My Trainee

Preface

Another story site announced a competition for new stories about slavery. A good friend jumped into the fray while I languished, unable to imagine a plot. How annoying! Days later, a bulb came on: Write a story that takes place in preparation for slavery. Improbable as that may seem, the following occurred to me – in old-fashioned, fairly eloquent terms. I loved the experience of writing this.

To author James Rozo, my gratitude for reading this before it reached your eyes. He’s good.

My trainee

Commissions from slave gallery operators came rarely. Their resident trainers handled usual procedures. An expert of my refinements was seldom needed. But, I was given to understand, I was to treat an extraordinary case: a barely-fourteen-year-old virgin of utter innocence, only lately having undergone his first growth spurt. In effect, a tabula rasa. Pure. But bred to the manner. It was thought.

He stood before me, barefoot, clothed simply. A beauty, not that it mattered to me. Considered the perfect candidate for an unnamed customer (I knew not where) who wanted a susceptible boy on the cusp of understanding, one guaranteed to be unsullied by superstitions’ negative ideas, without fear of servitude. To be prepped by just the right amount of pre-slave training.

I was provided details.

Subtlety was on order – and would be handsomely compensated. The schedule, however, provided this single day. Even for a specialist of my vaunted experience, a tall order.

To the blank-faced boy’s regard, I said calmly, “You will speak as little as possible. Use for primary communication the word ‘Please.’ Other words, sparingly. Nod if you understand. “

He did.

“Comply completely and you will be worth my efforts and of great value to your future master.”

Unmoving, he remained as he was until I beckoned.

Two steps brought him to me.

I loosened his belt, parted his fly, sought his penis, and brought it to my mouth – so tenderly he was struck still. His witness, detached from my tongue’s teases, seemed to hold him in thrall. Inches grew. Breaths came quickly. His hands, unguided by consciousness, found my head.

Not a budge from me. All I allowed to move was my own tongue. It traced his crown, stroked the softest parts underneath. I teased. I coaxed. Then harried his calm.

The fledgling cock had a tantrum.

Its effusions, effluents, and aftermaths flooded my palate only to slip gullet-down like the sudden drop of a carnival ride. Thrilled him mightily.

“May I lie down?” he asked before he might have fallen. I eased him down to my nearby bed and teased off his pants and shirt. Exposed, he appeared more vulnerable. I stretched alongside, placing warm hands wherever they could be.

“Oh,” came his sigh. I feigned concern after his well-being, a palm on flesh between knee and loins.

Lost in thought, he leaned my way. Granted a blink of his starred eyes’ platinum lashes, and a shy smile. Eyebrows so blond, they dazzled. Presumed speculation over, he asked, “More?” And softer, “Please.” A bit unsettling, even for a man of my experience as a trainer.

My voice was only a whisper. “What do you want from me?”

“Your tongue again, please.”

The poignancy of his utterance got to me. “Here?” I petted his lolling penis. “All right, but elsewhere first.”

Puzzlement. His eyes grew wide.

“Roll over. I’ll show you.” With customary composure, I helped him. Instinct failed to signal his legs to open. Encouragement was needed.

My left hand went to his cleft, my right to his mouth. I ran a fingertip around the lines of his lips, as if discovering them. To that prompt, he smiled. I could touch his teeth – as much a novelty to him as circling touches below. Neither exercise threatened. Neither seemed to dawn on him as preparations for experiences undreamed of.

Yet, his cock seemed to know.

He wriggled into the bedsheet. With a reach of his own and without disturbing my hands, he adjusted himself. Did not ask if he might. He would learn.

My contribution was a word he needed to hear, “Lovely.” It registered. His eyes, irises coppery and topaz, pupils enlarged, trained on mine.

I said, “Let me sample your tongue, please.”

With an innocent’s trust, he accepted two knuckles of three fingers to stroke the soft-pebble surface and to stir the liquid gathering there. I did not stray from our rapt connection to notice at first that my other hand’s place, his waiting crevice, constricted. Relaxed and constricted again. Testing, I guessed, that fingers might mean something there, too.

His untroubled brow began to display a dewy sheen.

I kneaded both places, intent on their surrender. He seemed to struggle with a difficult idea, and closed his mouth on my knuckles, gripped the others. Concentration marked his being. With eyes closed and from below himself, he drew his hand and extended it to my erection.

Intent, on his part!

“You may unzip. What’s ready there waits for you,” I murmured. “At this moment.”

The gasp heated my fingers more. I removed them. And, as I told him to feel me, moved my tongue affectionately into the gap of his narrow mouth. My right arm went behind his neck to draw him into the greatest intimacy he had ever known. During my conqueror’s kiss, I inserted a finger – using perspiration which accumulated there – into his ring.

He reacted but did not reject. That bode well. What next to do? Pinioned orally and anally and clutching at my cock, his senses might overload and wreck this, our unexpected, steamy (his virginal) tryst.

I stood. He pursed his lips, wiped them on the bed. He stared. I vacated my clothes, regarding him the while. What he had felt, he saw bob. Its naked presence spoke to un-yet demands. A step closer, the better for his imagination’s speculation.

I said, “The only opening you have for me is like the one I had for you. Your time is not merely nigh, it has come.”

He chewed a nail, his brow fraught.

“Worried, are you?”

Certainly, that is how he looked.

“My tongue, as you know, belongs with yours in your perfectly proportioned mouth. This,” I shook what stood out, “belongs where you are not yet open.”

I sat. Cupped his bottom, idled there, said, “Here, where you pucker, is where this…” – I put his hand on my oozing cock – “…is meant to be.”

He strayed tentatively to my scrotum, twice or more the size of his – wandering, wondering, hefting. “Your balls, they are so warm.”

A precious realization, it did not distract.

I offered, “Much good will come from them for you when…” The sentence remained unfinished during silence. He thought – doubtless of his newly accustomed mouth, so suited to my fingers and tongue; dared hardly to think of his rear and a single finger’s slight penetration.

Touching there more, I said, “Your brain wants the knowledge; your emotions and your body want the experience. I will serve them what they so desire”

No move of his stopped me. I moved. Knelt. My knees and lower legs paralleled his. Copiously, I transferred as much from my mouth as I could to his destined spot. My longest finger aligned, I pressed forward. The lining of his rectum accepted the entry as smoothly as his mouth’s wetter tissues. Momentary tenseness lessened. Saliva drooled down to my finger which pulled back, rotated slowly, slid into place, and began to frig…while I droned, “This is the way…This is the way…You’re a good boy…This is the…You’re a….”

He opened his lips perhaps to moan. I reached their parting to say, “Contribute to your new opening. Let your mouth’s natural lubricant join with mine. Together, they will help us free this other mouth to your body that it may be of true use.”

Spat he did – with, I hazarded, pride.

Thus, two long fingers probed and frigged between the paired prominences. My mouth dropped more of its warm liquid to ease his way.

“So natural,” I urged on him, scissoring against the muscle’s reluctance. “Have patience now and the will to grant yourself these anticipations of your role ahead. For the sake, you know, of readiness.”

Three fingers accommodated! My heart raced. His pulse had quickened. Time to follow through as the man he…needed, awaited, must have.

“I…” came from him as I withdrew. Without being plied, was he feeling a proper sense of loss? I did not wait.

“Give us more,” I fed his mouth my hand. Another deposit of sputum.

It anointed me. Stiff as sinew and guided by memory, my cock found and breached what had barely stood as his defense, and sank unimpeded, inch by inch. My engorgement occupied the space prepared. The fit, exact. Like a built-in condom. To his quiet, I lowered my body and covered his.

A tear streaked his cheek. Tentatively, gingerly, I eased my press upon him, and started to pump. Sweat, noticeable under my chest, later my stomach, and flushness to his neck and shoulders made blood run hotter. Another tear flowed along his nose. Yet, he flexed somewhere, adjusting it seemed. And let my nature take his course.

Flexing myself, I secured my position, deep. Tested readiness. Wanted to be certain. Asked, “Mmm?”

A nod answered. Validation, if timorous. Briefly, I basked, wanting complete compliance with my conformation and movement ahead. Pumped no more than an inch, and exposed my hard pole by increments so small a minute or more passed before I could feel the outside’s coolness. My pelvis began slowly to grind, a nearly motionless swing in it, arcing by degrees between his fair-skinned rounds – so fair that I could almost see veins beneath peachy pinkness.

His sheath, ably passive, encased my strokings even as they increased. Soon, my pleasure bore the exciting motivation of throaty sounds from us both in respective registers. The way his body rebounded as I churned into it thrilled my sight and my penis. His platinum blond head rocking in rhyme with my thrusts inspired greater exertion.

Slipperier inside from our liquids – his mucosal secretions, my pre-ejaculatory juices – the channel that had impressed as having grown silken now lubricated my way with the smooth provocation of satin. I reveled in supersensuous indulgence.

Pushes and pulls, advances and retreats: incomparable stimuli – because a voice of juvenile pitch mewled, “Please.”

“Please” reeled my brain. Its implication of welcome incinerated my libido. Ecstasy almost exploded my intent. Sheer willpower took control, did its job. Gradually, I halted my shaft.

Stirred him in lazy circles.

He was very aware.

Drew breaths of recovery.

Felt my cods descend, heavy with their reservoirs of abundance – to be summoned as need arose. That is when, still skewered, he parted his slender legs.

Mine obliged. My knees now between his, I repositioned myself. Took him by the shoulders, hoisted for a more acute angle, and thought to say, “It’s time I fed your hunger for service to a man.”

He cried out something unintelligible as I plowed his furrow further than I had thought possible and ramped into action. At the least lull, he hiked back – involved, whimpering need. Held his bottom up by kinking his lower back. Whether instinctual or an act of determination to take my all, it blew away regard I might have for his anal safety. Straight down into precocious readiness, I pounded necessarily raw and violent.

I clung to his shoulders; he, to my cock – meeting its plunges in mad pursuit of the bright glare of orgasm’s brilliance. We entered it, bodies quaking together, hurtling into unknown vastness. Tremors preceded ejaculatory eruption of volcanic intensity – blinding me and fusing us for moments of petrification in climax. The frenzy stripped my groin of everything it possessed. Time vanished. A great black blotted my consciousness. Had I seen the light and died? No telling.

The phenomenon had never happened to me before. What potential!

A while passed. I struggled, aware only I was near-mindless, aware my heart beat with drama of its own. I heard a distant voice that called in sad, high plaint, “Please.”

What I could of my thoughts, I collected, sifted and sorted, tried to make sense of, then recognized the cry – his – pleading for relief. Elbows to the bed, I lifted weakly off. He had been flooded. His ass brimmed a pearlescent wreath of cum around my departing cock. The aroma that lingered reminded of salty sea air. Its drift caught his attention enough that his nostrils worked to take it in, I saw.

An undulation turned into a body-long stretch, arms and shoulders over his tousled head, pelvis and legs twisting his torso. Of his own accord, he rolled from the sweat-sopped sheet to try to stand, a hand in my direction.

I clasped to support his rise. On wobbly legs like a newborn creature of the wild, he looked longingly at me then down at himself. Erect – and wanting my mouth once more attending to its urgency. One quick-recovery, hot teen.

What a pair we must have made. A grown man, paying homage to a recently de-virginized adolescent, on his knees like a suppliant seeking succor.

My presence emboldened his stance. Feet slightly apart and turned out, hands in my hair, he began asserting what he thought was his right. I took his legs just behind their knees and pulled him to my face. His stiffness, wet from before, pressed along my nose. A sharp inhalation above me greeted my tongue licking his dainty ornaments. Before he could avoid it, I canted my head to suck in the lot. At the instant my jaw started gnawing at it, cock and all, I slipped an arm up behind, hastened to breach his loosely dripping hole, to slide two fingers against his prostate – which I palpated in time to my service of his rebirthed, if incipient manhood.

To sense a hyper-elevated state of youthful mind crumble from oral sex and anal stimulation is a joy. I celebrated my achievement, indeed my victory. I held him tightly perpendicular for the duration of my tongue’s tumbling of his parts past their watery squirts.

My hair was torn at. He gnashed his teeth. Growled as best he could. At last, uttered the magic word, “Please.”

I stood to embrace him – whole.

Heartily, he hugged in return. There was gratitude to it and relief, and no little emotion.

I rubbed his neck, kissed his forehead, squeezed him more firmly.

It took seconds for him to absorb my sussuration, “Welcome to the beginning of your life in servitude. I graduate you.”

Tears streamed. He was happier in this new dawn than ever in his ten-plus-four years.

Because he felt ready.

A hot story, largely true, of coercive interaction with a young person which newer readers may not have found is here.

So that I will know of the possible pleasure aroused in you by the minutes you devoted to reading my story, please rate your experience and provide a comment below. E-mails are invited happily.