Best Gay Erotica 2002, page 6
The wooden horse lurches sideways, away from me, in one strident scrape. My nerves are jangled and strung tight. I hate that nails-on-a-blackboard screech. I drop my flogger and retrieve the buck knife. I move toward you until I loom over your face. I deftly toss the knife from my right to my left hand. I strike your face with my free hand. Then, with even more grace, I lob the knife over your head and into my waiting, open hand.
You try to shake off the blow. Your eyes struggle to refocus. When they do, I watch them grow comically wide. I have raised the blade high over your chest and am poised for the fatal thrust. You scream, pathetically, for help, much as I imagine little Isaac must have on that lonely mountaintop. But, unlike Father Abraham, I have no god to sacrifice you to other than myself. Worse, your new god cannot bring you back from the dead.
My hand and the knife drop to within a quarter inch of your quaking skin. You try desperately to hold still, though we both know you want to flail about like a madman. I let the point hover above your skin. I drag it slowly through the air down toward your cock.
You scream again for help. You presume, man-child that you are, that you can read the thoughts of an adult. You thrash now with such fury that I know you have convinced yourself that I plan to separate you from your precious and sainted peter. I could, if I were simpleminded enough to doubt that you are mine. But I know that you are. Besides, this god does not need such dramatic sacrifices. Only a little blood, and I am content.
So I take your dick which is my dick and I tug the sound slowly out. I will not tear asunder what is mine. Once I let it fall to the floor with a loud metallic clang, you are awash with pain. You keep shouting that I have cut off your dick. Your voice climbs higher and higher until you shriek in tongues. Somewhere in my unconscious I understand your babblings. There alone dwells the tender spirit of my Holy Ghost.
I stand and watch your cock jerk back and forth. The silver ring will not release its choke-hold. I steady your dick with my hand and push the tip of the knife against the head. It is just a nick. But this bulb, fattened by its own blood, its skin mottled with uneven reds and purples like a ripe nectarine, oozes its rubicund juices. The blade has had the first bite of your fruit. The second will be mine.
I lap at the cut. I taste the tang of metal, like corroded pipes. Then I suck in the whole head and drink deep. My tongue washes back and forth at that precarious point where the head meets the shaft. You stiffen. I push my lips down the length of you and bite. I release and slide up. I slip your cock in and out of my mouth like a piston while I twist your balls. Your dick can get no harder. I wait for your rupture and it comes. I swallow and swallow and swallow.
In the distance, I hear you crying: primal and mindless and wracking sobs. I am happy for this brief moment between more moments. With the blood and come of you, my lamb, I have been washed clean. I have been born anew.
My love for you only grows harder.
Cocky
Mel Smith
I was feeling cocky again. I got that way every once in a while. I don’t know why, because the punishments got worse and worse. Maybe it was because I knew I was his all-time favorite.
He was magnificent, an indestructible, fucking god who had owned dozens of asses way hotter than mine. But I was his favorite. Pretty heady stuff for a nineteen-year-old piece of street shit.
It was Friday afternoon, late. He’d let me go to work with him, the first time he had ever taken one of his boys. I spent the day under his desk, eating that sculpture of his he calls a cock. It’s a fucking work of art, and my throat and my ass fit over it like custom-made gloves.
I hid under his desk, with people walking in and out, while his meat filled my gullet, swelling and pulsing and teasing me. I wanted to eat him so bad I whimpered, but he held back all day, giving me nothing but a pre-cum appetizer.
Of course, I wasn’t allowed to come, either. My balls and my cock were harnessed to a chain around my neck. If I misbehaved—if he thought I was too close to coming or if I touched without permission—he pulled the chain and tightened the harness.
When he didn’t want me on his cock, I curled up on his feet, cleaning his boots with my tongue or losing myself in the scent of leather, cured with oil, piss, and cum. God, I loved that smell. It never tasted as good as it smelled, but the gritty feel of his boots against my tongue made the taste tolerable. They were his boots, and our cum and piss were mixed together on that leather, along with the fluids of those who had come before me. The ones who no longer mattered to him.
At the end of the day, he pulled me from under the desk without locking the door and kissed me until my lip bled. My tongue was swollen and raw. With the door still unlocked, he took off my harness and one of his boots. He gave me the boot and laid me across his desk, and I fucked that beloved boot while he fucked my ass.
He pounded me so hard my nipples were rubbed raw and my hip bones bruised. I drenched that boot with two loads of cum before he shoved me back under the desk, sat back in his chair, and pumped his juices into my face while his secretary asked him questions about the next day’s schedule.
Jesus Christ! Why the hell wouldn’t I feel cocky after a day like that?
Before we left, he put my harness back on and pushed in a butt plug. Then we started walking the four blocks to his car.
He wanted me behind him on his right, with my left hand in his back pocket. I was still too excited, though, and I got squirrelly and full of myself. I bounced around, pulled my hand out now and then, and talked to people as they passed. Everyone stared at him, as usual, wanting him and envying me. I just smiled and said, “He’s mine.”
I knew he was getting pissed but thought he couldn’t do anything. We weren’t in the real world. We were in that fantasy land where people believe they are their own masters. No doubt he would whip me when we got home, but I felt too good to care.
We were a block from the car when I drifted to his left side. He stopped and gave me a look that should have ended it right there, but I didn’t even lower my eyes. I just smiled.
He turned and started to walk again, but, like lightning, spun and slapped me so hard I was knocked to the ground. He kneeled and punched me in the face. He pulled his switchblade out and it snapped open.
I was too shocked to be scared, as blood ran into my mouth and down my shirt.
He sliced his own arm with the knife, then laid it on the ground. He hissed at me under his breath as a crowd formed. “Now you’re going to find out what real punishment is.” He looked up. “Someone call the police. This little asshole just tried to mug me.”
My shock was gone and I felt fear. Plenty of it.
I pleaded with my eyes, but he just stared at me.
Someone had a cell phone and called 911.
I tried to touch him, but he slapped my hand away. He reached under my shirt collar and pulled my chain, stretching my balls to the limit.
I wanted to vomit.
How far would he let this go? What if he actually let them take me in? I didn’t want to think about the cops’ reactions to my harness and butt plug. Worse, though, was the thought of being separated from him. In our two years together, I was never away from him, except while he was at work. Then I was safe in our home, wearing his clothes to keep his scent close to me.
Out in this world, before he’d taken me in, I was terrified all the time. Out here, I didn’t know what was expected of me.
Two police cars arrived.
I whispered, “Please,” but he didn’t flinch. I didn’t want to shame him even more, but I couldn’t keep from crying.
The police took his statement. He said I’d come up from behind him with the switchblade and demanded money. We struggled over the knife, he got cut, he punched me and seized the knife. He refused their offer of an ambulance.
They asked for my version, but he knew I wouldn’t talk.
He said he wanted to press charges. “Maybe it’ll teach the little shithead a lesson.”
They cuffed my hands behind my back and led me to a police car. One officer patted me down before putting me in. He felt the harness.
“What the fuck...?” He pushed my face onto the trunk of the car and pinned my head. “I think he’s got a shoulder harness on. Hold him while I do a better search.”
The other cop held my head and twisted my wrist.
“I don’t know what the fuck this thing is. It feels like he’s got something up his ass, too. Follow me in. I’m going to have to strip search him.”
I choked back a sob.
“What the hell are you carrying, boy? Are those weapons?”
I shook my head, no.
They shoved me into the car. I looked for him, but he was gone.
At the station, they stripped me as much as they could with my hands cuffed.
“Oh, Jesus Christ! What kind of a freak are you?”
One officer pulled hard on the chain around my neck and I almost passed out.
“And look at that tattoo. God, there are some fucking sick people in this world.”
Luckily, my “Property of...” tattoo displayed only his club name. He’d get in trouble if the cops found out about our relationship.
Other cops came and looked at me.
“Get him in front of the camera so dispatch can see, too.”
They paraded me in front of a security camera. They laughed.
“I really, really don’t want to know what’s up his ass.”
They took me to the cell and bent me over.
“Oh, fucking A.”
“What a fucking freak.”
“Get Landers’s trainee in here. We’ll make her pull it out.”
There were four cops by now and they were enjoying themselves, but all I could think of was “her.” They were going to have some female cop take out the plug.
I cried. As much as I didn’t want to, I couldn’t help it. I had never been so humiliated and, without him near, I was more frightened than I ever had been on the street.
I wanted only to be home with him. How long would he punish me?
While waiting for the female officer, my head was kept down and my ass up and spread. They laughed at and ridiculed me nonstop.
Then I heard a woman’s voice. “Oh, Jesus, Cal. Don’t make me do this.”
The male cops laughed harder.
“You’re the trainee, Simms. I have to be able to evaluate your performance in a wide range of situations.”
“Fuck you.”
“Besides, if one of us tries to get it out, he’ll probably get so excited it’ll take the Jaws of Life to unplug him.”
“Fuck you. Give me all your gloves, at least. I ain’t touching that thing without several layers of latex.”
She put on six pairs of gloves, then removed the plug.
“Holy shit. Look at the size of that thing.”
“There should be a place where we can deposit garbage like him so the rest of society doesn’t have to deal with them.”
The female officer finished her cavity search, and I was uncuffed and allowed to dress.
The arresting officer asked a lot of questions. Where did I live? Who should be contacted in case of emergency? I told him I was homeless and had no one. Without him, that was true. He found me on the street and he could send me back there.
I was processed and interrogated, then transported to the county jail. Several other prisoners from other places were brought in at the same time.
When my name was called, my arresting officer gave the jail deputy my property.
“What the hell is this shit?”
“My boy’s into bondage.”
“He didn’t actually have this thing up his ass, did he?”
“Wedged in tighter than a drum.”
Even the other prisoners laughed.
“Fucking pervert. I know exactly which cell to put him in. A parolee came in earlier who couldn’t even make it a full week on the outside. He’ll be more than happy to replace this one’s butt plug for him.”
I dribbled in my pants.
I was processed and taken to my cell. The deputy pushed me in and said, “Dixon. Got a present for you.” He tossed something in behind me. A handful of condoms landed on the cell floor.
I knew which one was Dixon. He was huge, and both of his arms and his neck were completely tatted out. The other prisoners gave him plenty of space.
He stared at me and licked his lips. “I got me some real pussy while I was out, but this looks almost as good.”
He bent over and grabbed some rubbers.
I wanted to fall at his feet and give myself to him, hoping he would show some mercy. At the very least, he might protect me from the other prisoners.
It was my dishonor, though, that had brought me here. I would not make it worse by being unfaithful.
The other prisoners moved to the front of the cell, preventing anyone from seeing in.
Dixon pushed me down onto a bench and raped me. The other prisoners took turns until the rubbers were gone. One guy didn’t get a turn, so he beat me up instead.
I huddled on the floor in a corner of the cell, too scared to sleep, and thought about him.
I was seventeen when I first saw him. My dad had just been arrested. My mom had gotten mad at my dad, so she turned him in for the things he’d been doing to me all of my life.
After the police took my dad away, my mom didn’t want anything to do with me. I ended up on the streets.
I was on my own for about two weeks when I saw him coming out of the club. He was beautiful and powerful. I had never seen anyone like him before. Men hovered around him, just to be in his presence. A young man followed close behind, led like a willing, devoted dog.
He glanced at me when he came out the door, and I knew instantly that he would save me—that he was where I belonged.
I pushed through the crowd and stood in front of him. He looked down at me and he knew it, too.
I went to the faithful young dog and I punched him in the face. I took off his collar, put it around my neck, and stepped into my rightful place.
He took me home and he trained me. He gave me boundaries and showed me what was expected of me. When I earned it, I was rewarded with his affection. When I overstepped my boundaries, the punishment was severe but controlled. It was never the random violence I’d known from my father.
I had never known that kind of love before, and I would have done anything for him.
After our first week together, he took me to the club and handed me over to his friends. He was the only man, besides my father, I had ever been with. I hated being touched by them, but I submitted to everything, wanting to make him proud.
When they had finished with me, I crawled to him. I curled around his feet, my face pressed to his boots, and I cried like a baby.
No one else was allowed to touch me after that. No boy before me had received that honor. He even broke a guy’s arm once after the man had grabbed my ass and made a degrading comment about me.
Now I sat in a jail cell and thought about what he was going through. He had known there was a good chance I’d be used by others. I saw his face when the police searched and handled me. If he never took me back, I had no one to blame but myself. I had taken his love for granted, and I didn’t deserve another chance.
In the morning, though, I was released. All the charges, except the weapons charge, had been dropped. The deputy gave me a court date and sent me out the door. My property was not returned.
I had no money, so I hitchhiked home. I didn’t have a key to the house—I’d never needed one—so I knocked on the door.
He answered.
I fell to the ground, crying. I laid my head on his boots and begged for his forgiveness.
He yelled. “Ryan! Come here.”
I looked up in horror.
Ryan Black appeared and stood beside him. He was wearing my collar. Ryan was the young man I had punched out two years before.
“Ryan, piss on this piece of shit for me, then show him the right way to suck my cock.”
I laid on the ground and looked at my beloved boots while Ryan’s stream soaked my hair. Then he pushed me aside, with a boot to my face, as he made room for Ryan.
Ryan knelt in my spot and swallowed what was rightfully mine.
The door slammed in my face.
I felt empty and amputated.
I heard his orders from the other side of the door. “Don’t just suck it, asshole. I want you to fucking inhale it. I want this meat of mine to end up in your fucking lungs. If you’re still conscious when this is over, cunt-boy, you ain’t doing it right.”
He was talking to Ryan, but the message was mine. If I wanted to come home, I had to earn the right.
I got off the ground, slammed open the door, and kicked Ryan as hard as I could. He fell to the floor.
I went to my knees, wrapped my arms around my god’s body, and slid his sculpture into my throat. It was still a perfect fit. They would have to kill me to get it away from me.
Ryan got up and kicked me several times, but I wouldn’t budge. They both slugged me in the face and head, over and over, but I refused to let go.
His cock grew and filled me even more. Dazed and bleeding, I felt complete again.
I was close to passing out when I heard him say, “You can go now, Ryan. I won’t be needing you any more.”
The door slammed as my collar landed next to my knee.
He whipped me until I was raw. He took me to the shower, cleaned me, and treated my wounds. He put my collar back on, then he took me to bed.
He sat on the edge and I sat on the floor, nestled between his legs. I laid my face against his cock. It beat like a heart and wept pre-cum onto me.
He petted my head, then took a handful of my hair and made me look at him. “Don’t make me do that again. I swear to God, I won’t drop the charges next time.”
