A Career for Two

A Career for Two

F.E. Cooper

(Homage to Gerry Taylor and Pete Brown)

They knew just what to do. They had been coached to do it. Over several months, trained well. Final grooming ahead, not yet conveyed.

Solly was engaged with his shoes and socks when Tim came in and began the same process. “Hi, guess we’re right on schedule. Everything okay?”

“Mostly,” Tim said as he removed the rest of his clothes. “Not a bruise yet today. How ’bout you?”

“Look.”

“Your shirt tail’s in the way. Oh, man, your butt’s red.” He helped Solly strip.

Naked, they faced each other, hands steadying each other’s head for the obligatory kiss. Tongues took turns tantalizing the mouth of each until their responding erections rubbed.

Tim having gone first yesterday, it was Solly’s turn to lavish saliva in his friend’s arm pits. Pits before chest’s nipples. Nipples before navel.

Mission accomplished, Tim took over. Returned the favors.

Both breathed together deeply three times before following protocol and reaching to enclose the other’s scrotum for squeezing exercises. Three times, each with more pressure. First for a count of three, second for a count of five, third for a count of ten.

Smiles broke simultaneously. “We didn’t cry,” Tim said softly. Solly replied with pride, “That’s the point. We’re making progress.”

Solly placed his hands on his hips and thrust forward so that Tim could slap his erection until it wilted, a task which Solly performed for Tim in turn.

It was good, they knew, as they walked together to the shower stall. They should await arousal by their men. Everywhere except their heads, they smeared the product that dissolved hair, each responsible for his counterpart’s complete smoothness. Warm water spray and soap sluiced skin before towels buffed same to healthy pinkness.

Upon passing each other’s inspection, they provided encouraging hugs and separated to return to their assignments.

* * *

Two men observed, the trainer and the coach.

“Neither fidgets, both stand straight, they show little emotion, good attitudes. They’re ready.”

“I’m not sure. But I’ll defer to you with your greater experience.”

“No, to the fact of their conditioning, subliminal and conscious.

“Solly’s bottom needs toughening. The same amount of spanking as Tim gets yet Solly stays red. Shall I administer our tannic acid salve?”

“No, most like a boy whose butt shows the effect of being spanked.”

“What about Tim’s tendency to bruise?”

“He’s been misused. I’ll see that doesn’t happen again.”

* * *

They were not perfect. Perfection lay in acceptance, yet acceptance was not enough. Not when, in what they thought was a moment of privacy, Tim cursed the severity of his endurance coaching and Solly seconded the observation with a few four-letter pejoratives.

Discipline was meted out to the offending tongues with small, specially designed black rubber crops. Standing nakedly side by side with hands in the small of their backs, they were instructed to extend their tongues for punishment – a stroke for each letter of each bad word. “If you draw back from what you are due, your suffering will be greater. Cry, if you need since it’s your first time, but keep those tongues out.”

Tears and cries were nothing compared to tongues so swollen that four subsequent meals were necessarily cold and sipped through straws.

Neither ever swore again.

Mercifully, oral training was postponed, although they were permitted to observe a part of it being carried out on another agency recruit – a girl.

In passing, they were told, “Our tutor’s daughter, Maybelle, a real find. A throat her parents helped mightily to prepare.”

* * *

Laid out for presentation were a number of anal inserts. Their coach spoke, “These are beginner dildos, butt plugs, and lubricants. Let’s start with the basics of anal readiness. Poke your posteriors my way, boys. That’s it. I’ll work in the tips of these baby dildos first.”

“Ooh,” both reacted.

“Fine, they’re in all four inches. Now reach back, find the loop to your friend’s, and begin to move it little by little, helping each other to discover – well, you’ll see.”

Sphincter sensitivity soon was aroused. With it came the attention of genitals, which rose sportingly.

“Oh, wow.”

“Good, you may let me withdraw them from you. Next, I’ll insert these silver-looking, fat, bullet-like items with strings hanging down? They bring rears to life.”

Both bolted up to stand erect, then on tiptoes, within moments of the vibrators’ scintillation of anuses and rectums. “Instant mood-makers,” it was quipped.

Tim and Solly clutched each other, quivering so unexpectedly they did something that astonished themselves, they locked mouths in passion. Tongues tangoed. One’s cock caressed the other’s. As one, they came.

Immature coagulate jammed through urethras with stinging effect.

Orgasm abating, newly spurred hearts pounded less. Breaths recovered. Solly sank to the floor, his ass twitching with aftershocks. Tim collapsed, too, spasming similarly and biting his tongue so that the four-letter words in his mind would not erupt to bring more punishment.

“Lovely reaction. Incipient adolescence. I’ll reclaim the bullets, if you please. Wait a second. Let me treat you to anal beads – so accommodating. They snake right the way in. There. That’s all the way. Take these pillows for your heads and watch the video on the screen.”

What appeared was a boy their size being leisurely stripped of his clothes by a burly, bearded man in front of a cabin’s log-burning fireplace. Giggling girlishly, playing shy while being nuzzled over his exposed front, being turned over and told he needed to be toasty on both sides, the boy was lightly spanked, drooled on, fingered singly and doubly, and then, with a growl, fucked face-down on the rag-weave rug.

“So beeg,’ he crooned in his foreign accent.

His assailant’s accent was similarly colorful – from somewhere in the lower Americas perhaps – and filled with “Tha’s some fine nookie,” “Gonna make a baby,” “Push back, puta,” “Gimme yo’ poosie,” and “I’m a-cummin,’ honey, jess por chew.”

Bug-eyed at the violence and more so at the battering, the boys clenched teeth and sphincters. They were going to exclaim their horror when coach’s cautionary hand stopped them. “Now watch the outtake and note the actors’ comments.”

A button’s push later, the boy, all smiles, was hugging the man enthusiastically and patting his big, wet dick as an off-set voice said, “Great. You both knew what to do, so were great. Terrific scene. No need to reshoot any of it. We cut back and forth between our cameras. This will sell well among the download crowd.”

“They’re actors?” Tim was incredulous, not for the first time among recent events.

“Good ones. Say, how do you like your beads?”

Solly had been too rapt to think about his. Tim said, “They’re okay.”

“And when I slide them back and forth?”

“Whoo!”

“Can I keep mine?”

“Sure, for your oral training. Ready?”

Tim interjected, “Can we have something to eat? I’m hungry, at least for a snack.”

“Well actually, oral training begins with small bananas called Lady Fingers and progresses to big ones called Giant Cavendishes. At each stage, you get to eat your banana.”

A game was made of the boys holding by suction only a half-peeled lady finger in their mouths “to train your lips for perfect circling – with the peel preventing any accidental swallowing.”

Longer bananas peeled halfway touched backs of throats but, thanks to innate talent and coachly encouragement, were dealt with over several sessions. “Now, here’s the moment of truth,” they were told. “I’ll hold the Giant Cavendishes for you, and you bob your O-shaped mouths along their length until your gag reflex is under control. It’s up to you.”

“I get it,” Solly beamed. “Oral sex is like this. That’s what we’re being trained for, isn’t it?”

“Smart lad,” he was congratulated.

Both graduated from bead wearing to first butt plugs. “So men can fuck us, right?” Solly guessed.

“Yes, babe. And soon, you’ll have your own six-inch dildo/vibrator/plug combo in place. Great exercise for when you’re out walking or running and doing fledgling gymnastics.”

Tim asked, “Will we get a man then?”

“Sweetheart, a man will get you. Be patient. There are leather harnesses and various tyings to get used to. Willow rods and birch switches – well, we’ll have to see the extent to which those are required.”

To blank expressions, words of distraction were directed. “Don’t worry your pretty heads, boys. Everything’s been thought through. Our goal is seven-and-a-half to eight inches of oral and anal depth and a certain amount of tolerance for non-punishment pain, pain to enhance sexual pleasure.”

“Ours or some man’s?” Tim wanted to know.

“I’m not going to say this again, so pay attention. Not just any man, your man, the one in whose world you will be a proud possession. When your mind’s in the right place, his enhanced sexual pleasure is what will matter to you.”

“Hear that, Tim? We’re going to be fucked a lot,” Solly brightened.

“And spanked and whipped and tied tight with knots and made to choke down huge dicks and get fucked until…until what?”

“Tim, think about it. It’ll be wonderful. We won’t have to make any decisions.”

“We’ll be slaves, won’t we? Is that what this conditioning is all about?”

“Boys, you are mature enough to be told, although I’ve no authorization to do so. I’m making a judgment call. Pay heed. Your sperm donors were beloved slaves of two men for whom my predecessor worked as favored trainer-coach. In a sense, you have quite a few brothers in service among men in high places.”

Slight hesitation produced, “Younger boys are being brought up to where you are today, just as older ones were before you two. That aside, I’ll tell you that, while up in years, the men demand the highest quality a person such as this agency can produce – magnificently malleable boys with years and years ahead to serve happily.”

“Hey, just a minute,” Tim said. “What happened to our sperm donors?”

“They and the private jet they were on were the victims of a stray North Korean missile. A tragedy, the only one ever in our agency’s years of operation. Did I tell you that your men will treat you to worldwide travels? That you will want for nothing? Finely controlled diets, fitted clothes and leathers, opportunities to learn that you cannot imagine, associations with differently delightful young men and boys in other forms of obedient work – such as military cadets in body-displaying gray uniforms, their rigid posture and close-order drills assured by ingenious, radio-controlled inserts; such as a troupe of dancers whose choreography does wonders for the enticing, super-sensuous movement of their nipple chains, ball weights, and plug-in puppy tails; such as a synchronized gymnastics team the routines of which have been known to cause riots among the randy and result in butt-fuck orgies the joys of which no ancients ever knew.”

Solly worried, “What are you not telling us? Are we going to be in some mass group activity, us among a nameless many?”

“No. You and Tim are to be prized – as a pair – by a very special pair of men. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s get you into light bondage and skin-toning thrashings.”

* * *

Weeks of work went by in the pursuit of happy futures.

Solly and Tim were brought to understand the erotic stimulation of consciousness-raising implements used on every part of their bodies. Necessary to their success was the transference from penile excitation to anal arousal. Applications of Olbas oil internally were made with hot-to-get-fucked results until conditioning to solid spankings, suitable switchings, and light canings was declared sexually accomplished.

“Boys, I’m proud to say your day has come. Go clean yourselves completely, style your hair, don these open-in-the-back, tissue-thin kaftans and put on the golden sandals waiting for you in the bathroom. Come back to me for something new and very special.”

Golden blindfolds were held up. “These will help you towards the great love ahead.”

* * *

Resembling nothing less than beautiful boys from the Renaissance, Solly’s fluffed brown curls framed his peerless features and Tim’s sandy-colored flowing tresses set off his lissome line of jaws, neck, and chin. Would that there were a time machine, for Sodoma would have drooled to immortalize them if Leonardo or Botticelli had not managed to.

The moment had arrived for blindfolds to be fitted. Placed properly, the boys were led, unafraid and expectantly, into the establishment’s much spoken of meeting chamber where awaited the men for whom they had been prepared.

Soft sounds of approval preceded large, radiantly warm hands stroking cheeks and outlining ears. The same hands delicately ran along barely muscled arms, tested fingers for flexibility, caressed slender hips, turned both boys slowly, spread their kaftan’s openings for eyes to assess the shapeliness of what now were pristine orbs of virginal appearance, and reached embracingly to touch quiescent genitals.

A deep voice said, “Lean as greyhounds with stomachs to match.”

Another, “Matchless.”

The hands took the measure of what they held and applied pressure.

“Not so much as to injure.”

“I wouldn’t – not yet.”

Solly shivered. Tim forebore more. In silence.

“They know what to do.”

“I’m pleased.”

* * *

Shortly, blindfolds were removed. The boys blinked, then blinked again at their men. Identical twins of statuesque, quasi-Viking physique, cropped blond hair, glowing blue eyes, and genitals fit for giants. Ruggedly handsome, sun-bronzed overall, they personified the boys’ implanted ideal for masters.

They beckoned.

“Bathe our bodies with your tongues.”

Imagine the sight that greeted their eyes when the boys dropped forward to the floor, their kaftans parting as they crawled to lick the standing men’s toes. Bottoms bobbed as heads moved to flicker tongues in ankles’ direction. Sensitivity of tender areas to either side of Achilles’ tendons stirred twins’ waiting loins. Longer lingual strokes to calves and shins necessitated squatting positions. Tim and Solly’s knees strained to support the boys’ oh-so-gradual rise to hirsute, heavy-hanging balls.

One at a time. Otherwise too large for small mouths. Solly’s was the idea to suck in an egg-shaped testicle and to lavish it with saliva. His reward, a manful moan. The scent of his man’s pubic growth filled his nostrils.

“You, too,” Tim was told. “Suck my balls.”

Young heads felt the presence of lengthening cocks.  Mouths struggled with bulbs too big. What masters demand must be provided – oral service no matter how impractical. Tim’s eyes watered with his effort.

“Not good enough!”

Saliva overflowed the gaping boy’s mouth.

“Open him with your cock, brother. He’s being stubborn.”

A hand behind his head brought Tim’s small, shallow oral cavity onto the cock’s head and crammed the head inside, choking as it sought passage into a throat far too small for its dimension. Its pole-straightness. Banana curves not part of the equation.

Terror trumped training. Tim bit.

The slap he received was nothing to what he felt as he was hoisted by his hair, spun around, and burrowed into by the spit-lubed monster. His was a wailing agony of initiation to ownership’s right – fiery at first. Potent drives in and out, and initially horrible, bone-jarring impacts involuntarily stimulated rather than ruptured. Stupefyingly, stretch’s burn became itching sting; sting transmuted into radiant undulations of rectal sheath; whole being welcomed the breach and its intended prolongation.

Yelling in protest as his conquest catapulted him to immediate, pounding climax, Tiny Tim’s overwrought aggressor shuddered into somnolence. In short, he collapsed.

His beefy twin, who had been preparing to mount Solly, regarded his brother, eyes bulging with disbelief. Guttered, “What the fuck?”

Coach ventured, “Yes indeed, fucks are what my boys are trained to provide. Two a day, if you guys are up to that. Hmm…perhaps you’ll grow into it. Look at Tim. He’s smiling.”  The boy’s air of pride was distinct.

“But my brother’s never exploded like that.”

“Sir, talk all you like. I’ll listen, but do mount Solly, who’s forlorn with a something positive up his ass. That’s why he’s been furnished to you.”

Solly nodded in agreement. Spread himself in readiness, sweet head on his arms facing the wondrous man who prepared them.

Solly’s skewering – taken in full commitment to his position – prompted forehead veins to pulse and an outcry of anguish from his unchanged voice.

Solly’s twin beamed with the power of domination. He raced to the finish line of climax drawing back – hand’s to the boy’s bony shoulders – shuffling forward to guide himself better, more directly, hiding his length, retracting it into view, gloating over its slick shine, checking for any brown, taking his time for sheer pleasure. He basked in his pelvic plunder being witnessed. Lunging until Solly shook like jelly, he seemed to marvel at his own euphoria, even cried aloud, “My brother couldn’t control himself as I do.”

At that moment, two lifts of coach’s right eyebrow signaled Solly. With agitation like a small earthquake, the boy moved his braggadocious rider closer to the premature moment of sexual release – “What’s this!?” the dumdum protested – and gloried at his inside’s being glutted with cum unwillingly ripped from the man.

Solly’s was an ass of unprecedented possessiveness. That had seen to by instilling in his receptive mind the desire to own the cock of the man who would own him.

Talk about excellence achieved!

Not unconscious like his brother but satiated beyond measure, Solly’s twin plucked out his defeated, drippy penis, lolled on his back – a hand reaching to clasp Solly’s nearest – and spoke to the ceiling, “ Money well spent.”

Solly moved to snuggle – a breach of slave etiquette, hence a potentially punishable offense – when his man asked the ceiling, “Can an owner love a slave?”

“As long as his slave is never permitted to forget his place,” coach replied. “This one and the other need to be thrashed daily one way or another and fucked roundly twice, thrice if possible. You and your brother, who seems in recovery, I judge from the way he’s rousing, must do due diligence as described for a desirably balanced household.”

“Huh?” the other tried to shake off his stupor.

Tim and Solly sat up like two jack-in-the-boxes, bright-eyed and expectant. Shyly, they waved good-bye to their now former coach and crawled to the other twin, letting them know they belonged to both.

* * *

As the half-year anniversary of the boys’ placement approached, coach was summoned.

Not by Solly and Tim. Not by the twins who bought them.

By the twins’ attorney, J. Potter Burlington-Smyth, Esq.

Although it was apparent, coach was told, that they had fucked themselves to death, each man’s death certificate listed “stoppage of the heart” as cause. Not to be bruited about was that they had expired within hours of each other. Their “very personal” physician opined that in a sense his patients had committed suicide; in another, that the boys’ demands upon them were the cause. However, as Mr. Burlington-Smyth wished to inform me, all properties in the estate, real and otherwise, were left to me in a sweeping bequest simple to probate.

Those few months passed nicely, Solly and Tim comfortable with services coach-now-owner contracted with a host of men from the nearest, most productive gym in town. Maintenance fucks, you know. Three, sometimes four a day, depending on availability. Effective spankings.

Time spent with their master was cherished more for psychological connection than for the man’s personal parts’ size. But yes, they were kept happy enough while he worked on-line via sites on the Dark Web.

“My darlings,” he called to them, “we will embark tomorrow for an around-the-world adventure. See on the map. Our first destination is a private oasis in Morocco where you will experience selected men from the French Foreign Legion and a royal of spectacular endowment. From there to Egypt where we will be paid guests at a desert resort beyond the reach of all but a few choice members of an international brotherhood of butt-plunderers. After sojourning in a small Middle Eastern country I’ll not name but which is presided over by a slave-owning sheik, we will be on to a spot in the Indian Himalayas known only to boy lovers of immense wealth and exacting conoisseurship. From India to Japan. There you will receive exacting instruction in Zen sex – which is otherworldly in a sense and involves bamboo. A further destination lies thereafter in the highlands of beautiful New Zealand where a muscular tribe of Haka practitioners will tackle your challenging charms, and finally for rest and recuperation as may be needed on a remote island in The Philippines belonging to a South Pacific group of extraordinary investors who will test your natural and acquired skills fully. When done, we will return here – and await bids for your further services.”

Excitedly, they hugged each other then took their master to bed.

Their appreciation began as Solly placed their favorite, most flexible rattan cane nearby and continued with the unspeakable luxury of their tongues bathing their master’s every inch. They liked the part that curved like a Giant Cavendish.

The night was yet young.

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