Sub encounter: Plumber

The more I thought about Steve telling me he was working sixty hours, the more I realised he was finding himself at the mercy of the breeze. With the twins, I had been able to monitor their progress. I had adjusted the home environment, to limit any potential running off the rails. I decided that next week I would go and check Steve’s home situation, just to be sure.

* * *

I made the decision to refrain from jacking off for the rest of the week. I’d be horny, but unlike last weekend, I’d have Steve and his hot arse, all to myself.

As a consequence of the abstinence, I found the week dragged like a bastard.

On Wednesday after dinner, I made my way downstairs and knocked on James’s door. I had sent him a text in the afternoon, seeing if he’d be home. He was. When I arrived, he greeted me at the door naked.

“You know that ‘men’ wear clothes,” I said in a slightly hushed tone.

“Of course I know that,” he fired back, “but as we are both men, I thought it would make fuck all difference.”

“Not with me, with the boys.” I suggested.

“Oh, then that’s definitely not a problem. They’re out of it.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I’ll show you.” He walked away, leaving me to close the door.

He arrived at the first tiny room. I noted it now had a C1 label. He pressed open the door, then stepped back. I looked in.

Chris was inside, well I assumed it was Chris.

“They’ll be in Depriv for a few more hours.” He advised.

“How long have they been in it so far?”

“A few hours,” he replied casually.

The boy, on all fours, had a full head hood, buckled down and around his throat, and elbow length mittens.

“Leather?” I asked.

“Mostly,” he replied, “the hood stops sight, sound and smell, the gloves stop touch.” I understood.

“That’s what the filter thing is across the nose holes?” I asked, looking more closely. He nodded it was.

Below the nose, Chris’s jaw was being held open, a small piston was thrusting in and out, in slow but deep strokes. The same, but slightly larger system was working his arse hole over.

There was no doubt, the boy was fully occupied.

“How much did all this cost?” I quizzed, almost frightened to ask.

“$1,200 each unit,” James answered.

“Fuck me!” I exclaimed.

“Hey, don’t panic, they’re paying it off in tiny chunks. No point in putting them under financial strain,” he informed. I wasn’t sure if I felt better, or worse about that.

“So, the hood can only be used with the machine?” I asked.

“Nah,” he answered, smiling, “you can dump both machines, and just let humans fuck their holes.”

“It focuses them, to doing their job?” I surmised.

He nodded.

“If I start selling their holes, I charge a premium,” he added, casually. “This equipment gets both their holes ready, for whatever I end up deciding, even if it’s only me, using them.”

I instantly made the decision, not to ask James for the pair to be lowly cleaners.

We left the boys to carry on.

* * *

Back in the lounge, I found myself in front of the flat-screen, an excellent beer in hand. On the TV they were recapping the weekend ice hockey results, and highlights. They’d be announcing the teams tomorrow night, so today was just rehashed fill material.

As it turned out, the ‘expert’ panel was discussing Avalanche, and the stellar run they’d been having this season.

“I saw this!” I declared, “I just couldn’t work out why they’re winning this year, I mean, compared to last.”

James finished the swig he was halfway through.

“It’s that Jake Roberts guy,” he said, with confidence, “he’s scoring solid goal numbers, but if you watch, he’s pushing the puck to team mates, way more than he needs to.”

“I’ll have to pay more fucken attention.” I confessed, starting my own swig.

“They’re definitely going to make championship round!” he predicted.

We watched for a while longer, before he headed for the fridge, and grabbed a second can each.

“How’s your arse?” I quizzed.

“Painful on Monday” he said with a shrug, “on the mend now.”

“I still get a hard-on thinking about it, but I’m not doing it again.” He laughed, as I smiled.

“Well played though,” he said, in semi seriousness, “you were right, it made a great day, into an amazing day,”

We were done on the topic. Done for good.

* * *

When Friday evening arrived, I was so horny I could hardly think. As I finished my second cold shower for the day, I committed to never allowing myself to make such rash cum denial decisions again. I went to bed early, and shockingly, pulled ten hours of sleep. I must have been exhausted from pent-up energy.

When Steve arrived around lunch time on Saturday, I was surprised how fresh he looked. Clearly taking the morning off and I assumed, sleeping in, agreed with him. Jane was still visiting her sister upstate, so we had the place to ourselves for the rest of the weekend, if I wanted it. We'd see.

As he stepped into the kitchen from the side door, he immediately set about stripping off his gym style shorts, and badly undersized, thread-bare tee shirt. He pulled his hair back, and fit the collar around his throat. Nowadays, the routine was his automatic response.

He came across to the nook, where I was half way through a tea. As he arrived, I reached out with my hand to check his junk, he adjusted his stance, spreading his legs, giving me clear access. I didn’t need to check, it was more about the ritual that I could do anything with his balls, any time I felt like it.

A minute in, his cock firmed noticeably, straining against the bars of his cage. He didn’t flinch, even though his balls were a week full. I smiled to myself, as I noted the temp of his nuts, they were actually hot to touch.

I motioned for him to sit while I finished drinking.

"What are you thinking?" I asked.

"How soon can I empty my balls." he answered, as I laughed.

"Full?"

"Oh my God, I'm dreaming about them exploding!" he said seriously, I smiled again.

"Go up and shower, I'll be there in a minute." I directed.

When I arrived, he was drying off in the bathroom. He must’ve already washed out at home, to be that quick.

I opened the full-length window that led onto the bedroom’s small balcony. I fired up a joint, and took a slow hit. I loved fucking slightly stoned.

I motioned for him to join me.

"You smoke?" I asked.

"I did once in my teens, never since," he replied.

"Never?" I confirmed, surprised.

He shook his head.

"Sit," I instructed, "Open your mouth," he did.

"Push a full breath out," I directed. He began. As he did, I took a full tote, held it, then breathed the smoke from my lungs, to his mouth, then his lungs.

"Hold that in," I said, he did.

"Wow," he said, suddenly holding the door frame, "sorry, bit dizzy," he explained.

I nodded, went back to my joint, and let him calm down. A minute later, he was fine.

As a complete new chum, his ‘secondhand puff’ would take his edge off. It was time to fuck.

I had him lay in the center of the bed, on his back. Pleasingly, he automatically held his legs up, without having to be told. It was nice to see him so vulnerable. I had taken the lube off the side dresser, and set about coating my straining meat. I was so fucking hard, I was dripping.

At last we had arrived at a point I had been contemplating since I'd first met him. I was going to fuck his fine arse. Not that I had considered that possible, back then. Still, here we were.

I pressed my cock to his hairless, virgin hole. It was never going to be this perfect again, I thought.

He jumped slightly as my lube cooled head made contact with his ring.

"I'm going to push this in you boy." I said, with surety. "That'll make you mine, make you a complete sub, cock taking, pussy boy."

"Yes sir, I am a sub, your sub." He replied, still a little high.

"You’re giving me what’s left of you boy. What do you think?" I asked, as I pushed an inch in.

"I, I want to be the best sub I can be sir." he answered. “Can I really be? I mean, make it as a dumb fuck sub?” he asked.

"You're doing fine boy," I assured, as I drove another two inches in. The movement caught him a little off guard, his back arched as the sensation spiked through his body, and brain.

“You’re being true to your nature, a servant to the real men around you.”

"Thank you sir," he replied, holding serious eye contact.

"Time to take your cherry boy." I warned.

"Yes sir, yes sir," he said.

I pressed my full-length in.

His eyes rolled back in his head. Overwhelmed.

Joy streamed along my cock, like it had returned home from a year’s long stint in Siberia. The stimulation, both mental and physical, was out of this world! His hole was Goldie Locks perfect, not too dry, not to wet. I pressed in as far as I could physically go. I felt his internal ring, resist, consider giving up, then at last, hug the first inch of my cock in a full circle death grip. Holy fucken hell!

I held my place, as if I never wanted to leave the perfect warmth. The sensation along my cock was live-streaming around my body. I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t do anything.

Finally, I looked down to see him staring up at me. I’d taken his cherry, and completed his transformation from a delusional straight boy, to a cock loving, man adoring fuck toy. A toy I’d play with for years to come.

I pulled back, collected myself and got on with his fucking.

* * *

I powered through a full thirty-minute session. Most of the time I had him on his back. He was good looking enough for me to constantly appreciate the view. When I felt myself nearing, I sought to lock him in.

“I’m going to cum boy, I’m going to have my DNA flood your arse, your body, and lastly, all of you!” I breathed, dripping sweat.

“Yes sir, yes sir,” he replied, adjusting to again to allow maximum entry leverage.

I fucken exploded, filling him with a weeks’ worth of seed. I had him.