice that he had his crotch held tight to mine, and was pissing us both wet!
"Phew! Nothin' like a good, hot piss, is there, Leo?" he said, as he finished and finally let me go. His 501's bore a broad dark patch in the front, which ran down the legs into his boots.
"Nope. And speaking of piss..." Master tapped my shoulder and I dropped to my knees. I quickly undid Master's fly and glanced up for permission to continue. He nodded, and I pulled out his soft, thick cock, and placed the uncut head gently between my lips. He pissed as hard and fast as he could; so fast that I couldn't swallow it as fast as it came. It leaked out of my mouth, mingling with Don's cum in my beard, running down my chest and making my 501's even wetter. Master pulled me to my feet and finished showing me around the room. The walls were covered with art depicting hot men, usually in piss scenes. A large GSA banner hung in one corner, and hidden behind a small door in that same corner was an actual toilet. "Just in case someone needs to shit" Master said.
"Permission to speak, Sir?"
"Yes, boy?" he said, sipping from his freshly-refilled mug. "Permission to piss, Sir."
He pulled me over to a small cabinet, from which he extracted an old-style enema bag. He made sure the clamp was set on the hose, then told me to piss into the bag. I did, and then Master topped it off with his own piss. He put the top on the bag and hung it from a hook on the wall. "Bend over, boy"
He pulled open the rip in the ass seam of my pants, and slipped the nozzle into my ass. He flipped open the nozzle, and the bag of still-hot piss ran quickly into my butt.
"There we go.... Now, boy: I want you to hold that as long as you can; when you need to dump it, you have my permission to leave without asking to the crapper in the corner and dump. Take care of it, and then get back here. Got it, boy?"
"Yes, Sir!"
"Good boy." At that, he grabbed the hair on the back of my head, and pulled me into a deep, long kiss. In the middle of it, I felt his hot piss splashing on my front, as well as the load of combined piss sloshing in my gut. He finally let me go, and I ran (dripping all the way) to the can and got rid of the ache in my bowels. "All cleaned out, boy?"
"Yes, Sir!"
"Good boy." He led me to a rack like the one I'd been in earlier, and started fucking my face again. Master pulled out of my face at the same time I felt someone start playing with my ass (I hadn't noticed before, but the racks also put a slave's ass at a convenient height, as well as his mouth). I looked back, and it was the grizzly-bear doorman, rubbing my crack through the ripped jeans, kneading the heavy lump in his jeans. He moved around in front of me.
"Get it out... no, dumbshit, no hands... use your mouth!"
Fortunately, the jeans were worn and the buttonholes in the fly were loose and popped open easily. Getting his half hard schlong out was another matter; the man sweated like a horse, and the sweat held the cloth to the skin, making it slow going... but then, my face was in a magnificently sweat-soaked crotch, so why should I have complained? I finally freed his thick member, and lubed the head with my spit as he directed. He moved back behind me, and as he did, Dirty Don took his place, forcing me to eat the dried cum out of his beard, and groom his sweat-matted body fur with my tongue and teeth.
The bearlike hunk behind me eased his semisoft cockhead into me, and stopped. By this time, I expected the warm rush that quickly filled my bowels, and his soft moan that accompanied it.
"Nothin' like pissin' in a hot slave ass, Leo."
"Except fuckin' it when it's full of your piss, Den."
"You read my mind, Leo."
He started slowly thrusting into my ass, letting me get used to his thick assripper as it grew fully hard. He wasn't hung overly long, but DAMN it was thick! He'd just started fucking me hard and deep when he paused. I looked up at Don quizzically, since he could see what was happening.
"Jus' yer Master pluggin himself into ol' Dennis' fuckhole while he rams you. Den loves to be the middle of a sandwich."
Before Don had finished explaining the scene, Den was again ramming me hard and fast; if I paid close attention, I could feel Master Leo's counter- point thrusts into Den... but the moment I started to focus on that, I'd get a hard palm across the face from Don, reminding me of the task at hand... or rather, tongue.
Don finally got me down on his uncut dick, and filled my mouth with a load that belied the fact he'd creamed on my face not long before. He pulled out of my face and grinned as he milked the last few drops of cum out, then spread them under his foreskin.
"Gotta start a new crop 'a cheese to replace what'cha ate tonight!" I gasped as Dennis pulled his thick rump-rammer out and moved around in front of me, with Master Leo fucking his hairy, muscular butt all the way. He plunged his funky cock down my throat, thrust a couple of times then pulled out again and blasted jet after jet of mancream all over my face. Just as the volume was diminishing, and I thought it might be safe to open my eyes, I heard Master gasp, and another shower of cum splattered across my face. Don (I could tell from the smell) helped me out of the brace, and I stood up, and wiped the cum out of my eyes, wiping it on my chest.
After the four of us recovered a bit, we all departed for Master Leo's apartment, where I served as urinal and twin fuckhole for the three of them all night long. They did get me off -- I came up Dennis' asshole as he was fucking himself on Master's and my dick at the same time. My cum shooting in his shit- chute set off both him and Master, and I again caught Den's cum on my face and chest.
The next several days went in much the same fashion; during the day, depending on Master's decision, I either spent sightseeing in New York or cleaning the apartment while he was at work. Nights were spent in the wildest, hottest sex I'd ever had; mostly alone with Master, but with Dennis and Don included occasionally, and once with a few other of Master's friends.
I was uncomfortably aware of my rapidly approaching departure date; I knew Master Leo knew when I was supposed to leave, but I didn't want to bring up the subject. One morning, Master called me to him.
"Boy, you're scheduled to fly home tomorrow."
"Yes sir, I know."
"Do you want to leave?"
"I'm not sure, Sir. I... I think I've fallen in love with you, Sir, but... back home, there's my job... friends, family. I just don't know what to do."
"It's up to you, boy. I want to keep you... forever. But you've got to do it because you want me. Here's your choice. Your suitcases are there, your airplane ticket is here on the desk. This is one of my credit cards. Now, I'm going to leave for work. If you decide to go, use the card and make yourself a reservation at a hotel for tonight, take your things and leave; if you do leave, I never want to see or hear from you again. If you decide to stay, call a moving company in your town, use the card and pay them to ship all your shit to you here. Call your boss and tell him to shove the job, then take this collar" -- and here he hefted a heavy leather slave collar, chained to the wall near the desk -- "and lock yourself in. I have the key. You've got until I get home at 5:30 to make up your mind. Goodbye, boy -- and I hope it's only until this evening."
And with that, he left for work.
When he returned from work that day years ago, the apartment was immaculate. My suitcases were gone -- because I'd never need them again. Dressed head to toe in the leathers he had given me, I was chained to the wall next to his desk. He unlocked me, dragged me to the bedroom and fucked me hard for hours. He finished, and then pulled out and soaked me with his golden piss as he said, "I love you, shithead." "I love you, Master."
Recalling a bookstore that the cab had passed a few blocks away, I did some quick unpacking and went to the bookstore, and returned armed with some maps of the city. Pulling my handy gay guide out of a suitcase pocket, I set about locating myself, and something interesting to do that evening.
Fortunately for me, my friends lived in a nice section of Greenwich Village, so many of the places I planned to visit were but a short walk away; I wouldn't have to deal with the subway system on my first outing. I finally decided on the infamous Spike.
I wound up there fairly early; even though it was a Saturday, the place wasn't terribly full yet. I strolled around the bar, admiring the collection of posters from other bars, the artwork, and some of the more bearlike men. Between the beers I'd had and my wandering thoughts, I stopped paying real attention to most of the bar. Rather suddenly, it registered on me that I could only move with difficulty. I looked around the room, and discovered that the place was full, and rapidly approaching packed. I had been warned that the Spike was popular; but I never expected it to get so full one could hardly move!
Fortunately, I was against a wall, and was able to keep out of the press as I watched some of the hotter men in the room. Eventually, though, I decided that this wouldn't do at all: if I decided I wanted to make a move on a man, there was no guarantee I'd be able to get anywhere near him, much less make myself heard. I decided to give some of the other leather bars in the neighborhood a try; hopefully they would be less full.
As I exited the bar, my glance ran down the alley by the door, and I stopped right there. The Spike sits on a corner where an alley runs into a major street along the Manhattan waterfront. Undoubtedly due to the crush inside, here lined up along the alley wall of the Spike were five or six hot numbers in leather taking a piss. Clearly this had been going on for some time, as the entire sidewalk was wet, and the gutter was carrying off a torrent of piss. As each man finished and stepped away from the wall, another took his place and kept the river of piss in the gutter flowing.
Watersports has always had a particularly strong hold over me; before I had a chance to think I walked over in the midst of the group, turned my back to the wall, knelt and bowed my head.
"Well, lookit this... been a long time since this alley's seen a piss-pig, by my recollection!"
"Damn right... *too* long, if you ask me!"
And with that, the second speaker, a tall guy in his 30's with a thick blonde moustache, started a strong stream of piss going which he ran slowly up my leg from the knee, soaking my crotch as he trailed it up my bare chest, then my neck, then pissing full in my face, soaking my hair and beard. I opened my mouth, and started gulping down the saltysweet piss by the mouthful.
Clearly, someone had run back into the bar to let the patrons know what was up, since within fifteen minutes, I was surrounded by a semicircle of leatherclad hunks at least three deep, waiting to piss all over the guy in the alley.
The next hour turned into a constant warm shower of piss; the occasional load of cum flew out of the wall of leathered bodies in front of me to land in my hair or beard, only to slowly be washed away by the relentless flow of hot piss. Several times, I pissed my own pants to make room for me to suck down yet more of the hot liquid. Finally, the crowd of men started to thin out; my head was spinning, whether from the intensity of the public scene, or unmetabolized drugs in some of the piss I drank, I didn't know. Suddenly there was a man in front of me, and I looked up.
He was tall and slender, with what some call a "swimmer's body"; that compact, deceptively nonbulky kind of muscle underlying a thickly furred chest. He was dressed in old, worn, dirty-looking 501's, chaps, boots, a heavy body harness and a worn leather jacket, and a similarly old leather rebel cap. His hair was black, with grey at the temples; his short-clipped beard also had grey at the temples, and some at the chin. What immediately captivated me, though, was his moustache: a heavy jet-black, thick, long, and waxed immaculately into two sweeping arcs at the ends. Many people look hot in leather; this man looked like he belonged in it, lived in it.
He looked down at me with a degree of amusement, and asked, "Are you ready to come home with me now?"
"Yes, Sir, but..."
"Come on, boy. I've had my eye on you since I first saw you in the bar. But, because of that damnable crowd, you were entrenched in your little scene out here before I could get to the door. So, I've just been kicked back, watching the show and waiting for you. Come with me." He helped me to my feet, making no comment about the piss that rubbed off on his leathers, and held me upright until my cramped legs could support me again. With a firm hand on the back of my neck, he quick-marched me (dripping all the way) to his car, where he handed me a plastic bag and ordered me to strip, then towel off and get in the car. I followed his directions, stripping to the skin right there on the street, placing my drenched clothes in the bag, then wiping off the rest of the piss and finally climbing into his car. As he walked around to the driver's side, I saw the bright yellow hankie prominently displayed in his left rear pocket.
"That's better; you'll be wet enough again soon, boy." He grabbed the wet hair on the back of my head and pulled my face to his, forcing his thick, long tongue deep into my mouth. I relaxed into his rough embrace, sucking on his tongue and inhaling the peculiarly familiar spicy/musky odor that he had. He pushed me back into my seat, and fixing me there with a look of command, drove us to his place. When we reached his small apartment house, he parked in a basement garage, and we took the elevator to his flat; I was petrified about my nudity, but more afraid of him if I didn't follow, or of what I would miss if I tried to leave. We made it safely to his apartment, and I slumped in relief.
"You needn't have worried, boy" he said with amusement. "Everyone in this building is a kinky gay guy; a bunch of us decided it would be easier to have a building of our own rather than have to deal with straight or vanilla neighbors."
I followed him into the kitchen, where he downed at least a quart of water, virtually pouring it down his throat without swallowing. "Handy talent for a piss Master to have, don't you think, boy?" he said, smiling. "I refuse to disappoint my bottoms."
"Now," he said, downing another quart of water the same way as the first, "into the bedroom, boy. Go ahead and lie down on the bed; I'll be back in a moment." I followed his gaze, and walked up a couple of low steps into the bedroom. The bed was a large waterbed, covered with a waterproof cover, and was sunk about 2 inches into the floor. All around the bed was a black leather covered padded bolster about a foot wide. I lay down on the bed and tried to clear my mind and relax.
When he returned, he was wearing only the harness and his chaps; his large cock swung freely between his legs; the long, loose foreskin hung about half an inch beyond the tip of his cock. He climbed on the bed and locked my head into his armpit, so I could smell the rich sweat there, but my tongue couldn't reach it.
"Before we go further, we get to know each other. I've never seen you around before; are you new to town, visiting, or just what, boy?" "I'm here on vacation for a week, Sir. I'm staying with some friends in Greenwich Village."
"No, you're staying here; we can get your stuff tomorrow. What's your name?"
"George, Sir"
"I'm Master Leo, boy. Do you trust me?"
I looked into his dark eyes and considered. My intuition gave its response, and that's how I answered him. "Yes, Master Leo, I do." "Good boy. Suck my cock."
With that, he shoved my head down to his sweaty crotch. As I pulled his heavy foreskin back, I caught a stronger whiff of that spicy musk I'd noticed before, and looked up at him quizzically. "That's right, boy. I use my head cheese to wax my 'stache. Just the right consistency, it's free, and the smell attracts hot men like crazy, even if they don't know what it is. Now, get to it!"
My mouth opened obediently, and his thick shaft slipped into my mouth. His thick, creamy dickcheese tasted even better than it smelled as he slowly thrust in and out of my mouth. As I pulled back, his foreskin slipped forward again; I slid my tongue in between the skin and the head and flipped it from side to side before pushing the skin back again. My reward was a sudden thrust which popped my throat open and lodged Master's big hairy balls against my bearded chin. He held for a moment, then pulled quickly out of my throat.
"Lie on your belly; that's it." He knelt between my spread legs and smeared grease on my gasping asshole. The tip of his dick at my asshole, then -- shove! -- and he was in me, stroking slowly back and forth, letting me feel his foreskin slipping back and forth in my ass. He slowly worked his entire shaft into me, then stopped his stroking and just lay quietly on top of me.
"Sir? What...."
"Shut up, boy." He clamped a hand over my mouth to enforce the order. "I think you got more than enough piss down your throat this evening; it's time for a change."
I finally noticed the growing sensation of warmth in my ass as Master filled my butt with his hot piss. The moment he finished, he resumed his fucking, quickly building up to a fast, hard stroke that would have pushed me across the bed if he hadn't held on to me while fucking the hell out of me.
"OH...Sir..."
"You want it harder, boy? Good!"
With that, he clamped his hand over my mouth again, shoved down on my upper back and started ramming me even harder than before. Between the hot piss sloshing around in my gut, the sensation of his foreskin slipping back and forth in my butt (I'd never had an uncut dick before) and his cockhead expertly pounding my prostate to a pulp, I couldn't hold back and came all over the black cover beneath me. That must have been what he was waiting for, because as soon as I finished cumming, he whipped out of my ass, flipped me over and straddled my chest. His hand whipped his foreskin back and forth three times, then his dick blasted out a continuous stream of hot cum all over my face and beard. The moment he'd finished cumming, he grabbed a handhold over the head- board, pulled himself to his feet, and began pissing all over me, wetting down my entire body. He finished and lay down beside me in the piss, grabbed me by my again-wet hair, and looked into my eyes. "Now you can thank me."
My cum and piss drenched face was guided to his armpit. I eagerly began lapping the heavy mat of sweat-drenched hair in his pit, rubbing my face through his pit as he groaned and wriggled at the touch of my tongue. After a bit, he grabbed my hair and moved me to the other armpit, and finally he rolled onto all fours and pushed my face into his asscrack.
I started slowly working my tongue through the sweat-tangled hair in his crack, avoiding his asshole until he grabbed my hair and growled, "Get with it, shithead!" In response, I quickly plunged my tongue as deep into his twitching hole as I could. He reached back, spreading his cheeks, allowing me to work my tongue even deeper into his musky shithole. After a very few minutes of my tongue lashing in and out of his tight hole, he flipped over, shoved his throbbing dick into my mouth, locked his leather-clad legs around the back of my neck, and filled my mouth with his sweet cum. After a moment, he pulled me up, slipped his tongue into my mouth for a long, gentle kiss, then we both drifted off to sleep together.
I awoke late the next morning to Master's bark of "Time to get up, shit-head!" and a stream of his thick morning piss in my face. My mouth followed the stream up, until my lips closed over his skin-sheathed cockhead. He finished, I swallowed a last time and licked a few stray drops of piss from my moustache.
"Get dressed" he growled, throwing my clothes -- which were still rank with last night's piss dried in them -- at me. "We've got a lot to do today."
The first order of business turned out to be collecting my things from my friend's apartment, and leaving them a letter explaining why I wasn't there. Master insisted that it explain that I was spending the week as a slave, and not just say that I'd met a "friend." After I finished, he took the letter, added something he wouldn't let me read, and marched me out the door.
The next stop was a leather shop I could smell half a block away from the door. The proprietor looked rather sinister, dressed in nothing but black leather with his precisely trimmed jet-black Van Dyke. "Give him the full treatment; I'll be back for him later."
I was led into a back room, and measured in every way imaginable. Since my only breakfast had been Master's salty morning piss, I asked if I could please have a drink. Rather to my surprise, the proprietor smiled briefly, and got me a glass of soda, and told me to be seated and wait. Soon after I finished the drink, I fell asleep (Master later confirmed that the soda contained a sedative). When I awoke, I was in a dentist-like chair before a large mirror; I didn't recognize myself at first.
To begin with, I was now dressed head to foot in leathers much like my Master's. "Oiled leathers" the proprietor corrected me. "Perfect for a piss slave -- or Master -- because they are waterproof." When I inquired after my old leather vest and boots, the proprietor just smiled and said, "Gone. Don't you think what you've got on is an improvement?" On a second look in the mirror, I had to agree; the dark luster of the boots, chaps, jacket, vest, harness and cap spoke of a much finer grade of leather than I'd ever been able to afford. The chaps had a narrow stripe of yellow leather down the right leg, proclaiming to all my status as a piss bottom. Other touches, like the bright chrome cockring in my right epaulet rein- forced the message that I was a slave. I took in my image again, from the boots up. It was then that I finally noticed the other change.
While I was asleep, my rather long hair had been cut in a neat, but quite short style. My similarly long "mountain man" beard had been clipped short, to complement my hair's length, though my moustache retained its full length, made more impressive by the relative shortness of my beard. "Your Master is waiting outside; you'd best not keep him waiting."
The proprietor helped me to my feet, and steadied me as I threw off the lingering effects of the sedative. When I came through the leather curtain into the front of the store, Master turned around. For a brief moment, surprise flicked across his face, then turned into a wide grin of satisfaction.
"You've done your usual good job, Nick. Put it on my account, we've got to be getting on."
"Yes, sir. Always a pleasure doing business with you."
As we left the shop, I noticed with a shock that it was dark; I glanced at my watch, and realized I'd been in that shop for almost eight hours, most of that unconscious.
"Well, what did you expect, boy?? Making up a full set of custom leathers takes time, even when you've got it down to as exact a science as Nick does." His eyes raked up and down my body, and a lecherous grin grew on his face. "Nick does fine work, doesn't he, boy?" With that, he grabbed the back of my head, and simultaneously slipped his tongue into my mouth and started squeezing my balls. I kissed him back with equal lust.
He broke the kiss. "Damn, I knew there was a good looking boy under all that extra hair, but I never realized just how good looking... you're going to drive all the men at the club crazy tonight!"
"The club, Sir?"
"You'll find out when we get there, boy. Get in the car, we're going to grab some dinner, then off to the club."
I was a bit nervous about going into a restaurant dressed as I was, until I saw the inside of the place. All the waiters wore leather chaps and vests, and the menus were bound in black leather. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw that the walls were ornamented with various sex toys, from the ordinary to the outrageous.
Dinner was quickly dealt with, and we were off to this club that Master refused to explain. He parked the car in a run-down looking area near the waterfront, and we walked through some pretty disreputable looking alleys until we came to a nondescript black door. He knocked, and held up a small card to an opening in the door, which promptly opened. Once inside, I got a long look at the doorman as Master paid the entry fee. This guy could have defined the term "Grizzly Bear." His thick black chest hair, his full black beard and moustache, and the thick wavy black hair on his head were all lightly and evenly sprinkled with pure silver hairs, with rather more at his chin and temples; the hair under his arms, and that between his pecs, on his muscled abdomen, and even part of his beard sparkled with drops of sweat. His thick, powerful chest was strapped into a heavy leather harness, and I could just see the tops of a pair of chaps and the very top of an impressive basket-bulge over the top of the little table in front of him. From the way he moved, I could tell he was both quick and limber, qualities most very muscular men don't have.
"And you'll be off at the regular time?"
"Yes; the door closes for the evening at the usual time, and I'll be down after I check in my cashbox."
"Good!" Master said, grinning. "I think you'll like my boy, here." Master led me down a flight of stairs to a leather curtained
doorway; a red spotlight hidden somewhere above illuminated a sign made of chrome rivets on black leather above the door: "The Urinal." Master pushed me through the curtain, and into the club.
I looked around the room; it was full of some of the hottest men I'd ever seen; none were clean-shaven, and virtually all had some leather on. Yellow hankies -- left, right, or both -- blossomed from pockets everywhere in the room. Master drew me over to the bar, where he got us two huge mugs of cola.
"Caffeine's a diuretic, you know" he said with a grin. "I know, Sir." I relaxed my throat and knocked off about a quarter of the big mug in one throw.
"You learn fast, boy. I like that. Now I'll show you around." The floor of the place was concrete, and there were drains placed strategically -- and frequently -- across the floor. In one corner under a spot- light was an old-style tub with feet, standing on a kind of platform. One man was in the tub, drinking his beer. He reached down, and held his cock up; another man saw this, and scrambled under the tub. The stud in the tub let loose with a big jet of piss, which splashed into his face and ran down through his blonde beard and soaked into his shirt. The stream kept coming, faster than his clothes could soak it up; the man under the tub opened his mouth right under the drain and started drinking it down as fast as it came out; even when two hunks walked up to the tub and started spraying their piss all over the hunk in the tub, the dude under the tub didn't miss a drop.
Watching all this, Master and I had both finished our drinks, and I went back to the bar for refills. When I returned, Master showed me some peculiar padded contraptions; when he put me into one, it was clear that it was designed to keep a man's head at crotch height, while not putting stress on his knees or back, so he would be able to stay in position comfortably.
Master obviously decided to take advantage of my position, and popped open his fly, pulling out his hardening dick. I opened my mouth, and he started fucking my throat with his tasty meat. It wasn't too long before he pulled out and tucked his cock back in his pants, saying he wanted to save it for later. Just as I was starting to get out of the padded contraption, Master saw someone coming over and pushed me back into place.
"Long time since I saw you here last, pal!"
"Too long. He yours, or just trying before you buy?"
"He's mine. Slave, this is my good friend Dirty' Don. If it's sleazy and raunchy, he loves it. Damn, Don; you get smellier every time I see you!"
"Yeah! Ain't it hot?" At that, he lifted an arm and took a deep, satisfied sniff.
"Don, I need a refill; take care of Slave George here while I'm gone." "Sure thing!"
He moved a bit closer, and as he did, one of the brighter lights in the room caught him and let me get a good look. Incredibly grungy levis a patchy black-brown instead of the accustomed blue, with a thick bulge showing down his left leg. A t-shirt that must have been white some time long ago, now adorned with heavy sweat marks in the pits and down the front, with a worn leather vest over that, and a thick pelt of dark fur curling out the neckband from underneath. A heavy dark beard, matted with dried cum, and two of the hairiest fuckin' armpits I'd ever seen. He was standing next to me, and his smell dominated my senses. Thick with manmusk, and spiced with piss, cum and motor oil, the smell began to make my dick rise; even faster, as I thought about sucking his filthy dick, or licking those raunchy pits.
"Nice to meet you, Sir."
"Aw, ya don't hafta bother with that Sir' crap with me, boy. Dirty Don's my name. I hope ya don't mind my stink; some dudes aren't into serious raunch."
"As a matter of fact, I like it, Don. I've often fantasized about getting it on with a heavily raunchy stud, but you're the first one I've met."
He looked at me closely. "Unusual for such a young'un to be so hot into sleaze -- but then you're with Leo, and to be with him you've gotta be serious into piss. Guess it makes sense after all." With that, he turned his back to me and shoved my nose into his asscrack through a rip in the seat of his filthy jeans.
"Smell that funky ass, boy... lots of hot, workin' man sweat in there." I moaned my appreciation. He turned back around, and started popping fly but- tons.
"Smell that stinkin' crotch, boy... yeah, get yer fuckin' nose in there and breathe it in deep... lick those hairy balls, eat the sweat and scum off 'em... get with it, boy, suck them balls!"
"I see you two are getting along just fine; I'm always pleased when my friends hit it off so well!" Master said, with amusement in his voice. "Oh yeah!" Dirty Don exclaimed, as he pulled my face out of his crotch and rubbed it into his scum-encrusted pants. "This is a hot little piece of raunch-lovin' slavemeat you got here, Leo; I hope you're plannin' to share!"
"That's why I brought him here tonight, Don. You know that my friends are welcome to anything I own... including my slaves, as long as they're careful."
With that, Dirty Don turned back around and shoved his cock into my waiting mouth, grabbed the back of my head and started fucking my face, *hard*. His low-hanging balls were smacking against my Adam's apple, and his thick cockhead was plunging in and out of my throat. Suddenly he pulled out, stroked his cock a couple of times, and anointed my face and beard with his cum. When he'd finished, he carefully wiped the cum away from my eyes (wiping his hand on my chest fur) and helped me out of the brace. He locked me into a heavy, deep, sloppy kiss which was quickly replaced by my slurping at his rank pits; I was so into his stink and his taste, that it took me a while to notice that he had his crotch held tight to mine, and was pissing us both wet!
"Phew! Nothin' like a good, hot piss, is there, Leo?" he said, as he finished and finally let me go. His 501's bore a broad dark patch in the front, which ran down the legs into his boots.
"Nope. And speaking of piss..." Master tapped my shoulder and I dropped to my knees. I quickly undid Master's fly and glanced up for permission to continue. He nodded, and I pulled out his soft, thick cock, and placed the uncut head gently between my lips. He pissed as hard and fast as he could; so fast that I couldn't swallow it as fast as it came. It leaked out of my mouth, mingling with Don's cum in my beard, running down my chest and making my 501's even wetter. Master pulled me to my feet and finished showing me around the room. The walls were covered with art depicting hot men, usually in piss scenes. A large GSA banner hung in one corner, and hidden behind a small door in that same corner was an actual toilet. "Just in case someone needs to shit" Master said.
"Permission to speak, Sir?"
"Yes, boy?" he said, sipping from his freshly-refilled mug. "Permission to piss, Sir."
He pulled me over to a small cabinet, from which he extracted an old-style enema bag. He made sure the clamp was set on the hose, then told me to piss into the bag. I did, and then Master topped it off with his own piss. He put the top on the bag and hung it from a hook on the wall. "Bend over, boy"
He pulled open the rip in the ass seam of my pants, and slipped the nozzle into my ass. He flipped open the nozzle, and the bag of still-hot piss ran quickly into my butt.
"There we go.... Now, boy: I want you to hold that as long as you can; when you need to dump it, you have my permission to leave without asking to the crapper in the corner and dump. Take care of it, and then get back here. Got it, boy?"
"Yes, Sir!"
"Good boy." At that, he grabbed the hair on the back of my head, and pulled me into a deep, long kiss. In the middle of it, I felt his hot piss splashing on my front, as well as the load of combined piss sloshing in my gut. He finally let me go, and I ran (dripping all the way) to the can and got rid of the ache in my bowels. "All cleaned out, boy?"
"Yes, Sir!"
"Good boy." He led me to a rack like the one I'd been in earlier, and started fucking my face again. Master pulled out of my face at the same time I felt someone start playing with my ass (I hadn't noticed before, but the racks also put a slave's ass at a convenient height, as well as his mouth). I looked back, and it was the grizzly-bear doorman, rubbing my crack through the ripped jeans, kneading the heavy lump in his jeans. He moved around in front of me.
"Get it out... no, dumbshit, no hands... use your mouth!"
Fortunately, the jeans were worn and the buttonholes in the fly were loose and popped open easily. Getting his half hard schlong out was another matter; the man sweated like a horse, and the sweat held the cloth to the skin, making it slow going... but then, my face was in a magnificently sweat-soaked crotch, so why should I have complained? I finally freed his thick member, and lubed the head with my spit as he directed. He moved back behind me, and as he did, Dirty Don took his place, forcing me to eat the dried cum out of his beard, and groom his sweat-matted body fur with my tongue and teeth.
The bearlike hunk behind me eased his semisoft cockhead into me, and stopped. By this time, I expected the warm rush that quickly filled my bowels, and his soft moan that accompanied it.
"Nothin' like pissin' in a hot slave ass, Leo."
"Except fuckin' it when it's full of your piss, Den."
"You read my mind, Leo."
He started slowly thrusting into my ass, letting me get used to his thick assripper as it grew fully hard. He wasn't hung overly long, but DAMN it was thick! He'd just started fucking me hard and deep when he paused. I looked up at Don quizzically, since he could see what was happening.
"Jus' yer Master pluggin himself into ol' Dennis' fuckhole while he rams you. Den loves to be the middle of a sandwich."
Before Don had finished explaining the scene, Den was again ramming me hard and fast; if I paid close attention, I could feel Master Leo's counter- point thrusts into Den... but the moment I started to focus on that, I'd get a hard palm across the face from Don, reminding me of the task at hand... or rather, tongue.
Don finally got me down on his uncut dick, and filled my mouth with a load that belied the fact he'd creamed on my face not long before. He pulled out of my face and grinned as he milked the last few drops of cum out, then spread them under his foreskin.
"Gotta start a new crop 'a cheese to replace what'cha ate tonight!" I gasped as Dennis pulled his thick rump-rammer out and moved around in front of me, with Master Leo fucking his hairy, muscular butt all the way. He plunged his funky cock down my throat, thrust a couple of times then pulled out again and blasted jet after jet of mancream all over my face. Just as the volume was diminishing, and I thought it might be safe to open my eyes, I heard Master gasp, and another shower of cum splattered across my face. Don (I could tell from the smell) helped me out of the brace, and I stood up, and wiped the cum out of my eyes, wiping it on my chest.
After the four of us recovered a bit, we all departed for Master Leo's apartment, where I served as urinal and twin fuckhole for the three of them all night long. They did get me off -- I came up Dennis' asshole as he was fucking himself on Master's and my dick at the same time. My cum shooting in his shit- chute set off both him and Master, and I again caught Den's cum on my face and chest.
The next several days went in much the same fashion; during the day, depending on Master's decision, I either spent sightseeing in New York or cleaning the apartment while he was at work. Nights were spent in the wildest, hottest sex I'd ever had; mostly alone with Master, but with Dennis and Don included occasionally, and once with a few other of Master's friends.
I was uncomfortably aware of my rapidly approaching departure date; I knew Master Leo knew when I was supposed to leave, but I didn't want to bring up the subject. One morning, Master called me to him.
"Boy, you're scheduled to fly home tomorrow."
"Yes sir, I know."
"Do you want to leave?"
"I'm not sure, Sir. I... I think I've fallen in love with you, Sir, but... back home, there's my job... friends, family. I just don't know what to do."
"It's up to you, boy. I want to keep you... forever. But you've got to do it because you want me. Here's your choice. Your suitcases are there, your airplane ticket is here on the desk. This is one of my credit cards. Now, I'm going to leave for work. If you decide to go, use the card and make yourself a reservation at a hotel for tonight, take your things and leave; if you do leave, I never want to see or hear from you again. If you decide to stay, call a moving company in your town, use the card and pay them to ship all your shit to you here. Call your boss and tell him to shove the job, then take this collar" -- and here he hefted a heavy leather slave collar, chained to the wall near the desk -- "and lock yourself in. I have the key. You've got until I get home at 5:30 to make up your mind. Goodbye, boy -- and I hope it's only until this evening."
And with that, he left for work.
When he returned from work that day years ago, the apartment was immaculate. My suitcases were gone -- because I'd never need them again. Dressed head to toe in the leathers he had given me, I was chained to the wall next to his desk. He unlocked me, dragged me to the bedroom and fucked me hard for hours. He finished, and then pulled out and soaked me with his golden piss as he said, "I love you, shithead." "I love you, Master."
