Straight Man's Good Boy

We went together on a trip to Prague in winter. The trip was a lot of fun, a lot of weirdness and psychedelia, the ancient apartment in a dilapidated building being the set and the howling of the snow blizzard outside the window being the soundtrack. Andrew was drunk or high most of the time, and he seemed to have turned into a mad scientist. I was his test subject for sure, eager and undemanding. His Czech buddies traveled Europe for Christmas, and my Czech buddies said he looked like a hitman and they were afraid of him, so we hung around without any company, which was exactly what we looked for. We rented this big old apartment from our friend. It had many rooms, and you could get lost in its dark hallways. I still had no mind-map of the place when we were leaving. It was so cold there that we could hardly left our bedroom, where we had a heater, and a TV set, and some neon lights on the wall, and some candles, and a big squeaky bed where we slept and fucked. Andrew couldn’t get enough. He was drunk almost every evening and had a hangover almost every morning. He still desired me, and there was nothing I couldn’t do for him.

He fucked a prostitute once, and that was the first time I saw him fucking someone. He told me to watch, but I couldn’t just watch. I joined them. I sucked his balls and rimmed his ass while he was fucking the girl. Young and smart and very attractive, she liked Andrew for his masculine vibe and natural charisma, and she’d definitely have sex with him even if he wasn’t a client. She didn’t moan just because that was her job. She moaned because Andrew was fucking the hell out of her with his massive cock. He knew how to fuck, and he knew how to make you want more, so the girl was really excited. I sucked his sperm from the used condom when they were done. I could taste her pussy on it, and I freaked out, which Andrew said wasn’t a problem since I was a fucking homo. I sucked his toes and jerked off quickly while he was smoking and relaxing after sex. That was our first night in Prague, and he fucked only me after that. He didn’t use condoms anymore. He fucked me bareback, so I called him raw daddy, which he loved. He wanted a good sloppy blowjob every morning because he had a killer hard-on. He said his orgasms were especially strong and mind-blowing when he had a hangover. His sperm tasted funny when he was drunk or had a hangover, but I liked this taste.

We used to order food in the restaurant across the street, and their delivery guys always freaked out when Andrew or I opened the door. Andrew was naked, sweaty, and scruffy. He scratched his chest and rubbed his cock (sometimes soft, sometimes otherwise). He looked like a man you don't want to mess around with, because you don’t know what to expect from him. I was naked too, looking like a ghost, or an addict, or an actor in a snuff movie. The guys would hurriedly hand us the packages with our food and then just roll down the stairs as if they saw a real ghost or something. They amused us, though we didn’t need to show off. And we certainly didn’t need any company. I tried to tidy up our bedroom, while Andrew was smoking and drinking and throwing cigarette stubs and empty bottles and dirty socks everywhere. I slept at his feet, and I couldn’t get enough sleep, because he kicked me in the face in the middle of the night if I was sleeping and he wanted to take a piss. He hated to go to the bathroom because it was too cold there. I hated it too, but I still spent some time there every morning and during the day because I was a faggot and I had to be well-groomed, clean, and smooth. I wasn’t sure if it’s healthy to drink so much piss, but I didn’t give a fuck. I only gave a fuck if Andrew enjoyed using me or not. He did—most of the time. If he didn’t, he used his fists instead of explaining anything. Fists were more articulate than words, so he broke my nose several times on that fucking trip. That was a language of our own.

I shaved my head and my whole body on our first day in Prague to look cool. Andrew said I looked awesome, not just cool or hot, and he had an instant boner when he saw me in my new appearance. He face-fucked me and shot a good load on my naked skull. That surely wasn’t enough, so he also fucked my ass which, in his words, was “so perfectly smooth”. I looked in the mirror midway through the trip, and I couldn’t believe I liked the way I looked. Skinny as fuck, my face as white as the coke Andrew blew sometimes, my ribs sticking out, my pale butt all bruised up, and my gaze unfocused and totally delusional. I almost never wore any clothes. I didn’t need to, or I’d have to get dressed and undressed a dozen times per day. Besides, I loved being naked, and I loved how lustfully Andrew gazed at me. Our mornings started late, when it was already getting dark, and we went to bed at the first touches of dawn. We fucked like crazy. We tried a lot of BDSM. We tried scat. I’d never thought he’d like scat. I’d never thought I’d like scat. But it turned out the other way. I smoked weed, which I’d never done before. I was high, and I asked him to fist me. He was high, but he fisted me like a fucking pro. (It actually took a couple of stoned sessions for me to take his huge fist up my butt.)

We were high the evening I took him to a tattoo parlor because I wanted a tattoo with his name on it. He laughed.

“You’re a fucking freak, you know that?”

“Yes, so please don’t argue!”

I’d found this tattoo parlor on the Internet. They had crazy prices, but at least, I was sure I wouldn’t pick up any infection. I’d be happy to pick up any infection from Andrew, but he was healthy as a horse.

So we go to this tattoo parlor, and the tattoo master doesn’t want to service us because we both are high. Besides, he says they’re already closing. “Stupid fucking Americans!” That’s what I read on his face, and I’m worried Andrew will get mad. He’s unpredictable under the influence, so I ask this guy, very politely, not to make my boyfriend mad. I explain that I want a tattoo on my lower back with the inscription ANDREW BAY’S GOOD BOY written in this cool Old English Text font. The guy agrees because I’m going to pay him 500 stupid fucking American dollars. It takes him about an hour to finish the job. His assistant stays to keep an eye on Andrew. Surprisingly, Andrew behaves, though he’s terribly bored. He plays a game on his phone, then he keeps walking across the room, whistling some upbeat melody to himself, then he goes to a late-night shop to buy cigarettes, but when he’s back, the work is still in progress. I’m bored too, and I regret this whole idea. The tattoo needle stings like hell, arousing a kind of masochistic pleasure in me. Still, this isn’t as amusing as I thought it would be. And this isn’t quite what I want right now. I want to suck Andrew’s cock, drink his piss, swallow his sperm. Besides, I’m hoping he’ll fist-fuck me because he said he wanted to. He comes closer and strokes my head. I look up at him and smile blissfully. He smiles back, and I see his cock is starting to get hard in his black jeans.

My tattoo is finally done, so I thank the guy, pay with my card, and we leave.

“I’m not your fucking boyfriend,” Andrew says when we’re on the way back home.

I see a playful spark in his black eyes, but not a good one. It promises me something dangerous, which I love. 

“I know,” I say. “I think I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You should be taught some good manners, that’s what I think,” he says.

He takes me by the hand and pulls me into an alley, where he tells me to get undressed. In just a minute, I’m standing naked in front of him, shaking with the cold, my cock hard and leaking precum. I haven’t shot a load in more than a week, which is crazy for me. He tells me to kneel, and I do, impatient for what will come next. He tells me to put my socks into my mouth, and I do, getting really excited.

“Hands behind your head,” he commands and lights up a cigarette.

Then he kicks my balls. I nearly black out because the pain is sharp and unbearable. He kicks my balls again. I want him to stop, but my mouth says, “Thank you, Sir!” It’s just a random set of sounds because I’m gagged with socks, but Andrew knows what I’m saying and what I want to say. We’ve never discussed a safe word because I promised to always trust him. Trust is pain, or it’s pointless. He grins ominously. He kicks my balls again. “Thank you, Sir,” my mouth says, and I can’t help. My hands fail me because they’re still interlocked behind my head and they just won’t take notice of the signals coming from my brain. It creeps me out. He kicks my balls again. My world empties of everything except my scrotum immersed in agony. My cock is twitching hard, and it seems like I’m going to cum, but I’m staying on the edge. He kicks my balls again and says that’ll do. I ask him for one more kick, and now it’s me who says it, not just my mouth. Andrew, however, knows when enough is enough, so he tells me to shut the fuck up and lick the soles of his army boots. These boots are big and heavy. They’re dirty with snow and shit from the street, but I spit out my socks and fucking lick the soles. I rub my stupid faggot face against them. I rub my stupid faggot cock and my aching balls against them, so they get all wet with my precum.

“Thank you, Sir,” I keep whispering.

I’m trembling from overexcitement. He hits me in the face with his huge fist, and I collapse on the ground, shooting a massive load. I feel amazing.

“So you wanna have a safe word?” he asks, dragging on his cigarette.

I shake my head. No fucking way.

“That’s a good boy,” he says.

He steps on my chest and waits till I can get hold of myself. I’m trembling heavily as I’m getting dressed.

It’s late night, and we walk home, where I take off his boots and sniff his fucking socks. They’re sweaty and stinky because he’s been wearing them with his fucking boots. He doesn’t rush me, so I really take my time with his socks. I want to sniff all this hypermasculine smell out of them. Andrew grins conceitedly as he gags me with his socks. Then I get a couple more good kicks in my balls. Then we fuck.

“This tattoo looks freaking awesome!” he says. “Now gape for me, kid!”

And I gape for him when he pulls out his cock. My butthole is wide open, so when he spits into the gape, I can feel his warm saliva dripping down the walls of my rectum. It makes him mad with desire. He pushes his cock back inside and fucks me doggy-style till we both cum.

I must be a lucky devil because I didn’t catch a cold or pneumonia that night.

“Love must have kept you warm,” Andrew says, sounding rather sarcastic.

We’re having breakfast, and I’m telling him how I feel about our improvised ballbusting session.

“Does it bother you?” I ask indignantly, replying to his sarcastic comment.

He gives me a long hard look. He’s sleepy and scruffy. He’s angry because of a hideous hangover. It’s a bad idea to mess around with him right now, but I don’t look away. I’m waiting for an answer. 

“It doesn’t bother me,” he says firmly. “But you better get down here and take care of my dick or I’ll fucking kill you!”

I get down there and deepthroat him like never before. That’s the messiest blowjob one can possibly imagine, and he loves it, so I’m proud of myself. I don’t stop until I’m absolutely sure he’s 100% satisfied and will go to bed now. I fall asleep at his feet, feeling wonderfully content.

This is how we lived in Prague. I sucked him while he was watching TV, or having breakfast, or smoking pot, or taking shit, or taking a shower. I drank more sperm than he drank alcohol. I drank more sperm than ever in my life. He almost never let me cum, so I was horny like hell all the time. I asked him to lock my cock in a cage so I couldn’t even have erections. I thought it would be easier for me not to cum with my cock locked, but he said I had to be eager not to cum without any additional devices. I still came when sometimes we fucked, and I had to say I was sorry I couldn’t hold myself back. I played with his ass. I played with his balls. I learned how to rim him properly. I learned how to suck his balls into my mouth and roll them around with my tongue. He loved it. He never stopped saying I was a good boy, so I thought what else I could do to please him. I was desperate to please him, but I couldn’t come up with any new ideas, because it seemed like we’d tried pretty much everything. He didn’t have any ideas either.

We returned to the USA and didn’t see each other for more than a month because we both were exhausted and being around each other meant more sex, more kink, and more exhaustion. I mostly worked and slept, trying to recover, having nightmares and wet dreams about our trip to Prague. Then he just dropped by one evening. Sober as a whistle, looking good and healthy. He’d been working out in the gym, and he told me to deepthroat him like a good boy. Then he told me to rim his sweaty ass like a good boy. Then he fucked me, and I took his cock like a good boy. Then he let me worship his feet because I was a good boy. I slept at his feet, and he woke me up at night to piss in my mouth, and he fucked me bareback. That was a little reminder of what we’d achieved in Prague. He went out with his buddies the next morning and came back in the evening. We didn’t fuck. He just watched TV and sipped beer while I rubbed his feet. He went to work the next morning and came back again in the evening. I was wondering if that meant he was moving in with me. I asked him.

“Shut the fuck up,” he said and slapped me on the head. “Just trust me and don’t think.”

I was happy. I slept at his feet again, but this time, he actually let me sleep. He went to the bathroom to take a piss, but I still woke up because I’d gotten used to sleeping with one eye open when we were in Prague. He returned, and I rubbed my face lovingly against his feet. Then I fell asleep again. I gave him a good blowjob in the morning and helped him shave and take a shower.

“Will you come after work?” I asked when he was leaving.

“No,” he said.

“Why?”

“I have a date. I’ll come in the morning.”

That was the good old Andrew I knew and loved. The straight man who’d never be mine.