The Man and His Boy

MB, anal, oral, fist, rim, nc
Haven Telsa

The man looked over his boy appreciatively. The boy had assumed one of the positions favored by the man, both for its unparalleled view of the boy's body and for its irrefutable evidence of his complete submission to the man.

His hands resting dutifully on top of his head, the boy displayed a pair of shaved armpits which had made him the object of ridicule among his school peers. Although the boy insisted to the disbelieving jocks that he had taken the step for hygienic purposes, the truth was that the man demanded that he keep himself smooth. The boy had sobbed quietly the first few times he'd had whisk off the hair under his arms, mourning the loss of yet another symbol of his masculinity.


Of course, hairless pits were only one small part of the equation. The boy had to shave every hair on his body below his eyebrows, except for his treasure trail. The man insisted the boy carefully sculpt this, leading from his belly button to where his pubes would be if he had any left. This line of fur (a landing strip, the man called it) looked utterly ludicrous, and the boy knew it. He could not shower alongside the other jocks without subjecting himself to their taunts — taunts he could not avoid feeling he deserved. After all, what self-respecting straight boy would subjugate himself to the desires of a faggot?


Squatting over the man's thighs, the boy stoically kept impaling himself on the man's enormous dick. On every downward plunge, he made sure he took all twelve inches of thick, hard man-meat into his tight, teenage boy-twat. Gone were the days when the boy would have effusively protested and cried over having to take the full length of the man's cock. It had seemed impossible on that long ago day when he'd lost his anal virginity to the man, but somehow, along the way he had grown accustomed to the incredible length and girth of the mammoth appendage just as the man had promised he would. Now the only outward signs of the boy's agony were the slight wobble of his lower lip and the tautness of his muscular body.


That didn't mean, of course, that getting fucked by such a gigantic cock was painless. On the contrary, the boy still felt like he was being torn a new asshole every single time he got fucked by the man. It didn't help that the man was neither gentle nor restrained in fucking the boy. He took great pleasure in meeting each of the boy's downward movements with a powerful upward thrust of his pelvis, smashing his cock deep inside the boy's aching twat.


Then again, the man had not shown restraint even on that first day. The boy had stared at the man's one-eyed monster in terror when the man told him it was going inside his tightly puckered, virginal asshole. The man had briefly considered going easy on him using plenty of lube and opening him up first with a couple of fingers. However, his indecision had lasted only an instant. You only got one chance to deflower a boy and, if you intended to use the experience as a teaching moment, as the man did, you had to make sure you got it right. And that meant minimal lube (only enough to gain entry, not make it a frictionless one), no stretching, and absolutely no condoms.


Oh, the boy had blustered, bargained, and begged. He wasn't a faggot had been his first argument. When that, predictably, got him nowhere, he tried to negotiate, offering to suck the man's cock instead of spreading his legs for him. Unfortunately for him, the man had already experienced a somewhat lackluster blowjob from the boy (what more could you expect from a straight teen?), so that didn't convince the man to compromise either. Finally, the boy had resorted to tearfully pleading for compassion. The man had to use a condom at least. He couldn't fuck him bareback.


If the man had believed the boy's concern was borne out of anything other than homophobia, he might have relented, but he knew all about the boy's reputation in school, and it wasn't limited to his impressive accomplishments on the wrestling team. No, the man also knew about the vicious campaign of bullying that the boy had led against kids he perceived as being homos. The boy had had no qualms about wishing his victims would drop dead of AIDS. It was, to the boy's mind, an exclusively gay disease.


The man knew he was clean. He took his sexual health seriously and got tested for STIs regularly, always receiving the same, negative result. In fact, if anything, he had more to fear about catching something from the boy who, before becoming the man's fucktoy, had slept around with more than his fair share of girls. But it was a risk he was more than willing to take. To complete his hold over the boy, he had to breed him. He had to fuck him raw.


How the boy had howled when the bulbous head of the man's dick, the size of a small nectarine, initially breached his virgin hole. The boy had wanted to pause there and take a moment to adjust to the intrusion, but the man was not about to afford him such a luxury. He kicked the boy's legs out from under him and watched with satisfaction as the boy fell, with an ear-piercing shriek, down the rest of the man's dick.


Shock, anger, and pain registered on the boy's red, tear-stained face. He was practically choking on his sobs as he tried to get up off the man's dick, but the man held him down by the shoulders, glad that he had taken the precaution of tying the boy's hands behind his back. The man was strong, but he didn't fancy his odds against a very pissed-off high school wrestler. Eventually, the boy had given up his struggle if one could call it that; he did not have much maneuverability bound as he was. And then the real fun began.


The man had had plenty of experience in ass play; the boy had none. The man used this disparity to his advantage, aiming his cock to jab the boy's prostate on every thrust. It took the boy a while to notice, so engrossed was he in bewailing his anal violation, but soon he had an undeniable hard-on to which the man wasted no time in drawing attention. The man would never forget how the boy's eyes widened in surprise, and his face suffused with shame, at his inexplicable arousal. Before long, the boy was leaking pre-cum, and that was when the man knew, with absolute certainty, that the boy was his for the taking.


So, he hammered the boy's ass hard, so hard that the boy would have trouble walking normally for nearly a week afterward. The man wondered how the boy had justified his bow-legged gait and the agonized expression on his face every time he sat down. But, as with the shaved pits and pubes, the boy somehow managed to explain it away to observers. (Some did wonder why he had suddenly become so injury-prone in the gym.) In the three years following his capitulation to the man's control, the boy would get a lot of practice in cooking up excuses that ranged from eminently plausible to insanely unbelievable.


But on that very first day, the only person to whom the boy had to make excuses was himself. And there he was fighting a losing battle. He couldn't even begin to comprehend why he had an erection. How could he get a boner while being brutally butt-fucked? The excruciating pain alone should have put paid to that. Yet here he was, well on his way to a full-blown stiffy. He was loath to contemplate the reason that was staring him in the face.


Sensing the boy's inner turmoil, the man hid a smile. The boy was exceptionally handsome, but he became even more attractive when his natural tendency towards arrogance was replaced by boyish vulnerability. The man gave in to his most primal urges. Wielding his cock like a battering ram, he pummeled the boy's insides with a vengeance, while reaching out to pull the boy towards him by the scruff of his neck.


The boy was too busy blubbering to resist when the man forcefully kissed him, shoving his tongue down the boy's throat. At first, the boy passively accepted getting tongue-raped by the man but, after a while, he tentatively probed the man's mouth with his own tongue. He was also rubbing his cock against the man's belly in a transparent attempt to get off. The man couldn't have that, so he grabbed the boy's cock and told him he would only get to cum from being fucked. He had a lesson to impart, after all.


The boy whimpered, clearly desperate to cum, but the man knew his way around the male anatomy, and he was determined to draw out the boy's orgasm. He would alternate a series of rapid-fire thrusts with slow, leisurely strokes, bringing the boy close to climax and then pulling him back from the precipice. This went on for almost an hour, and the boy's tears of pain had turned into tears of frustration. The man himself had not been able to hold back from shooting his load inside the boy; the boy's face was a picture when he realized he'd been bred.


After what felt like an eternity to the boy, the man decided to let him blow his wad. He battered the boy's prostate nonstop for a full minute and was rewarded by the boy's swollen, purple dick erupting untouched. It was the most satisfying orgasm of the boy's life, the circumstances in which it was achieved notwithstanding. Seven strong jets of spunk arched through the air and spattered both their bodies. When his climax finally receded, the boy collapsed, spent, on top of the man. But if the boy thought they were done for the night, he was sadly mistaken. The man gave him all of five seconds to catch his breath, before ordering him to lick up his mess and resume the fuck-fest. His pitiable, ravaged ass was going to get a proper workout. In all, the boy would be fucked to six orgasms that night, the last of them dry. Of course, that was only the beginning. The boy had come a long way since that night.


His deflowering had taken place in his own bedroom while his parents were out. They were rarely at home and, with his brother away at university, the man was free to pop over and have his filthy way with the boy in every part of the house. The man enjoyed whispering sweet nothings in the boy's ear and watching him blush furiously while they christened the dining table, the kitchen island, the living room couch, the television in the den and the shower stall in his brother's bathroom. Having the boy dress himself in his mother's lingerie and splay himself on his parents' bed for an epic pounding was a particular highlight for the man; he hadn't seen the appeal of cross-dressing until then.


As far as the boy was concerned, getting his brains fucked out all over the family home was bad enough, but the man was not content with having the boy all to himself. Something that beautiful needed to be shared with the world. After all, a joy shared is a joy doubled.


More than anything else, though, the man yearned to see the boy in his rightful place as a true submissive, devoted to serving any and all men so inclined. With this goal foremost in mind, he had the boy transfer his membership to another gym. Unlike the boy's old gym, where he'd hang out with his jock buddies (before they decided the boy was a freak), this one was located in a seedy part of town. The gym-goers were also less reticent in their choice of workout clothes: tight string vests and short shorts abounded. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the gym catered primarily to a gay clientele, and the man expected the boy to stick to the ‘dress code.’


Needless to say, the boy proved to be something of a sensation in the gym. All throughout his workout, he faced no shortage of helpers, who made the most of the opportunity to ogle and feel him up. Emboldened by his lack of resistance (the man had forbidden him from voicing any objections), they advanced to actively molesting the boy. His muscled thighs and glutes were especially a favorite — not that his rippling back and chiseled chest lacked for attention. The boy felt deeply disturbed because he could guess where this was heading. The man soon proved him right.


After that first session, the man decided that the boy no longer needed to wear a top to the gym. He was the only person exercising shirtless, but the gym management did not kick up a fuss after the man had a word with them. They were merely glad of the noticeable spike in gym membership as news of the boy circulated amid the gay community. The boy's shorts became progressively skimpier until they were little more than trunks which fit him like a second skin, his exposure exacerbated by the man's command to ditch his jockstrap and go commando. All of this had the net effect of serving as an open invitation to the gay gym-goers. But the boy's degradation did not stop in the gym. Oh, the man had much more in store for him.


After completing his strenuous workout (the man kept him on a strict regime to hone his magnificent physique further), the boy proceeded to the bathhouse which was conveniently adjacent to the gym. It surprised absolutely no one that many of the gym-goers trooped in after him. They were keen to discover what the boy would be willing to do. Of course, the answer to this question was dictated by the man. And he had told the boy it was to be anything and everything. The only caveat was that other men would have to wear a condom when fucking the boy; only the man himself was entitled to fuck his boy bareback.


The boy had vigorously protested this arrangement. He expressed, in the strongest terms, his disgust at having to whore himself out to total strangers. Amused, the man had retorted that the boy was hardly a whore when he wasn't getting paid to offer up his boy-cunt on a platter; he was merely a cum-slut who craved a cavalcade of cock.


The observation hadn't done any good for the boy's troubled psyche. His pride had already taken a terrible battering (worse than the one his boy-cunt had) when the man had assumed control of him. Now more and more faggots had been given the green light to abuse his body and rape his orifices. How was any of this fair? Why couldn't the man be satisfied with the boy being at his beck and call? He'd done everything the man had asked — even the utterly revolting rim job that had made him physically ill — but the man just continued piling on his impossible demands.


This burst of insolence had been expected by the man, but he still had to punish the boy for it. Bending him over his knee, he gave his ass a severe spanking. The boy yelled and wriggled, but he didn't break position until the man had delivered one hundred swats, by which time the boy's ass was bright red, and the man's hand ached. But what had humiliated the boy more than his sore ass was the hard-on he was sporting by the end of the spanking. The man just gazed at him contemptuously and unceremoniously dropped him to the floor. The boy couldn't meet his eyes as, without prompting, he licked up the pre-cum he'd leaked onto the man's bare thigh.


There were no more protests after that. The delighted gym-goers found a pliant boy who readily acquiesced to their demands. In no time at all, the boy was flat on his back, sucking on one cock while another reamed out his boy-cunt. Once they learned that he also gave rim jobs, the boy became just as likely to be deep-throating cock as eating out assholes. When his boy-cunt wasn't occupied by a rampaging cock (and sometimes even when it was), eager fingers squeezed their way into the steamy orifice churning up the boy's guts.


Meanwhile, hands freely wandered across his hunky body, twisting his pouty nipples, stroking his erect cock, squeezing his low-hanging balls and feeling up his washboard abs. One fucker was immediately replaced by another as the bathhouse patrons marveled at what they perceived as the boy's complete depravity. He was given no respite whatsoever; everyone, college students and grandfathers alike, wanted a piece of the nubile teenage boy-flesh at their disposal. He swallowed pints upon pints of cum including the contents of used condoms which he had to suck clean.


As the days went by and word got around, the boy was inundated by dozens of men in a single night. To cater to such a high volume, double penetration became a necessity which the boy reluctantly adopted. The man thought it a glorious achievement when the boy took two dicks in his ass for the first time. The boy, his body wracked with agony, could not have disagreed more.


By the end of the night, he was a fucked-out wreck until the next night when the process would repeat itself.


If the boy felt any discomfort or shame, he didn't outwardly display it, aside from the occasional gagging or squealing when a cock went too deep down his throat or two exceptionally huge dicks porked him simultaneously. (Those reactions were out of the boy's control — although, truthfully, his entire life was out of his control.) Nonetheless, the man was confident that the boy intensely experienced both emotions; he had merely become adept at hiding them out of some ill-conceived notion that the man would lose interest in him if he no longer reacted to the abuse. Unfortunately for the boy, the man had latched onto his thought process (teenage boys were nothing if not predictable) and responded by dreaming up new and innovative torments, solely to get a reaction out of the boy. Ironically, the boy's self-enforced stoicism was actually worsening his own ordeal.


The boy now had an abundant supply of toys (or torture instruments, depending on whose perspective). On the days when he wasn't required to attend the gym, he would instead put on a webcam show where he stuffed one or more of these toys inside his hole. These shows had the advantage of reaching an even wider audience, although the man did grant him the concession of a small mask to conceal his identity.


Hundreds of anonymous chatroom users were treated to the sight of the boy's hole swallowing up fresh phallic produce, fifteen-inch dildos and anal beads the size of tennis balls. His muscles would pop, and sweat would stream down his body as he strained to fit these freakishly huge objects up his still miraculously tight hole. The man had to respect the boy's hardiness; his eyes would roll back in his head, but he soldiered on until every last inch of the toy was entirely buried inside his obscenely stretched-out boy-cunt.


His reward for his suffering? The chatroom ‘fans’ clamored for even larger objects to be thrust inside him. The man took note of some of these suggestions and made dreams come true by buying them for the boy's next cam show. He had to (reluctantly) draw the line at the proposals for double fisting. As much as he would have relished seeing the boy's boy-cunt gaping open so grotesquely, he couldn't afford to completely demolish the boy's prime real estate. He did deign to fist-fuck the boy as a birthday present, however, although the boy, who passed out from the pain, didn't appreciate the gift in the slightest. Nor did he enjoy its reprises at least once a week!


It wasn't only the boy's hole which saw plenty of action. He had been blessed (or cursed) with rather prominent, pink nipples. The man adored chewing on these beauties and screwing nipple clamps onto the sensitive nubs so tightly that the boy was sure they were being pulverized. The man had observed that stimulating the boy's tits resulted in a blood rush to his groin, and thus resolved to make the condition all but permanent.


As the boy's pecs grew from all the time he was spending in the gym, his wrestling singlets rubbed against his tender aureoles, making him throw a boner during matches. The boy had been wrestling since elementary school without experiencing an erection from contact with other boys, but now it seemed he could not go one bout without getting a hard-on. An erection in such close quarters could not pass unnoticed, and the boy wanted to sink into the wrestling mat as he felt the derision of his opponents’ burn into his skin. It was a widely held opinion among wrestlers that only faggots could be aroused while grappling with other males. (Otherwise, they could never credibly argue away the inherent homoeroticism of the sport.)


His overwhelming embarrassment, coupled with the consequences of abnormal levels of sexual activity (a perpetually aching ass and intense physical exhaustion), meant that the boy's wrestling performance suffered severely. This, above all else, was the most significant source of despair to the boy. It was one thing to have his life outside of school taken over by the man's debauched diktats. His social life had fallen apart, and dating girls was a thing of the past. However, wrestling was the boy's pride and passion. It was supposed to help him secure a scholarship to college, the gateway to a brighter future. And in his current predicament, it also had the potential to get him away from the man's malign influence and the bathhouse full of perverts who were ever ready to exploit his teenage body.


Instead, that escape route appeared to be slipping through his fingers. He thought it was rotten luck that his sexual subservience was spilling over into his wrestling career. He'd tried what little he could to save his scholarship chances. One time, he'd begged the man let up on him the night before a crucial contest. He really should have known better. Instead, the plea triggered a furious response from the man, who coated the tennis ball-sized anal beads with Ben-Gay before making the boy stuff them up his boy-cunt and keep them there while he paddled his ass for half an hour straight. The boy's ass hurt so unbearably both inside and out that the outcome of the next morning's contest was a foregone conclusion. It was all the boy could do not to scream when his opponent's hands came into contact with his tortured ass. He threw the match within the first minute. His coach and teammates weren't just disappointed in him. They were disgusted.


The next time, he didn't say a word to the man but quietly jerked off several times during the night, hoping that empty balls would keep him from growing a boner during the match. While he did succeed to a degree, there was hell to pay later when the man discovered that the boy wasn't getting hard as he usually did while being fucked. He instantly grasped the reason for the boy's lack of arousal. Ignoring the boy's desperate apologies, he greased up his fist and thrust it all the way into the boy in a matter of seconds. The boy was still reeling from this savage fisting when the man's grasping fingers located his prostate gland and began a relentless massage that would last well over an hour, eventually spurring the weeping boy to five agonizingly dry orgasms. After that, the boy never jerked off without the man's permission. But just in case, the man made sure to reinforce the lesson at least once a month.


In a way, the boy was somewhat naive. The deterioration in his athletic performance was not a simple case of misfortune. The man knew exactly what he was doing when he designed the boy's jam-packed roster of sexual duties. He was aware that the boy was aiming for a college scholarship on account of his wrestling prowess and he had no intention of allowing the boy to win it. Nor did he intend to honor his promise to keep the boy's sexual depravity a secret from his family and school.


No, the man had a long-term plan for the boy, and it didn't involve him concealing his true nature for much longer. The boy had barely another month of high school left to go —another month of hiding in the shadows. And then three long years of careful orchestration and cunning manipulation would finally bear fruit. The man had never invested so much time in a boy as he had in this one — three whole years, watching the boy mature from a sophomore to a senior, evolving from a cocky, petulant jerk to a meek, obliging slave graduate, from giving half-hearted blowjobs to taking the man's entire fist up his rectum. Yes, it had been a huge gamble, but the man was confident that it was going to pay off. It was almost too bad that it would involve the complete destruction of the boy's life, as he knew it. The grand reveal was going to be rough on the boy.


In spite of himself, the man felt a little sorry for the boy. He was annoyed at himself for that, but he couldn't help admiring the boy's mettle. Even after everything he'd thrown at him, the boy had endeavored to maintain the normalcy of his straight jock existence. But admiration only went so far. The man was nothing if not single-minded, and since he had resolved to make the boy his, he wouldn't let anything come in the way of attaining his goal — certainly not some misplaced fondness for the boy's spirit. He had to crush it before he was able to upend the boy's painstakingly crafted veneer of masculine dominance and unabashed heterosexuality.


For that was what it was, a veneer. Of that, the man was confident. Deep down, the boy was a submissive. How else could he have fallen so far, so quickly? A boy, who genuinely identified as a dominant, straight male would not be fucking himself on the man's dick, as the boy was doing at that very moment. He would not present himself at a gay bathhouse four times a week to let strangers spit-roast and double-penetrate him. He would not cram his boy-cunt full of obscenely oversized dildos for webcam audiences. He would not tolerate all of the sexual abuse the man had heaped on him with barely more than a token resistance.


For now, the man permitted the boy his cocoon of false security. It would make his eventual fall from grace in a month's time all the more devastating. On graduation day, the man would obliterate the boy's world in front of his entire school. And he would be there to pick up the pieces.


Oh, the boy would hate him at first — it was always a tough sell telling someone you've destroyed his life for his own good — but eventually, he would come around. He'd have to. By the time the man was through taking a wrecking ball to the boy's life, he would have no one else to turn to. The only familiar thing left to him would be the man's dominance over every aspect of his existence. And the man would be waiting. He'd been patient for three years, after all. What was another month?


The ultimate prize of owning the boy, body, and soul, was more than worth its while.