The Ass Man
Part 1 of 5
I could not believe my ears. My sister, Sharon, who was visiting me in my apartment, was on the phone. She was in the other room and talking to a friend of hers. I could hear her through the door left ajar, “Bruce can be such an asshole. I am at a loss. I love the guy; he has good points but can get mean and even rough.”
I knew exactly who she was talking about, Bruce. I had met him briefly a couple of times since he lived in my condo complex. Whenever my sister visited me, she’d also have a date with Bruce. I don’t think it was like heavy, pre-marriage dating, but it was a steady causal relationship. Bruce seemed nice, but there must be a dark side to him. I was shocked to hear my sister talk about him like this. I was a year older than her, so I felt like I was her protector.
I listened further, “Yea, he can get wild. One time I wasn’t in the mood, but he still insisted that I was his to be fucked … Yea … those were his words. I can just stop seeing him, but maybe I can change him, calm him down … Oh, I don’t know … Yea … I guess it could be rape. But …”
That was enough! I immediately ran over to his unit wearing just what I had on, my tee, shorts, and flip-flops and knocked on Bruce’s door. I was here to defend my sister’s honor, somehow.
Bruce opened the door immediately and stood there with a fucked up, stupid grin. He knew who I was and put his face right into mine. I could smell alcohol on his breath. At 35, Bruce was 12 years older than me. His shirtless chest was lightly hairy. Unlike me, Bruce had some light hair around his pecs with a line of fur running down his stomach to his navel and disappearing under the waistband of his Jockey underwear. He was barefooted. We were about the same height, but he was about 30 pounds heavier. Bruce was not fat, just a bit stocky, more muscular.
“Yeah, what the fuck do you want?” He asked indifferently.
“Listen, Bruce, I just wanted to talk about my sister. She was pretty upset before …"
Bruce cut me off, laughing. “She seemed pretty happy while she was here.” He said as he turned his back on me and returned to his living room. Since he left the front door open, I took it as OK to follow him inside.
“Well, Bruce, I don’t know what could have happened. But when she got up, she was complaining about ….
Bruce cut in, “Listen, Dylan, jock boy, I know all your school buddies think you are so fucking hot as their track star and that crap, but you don’t mean shit to me. I don’t want to hear from you. What happened was between me and your sister; just jog on home and mind your own fucking business.” Bruce was not really mean to me in the past, but now he tried to grab my arm. I stepped out of the way. Then he tried it again and, this time, grabbed my arm, quickly locking it behind my back and shoving me forward. I landed on my stomach on his kitchen table.
“Think you deserve a fuckin’ lesson, punk. Thinking you can come into my home and disrespect me like that? Do you, Dylan?”
“Listen, Bruce, I’m sorry, but my sis …”
“Shut the fuck up. Quit struggling, you god damn jock punk. You ain’t fuckin’ going nowhere.” I quickly found out that it was futile to struggle. Bruce had me held down. With a painful upward YANK of my arm behind my back, I was held bent over the table with my feet on the ground. I realized I was no match for his heavier, more muscular build.
“What the hell?!” I growled as I felt Bruce working my jogging shorts down, exposing my underwear.
“I said, SHUT IT, punk. Now put your hands on the table, grab the edge.” He actually let go of my twisted arm. He must be drunker than I thought. With both my arms free, I tried a quick move to get up and escape, but he roughly shoved me back on my belly, on top of the table. “I won’t tell you again, fucker. Hold on to the edge of the table, and don’t you fucking let go. Stay! Right! There!” He pulled my shorts all the way down to rest on the tops of my feet. Humiliated by this older dude who could manhandle me so easily, I did as ordered.
Not wanting to risk being slugged by him, I voluntarily held onto the table edge as Bruce now stooped down and wrestled my shorts off my feet, tossing them aside. I was now only in my T-shirt and underwear. My flip-flops were removed in the process. I was embarrassed that my briefs were old, ragged, and skimpy. I was overdue to get my laundry done and down to my last clean briefs. I heard Bruce laugh. I do not know if it was about my old underwear, the position he had me in with my upper body over the table, or my child-like predicament.
I had enough, “Bruce, quit fucking around. I need to leave.” He didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed my shaggy hair forcing my head to lift up from the table. As I squirmed, he worked a sweaty sock in my mouth. I could have tried to get up again and spit out the dirty sock, but I had already felt this man’s dominant force. He could easily smash me upside the head or twist my arm to the breaking point. And with his being drunk, or at least tipsy, I was unsure what he would do if I did not comply.
“Keep that in your fucking mouth! Keep your hands grabbing the table top edge.” I muffled an “OK” as Bruce spoke those orders inches from my ear. He moved away. I felt his barefoot kicking at my legs, obviously telling me to stretch them wider apart. He pushed my lower back down, which caused my ass to sway upward since the table was lower than my hips. Then, suddenly, Bruce’s big hand started SPANKING my ass.
In shock, I YELPED into the sock in my mouth. I tried to move my ass away to each side while remaining in the same bent-over position. “Stay still. Get on your fuckin’ tip toes! Lift that fat ass in the air! Take your punishment, you fucking jock asshole, nosy bastard.” He pressed my back flat on the tabletop. I had to get on my tiptoes. This lifted my ass more. “You fucking punk, with no respect for his betters. I’ll teach you to try to tell me what to do. How I treat your bitch sister is my business.”
How dare he call my sister a bitch! I tried to protest, but only inaudible words came through the sock gag. Bruce had to know I was not resisting, but he enjoyed making me submit. “Fucking fat bitch ass. Beggin’ for discipline. You found the man to do it, bitch. Don’t get your pretty little panties in a bunch. I will set you on the right path with frequent ass slapping.”
Bruce was making my ass jiggle with each slap. Left, right. Right, right. Left, left, left. I could never know which cheek would feel the smack next. I was begging Bruce to stop.
“You gonna put your fuckin’ number in my contact list. DO IT NOW!” Bruce pushed his phone into my outstretched hand. I lifted my head, took his phone, and added my number. He made me yell out the first digit of my number. It was five. Laughing, he slapped my right butt cheek quickly five times. Then I entered the second number, seven. So I got seven swats on the left cheek. I got the number of swats to match each number I entered into his phone. He alternated from left to right as he “spanked” all the digits I stored in his phone. Then he made me enter my name. As I entered “Dylan,” he made me correct it to “Jock Punk.”
“You cocky fucker, you’re gonna be at my beck-and-call whenever I feel it’s time for you to be brought down a bit, punk. You just have to grab your panties and come down here for your big bubble ass to be reddened. Now lift that fat ass up higher!” My ass was not fat! I didn’t spend 5 days a week in the gym getting a fat ass.
My knuckles were white from tightly squeezing the edge of his kitchen table. My body was sweating from the heat of the discipline. I was breathing hard into the sock. Then Bruce moved away from me. I dared not move as I watched him pour a full glass of ice and add whiskey. He took a swig as he scratched at his left tit. Then he set the glass down and grabbed my hair, pulling me off the table. He led me back to stand in the center of the living room.
Lucky for me, Bruce was behind me. “Lucky” because I was aware that my dick was aroused. I had no idea why. I saw that my cut cock was at full hardness. Sweat and precum were making my dick most obscene through the thinly worn underwear. I was filled with humiliation. Could this bastard have the same effect on me as he had had on my sister? It can’t be. All three of us are straight. I covered my crotch with both hands, trying to do it nonchalantly.
Bruce approached me from behind and made me open my mouth wide as he pushed another of his sweaty socks between my lips. He did not bother to secure it in my mouth. He must have realized I would not resist, at least not physically. He pulled a dining room chair to where I stood and sat on it. Then he sat, immediately took my hand, and guided me belly down over his lap. There was no clear indication that Bruce saw or realized I had a boner. I really did not want him to know that. I think it was due to all my nervousness. As for why he did not notice, well … I guessed he was either too buzzed or just not interested in my dick; after all, his focus was on my ass and spanking it.
I squirmed against my hairy thighs. “WHACK!” His right hand gave my ass cheeks a surprising swat. Then again, and again, and again. I was almost whimpering from the burning pain on my ass. Bruce’s forceful slaps were making my buns shake. Then he added his verbal taunts with the swats.
"Fuckin pantie bitch. Look at you in these thin, worn-through panties. From now on, your fat buns ain’t gonna feel normal unless they’re bright red like they are getting now.”
The thin material of my skimpy briefs, which were now sweat-soaked, made my rosy cheeks visible to Bruce. This apparent expert spanker made my ass look like I put rouge on them. After a few minutes, my buns got a reprieve. Bruce ordered me up.
“I gotta take a piss. I’m not taking any chances that you’re going split. You’re coming with me. Let’s cool down that jock ass first.” I had no idea want he meant. But then Bruce grabbed his glass off the table, which now only contained ice cubes. He pushed me towards the bathroom. Just as we entered, he grabbed the back elastic of my briefs and pulled them out. Then poured the cold ice into the back of my underwear and pulled them up again. You could almost hear the SIZZLE as the ice melted on my red hot buns.
I felt humiliated as I was forced to stand near the toilet and watch as Bruce fished his cock out from his jockeys and pissed in the bowl. He reached over as he pissed and used his finger to pop out the socks from my mouth. I stretch my jaw to relax it. That felt good. I watched him end his pissing by wiggling his dick, which dribbled piss all over his hand. Before I could move or lean away, he grabbed my hair, forcing my head down a bit. Then using his piss-wet hand, he shoved his fingers in my mouth.
“Have a taste of my piss, bitch. Suck those fingers clean.” I was repulsed but had little choice. Since he had my hair locked in his fist with the other hand. I did not actually suck them clean -- too gross -- but just the fact they were in my salivating mouth. They were “washed” off. Bruce firmly kept his fingers in my mouth as we walked back into the living room.
“Bruce, I’m leaving, dude! Now! Let me go!” I mumble with his fingers still in my mouth, but he hears me. “Dude, let me go. You’re done with me … and my sister.”
His nonverbal response was to grab my head and maneuver me on all fours onto the couch. “Stay!” He left me there to make himself another drink. Once again, I was unencumbered. I could just get up and make a run for the door. I needed to leave. But I did as told. I stayed. What the fuck was I thinking!
After putting more whisky and ice in a glass, he returned. “Stick that butt up. Let’s warm it up some more!” I started to sob. I wanted to leave but did not want to get beat up. That seemed to be my choice. I sobbed. “Quit your whimpering, pantie pussy. Here, open your mouth.” Again he found a sock somewhere on the floor and forced it between my moaning lips.
For the third time in less than an hour, Bruce began slapping my ass as he scolded me nonstop. “Yeah, you gonna know who the cock of the walk is in this building complex, Dylan punk. Gonna make you think twice before you go barging in someone’s home accusing them of something which is none of your fuckin’ business! If I hear from your sister that you inquired about anything concerning me, your fat ass will be facing the consequences.”
I moved my buns from side to side to try to avoid his hitting the tenderest spots already spanked raw. The ice he placed back there was, of course, already melted. My skimpy underwear gave my ass no protection as Bruce continued with a drunken ramble. I could hardly hear him. My own moans were louder. I tried to keep my butt hiked up as ordered. I looked between my legs. My dick was pointed straight down to the sofa seat. I started to make a dark spot on his sofa under my dick as it was dripping sweat and precum.
At times, Bruce seemed to slap my ass like he had taken spanking lessons, working every inch of one mounded cheek with his hand. Other times he spanked and scolded me like I was a kid, smirking at his little boy whimpering.
“Big tough Dylan punk, moaning like a little slut. Take your spanking, bitch. You do something naughty. You pay the price.” He referred to my sobbing as moaning. Was I actually moaning? Then I noticed that Bruce must be getting tired as his slaps became less frequent and powerful. But I couldn’t say the same for his taunting.
“Arch your back, pussy jock. Yeah … Present that bubble butt for the discipline you know you deserve. Mmmmmm, how many times a week should I get you down here? Enough to keep that ass red. Enough to get the boys in your school locker room asking about it, eh? I said ARCH YOUR BACK, BOY!” Bruce growled at me, shoving my head down, making me push my face to the couch and lift my butt.
Humiliated, I stayed in this position even as he left again to retrieve his glass. I watched as he then staggered to his bedroom. I could see his bare feet as he lay on the bed. I figured he was passing out. I quickly found and scrammed into my shorts and ran out of there, leaving behind my tee and flip-flops. Once in my own place, I headed to my bathroom. I was scared to look at my stinging ass. I pulled down my shorts and translucent torn underwear to see a raw, bloody mess. But I was surprised that my butt was no worse for wear. No bruises, just a pinkish glow. What did surprise me was that when I felt them, there was heat emitting from my cheeks.
I pulled them completely off me and tossed them in the waste basket, knowing they were hardly used anymore. I was amazed that my cock was sticky and covered with goo. AND … I was still hard. I guess I probably oozed precum the entire time I was there.
I stepped into the shower and cleaned off the sweat from my body, wincing when the drops of cool water splashed on my harshly spanked ass. As I cleaned my chest, I saw my meat still pointing straight out from my pubes. I tried to forget about my cock. I got out of the shower and dried myself off. Again, flinching as I rubbed the towel over my sore ass.
As I walked out of the bathroom naked, I saw the light flashing on my phone. Two messages had been left as I showered. Bruce had apparently not passed out for long. Message one: “Bring me ice.” And message two: “U not answering, jock pussy?”
The Ass Man
Part 2 of 5
I could see it was Bruce giving orders again. Not this time. I’m not going back there, nor is my sister! Still, I did not know how to put it to him. I was at a loss for words. What am I going to do? I’m not going back there. I stalled with a text, “I was in the shower.”
“Get down here with ice the unless you want others in the building to know about that spankable pussy ass for yours!”
Fuck. I was freaked out at the thought of him spreading rumors about me throughout our condo complex or with anyone else we might mutually know. And rumors about my getting spanked! Fuck! I could not have that happen. That’s too embarrassing. Bruce knew everyone around here! Then he texted me again, “Don’t forget what to wear, your cute little panties, boy.”
I looked in my fridge to see any ice in the ice maker. I stalled further, “I don’t have any panties.” I wrote as I thought about throwing the ice in a bag to bring up to him.
“Put a jockstrap on, bitch. Quit wasting time. Put a tight one on.” After first grabbing a tee and my shorts off the floor, I went to the bottom of my drawer to find an old jock. Yes, I still had a well-worn one, so I grabbed it and pulled it up my toned thighs. I thought, “Hell, this pair is way too small.”
My phone pinged with a “?” Shit, what the fuck is happening. I need to go to his place to tell him to stop all this nonsense. Then I saw “Waiting.” My dick, which had finally softened, was now snug in the pouch. My now pinkish ass cheeks were lifted by the straps. I need to tell him, once and for all, we are finished and to just leave me the fuck alone. Yes. That’s the plan. I finished getting dressed. I went down to his place, about 300 feet of meandering walkways between our two places, and knocked on his door.
Again, he answered in just his underwear. Taking the bag of ice cubes from me, he went to his table and threw some in a glass full of whisky as he yelled at me to get “my ass” inside. The sun now beamed right in Bruce’s apartment through his uncovered, large bay window, making it warmer where I stood.
I wondered why I had come back over here. Or … even why I answered his texts? It dawned on me that I had done everything he had asked! But why? This is so crazy. He’s after my sister, so why am I here? I was still lost in thought when he YANKED my shorts down. “Strip! Leave your panties on, bitch.” He ordered, referring to my old jock. I started to tell him to fucking stop all this foolishness with me and to leave my sister alone. But I did not get much out as I did exactly what he told me to do, strip out of my shorts. Bruce laughed again at my choice of briefs and the mixed signals I was giving off, like telling him to fuck off at the same time I was following his orders and stripping. The worn pouch cupped my nuts and dick tightly. My pink buns were framed by the white waistband and leg straps.
“Bitch, you’ll wear anything to show that fat fucking ass, won’t you, cunt?!”
“Bruce, this is over. You had your little fun time. I’m leaving and …” He grabbed me by the arm. Bruce locked it behind my back and ordered me to put my other hand in back of me as well. He told me to leave my hands there as he moved his body behind me. He was not even holding me, not physically. But just the same, I felt like I was under his control. I kept my hands behind me.
“Bruce, you can’t make me …” I got lost in my thoughts as he manipulated me from behind.
He pushed my hands upward behind my back. “Keep them high like that.” Weird, I did. My hands were against his chest as he leaned against me. His stomach rested just above my rounded butt. His hands reached in the front, cupping my pecs. I groaned. “Fucking SHIT!” I yelled to myself. Why in the fuck did I groan?! His fingers, probably from holding his icy glass of whiskey, were pleasantly COLD.
“Yeah, jock boy, now that you are correctly dressed, let’s continue with your punishment...
I liked how you came back here, like a dog on a leash, anxiously wanting his Master. You big fucking jock studs always need someone to control your cockiness. Looking down at the bulge in your little jockstrap panties, it looks like you got a cock that needs controlling. Just the feeling of my hairy belly on your backside has got you ready to bust a nut, doesn’t it, boy?”
I had no clue why, but my meat was crammed uncomfortably in the pouch of my jock. Though Bruce was rubbing his stomach on my back, his wandering, tweaking fingertips all over my chest and sensitive pecs got my dick trying to stretch out of my pouch. He was pawing at my nipples. Pulling the nipple straight out before roughly pinching. Then all his fingers were wrapping around each of my pecs, squeezing them.
I knew at any point I could have probably slipped out of his bear hug grip and run for it, but his taunts, his tit play, and his grinding his stomach on my back made me seep precum in my jock. And worst, making me stay in his clutches, willingly. Weird.
“Let’s see if I can get milk out of these titties. Yeah, you love that, don’t you bitch boy? Go on moaning like a cheap whore. You’re trying to hold back that pleasure sound, aren’t you? But you can’t. You really can’t help it. You bitches are all alike. Bitches kike you and your sister all crave a Master, a dominant man.”
“Bruce, please! My nipples. So sensitive. Please. Stop!” Why I did not just bring my free hands from behind me and push his hands away from my nipples, I just don’t fucking know. I knew my pleadings were futile. Bruce kept me in place. His fingers were pulling on my pecs. At times he would reach down to grab some more ice. He made me shiver as he rubbed it on my pecs, then cupped the ice in his palm and held the cubes on my nipples.
“Those titties standing at attention now, boy?” I looked down and saw my nipples pointing straight out. They tingled from the rough manhandling. Bruce brought me to his couch. He sat down and roughly threw me over his knee.
“No! Bruce, stop! Please stop!”
“Shut up, pantie jock! I just wanna take a look at your pretty mounded set of cheeks. Ohhhh yeah. Big round buns … so hot.” SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! I moaned loudly as my cheeks were assaulted again, renewing the heat on my sore ass. In between slaps, Bruce grabbed both buns, kneading them with his fingers.
“What do we have here? Look at that pretty pussy you got, boy. Mmmmm, I gotta get a taste of that. Look at that tight pink cunt. Dylan is my cunt.”
“What? No fuckin way, Bruce! Let me go!” I went to get up off his lap. He struggled but managed to push me back down on his lap. He was just heftier and more muscular. I felt his big hands grab each of my ass cheeks and stretch them wide. Next … I felt his wet tickling tongue over my asshole! He leaned his head way over and started teasing my asshole with his tongue!
I yelled! I don’t know why. The feeling of his slippery tongue working around my hole quickly drove me crazy. I felt so powerless. I fidgeted around but could not escape. My dick was so uncontrollably fierce that it screamed to break through my jock pouch. “OOOHH FUCK! BRUCE, STOP, DUDE! PLEASE! OOHHHHH!”
“You fuckin loving it, jock cunt! Lift that muscle ass to my tongue, fucker. Don’t make me do all the work. Raise that asshole up. Try to use your asshole to grab my tongue.” What the shit is going on! I was so fucking out of my mind. I had little choice. His tongue was relentless. He was SLURPING wetly at my clenching hole.
“Get it up!” The way he held me, I had no leverage to lift my ass much, but he probably knew then. He must be mind-fucking me. Or maybe he was serious about making me work to get his tongue all over my ass hole. I strained to raise my ass, and he flicked his tongue all over it. That felt wonderful. As the straining got too much, I slowly lowered my body, but his tongue did not follow my ass downward. I lost that great sensation. So I had to strain more to raise my butt higher to his tongue. It started licking me again. It was incredibly wonderful. I struggled to keep my ass up to continue receiving his wet slobbers, but I lost his tongue connection every time I tried to lower my ass hole. So he was making me “do all the work” and having me hold my ass up there, a little higher each time to get my “reward.”
“Stand up, pussy hole.” I tried to get up fully and stand as he said, but as soon as I rose a little, he grabbed me and pushed me over the arm or the sofa. I groaned as my dick and balls were now fully smashed and trapped against the padded sofa arm. My body was completely bent over, with the top of my head now touching the floor. I had no balance. Maybe that was intended. If he let go of my body, my feet would tumble over my head backward, and I’d be fully on the floor. Bruce had to hold me like this. He grabbed my bubble butt, now displayed as a mountain peak, spread my cheeks, and shoved his face between my ass crack.
When he came up for air, “Ooooh yeah, bitch. This muscle ass is mine now, fucker. It’s my horny cunt hole, and I’ll spank it whenever I want.” I know I would be exaggerating if I said this went on for hours, but it seemed that I was moaning and begging for a long time. My ass was eaten and spanked in every position. Bruce was insatiable. I was witnessing what my sister had spoken of earlier. He dominated my ass. Yes, I was getting some pleasure; I am finally admitting, more to myself than to Bruce, that there was no doubt who was running the show! I had been pushed across the table on my belly, then spun around onto my back with my legs above my head. Then I was laid over the kitchen counter with one leg in the air, then made to straddle the high back of a chair. Over and over, he “Frenched” my ass with his sloppy, invasive tongue.
Each wet swipe across my hole was now making my piss slit open to soak the pouch of my jockstrap with precum. I could feel it now coating my hard, trapped, bent dick and even my squeezed packed balls. As I squirmed my torso around or tried to, I realized that this humiliation was the “punishment” Bruce had mentioned. I was losing my masculinity to the older dude. Well… I was 23, and he was 35. He continued to toy with my ass lips with his raspy tongue. I hardly noticed when Bruce stopped licking.
He put me on the floor on my stomach and went to the kitchen to, I assume, pour himself more alcohol. He returned to sit down and made a joke about wanting to warm up his bare feet as he put them both on my spanked buns. I could feel him spreading my cheeks and tickling my ass crack with his wiggling toes.
“How does that pink pussy feel, boy? Look at it, winking for more tongue. Horny bitch.” Bruce sat there for a while sipping his drink as his big sweaty cool feet were parked on my ass with his toenails scratching my ass lips. He was keeping my hole lewdly exposed to his glare. Eventually, he ordered me to rise. I winched as he leaned down and grabbed my balls through my jock strap.
“What do we have here, boy? Your nuts wet with cock juice? You just drippin’ all the time, ain’t ya? Fucking balls so full of cum. Ain’t they jock bitch?” I moaned a “yes,” as Bruce rolled my balls between his fingers.
Then he pulled me up and guided me into his bedroom. I was like a rag doll. I think this was when I admitted to myself I was his to use as he wanted. I was his rag pussy doll with no resistance left in me. There he plopped me belly down on his bed. Before I could move, he ordered me to spread my legs, yelling, “Wider,” then “WIDER!” as his hand rained down painful swats. “Higher!” My muscular thighs were completely spread, and my buns lifted. Bruce once again got between my legs and dove face down into my spread-open hole. I was at my wit’s end. I was sobbing in frustration, moaning in uncontrolled pleasure, and my dick remained tightly balled up in my too-small jockstrap.
Just when I thought he would let up, he readjusted my body. I was still belly down on the bed with my thighs wide apart, but then he forced my knees to bend back to lift my lower legs so the soles of my feet were toward the ceiling. He then let go of my calves and placed each hand on the sole of my feet. I thought he would just steady my legs to stay like that. But then he placed his mouth on my upturned asshole, and at the same time, his fingers tickled the soles of my feet. “NNNNOOOOOOO!” “STOOOOPPPP!” “PLLLLEEEASSEEEE STOOOOPPPPP!”
Some guys like to be tickled. I definitely do not. Don’t tickle me anywhere. But … my feet are the absolute worst spots for me to be tickled. I st can’t stand it. I was sincerely pleading and begging him to stop. I just can’t take it.
I was laughing and humping the mattress. I was trying to move my feet away. But he had me, and he was relentless! I was gasping for air, laughing, and crying. My eyes were tearing so bad I could not see. As he tickled my feet, he maintained a good hold of my calves, and his face pinned my ass down firmly to the bed. The more he tickled, the more I wiggled and humped, and the more he worked his tongue into my pulsing, twitching hole. I felt I was going to die! I could not stop laughing, could not stop crying, could not stop humping and twisting. I had not one ounce of control. I was like a jellyfish with no spine, strength, or ability to escape his control.
I growled and flip-flopped my torso. His face never left my hole. It stayed wedged deeply between my ass crack. My hole pushed back as it spasmed, openly engulfing his tongue like a hungry slut as I reacted to the tickling.
“Bruce, I give up. PLLEEEAAAASSSSEEE! I surrender!” Please! OOHH FUCK! My asshole. Your fucking tongue! So wet! Sta, … sta … stop tickling me! I can’t handle my feet being touched! I can’t breathe! Please STOP!” I could hear and feel Bruce laughing in my hole as he enjoyed making me squirm and beg. His fingernails lightly scraped along my bare soles, making me buck my buns up into his greedy face.
He stopped that relentless licking of my hole and let go of my feet. I could finally relax. I was glad it was over. I needed a rest. I needed to get the hell out of here. I was totally, emotionally, and physically spent.
I could feel him use his hands to push a pillow under my pelvis, then a second pillow. That felt good. It raised my ass, but it made my back feel great. Finally, he saw that I needed to relax. Then he used his hands to push my knees further apart. He carefully repositioned the straps of my jockstrap back to neatly hug the curve of the bottom of my ass cheeks. And he untwisted the waistband, which had gotten all rolled up in my struggle to get free. In a way, I liked how he was taking care of me. Being gentle and now slowly petting my thighs and warm ass. I felt comforted. I feel the soft gentleness my sister likely felt too. I relaxed. My dick remained a bound-up ball in my jock pouch, but other than that, he was treating me nicely and calming me down. I guess he had fun; now he’d like me to rest before leaving.
As I calmed down, my lower legs started comfortably falling back on the bed as my leg muscles relaxed. But he halted that by gently pushing my feet back up again. He never said anything about holding that position, but it was clearly an unspoken demand. So I held my knees bent and my feet upward to the ceiling. It was not the most comfortable position, but he wanted me to hold my feet up like this. If that’s want he wanted, no problem. I held them up. Then my wide-spread hips started to relax, and as they did, my knees slowly drifted closer together. It was only natural to return to a more normal body position. But then I felt his hands, one on the inside of each thigh, begin pushing my knees back out. I had to relax my leg muscles to get my thighs to be OK with being that stretched out. It was awkward at first, but he would apply a little more pressure every minute or so, then let me get accustomed to it, then more pressure to spread them slightly wider each time. What made it doable were the two hefty pillows under my hips that forced my ass upward. Anatomically it allowed my knees to spread more. Plus, he did it so gradually. Actually, this time he pushed them further. I kept thinking he loved my ass so much that he wanted an unobstructed view. He wanted to feast his hungry eyes on it at his leisure. He wanted my asshole OPENED up fully to be on full display as he could possibly train me to position it. It was flattering to me to be so adored. There was no mirror where I could see myself, but I must have looked pretty funny with my ass so high in the air. My butt must have looked like Mount Vesuvius.
I thought I was going to nap, but then Bruce gently patted my lower back and ass cheeks. It was very pleasant. He gently rubbed his face all around my ass very soothingly. I moaned. I started to realize that I had Bruce all wrong. OK, obviously, he gets crazy wild with sex. But then he shows his loving side. I could see how my sister got confused. How she thought he was too rough, too intense. Maybe he is too rough for my sister. Maybe they should stop dating. All I know right now is that he is treating me lovingly.
His hands felt good as they lightly petted me wherever they could reach. I was just giving in to the moment. My legs relaxed, and my knees started naturally to close again. I did not realize it until he gently pushed them apart again, even a bit wider. I got the message as I felt a little pressure pulling on my hip joints. No problem, I can take it. I can keep them as wide as he wishes. I felt his tongue touch my body. Not like a kiss or a lick, just touch me here and there. His tongue was making gentle wet spots as he wanted to. I did not notice that his hands were back on my uplifted feet. He was being gentle, just holding my feet. His fingers were petting my feet, not tickling them.
Now he began to lick around my asshole, not inside my ass, just around it. It felt good. His fingers began to actually massage the soles of my feet. I moaned. He licked like he was slowly eating an ice cream cone. Up and down he passed his tongue over my exposed hole.
The pleasure this was giving me was intense. My hole began to twitch in anticipation of that wriggly tongue. At times, his licking was replaced with light sucking of my hole and surrounding flesh. His lips working around the pucker were causing my entire body to tingle in lust. When my ass lips would push out, Bruce spanked me abruptly and directly on my ass hole. I was surprised.
“Don't think you might be done with your punishment, big ass jock." He laughed. I groaned as my hole felt the sting of more slaps. He kept my ass so exposed that I could feel the cool air on that vulnerable spot each time Bruce took a break from his constant licking. "Don't move. Stay spread out like that, with that mounded ass in the air and that cunt hole begging for my tongue."
The Ass Man
Part 3 of 5
Bruce got off the bed, came over to where my face was, and sat back down. He was now totally naked! I was still on my belly, with two pillows under my hips to raise my ass. My face was against the mattress; he turned my head sideways to face him. Then he lifted his hard prick and set it at my lips. I tried to move my head away, which I knew was only stalling time, but he grabbed my hair to hold me in place. "Kiss it! Put your jock boy lips all over my cock, punk." Reluctantly I puckered up and halfheartedly kissed his dick all over. His meat was so hard I could feel the heat emitting from the head of it as my face was forced to rub against it.
"Please, Bruce. Don't make me MMMMFFFF!” That was all I got out because he took that opportunity to push his cock into my opened mouth. The mushroom cap was huge. He forced me to open up as he fed me more of his hard pole.
"That's it, jock boy. Tighten your lips around it. Make that dick feel good. YEAH! Suck it!" My inexperience did not seem to bother Bruce. He made his body rock back and forth, causing his dick to slide in and out of my mouth. "You’re a natural boy. Those big pouty college track star jock lips were made for sucking. You taste your sister's pussy on that dick? You’re definitely the best cocksucker of the family, that's for sure." Bruce laughed as I moaned a response around his meat.
He pulled the dick out and made me stick my tongue out and lap all over the huge head, then ordered me to tongue his piss slit. "Taste that cock juice, Dylan boy. Keep your tongue on that slit. Lick it up. Don't worry, boy. I can stay hard and feed you hot precum for hours. Keep licking." I began to moan. It was odd; I must be getting into the smell and taste of his precum.
"That tastes good, doesn't it, boy? Yeah, get addicted to the taste of that cum ‘cause I decided that when you come over here to get your required bubble ass spanking, you gonna be worshipping my dick too. Fucker, the way you’re enjoying my piss slit faucet makes this punishment seem more like sex play. Open your mouth. Suck! Yeah, just like that. Eat my cock. Your sister is so inept, but you know that, don’t you. You probably tried to get your bitch sister to suck your cock too. She doesn’t know how to properly suck a man’s dick, but you already knew that.” What the fuck! I never did anything with my sister!
With his pecker pushing in and out of my wet mouth, I looked up and watched as Bruce tilted his head back and played with his own nipples as he tried to push his meat down my throat. I was scared he would shoot in my mouth, but just as I sensed he was ready to blast off, his juicy dick was removed.
He quickly went around me to my spread-out legs, which I held wide apart, as he insisted. Immediately his mouth latched onto my raised ass hole. "OOOOHHH FUCK! Bruce! PLLEEEAAASSSEEEE STOOOPPPPP!” My own jizz was seeping through the material of my jock pouch. Bruce pushed his tongue in my ass. Like a slippery snake, his long tongue wriggled and slithered all inside my hole. My thoughts of cuming quickly passed with a WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! On my bubble butt. Bruce reheated my horny ass with slaps in between orders to keep my "cunt hole” high in the air and my head firmly on the mattress. I had to arch my back to keep my ass up there.
I suddenly felt Bruce's big hands grabbing each of my red cheeks. I thought I was in for a severe tongue-lashing as he spread my ass apart. But instead of his tongue, I felt his huge, stiff cock poking at my hole! "OOHH FUCK! NO! C'MON MAN! DON'T!" I don’t want to get FUCKED!” I screamed. “I’M NOT GAY!”
"Hush up, pantie boy. Your pussy is all wet and ready for cock. Don't worry, you’re gonna love it." Bruce was on his knees between my spread thighs. He tried to push that huge mushroom cap past my clenching pucker. I pleaded for him not to, but he kept jabbing at my hole until the head was able to penetrate a bit. "Fuck, boy! My pussy cunt is one tight hole. Do this, clench your asshole, and try to squeeze my dick as tight as you can." I was surprised that when I squeezed my ass muscles and held it like that, it made my ass relax when I stopped squeezing. I guess when you exert and hold tension, you release it when you let go. His dick was able to advance a bit more. “AGAIN! SQUEEZE!” I did; I held it, then relaxed. His dick eased in a bit further. Again, “SQUEEZE!” I did, and when I relaxed, it slithered in further. But I was in a panic. I knew I could not take the huge dick up my virgin ass. I not gay. I don’t do this. I gasped, cried out, and pounded the bed with my fists like a baby throwing a tantrum. I was begging him to stop. He ignored me.
"Nice! Give up that cherry! Just relax, boy. Your pussy is too hot for one-time abuse. I'm gonna make sure you enjoy this ride. It will take a bit of proper working your ass and your mind, but you will come along completely." Bruce stopped moving, letting my hole get used to the invasion and stretching caused by his dick. Seconds went by before he slowly pushed his dick even deeper. Then he would pull out so only the head stayed in my tight ass; then he pushed in again. Over and over, he did this until he could sense that my hole was beginning to enjoy his invasion! Strange sounds were escaping my lips.
"Yeah, jock pussy, listen to your moans. Loving that cock up your cunt, aren’t you.” I refused to answer, not to him or to myself.
“Man, so fuckin' tight! Taking that dick like a whore, aren’t you, Dylan jock cunt. Feel my hairy, manly belly on your gorgeous ass, boy?” That was a first, calling my ass “gorgeous.” What happened to my “fat ass?” I loved it when he complimented me. I do have a gorgeous, mounded ass. “You know what that means, don't ya? Means you got my cock balls-deep in your cunt. You’re my jock pussy now, no doubt! Big-man-on-campus track star is my jock pussy whore. Gonna keep your ass red and your cunt filled up with my dick as much as I want."
Bruce then proceeded to FUCK my hole! He wasted no more time being gentle. I passed that need. He really started to pound my ass good. I have heard of guys liking to have their asses pounded, but I never believed any could actually enjoy receiving such an almost violent ass fucking like this. In and out, in and out. My sweaty ass bounced off his stomach with each noisy, wet thrust, “SLAP, SLAP, SLAP.” Then he pushed his long dick inside me and held it there. Surprisingly, he helped lift me off the bed and get to my feet … with his dick still up my ass. FUCKING SHIT! What a weird feeling. I was deeply pegged in the back, and he had one arm around my belly so I could not pull off of him … THEN … he duck-walked me to the bedroom wall. WHAT THE FUCK!
He walked me to the wall and pushed me firmly against it. I had the full front of me smashed against the wall. Being about the same height, he could fuck me in and out as I was held firmly to his wall. I was about to tell him to stop, but I got caught up in the different and amazing new sensation I felt getting fucked standing, as opposed to getting fucked on the bed. For one thing, the wall was solid, and pushing me against it as he fucked me made for a harsher, fiercer thrust. It was like he was pushing his dick all the way into my throat! I was taking in this wave of sensation when he suddenly pulled me away from the wall and wrapped one arm around my belly again. He directs me to waddle-walk, like we were Siamese twins, into the living room, his dick continuously, firmly up my ass. What was amazing was the erotic friction I felt from his dick as we walked. That hip-rocking, swaying motion was awesome. I was not going to resist, not anymore.
Then he slowly guided me belly down over the padded back of the sofa, ensuring he was not inadvertently dislodged. Though his dick started to slide out, the big head stayed trapped in my hole by my ass lips. Again he went in and out. But there was something different here too. As he pushed in, he pushed my body down as far as he could, bending me over the back of the sofa. That kind of raised my ass to meet his belly. He would push in and then pull nearly out. Then he slowly, and I mean very slowly, raised my upper body to a standing position and more. He actually pulled me backward to lean back against his body and held me there and pushed in and pulled nearly out. Then he slowly bent me over the sofa again, pushing in and nearly out. He did this repeatedly. Then he repeated as he pushed me over forward over the sofa back. I felt like one of those huge oil drilling machines that mindlessly rotated up and down as he drilled in and out. Amazing! And my sister hated this man?
I moaned. He said a few things to me, but I did not hear him. I was the oil rig. He was the driller. I was totally dominated and used by this horny 35-year-old dude and loved it. Ready for a new adventure, Bruce stood me up and pivoted us both around so his back was against the sofa back, with me still plugged by his massive dick. Now he leaned backward and pulled me back with him; my back was resting on his front. As he leaned us both backward, my dead-weight body was lifted off the floor about six inches. Considering that his feet were planted firmly flat on the floor and his middle back was supported by the back of the sturdy sofa, it must have been easy to lift me with that kind of leverage, using the sofa back as a fulcrum. His dick was lodged firmly up my ass. I was his rag doll fuck jock, and I loved it.
I was, of course, 40 pounds lighter than him, making it easier for him to hold me and lift me like this. His bear-hugging arms around my chest also surrounded my arm, which held them useless by my sides. His right hand was on my left tit, and his left was on my right tit. So now he began to pinch my nipples as I was held helplessly in his embrace, my feet dangling off the floor. He squeezed them hard and wiggled his hips, driving his dick in me to the hilt. He pulled my tits and fucked my ass at the same time. His mouth was right at my ear, whispering taunts as he fucked my ass and pulled my tits. My own dick seemed to be of no concern to him. It just continually strained against the jock pouch.
I guess he wanted to stretch his legs after being bent backward for that time, so he straightened up and duck-walked us to the kitchen, the bathroom, and the living room. His dick never left my hole. “Boy, I am tired. I think I need a rest. Finally, he withdrew his dick; I felt so utterly empty, without purpose or function. Bruce sat down. I looked at him sitting on the sofa as I stood, not quite knowing what to do. I was glad this was over. I did not climax, but at least I could go home to rest. I wondered where my clothes were as I was ready to leave. My thoughts about finding my clothes were interrupted.
"Ride my dick, boy. Give me a rest, and fuck yourself! C'mon!" he told me. What? He wants to fuck me more?! He sat there with his boner sticking up like a flag pole and told me to sit on it as he sipped his iced drink. I hesitated. But he leaned forward and encouraged me to sit on his post by smacks to my ass and then reached up to pinch my nipples with icy fingers. Like some obedient robot, I turned my back to him, lined up my ass as best I could, and slowly sat down on his lap. “No, not like that, you cunt for brains! As you sit on it, grab your ass cheeks and pull them wide apart. Then sit.” I came out of my erotic daze and heard his instructions. Was I supposed to know all about man-to-man sex? I never even heard of a dick-sitting “lap dance.” This was my first time … ever! I did not want him upset with me, so I spread my cheeks, stooped, and moved my ass in small circles to get my target to find his spear. Sensing the right spot, I slowly relaxed my legs, allowing my butt to ease down over his monster. My spanked buns were soon heating up Bruce’s lap. I wiggled; the shaft slid in deeper this time. My ass had been toyed with, teased, and stretched so much that I no longer felt pain. I actually enjoyed this … this … self fucking.
“OK, now pick up your feet and place your heels on the top edge of the sofa seat, just to the outside of my knees.” I struggled for balance as I lifted my heels and “hooked” them where he wanted. He helped to steady me as it was a precarious position. This caused my ass to be more “pointed” down and for his dick to slip in my hole a bit further. “Now that your heels are on the sofa, you have more leverage to bounce your ass up and down on my dick,” Bruce instructed. OMG! Now I had to do all the work to fuck myself? I followed all his instructions; no more fighting him, no more resisting. He was obviously a pro at giving and receiving erotic ass pleasure. He was a true ass man.
"AH FUCK! BRUCE! AHHHH, IT FEELS SO GOOD, MAN! I can't stand it, man! Feels so good. AHHH MAN! Your dick is just filling my asshole so nicely!" I just fucking gave up. Not just physically but emotionally too. I’m his fuck jock whore. I moaned and aaaahed. Bruce held his arms around me and pulled me back to his chest. My back was rubbing against his pointed nipples. My hole was completely impaled on his cock – all my doing - just as it was supposed to be. I was bouncing harder and hard, about to shoot.
"I think you’re getting a little close to filling your panties with cum, boy. Gotta slow things down a bit. We got all night." WHAT THE FUCK? ALL NIGHT?! I NEED TO SHOOT NOW!
With his stiff dick still filling my hole, he made us get up and duck-walked us into the bedroom again. But first, he walked us over to a side table and picked up what might be an old-fashioned portable radio. I didn’t get a good look at it, but it did not seem important. Finally, he pulled out. I was made to get on all fours on the bed, with my ass positioned near the edge of the mattress. Bruce, standing on the floor behind me, started a steady FUCK, FUCK, FUCK.
"Boy, I was fucking the wrong member of your family, Dylan cunt boy. Your hole is so much tighter than your sister’s cunt. Now hold still. I’m just working my dick to breed that pussy. Then he assaulted my ass cheeks, SLAP! SLAP! "Squeeze my dick with your ass muscles. Ah, that a boy. Your pussy is just loving it, ain't it, boy? Ain't it?" Bruce again emphasized his point with backhanded SMACKS of my clutching buns. “I said, ain’t your pussy loving this?”
I mumbled, “Yes, Bruce.” I was in a daze.
Throwing his weight on me, Bruce forced me to collapse onto my stomach. Then he worked his hips, rocking them until my body was being nudged and scooted towards the bed's headboard. Bruce flipped me over on my back. Again, his prick never fully pulled out of my hole. At least his huge mushroom cap remained inside me. He was sitting on his ankle; his knees were under my ass checks, lifting my hips off the mattress. Then he pushed my knees up to my chest and placed the bottom of my feet on his chest. In this position, my upturned ass was right there for his enjoyment, for whatever desire he had in mind. As usually, it was of no concern to me. He adjusted his body to line up with my ass hole. He could reposition his knees to raise or lower his dick as needed to fuck me. I was his passive fuck toy and allowed myself to be folded up as he wished. So, as always, he was in the driver’s seat.
His hands were free, so he reached for my jock pouch, pulled it away from my waist, and let my dick and balls spring free. AAAHHHHH! MAAAANNNNN! Free at last! Wow! I reached to touch them, but he playfully swatted my hand away. WOW, at least they were no longer crammed up in a ball in my cum-soaked jock pouch. My dick immediately stood up proud and hard. It was bobbing and twitching, waiting to be touched and caressed, ready to shoot its pent-up load!
I was in fucking heaven, literally. I didn't know if I would be allowed to climax or not, but right now, I loved the wonderful fucking I was getting. Bruce had removed one of my feet off his chest and was holding it. I saw a wicked look in his eyes. Was he thinking about my frantic reaction earlier when he touched my feet? God, I hope not. He needs to respect me. No one is allowed to touch the soles of my feet. It’s the one place on my body I don’t want anyone to touch. Some guys like to be tickled everywhere, including their feet. I do not at all. I can deal with it if I am tickled under my arms or on the sides of my torso. Tickling me anywhere except my feet is difficult for me, but I can survive that. BUT LEAVE MY FUCKING FEET ALONE! That’s all I ask. I’ll do anything, absolutely anything on earth; just leave my feet the fuck alone.
"Shut up, pussy cunt! Put your fucking hands on the headboard. Keep em' there!” I grabbed the wood spindles of the headboard and held them tightly as told. “If you let go of that headboard, I will tickle you twice as long as I would otherwise."
I freaked out at just the thought of him tickling my foot. My body jerked and twisted and slammed my ass down hard on his cock. Without him even touching me, I yelled, "BRUCE! WHAT THE FUCK!? DON'T, MAN! I CAN'T STAND MY FEET TOUCHED!“
I least I did not release my grip on the headboard; I know that’s why he smiled approvingly. I held onto it tightly as I tried to read that smirky look on his face. He dragged his fingers across that sole and stared at me with that stupid grin to see my reaction. I renewed my verbal tirade, "OOOOHH, please! Don't! Seriously, man, I can't stand that! I’ll die! I’ll just die!" I was laughing and gasping at the same time. “STTOOOPPPP! PLLEEEAAAASSSSSEEEEEE! I’ll do anything, Bruce, anything you want. Just please stop!" I twisted and jerked my torso to get him to stop.
What he fully appreciated, and what I did not realize, was that I never let go of the headboard. He was sadistically torturing me, and I fucking continued to hold onto the fucking headboard! I did not care about his dick inside me. I just wanted him to leave my feet the fuck alone. My body was tightly positioned. His dick and pelvis were “holding” my ass end, and my head and shoulders were wedged against the headboard. I was crunched between his body and the headboard. The foot he was tickling was held firmly in his vice-grip hand.
"But boy, your hole just clamped tightly around my dick when I tickled you. Your ass tightened so much it makes me want to tickle you all the more. So why would I want to stop?" With a snicker, he returned to lightly teasing the sole of my foot. Why didn’t I just let go of the headboard? Why am I helping him to torture me?! Did I really want to please him that much? I developed -- or should I say, he created within me - a strong need for me to obey him. He was an insatiable ass man.
Then he stopped. “Maybe you want to tell me how much you need to be my cum dump asshole jock. Maybe you wish to beg me to dump your bitch cunt sister of yours and train, use, and abuse only you. Maybe, if you use every name in the fucking cunt dictionary to tell me what a whore you are and how much you need to be a slave shit jock boy … then … I might tickle your feet.”
The Ass Man
Part 4 of 5
Wasting no time, he held his fingernails just above the sole of my foot, ready to attack it. I nearly yelled whatever he wanted to hear from me.
“YES, SIR! I DO NEED TO BE YOUR CUNT SLAVE JOCK BOY, BRUCE! YES PLEASE! PLEASE USE ME!” I definitely got his full attention, so he listened as I continued to plead, “I do need to be your fuck hole pussy boy and available any time you call me. I want to suck your huge dick and get plowed by you whenever you want this cum dump asshole cunt here. I need you so much. I just love your dick, man.” I paused, thinking what else, “Oh yea, please dump my bitch sister, and only fuck me. Fuck me up my pussy ass and down my faggot throat. My cunt sis is a fat ass know-nothing and can never please a real man like you.”
I could not believe my own ears. I was scolding my dear sister. I love my sister. I am here, after all, to protect her. But if I don’t fully degrade myself and offer him my ass, he will tickle-torture me. And that I can’t stand. I just can’t take that. I will say whatever he wants as long as he does not tickle my feet, or … at least not as much as he has threatened to do to me. I went on, “Bruce, I can please you so much better. Please, Bruce, please use me and not my slut sister. Please just fucking make me your jock boy cunt hole. Oh god. Please. I am begging you, man.”
Bruce stared at me, perhaps waiting for me to say more. Then, “Well, cunt, that was cute. Now you realize that your sister is the stupid ass cunt whore. Finally, you admit that. And, boy, I see how you desperately do want my dick in you, don’t you?” he waited again. I guess he really wanted a verbal answer.
“Yes, Bruce. My sister is a cunt-dripping street whore, and you deserve better. I do want your dick in me.” His dick was still in me. It was throbbing.
“And so I should forget about your sister because you are a better fuck hole for me than she is, Right?”
“Yes, Bruce, I am a better fuck hole than my cunt whore sister. I need you more.”
“Well, that was sweet, but if you are that interested in giving yourself to me, it needs to be all the way. That means all of you, every part of you, that includes your feet, doesn’t it, cunt boy?” I was dumb-funded. He continued, “You see when I was fucking you and tickling you, your ass muscles responded in such an erotic way, it sent chills up my spine. So I accidentally discovered how you and only you can provide me the ultimate pleasure. I will tickle you to near insanity if I need to, and it will delight me to no end. This is how I will train you to please me; you will learn whatever I teach you.” Bruce paused as if in reflection. “Dylan, I am considering all you say but still unconvinced. Should I kick you out right now and call your bitch sister here for the fuck of her life. Or …?”
“No. Please, Bruce, use ME. I am begging you. I am the cunt whore pussy fuck face you want. Train ME. Please train me to be all you want me to be.” I pleaded, and I meant it. His dick was up my ass and throbbing but not thrusting into me. I wanted him to actively fuck me.
“OK, Dylan, so here is the test. You may now beg me to tickle the soles of your foot. And here is the kicker, since I already worked on them pretty good, I know EXACTLY what you DON’T want me to do. So you must beg me to do that to you, tickle you in the worst way possible, whichever way YOU feel is the most torturous to YOU. That is how you will give yourself to me. You either convince me to tickle your feet exactly in the manner you hate the most, or you leave now and never see me again. I’ll rape your sister instead. Are we clear?” Bruce just stared at me with a broad grin. He seemed to know how to push all my buttons.
“Bruce … Bruce … please … please tickle my … my …” I broke down and sobbed.
My dick was hard, his dick was hard, and I was sobbing. He patiently waited, still with a smile. I composed myself, “Bruce, please tickle my feet. OH God!” This was so fucking difficult to say, let alone beg him to do to me. He only stared and waited. “Tickle the soles of my feet, please, but don’t do it rough or hard … that does not drive me crazy like when you did it very lightly. I mean with just your fingertips, your fingernails especially. I really can’t stand that. I WILL go insane. And when you placed your finger between my toes, that actually felt like a pleasant massage, not tickling. Use a shoelace or a feather and lightly saw it back and forth between each of my pairs of toes, do it as light as you can.” I sobbed and lost it. Bruce was holding my foot, his dick was in my ass, and he was smiling. “OH, fucking shit! I can’t go on. I can’t,” I sobbed.
“I’ll bet you are holding back, aren’t you, little pussy hole?” Bruce just went silent, waiting.
“Please don’t make me say anymore. Please, Sir Bruce.” I was babbling now in a whisper, but he heard me.
“Do you have any experience with … say … ice cubes on the soles of your feet? Or, say … a hair dryer to heat those gorgeous toes? Or … maybe some coarse sandpaper? Hum? Or rubbing Velcro over them?” I could not say a word. I hate anyone tickling my feet. I hate it! Hate it! I can’t stand it! Just trembled and stared back. Sweat was dripping off my face.
“Ok, pussy jock. I’ll tell you what. I promise not to tickle your feet unless you beg me to. Is that a deal?” I immediately nodded yes. Fuck yeah. No way I was going to freely allow him, let alone “beg him” to torture me.
Bruce leaned over to the side table and picked up that old transistor radio. And then he showed me. He was hitting buttons on it, and I knew immediately what it was. It was an old fashion mini-tape recorder used in the 1980s and ’90s. He put it in my face so I could clearly see what he was doing. He pushed “rewind” and then “play.” I was shocked. I heard my voice.
I was horrified to hear, “… Oh yea, please dump my bitch sister, and only fuck me. Fuck me up my pussy ass and down my faggot throat. My cunt sis is a fat-ass, know-nothing who can never please a real man like you. I can please you so much better. Please, Bruce, please use me and not her. Please just fuckin’ make me your jock boy cunt hole. Oh god. Please. I am begging you, man …”
My jaw dropped. The fucker had recorded me in our little play-game scenario that he made me say. OK, so I said it willingly. But it’s now all out of context. I was in shock.
“You have just heard a tiny portion of the recording I will hand over to your sister. Of course, I will alter the tape to remove my voice coaching you, so it will sound like you freely and desperately wanted me to dump your bitch sister – your words, not mine – and make you my personal cunt whore.” My mind was frantic in playing out various scenarios on how I’d explain this to my sister. There was no possible “good solution.” My sister and my precious, endearing relationship with her would be shattered. He had me by the balls.
“Now,” Bruce paused and stared me in the face, “I intend on keeping my word … to … not tickle those lovely, overly-sensitive soles of your feet. Well, unless … ah … unless … you literally and convincingly begged me to do it. Like I am doing you a great favor. So … that is strictly up to you.” There was only one response I could possibly give him.
“OH, GOD! BRUCE! PLEASE TICKLE MY FEET!” I sobbed.
“Well? Really? What about using feathers? Would you want the feathers tickling your soles or between your toes, or what? Or ice cubes? That increases their sensitivity and makes for a really intense tickling session. You realize that, don’t you? I mean … you might be laughing so hard, non-stop, that you might even pass out. But I won’t let you pass out; you’d miss out on all my fun. I mean your fun. The important thing is do you want me to enjoy myself?”
I stopped my tears enough to beg and plead, “OH GOD! Please use ice cubes… and … and … feathers and … tickle my soles and saw them back and forth between my toes, and then lightly tickle them with your fingernails. That will drive me crazy. I might pass out, but that is OK. I might even piss all over myself, but please just do me this huge favor and … and …” I sobbed out loud and slobbered and gaspingly said, “Ple … ple … please tickle me into oblivion, SIR, Master Bruce, please take your time and enjoy yourself.” And I just babbled away as Bruce smiled so sadistically.
“Well, if you insist. But let’s do it this way, as you lay on your back like that, lift one leg up and hold it there in front of me. Hold it up and still all by yourself.” He retrieved a feather duster and plucked out a couple of feathers from it. And he began to “saw them back and forth” between a pair of my toes just as I begged him to do. I immediately jerked my foot away. It was an involuntary reaction. I could not help it. When you touch a hot stove, it's like you just jerk your hand away. It’s just human nature, a reaction of self-preservation. He stopped.
“Well, see there? You pulled your foot away.” He spoke calmly and slowly as if talking to a child. “Now, I asked you to hold your foot still, and you just pulled it away from me.”
“Bruce, man, just fucking tie my foot where you want it. And … let’s get this over with.” I told him, insanely offering to let him tie my foot in place so I could not jerk it away.
“No. I don’t want to force you. I want your co-operation. So, in the kindest way possible, I am asking you to simply hold your foot up and still and let me enjoy myself. I mean, you did beg me to do this. So, will you please simply hold your own foot up for me to … to … amuse myself?”
I did as he asked and waited. He was taking his fucking time, stalling. He was examining his feathers, sort of brushing them with his fingers. Then I saw and felt a feather moving between 2 of my toes. He held both feathers in the same hand, but placed each between different spaces and slowly, insanely, moved them in a sawing motion. I cracked up. I was laughing my head off. AND, what surprised me, I held my leg up and fairly still. I used both hands on my thigh to steady it. He did not seem to mind my doing that. It took all my strength and concentration to hold my foot up and still. Since he was not holding onto my leg, he had two hands to work the feathers. Now he was working one feather between my toes, and the other was making tickling “S” shaped lines from my heel to my toes and back again. Back and forth, he drew a squiggly “S” figure. I was laughing so continuously that I started gasping for air. He seemed to back off only briefly to let me catch my breath, but he never really stopped. I was begging him to stop, pleading, crying, laughing, but, as he politely “asked” me to do, I held my foot up and still, but my entire body was trembling and sweating. I just wanted this to end before I died laughing.
Then I heard the most wonderful words I had ever heard in my lifetime, “We’re done.” And I put my leg down on the mattress and rested. I was so thankful.
“Feel better now? I told him yes and was surprised I could do that. I hate it so fucking much when I am tickled, especially on the soles of my feet. I have to help him torture me! But I fucking did it. I could not have my sister hear my degrading faggot speech. I was truly relieved.
“Good.” And he calmly added, “Now, the other foot.”
I was shocked. I whimpered as I raised my other foot for him to torture. I whimpered in a mumble, “No, please. Bruce, don’t, no.” I repeatedly held my other foot up for his extreme erotic torture. I cried and laughed at the same time. My hard dick even released droplets of piss, I think. You might think that is impossible, but my body just did it. I dropped my foot to the mattress a couple times, and he patiently waited for me to raise it again. This went on another 20 minutes before he finally stopped. I was exhausted. My dick shriveled to a pitiful size. I was trying to calm down, and I vowed, in my mind, to NEVER let Bruce touch my feet again.
After a few moments, he adjusted pillows under my butt to raise my ass off the mattress while still on my back. Yeah, he was putting me into a fucking position. First, he spanks the hell out of me, and I hate it, but … maybe not all that much. Then he fucks me, and at first, I hate it, but then I loved it, actually …. I found myself desperately needing more. That was weird. Then he tickles my feet, and I fully, absolutely hate it. I did not like it. I never got used to it. It made me feel miserable. I resisted all the way. I fought him. I pulled away. I wanted to punch him in the face and tried to escape his holding me in place for his tickle torture. But then, because of that stupid tape recording, where I degraded my sister and myself, he forced me “TO ALLOW” him to tickle the most sensitive part of my entire body, the soles of my feet.
He actually made me hold still and assist him in my own fucking tickle torture. MY TORTURE! You might think one gets over such misery, but not this excruciating torture. He is so full of shit if he thinks he will ever make me do this again. But what if he refuses to see me? I can’t have that.
The Ass Man
Part 5 of 5
Now, he is going to reward me with a good long fucking. I’ll be in heaven. I see why my sister saw Bruce's good and evil sides. He has both. His sadistic evil side tickle-tortured me minutes ago, and now his charming, wonderful caring side will make me feel so wonderful I could be his love puppy forever.
“Dylan, you did well for a little bitch jock boy. Now I will reward you with a special fucking. Last time you held onto the headboard to help hold you still. This time, just relax as I hold your legs up.” I assumed he just wanted my legs up and out of the way, so he had a lot of room around my ass to fuck me long and good. I was happy to oblige.
“Look at you. There you are all prepared to get your cunt hole raped by my massive dick. You really are such an eager slut bitch, aren’t you, cunt.” I just nodded, wanting him to get on with my well-earned fucking. Now that my legs were up and out to the sides, out of his way, Bruce scooted his knees close to my asshole. I could not help but notice how hard he was. He wasn’t even touching his dick. It must be just the sight of seeing my hole and the idea that he would plug me that made his dick baseball bat-ready.
“OK, cunt jock, I want you to relax your hungry hole. Let it open as much as it can, just mentally controlling it to stay relaxed and open.” It was more of a mental thing to take a few deep breaths and let go of all stress and muscle tension. I did relax my hole open somewhat. “Now welcome in your new Master, my dick. But don’t squeeze it this time. Just keep your cunt open and try not to spasm or tighten anything.” It took a lot of concentration, but I stayed relaxed, and his dick slowly slid into me. Now I was thinking, “Now what? Is he going to viciously thrust his dick in and out as he did before? I hope so.”
Oddly, he was stretching my hole as I was mentally relaxing it. My ass did twitch and spasm at first, but I started to develop more control to keep everything quiet and calm, even with his huge rigid pole "resting" up my ass. Then I felt him push his dick in more, not in a thrust, but slowly deepening his fuck pole inside me. His low-hanging balls were gently resting on my balls. Then … nothing. No movement. Except for my dick. I lifted my head off the mattress and saw my dick was hard and bobbing. No one was touching it. But obviously, his huge pole up my ass was causing me a lot of anticipation of pleasure as it twitched on occasion, waking up all the erotic senses in my hole. Still, Bruce did nothing. He was waiting for something as he knelt there, his groin tightly sealed against my asshole.
"Now, Dylan, grab your knees and hold them close to your chest." I got lost in the wonderful feeling of his dick. Yes, of course, I wanted him to fuck me and fuck me hard. But I was told to stay still, relaxed, and completely open. I impetuously wanted to squeeze my ass firmly around his dick. I instinctively wanted to grab it with my ass lips and hold onto it for dear life. But I waited. Since my ass was slightly elevated, my dick pointed to my head and dripped precum onto my chest. My dick was like a loaded space blaster pointing directly at my face. It continued to bob, but I obeyed and remained still.
I did not think about the soles of my feet being in front of Bruce’s face. As I held my knees to my chest, that’s where my feet were positioned. Then FUCK! He lightly touched the soles of my feet, with one fingernail on each. I shot him a stern look to stop. He stared me down, saying nothing except, “SSSHHHHH,” as he placed a finger to his lips to keep me quiet. My hips bucked up and down, and my body jerked a few times, but somehow, I managed to keep my ass open and not clinch it. His dick was fully inside me, and I was using every ounce of focus I could muster to not react to his fingernail teasing the sole of my foot. I began to tremble all over; I could not help it. I was like a lively fish on hot pavement. I maintained a hold of my knees to my chest and tried, hopelessly, to not move. I was definitely not in control.
“SSSSHHHHHH, just hold onto your knees and let your body freely express itself.” I think he knew what to expect. He seemed so technically astute in this art of … of … what would you call it? The art of erotic manipulation? Control? Domination? I guess. So he had to know what my reaction would be. He was training me to be his fucking puppet, after all. Or is that “fuck-puppet.”
Oddly, he was not moving a muscle. He kept his dick deep inside me and still as it could be. Of course, it pulsed and twitched, but he did not move it in and out. He was allowing his own dick to throb as it would naturally do. AND he was allowing my entire body to flail and thrust about as it would naturally do in reaction to his tickling of my sensitive feet.
I could feel his dick expand and spasm in my tight hole, and interior rubbing and massaging caused my hips to frantically jerk repeatedly. It caused my body to rock on my curved spine. That, in turn, caused my ass to fuck his dick. As one might imagine, any movement from me, in any way, just erotically caressed his dick. He turned my asshole into his personal dick massager, and I was running on automatic. My ass muscle squeezed once. “NO, you have one job, and only one job, keep your ass hole open and your body as calm and still as you possibly can.” I just nodded, thinking to myself I could do this.
I looked at him. His head just rolled back, and he had his face to the ceiling. He was not moving his hips at all. He would only occasionally tickle the soles of my feet whenever my reactions stopped or slowed. He used my feet as his gear shift knobs to control my jerking and humping movements. Sometimes, he would touch one of my feet with only one fingernail, just so very lightly, to get me to spasm in a particular manner. And if he tickled my foot differently, I’d thrust more dramatically. I understood I was not to move, but he could cause me to do whatever he wanted. Yes, I was his play puppet, and he was learning how to manipulate me as he wished to.
My dick was ready to blast its pent-up load. If only I could reach it to trigger its climax. But my hands were glued to my knees, holding them to my chest. However, his hands were free. If he would be so kind as to pump … it just one time … I’d shoot off. Just one up or down movement. That’s all my dick needed. I guess he knew that. I guess he knew I frantically needed to shoot.
I felt his dick swell fatter. I knew he was going to cum any moment now. He spasmed more than ever. He was ready to shoot. I would blast off too. I was so fucking ready. And then, there was nothing touching the soles of my feet. My feet were not being touched at all! FUCK! Why in the fuck was he not tickling my fucking soles?! I needed him to tickle me or climax so I could climax! SHIT! Why in the fuck did he stop tickling my feet? FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!
I wanted to scream out, “Bruce! Please fucking tickle my feet. We are almost at climax! For the love of god, I am begging you to tickle-torture me. Please fucking tickle my feet so we can both climax PLLEEEAAAASSSSSEEEEEE! Tickle me! TICKLE ME NOW!” I was only screaming in my head. But I was so fucking desperate.
Each of his hands hovered over one of my feet, but both avoided touching my flesh. I had stopped my jerking and humping. His pelvis was still tightly sealed against my asshole. His dick was still fully up inside me. I felt it calm down. It actually stopped moving. My dick did not calm down; it was at a heightened fever pitch in anticipation of its impending climax.
I could not stand it. I was fucking going out of my mind. I found myself unwittingly verbalizing my need, “Please, sir, oh god, please tickle me. Please tickle torture the soles of my feet. Oh god, I just can’t stand it. Your dick is buried deep in my ass, and it’s so still. Please. PLEASE! I am begging you. Just fucking tickle this cunt jock slut of yours. Please let me be your tickle pussy cunt.” I was blabbing out of my mind.
He whispered in response, “OK, jock pussy, as you wish.” Then I felt this blissful tickling on my soles. I immediately jerked my torso, and my ass hole started to hump over his dick. He raked his fingernails in the "S" pattern from the heels of my feet to the toes. It made me laugh and cry and flip my body up and down. It was as awful as ever. It was excruciatingly torturous. And I thanked him for it. I felt my ass suck and massage his dick, which began to twitch again and bob inside me. And I mumbled, “Oh fuck, thank you, sir. Oh god, thank you. Please tickle me to death; please use me for your pleasure. Oh god, I love you, Bruce. I love how you use me and treat me. Yes, please dump my sister and fuck and tickle-torture me all you want.” I mumbled on and own.
Bruce probably never heard me or maybe just did not care. He never pumped his dick into me. He made my ass hole fuck “onto” his dick as he leaned back and enjoyed my uncontrollable frantic efforts. He was relaxed and not even breaking a sweat, nor did he put ANY effort into working himself up to a climax. Somehow I felt feathers sawing between my toes, several pairs of toes. I bucked uninhibitedly.
“Put your head up and look at me.” I did, still grabbing my knees. “Open your mouth wide.” I did. I was just doing what I was told. I was overwhelmed by his massive dick twitching deep in my ass. “Wider, and hold it open. Lock your mouth. I want to see the hungry pussy mouth hole of yours as wide open as possible.” He began to nibble gently on my toes. I could feel his tongue and teeth teasing the sole of my right foot. My whole body shook relentlessly.
His dick began to shoot and fill my ass with his hot man juice. And “SPLAT … SPLAT … SPLAT … SPLAT … SPLAT” my dick, as it was pointing directly at me, shot load after load into my mouth and all over my face. My body shook and jerked. I collapsed. For a moment, I was thoroughly exhausted, dead to the world. I was half awake when Bruce escorted me down the sidewalk from his place to my apartment. I was being carefully and physically guided along the way, in a daze.
I noticed I had my shorts on but no shirt or flip-flops. Before I realized it, I was standing at my own apartment door. I did not reach for the doorknob. Nobody told me to. I saw Bruce’s arm come from behind me and push my doorbell. Then Bruce’s arm disappeared from my view as I waited, dumbly staring at my own front door, waiting.
The door opened, and my sister appeared. “Dylan! What have you done?” She was shocked at seeing me. Then she looks intensely at my chest and face and adds, “Look at you! Dylan! HOW COULD YOU! MY OWN BROTHER!” Then she started to cry as she left the doorway to go to her room, slamming her door shut. Her loud screaming at me caused me to become more fully awake.
“Why did she yell at me?” I wondered to myself. With my body still sore, I slowly walked into my living room. There was a large mirror on the wall that I was passing on the way to the bathroom. I saw myself. I fucking saw what my sister saw. My mouth dropped, and my eyes bugged out. I had writing on my chest made with a big-tip black marker. It was the mirror image, but I could read it in three short lines, “I’M BRUCE’S NEW -- FUCK PUSSY -- JOCK TOY.” My sister saw this?! I was totally humiliated. THEN! I looked up at my face. HOLEY FUCKING SHIT! Bruce had left my face covered in a rope of my man juice slim! Cum was also in my hair which was all disheveled in a sticky mess. I was totally dehumanized. Humiliated and degraded, my sister saw it all. She must be devastated. As I lifted my left arm to touch the fresh goo in my hair and all over my face, I guess I wanted to confirm that this was not a dream. I saw more writing. This time it was on the inside of my left forearm. In black block letters, “TOMORROW, 7PM, MY PLACE.”
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