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A BDSM Story

Part 2

The young man knelt near the campfire, his eyes downcast just as they should be. A veil of black long hair fell over his shoulders partially concealing the bared chest. On the small, slender side, the structure of his muscles still showed he was used to work. As did the hands upraised on his thighs.

None in the camp had stepped forward to claim him either as a worker or pleasure slave. An elegant grace to the line of his body suggested a hint of a higher birth in the proud carriage, but from the position he maintained, he was definitely an unclaimed submissive.

Scot Kerr sat across the room from the young man, sipping slowly on his drink. He’d been waiting for someone to claim such a prize, but when no one approached the sub, Scot took his own chance. He set his drink down and stood, then walked over to stand before the young man. Arms crossed, he stared down at the sub.

"Have you experience?"

"I was trained as a work slave, Master. The one who owned me had no use for me in his bed." When he spoke, he raised his face briefly, and the flicker of the fire revealed sherry brown colored eyes.

"Do you have sexual experience with men?" Scot asked him, making a particular note of the shape of the man’s mouth, the fullness of his lips.

"No, I do not, Master." Staring at the ground, the slave didn’t look up at all. Very few wanted an untrained pleasure slave, and it was most likely why none had claimed this one yet.

"Good." Scot stooped and handed the sub a slip of paper with the number 12 printed on it. "Be in my tent in five minutes. I wish to inspect you."

He’d expected the man to walk away the moment he’d told him he wasn’t trained properly. Completely surprised, it took a moment before the slave took the piece of paper. "Yes, Master."

Scot stood without another word and went to speak with one of the other masters. Lowering his voice, he said to Vik, "Why has he not been claimed?" He nodded toward the sub, who was standing, still staring at the slip of paper.

Glancing over the slave, the man shrugged. "No one in the camp wants an untrained slave, Scot. I know he’s traveling to Sicys, and he joined the camp at the Bellius. He behaves well, but what good is he without the proper training? And one from the provinces as well."

After the allotted time, the slave moved towards Scot’s tent. Opening the flap, he stepped inside and let it fall behind him.

Scot nodded, only looking at Vik when the slave disappeared into his tent. "And no one thought to teach him, I suppose." Shaking his head, he walked away. He lifted the flap of his tent and stepped inside. "Such a pretty one like you should not go to waste simply due to lack of training."

The slave had already stripped out of his pants and had them neatly folded near him. He knelt beside Scot’s bed, head properly bowed and his legs parted the appropriate distance for inspection of his body.

"Stand up," Scot said as he pulled off his shirt. The metal armbands around his biceps reflected the light from the small lamp beside his bed. He kept his pants on for the time being, the leather tight but not uncomfortable…yet.

Quickly standing with the order, the slave clasped his hands behind him. He didn’t seem completely at ease, and the slight tenseness to his muscles betrayed a faint discomfort.

Scot stepped close and took the slave’s chin in a firm but gentle grip. "You said you had an owner. Why are you not with him now?" As he spoke, he turned the slave’s head from side to side. "Open your mouth."

"Master Jalon died and I left his home to travel to Sicys." Opening his mouth obediently, he relaxed slightly with the familiar tone of the inspection.

"I see," Scot said, peering into his mouth. He touched the slave’s tongue, smiling slightly at the involuntary twitch against his finger. "If not sex, then what did you do for Master Jalon?" He ran his thumb over the slave’s lips, enjoying their softness. He looked up and said, "Look at me."

Patiently he let Scot touch him. With the command, he looked directly at him. "Master Jalon owned a farm and I took care of his home."

Scot smiled. "Pretty eyes." He stroked the slave’s cheek softly. "I am sure you did a fine job. And I am sure that you know I have no farm. Your job is to please me. If you do well, then you will be rewarded. If you fail, then you will be punished."

"I’ve never…" The slave faltered over his words as he dropped his gaze. He’d spoken out of turn and knew it.

One eyebrow rose and Scot eyed him sternly. "You are new, so I will overlook that. Next time, I won’t be so forgiving. Now what have you never…?"

"I’ve never been trained to please a Master or Mistress. I’ve never been with anybody." Keeping his eyes downcast, he didn’t dare look at Scot.

"I see. Well, then we had best be getting on with the inspection."

Scot released the slave’s chin and walked around him, sliding his hands down the slave’s arms. Then he stepped up behind him, pressing the hardening ridge of his cock along the crease of the slave’s ass. He moved his hands over the smooth chest, down a flat stomach, and finally to the young man’s hips.

"Very nice," he murmured in the slave’s ear.

The tension increased with the feel of Scot’s body behind him and the lowering of his hands, yet the slave stood obediently still for Scot. A faint shiver ran down his spine, reacting to the touch without real control over it.

"On your knees," Scot whispered, "and spread yourself open."

"Yes, Master." Showing some hesitation, the slave slid down to his knees. His hands gripped firmly at his ass, opening himself for Scot. Keeping his eyes straight ahead, he didn’t look back or shift his position in any way as he waited for Scot’s next command.

Scot eased the slave down until his forehead touched the floor. The position left the young man fully exposed as he held his buttocks apart. Scot reached into the pack beside his bed and found the small bottle of gel. He poured some onto two fingers and resting one foot on the floor beside the slave, he knelt on his other knee and circled the slave’s hole with his fingertip.

"How old are you?" he asked casually as he breached the slave’s body with one finger.

A gasp of breath answered Scot and though his body quivered, he kept his forehead on the ground and his hands where they were suppose to be. "I…I’m 18 solstice moons, Master."

The tight muscles of his ass contracted around the penetration of Scot’s finger and the slave’s body began to tremble.

Scot groaned, the sound low and rough. He worked his finger deeper, reveling in the tight heat. "So tight…perfect…" He curled his finger downward, stroking lightly over the tiny gland in the slave’s body. "Do not come."

The tremor increased as sensation shot through his entire body, leaving him desperately drawing in air. Unable to remain silent, a moan escaped him before he bit hard at his lower lip, drawing blood. Having no experience with any kind of control or even the feeling drowning him, his hips tried to rock back in an instinctive need to strengthen what was happening to him.

Scot added a second finger and slowly spread them both apart. "So responsive. I like that." He scissored his fingers even more and looked down, his cock throbbing at the sight of the slave’s stretched virgin hole. "I want to hear you."

His cock felt painfully hard, yet he didn’t dare touch it. The stretching of his ass edged into the painful but the pulses had the rock of his ass riding the fingers inside him. As it became harder to contain himself, the spasm began to tighten in him and he cried out, "Master!"

"Come."

The slave’s body arched with the sudden rush invading him. His orgasm left his entire frame shaking as he vocalized the pleasure of it in with several heavy groans. He still managed to keep his position through the whole thing.

"Very good." Scot eased his fingers out and pulled the slave back up to rest on his heels. He scooped up some of the semen from the tip of the young man’s cock and said, "Open your mouth and take your first taste."

Opening his mouth, his tongue licked at the opaque liquid on Scot’s finger. He seemed dazed at first and his breathing hadn’t quite returned to normal.

"Have you been named yet?"

"No, Master, nobody has given me a name since Master Jalon died, and I can no longer use the name."

Scot turned the slave’s head until their lips were a breath apart. "Then you are now Wesley," he whispered before covering the slave’s mouth with his own, dipping his tongue in to taste.

He didn’t protest the sudden kiss and after a moment, his tongue hesitantly rubbed beneath Scot’s, responding to the intimate contact.

Scot worked his pants open and slowly ended the kiss. "So far, so good," he said as he stood. He pulled his hardened cock out and stroked it from base to tip. "Now I want that mouth. Open."

Looking at Scot‘s cock, his eyes widened before they flew up to his. Though his mouth did open, Wesley didn’t seem too certain about any of this.

"Slide your mouth over it," Scot instructed. "Use your tongue along the underside. Easy with your teeth, but let me feel them. Just suck and lick." He cupped the back of Wesley’s head and rubbed the head of his cock across the slave’s lips before pushing the tip into his mouth.

His tongue darted out tasting at the saltiness before his mouth wrapped around the thickness. The feel of Scot’s cock stretched his jaw as Wesley tried to draw him in as much as he could. Suckling at the flesh filling his mouth, he closed his eyes as a low sound rose in his throat. Though the movement was awkward, the slave did his best to obey his Master.

"Oh, yes," Scot groaned. "That’s it. Relax. Let your teeth graze along the length." His hand tightened slightly on the back of Wesley’s head as he started moving, stroking in and out of the slave’s mouth in a slow rhythm.

He found it fairly easy to keep up with the pace Scot sent and his mouth, tongue and teeth slid in a repeated motion with the rock of Scot’s hip. Without really realizing it, he lifted his hand to gently touch beneath his Master’s balls, his fingers smoothing against the skin of the sac.

Scot rumbled his pleasure, his rhythm growing a little quicker and stronger. He reached down and took Wesley’s hand, cupping them both over his balls, squeezing gently. "Don’t stop," he growled. "Close…swallow…" With a deep-seated groan, Scot thrust into Wesley’s mouth and came.

Wesley nearly choked trying to swallow all of the thick liquid spilling into his mouth. He didn’t let go though as he drank all he could. The press of Scot’s hand encouraged the caress of his fingers around his balls, and he opened his eyes to look up at him. Momentarily Wesley became enraptured by the sight of his Master’s face.

Breathing still shaky, Scot pulled out. As he stepped back to tuck himself back into his pants, he smiled down at Wesley. "You have pleased me very well. Is there a reward you would like?"

Blinking, he didn’t answer Scot at first. Not having realized he could so easily please his Master, he wasn’t sure what to ask for. After another moment he said quietly, "I am hungry."

Scot’s features softened immediately. "Come here." He helped Wesley to stand, hands staying on his shoulders. "You don’t have to please me to eat, Wesley. There are some things you don’t need permission for; I don’t care what others might have told you."

Eyeing Scot uncertainly, he absorbed the notion for a moment. "Master Jalon did not always make me beg, but he told me most people would expect me too."

"Unfortunately, he was right." Scot smiled and smoothed back Wesley’s hair from his face. "Eating, drinking, and basic necessary functions will never be withheld or begged for. I will, however, make you beg to come until you are in tears. I will use many things at my disposal: restraints, chastity devices, toys, floggers, paddles. Now, what would you like to eat?"

A grateful smile peeked out as he stood still, letting Scot play with his hair. "If you have any fruit, I would like some."

"No wonder you’re so skinny," Scot teased. "Come on. Let’s find you some fruit and maybe something more filling." He leaned forward and kissed Wesley softly before stepping back.

"Master Janlon feed me very well, I just never put on much weight." Watching him, he remained silent for a minute before he asked, "May I ask questions of you, Master?"

"Unless I’ve specifically instructed you to remain silent, you are free to talk. I quite like your voice."

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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's deranged imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

All this stuff is mine, mine, mine. You touchy, I hurty. © 2017 and all that jazz.