028 The Gothic Twink Master

The Gothic Twink Master
Part 1 of 4

22-year-old Montgomery Triamine Brooke is the grandson of Barbara Brooke, Baroness of Ystradfellte. But he lives in the US and goes by “Monty.” He had it all: looks, money, grace, and, as a member of the British Royal family, a very bright future. Monty had just started his Senior year in college, majoring in – of course – business.
Monty had been the all-American jock in high school, handsome, macho, muscular, built, a lady's man, and wrestling team captain. And everyone just LOVED him, most of all – himself. He was not only popular at school but in the whole of England. In fact, he had just signed a modeling contract to market high-fashion underwear, including G-strings and jockstraps.

Objectively, you had to give him his due – if you were so inclined to be fair. If he had been standing in front of you naked, you would have seen his 6'2" frame, 210 pounds, short brown hair, movie star handsome face, powerful thick biceps, mounding pecs covered with coarse brown hair that tailored down to a single line across his washboard abs before disappearing into his thick manly crotch. His torso to waist narrowed down in a classic V shape, supported by two powerful legs. His crotch wasn't anything to laugh about either, a thick 5" cock (soft) that expanded into a 9" tube of succulent flesh, two large low-hanging balls, and a pair of ass muscles to bound dimes off. Yep, he could get any woman he wanted and did.

His life began to unravel at the beginning of his Senior year. He had elected to go to a very exclusive and highly sought-after college. One of their rules was that you had to live in a dorm until your senior year – to help build camaraderie and friendships and suffer a little deprivation. Yeah right. Each huge dorm "room" consisted of two bedrooms with a bathroom and a shared living area. Most kids had regular housekeeping service — usually the newest batch of frat pledges or hired maids. There were fraternities on campus, but only the seniors were allowed to "live" there, and many frat brothers spent most of their time there.

His troubles began when he and a few of his frat brothers hung out at the mall in the food court. One day, he excused himself to go to the bathroom. As he entered, he noted that someone was following behind him but didn't pay much attention. He went up to the urinal and had just started to unzip when a voice asked, "What the fuck you been staring at me for."

Initially ignoring it because he thought the voice was talking to someone else, he was surprised to find that just as he hauled out his cock, a hand grabbed him by the bicep and turned him around. "Hey, college boy, I asked what the fuck you been staring at me for."

With his dick "swinging in the breeze," Monty found himself staring at "a lower life-form," as he and his buds called them.
Standing before him was – for lack of a better term – a Gothic Nerd. The guy, dressed in black, stood 5’ 4” and weighed only 110 pounds with pushed-up hair and eyeliner. He was dressed in all leather, characteristic of the Gothic style, with black jeans, a leather vest, a dog collar, spiked wristbands, and shit-kicker boots.

Monty responded, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about. I don't know who you are and certainly haven't been staring at you."

"Bullshit! While you and your friends been shitting out there shooting that shit you shoot, you kept glancing over at me - or more accurately, my boot and feet up on the table."

"You're full of shit, man," Monty began, but then by the sheer power of suggestion, he looked down at the dirty, scuffed work boots. "I... I... have been, I mean... I haven't been looking at you or your boots." He then forced his eyes back up to meet those of the Gothic Nerd who seemed to be looking right at his very soul.

The man, who Monty later discovered was named Spike, looked him over more closely. “I know you. I’ve seen photos of you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I was in the men’s department at Nordstrom's, and there was a poster of you posing in a fucking jockstrap.” The nerd laughed. “Yeah, that was you.”

No… no it… “ Then Monty reconsidered. “OK, so what of it.”

"Yeah, sure. All you fucking jock pussies are the same. Acting like your real men, parading around in jockstraps, that is… until you see us real hard-working men, you begin to understand your place in the world."

"I don't know what the fuck you are talking about and who the hell you calling a pussy. I might be a model, but I’m not a pussie."

"You ass licker. I can tell just by looking at you that what you really want most in life is to worship a real man like me."

"Man, you are crazy. You don't know who you're talking to," Monty began. “I’m a member of the royal family. My grandmother is Baroness Barbara Brooke in the UK. I’m the star quarterback. I’ll be going to Harvard. I’m as high class as you’ll ever meet. You fool! I have no interest in common street hooligans like you!” That said, it was his cue to leave. He made his point, so why didn’t he get the fuck out of there. Weird.

"Yeah, then how come your dick's getting hard just being around me, a common street hooligan," the last said with scorn and derision.

Monty looked down and was stunned to see that. Indeed his dick was starting to get hard. "I... I... yeah, look, I'm always horny," he stammered out as he began trying to stuff his cock back in his expansive white pleated pants.

"STOP, asshole," Spike yelled. "I didn't give you permission to put your doggie dick away."

Stunned by the command and the tone of voice, Monty looked up. "I don't need permission to tuck in my cock, so bug off." But yet, he stopped and just let his dick hang out.

The nerdy youth reached over, grabbed Monty's chin with his right hand, and pulled him so his face was looking directly into the Gothic Nerd’s eyes.

"Yeah, jockstrap boy, you do need my permission. Do you know why? Because I know what you are. You're a fake. Pretending to be a big man, the important guy who has everything, who everyone should look up to. You, with all your fancy clothes, schools, titles, money, silly model shit, high-class status… yea, you, so perfect. Everyone should bow to you, worship you, go ga-ga over your supposed celebrity. YOU… need something. I can see it in your soul.” He then laughed.

Monty was flabbergasted. He just had the rug pulled out from under him. “But… well… Aah… I mean… I’m a…”

The small-built, darkly dressed, Gothic lad then lifted his shirt, “You see this puny body? It contains more power than you’ll ever know. It contains the manliness you seek. The confidence and authority you need, what a true pussie boy, a big jock pussie boy, craves.”

Despite Monty being so muscular, 6’ 2”, and Spike only 5’ 4” and skinny, Monty could not break his stare.

“You’ve been staring at my boots and body because you were wondering what it would be like to get down on your knees and worship those boots, make love to them since they belong to a real man. Yeah, and what it would be like to kowtow to a real man who has something you’ll never have, inner power and confidence."

Despite the size and height difference, Monty did not attempt to break away or even tuck his dick in his pants. Indeed, he kept staring into Spike’s eyes all the while his cock continued to grow until it reached its full nine inches and was pointing skyward. He didn’t even realize he was throwing a boner in front of Spike in a public restroom! With his left hand, the Gothic Nerd reached down and slapped Monty's cock, causing Monty to look down. When he realized that his cock was indeed rock hard, he turned several shades of red and looked up at Spike who was smiling when he saw fear in Monty’s. He then went for the kill.

Freely and slowly, Spike stroked Monty's cock, and he continued to berate the muscular man of high society. "Yeah, you wonder what it would like to be with a real man, work for a living like a real man, rather than be paraded like a queer clown in a G-string for all to laugh at. You have no idea what real worked-up sweat is, and at the end of the day, know what it is like to be a man rather than some faggot numb-numb jockstrap icon on a poster, isn’t that right, asshole?"

"Uhh, no, I..."

"No? Then how come that cock of yours is all hot and bothered as some… ah… what did you call me? A lowlife street hooligan? A hooligan who calls you out and insults and abuses you, huh? And you just stand there taking it – why's that?" They stared intensely into each other’s eyes. Monty could not look away. Why IS that, thought Monty?”

"Well, I...I.."

Spike laughed. "Because you are a jock pussy and not a real blood and sweat man. Face it. But at least I'm going to let you get part of your wish today."

"What do you mean," Monty stammered.

"I will let you know what it feels like to worship a real man. But not here."

As the Gothic Nerd's words began to sink into Monty's consciousness, he finally responded loudly, "Enough of this shit!" But his big, towering boner didn’t, wouldn’t – couldn’t - subside.

"Here's the deal, Mr. Jockstrap. You will meet me in the trash alley behind the mall in 20 minutes for your first lesson on how to treat a true man."

"No fucking way!" Monty replied but still didn't back away.

"Oh yeah, way. And do you know why??"


"Because I'M a man, and you’re just a pussy, asshole, shithead who does as he told. And because if you aren't there, you will never get the chance with me again, and your poor pitiful life will continue without meaning."

The Gothic nerd laughed, released Monty's chin, gave his cock a couple of strokes, and then turned and headed out the door. "20 minutes, asshole. At 21 minutes, I leave."

Monty stood for a few moments before he became aware of his surroundings again as he heard the door to the bathroom opening. He quickly stepped into one of the stalls, shoved his cock back in his pants, and left, not believing what had just happened. He even forgot to take his piss. He returned to his buddies and sat down for a couple of minutes and then, to his surprise, said, "Hey guys, I remembered something that I have to do. I'll catch up with you guys later tonight."

"Oh, I bet you will," Bart laughed and winked. The other guys joined in. "Monty, the man had managed to score a chick going to the men’s bathroom. Only the great Monty can do that!" They cheered him on and waved him off. For reasons unknown to his friends, Monty blushed as he walked away. That was something none of the guys had seen before.

Like most malls, the Carson City Hills Mall liked its customers to think that deliveries and trash never happened and things just magically got taken care of. These mall "trash alleys" were alleyways where all the trash was delivered and picked up. They were partially screened by low walls, sometimes trees, so most people didn't see them. However, if you did walk down it, it was just like other alleys in cities, smelly, messy, and wet after a rain. And it had just rained.

Monty could not believe it as he walked down this wet alley. It had rained early. He almost jumped out of his $500 suit when he walked past a dumpster, and he heard a voice behind him say, "I knew you would be here, jock pussy."

Monty turned to find Spike leaning against the dumpster with a cigarette, unlit hanging out of his mouth.

"I just came to straighten things out..." Monty began. Spike, who had nothing knew Monty's downfall wouldn't be a rival fraternity, a jealous girl, or a pissed-off business rival, but instead, a Gothic Nerd with nothing. Just goes to show that life isn't necessarily predictable or even fair. Hey, if anybody told you it was – they lied.

"Bullshit,” laughed Spike. "Why would you want to straighten things out with me? You don't even know me, so what do you care what I think, huh? You’re here because you sense a true magnetism toward real power, no matter if it’s from a corporate chairman or a punk teen who reeks of nonconformity, showing zero care or respect for societal norms. You sense my superiority, my balls, my unyielding power. I smell like real animal authority over and beyond anything you have ever considered.” Was Spike a student of psychology? He sure sounded heady. Guess you can’t judge a book by its cover.

That yanked Monty back, or rather, INTO a new reality. "Well, I wouldn't want you saying things..."

"Oh, things like what? Like you are a faggot jock pussy, pretending to be a macho man who has his shit together?"

"Hey, that’s not true. I’m straight and well…" Monty began. However, before he knew what happened, the skinny Gothic lad had closed the distance and grabbed him by the gold chain around his neck, as a symbol he flaunted of his status.

"Okay, jock pussy boy, listen up. New rules. You don't speak unless spoken to and then only to answer questions. Okay?"

"No way assho..." Spike grabbed him by his pants-covered dick to cut him off.

"No way, huh? Then why is this so fat and hard?" he asked.

To his shock and embarrassment, his cock was rock hard again, and he hadn't even noticed it. "I… I... I don't know," Monty whined.

"Yeah, well, I know. It’s because you are excited to be near me for the possible opportunity to be shown your true position in life. You have not vocalized your request, or is it your quest? But no need to. I'm going to show you your proper place in this world." The skinny, twerp Gothic Nerd released Monty's bulge and stepped back. "Now look down at my boots, boy."

Without thinking, Monty did so and then quickly looked back up. Spike bitch slapped him. "I said, look at my boots."

Suddenly, a huge, lumbering, noisy trash truck came by slowly, tooting a horn as a warning, and then passed them. Monty looked up at the truck. SLAP! SLAP! He got bitch slapped. “I said, look at my boots, asshole. Don’t get distracted. I don’t care who comes by. Just do as I say. Now, look at my boots, Mr. jockstrap, poster faggot pussie.”

In total stunned disbelief, Monty did as he was told. He was not even aware that his expensive white slack just got splattered with mud as the truck passed. "Now you just keep looking there and listening to me. Those boots are the boots of a real man. A man who knows who and what he is. They aren't those faggoty little loafers like you're wearing. These boots represent power, pride, and dignity – all you don't have but want. Now tell me, would you like to lick those boots, boy?"

With all his might, Monty wanted to say no, but his cock seemed to have a mind of its own and had taken over his thoughts. "Yes," he weakly mumbled.

"What was that jock pussy? I can't hear you," the nerd teased.

"Yes," Monty said louder.

"Yes, what,"

Monty thought for a second but never took his eyes off those boots. "Yes, I want to lick those boots,” Monty stated as a tear began to run from one eye. Another trash truck approached, tooted, and then passed. This time, Monty didn’t break his stare at the boots.

"Okay then, I grant you your quest." Monty just stood there; the Gothic nerd began talking in a slow, soft voice. "Come on, jock pussy, look at my black leather boots. The boots of a real man. They contain my smelly, sweaty feet. Honest sweat and honest stink. You know you want to lick these boots to see what it is to have a real man's sweat and manliness. So go on, lick them."

Without further thought but with great consternation at what he was about to do, Monty dropped to his knees – yes, his expensive white slack hit the wet, dirty pavement and leaned over to lick one of the boots. But suddenly, Spike lifted his right leg, placed the filthy soul of his boot on Monty's shoulder, and sharply pushed his off and back. He landed on his back. Now his clothes were smudged with wet dirt all over. He was sitting on his ass, displaying first a look of surprise, then disappointment. "What was that for," he asked.

"Ain't nothing in this world free, jock pussy. Licking my right boot is going to cost you."

"How much," Monty asked reflexively. Money meant nothing to him, he was thinking a few hundred, maybe, and that was fine to pay it and get this over with.

Spike laughed, "Man, jock pussy, you do have it bad. About time someone put you in your place. But today, it ain't about money. If you want to lick my right boot, take off your fabulous white coat and drop it into the dumpster."

Monty just looked for a moment and then said, "Why would I do that?"

"Because you want to lick my boot, and I set the price!"

In a daze of suspended reality, Monty did as Spike asked. “But toss me your wallet and keys first.” He tossed them. Then he removed his coat, stood up, and tossed it into the dumpster. He did have the forethought to place it carefully at the nearby inside edge so he could easily retrieve it afterward. It’d have to go to the dry cleaners, but no big deal. He then stepped back in front of Spike, knelt again, and with a great deal of shame and unquestioning need, began to lick his first boot. The Spike laughed, looking down at the handsome muscled stud, and nudged him back on his ass for the second time.

Monty was puzzled. “Look, jockstrap model, do you really want to get mudded-up worse than you are now? How the fuck are you going to return to your buds in the mall. What a fucking, careless, uncouth idiot you are”

Monte could only sit there on the dirty, wet pavement, grinning embarrassingly. “Oh, right,” he thought to himself.

“Now, go ahead, shed your shirt and pants, and place them carefully in the dumpster. Your fancy swede loafers, too.”

Monty reasoned Spike was concerned about his clothes, which made sense. As for placing them in the dumpster, well, there was nowhere else to set them. Monte rationalized everything and followed the punk’s “suggestions.” He stripped down to his underwear and socks and began to kneel.

“YES, he screamed in his head. Let’s get the fuck on with it!” Monty looked up and down the trash alley to see if it was clear and stared at Spike as if to ask, "are we good now?”

“You did good. Now you may prostrate yourself flat on the pavement and place your face on my right boot but don’t lick it yet. You need my permission.” Monty did hesitate, but not for long. He still needed this to be over quickly. Spike ate up Monty’s wonderful, though muddied, muscular body lying on the pavement, his mouth resting on the toe of Spike's black leather boot. Oh, how Spike loved this, his power. A power he had ONLY because Monty unwittingly surrendered his.

A meek “Please?” came from the mouth below. Yet Spike waited. Then came a mumble, “Oh God, please?”

Spike didn’t plan this, but he took out his cell and began to video Monty’s submission.

“Without looking up, tell me what you want. And speak up.”

Monty never felt more humiliated, “Please, may I lick your boot?”

“And whose boot is it?” the skinny yet powerful 5’ 4” and 110 lbs. nerd asked.

“Yours, Sir. May I lick it now, please? I did all you asked, please, may I?”

Spike remained silent.

“Oh God, kind, sir, please just let me lick your boot? Please?

“And who am I to you?”

“Fucking shit, Spike, you are everything. I don’t know why. You are so fucking powerful. I am just a fucking pussie who needs to taste the boot of a real man. I don’t know why; I need to. Please.”

“Ah, yes, of course you do. And I am going to grant you the biggest treat of your life.”

And there you have it, 22-year-old Montgomery Triamine Brooke, the grandson of a UK Baroness. He has been celebrated for his popularity, looks, money, and grace. He was the captain of his wrestling team and just beginning a career as an international underwear model. He had everything. Well, not quite. He hungered for something more, a fucking boot. To lick a boot of a fucking, skinny, nerdy twink!

“You may,” Spike told him.

Now, Montgomery Triamine Brooke was he was so graciously allowed to service Spike’s boot… NOW he has everything. He licked, kissed, worshiped – he honored – that most precious boot - all while in a filthy trash area of an alley wearing only skimpy white silk underwear and socks. Spike was in heaven. Monte was in heaven.

"Now, the left one," the nerd ordered.

Monty's tongue felt like sandpaper. It was so dry and sore. But somehow, he needed that other boot. As he leaned forward, the nerd again pushed him back. "Not yet, jock pussy. You have to pay the fee first. You did a good job on my left boot. But for the left one, you’ll have to strip naked…, now! Besides, I may let you suck my dick after you lick this other boot." Spike pulled it out to show him.

"Please, don't make me strip naked. I'll do anything, but please, not totally naked out here." Monty begged, trying to maintain some dignity.

“Look, dude, you look like a silly fool in your undies,” Spike laughed, and Monty joined in, agreeing he did look stupid. But his underwear remained on.

In a harsh voice, the nerd replied, "Pussie boy, you have shit for gratitude. I offer your faggoty ass the chance to suck a real man's cock for a little fee, and you give me attitude. Well, asshole, I ain't making you do anything. I just gave you an offer.

“Chuck the undies into the dumpster, socks too, and let's get on with it. If not, I’m leaving.” With that, the nerd began to stuff his cock back into his pants as he started to walk away.

Monte realized he was so close when he heard, 'Let’s get on with it.' Then he shouted, "Wait."

As Spike turned back, he was greeted by Monty pulling off his skimpy underwear and tossing them and his socks in the dumpster with his other clothes, then dropping back to his knees.

"Damn, what a fucking pathetic jock pussy you are. A fucking sorry excuse for a man." However, he did set his right boot out in front of his new sub. As he had just been taught, Monte prostrated himself, fully flat on the ground, this time completely naked, and rested his mouth in that awesome right boot and waited. Of course, sucking Spike's dick would (hopefully) come next, and that would be amazing.

Spike was so pleased but had the habit of holding back his praises unless they were humiliating in nature. “Now there, what an obedient slut sub-pussie you are. Good boy, now you may begin your reward.” There was no mistaking Mont’s buff body for anything but magnificent. He continued to video his doggie in heat without concern about what Monty might think of him recording a video. Did Monty realize it?

Monty worked as thoroughly on the second boot as on the first. He had a full huge boner, but it was under him, so Spike was not sure if it was fully erect.

Then, out of nowhere, a kitchen clerk opened a back door adjacent to the dumpster and rolled out a wheeled bin full of trash. He was going to approach the dumpster where Monty was engaged in boot worshiping. In some shock, the man just stopped and watched the erotic duo. Spike turned his head around and told the young man with the apron, “Oh, don’t mind his faggot pussie cleaning my boots. He said it so matter-of-fact as if it was so unimportant. “Please, you’re fine, just come along and do what you need to do.

The Gothic Twink Master
Part 2 of 4

Monte froze! He stopped licking and just stayed absolutely still. Like some animal pursuing prey, the prey can stop and be absolutely still, and the attacking animal won’t see you.

“OH, it’s fine. I’m just having my boot cleaned out here. Is that OK with you?
“Ah… fine, I just came out to empty the garbage and have a smoke. Is that OK with you?”

“Sure, we don’t mind. My name is Spike. And this faggot is my jockstrap pussie boy.” Then Spike looked down at Monty, “Boy? Did I say you can stop?”

"I’m Mateo, just the dishwasher at the restaurant back here. Do you mind if I take my break now? I only get a 15-minutes?”

"No problem.” He told Mateo. Monty was too embarrassed to look up, so he just focused on the task at hand: boot licking.

"Sorry, but I can’t help but ask, what is your ah… er… ah.. pussie boy doing naked,” Mateo asked. “Are you his alley, Master?”

"I guess so. ‘Alley Master.’ I like that. But I’m also a proud nerd. So maybe, twink Master.” They laughed. “My pussie jock here likes to be naked and roll around in the mud and lick boots and feet in alleys.”

"FUCK! For real? OH, my God! That is so neat, Spike. How long have you owned him.”

"Well, you won’t believe this, but this is his first day. Yep, his first lesson on his first day. But he needs a lot of training, don’t you, pussie boy?”

Oh wow, a direct question in front of Mateo. All he could think to say was, “Yes, sir.” And continued licking. “So, he gets off on boots?”

“Well, you be the judge.” Pussie boy, keep licking but roll your body on your side and let this kind gentleman see your boner.”

“Please,” was barely audible.

"Sorry, you said, ‘Please, you’ll do it, or please don’t make me?” Monte had no choice. He knew what Spike wanted to hear.

“Pa… pa… please let me sh… show him my ba… ba… ba… boner?” He was sweating and trembling.

“Ah, see, there, Mateo? Ok, roll on your side but don’t stop licking.” Monte did, and his boner was at full 9 inches, and not only that, but it was jerking and twitching.”

“Oh, Lordie! My God, Spike, he sure gets into boots.”

“Actually, he isn’t into boots at all. He is only into the boots of the man he knows as the most powerful man in his world.” So spoke the Twink Master.

“His penis is twitching all over the place. Is it like that all the time?” Mateo asked.

“Well, that is for some future lessons. He needs to learn how to keep a stiff dick and not let it jerk like this. In fact, I’m training him to respond to commands. So, Mateo, go ahead and order him to stop letting his dick twitch.”

“Really? Will he do that for me? Wow, you are some alley twink, Master.”

“Try it.”

"OK, thanks." Then to Monty, “Ah, pussie boy. Keep your hips sideways like that and keep licking your owner’s boot, but stop your dick from jerking, OK?”

“AAAAHHHHHHH! Monte was ready for an orgasm. He was so turned on by all the humiliation, especially from this low-life Hispanic dishwasher.

“Tell him again. Tell him if he doesn’t obey, you’ll spank him.” Spike laughed, and Mateo giggled.

“You heard me, pussie boy, I see your cock bobbing, and I want to see you hold it still.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" was all Monty could say.

“OK, Mateo, try this. Help him out. Step to his side and kneel. Then hold his dick still until he gets the idea and can keep it still on his own.”

Mateo did need to be asked twice. He stooped at Monty’s side, reached down, and held it with just two fingers. But that seemed to only make him jerk more. I mean, a fucking dishwasher was taking charge of a muscular bodybuilder’s 9-inch stiff dick. The humiliation! Monty's entire body began to jerk and spasm. “Spike, he doesn’t know how to keep it still. Should I jerk him off?”

“Naw, jerking him off would be giving a reward when he is not following instructions. But you tried. It’s OK.”

“Pussie boy, thank Mateo for his help. Tell him how much you appreciate it and how sorry you are that you cannot control your boner.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! I… I… am so sorry, Mr. Mateo, for not following your orders. I appreciate your help so much. Thank you for trying to…. to…. told my di…di…. di…. AAAAHHHHH.”

“You see? He is just learning; boy, he has a way to go. Maybe in a week or so, when he begs me to bring him back to this trashy place, we can try it again.”

Mateo stood up and went beside Spike. “Yeah, sure, just let me know. But it’s too bad I’m not wearing my boots. Because, and only if it was OK with you, I’d like them cleaned, too, like this.”

“Well, I see you are wearing tennis shoes. You can’t really lick tennis shoes clean, can you?”

“That would be funny,” Mateo agreed.

“Well, if you don’t mind, since you are here and all, maybe he can honor you by smelly your socks?”

“Oh fuck, I can’t do that, I jog all over the place, and I jogged to work a while ago. My feet are too sweaty. Sorry,” Mateo apologized.

“Let’s ask the pussie boy.” Then to Monty, “Pussie, you can stop licking my boot now. Listen up. Boy, oh boy, do I have a surprise for you! Mateo here is willing to let you smell his raunchy socks. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

AAAAAAHHHHHH” Monty was so far gone. He was out of his mind. “Ah… yes, sir.”

“Look, shit for brains. It’s not up to me. You’ll have to beg the dishwasher very nicely if he is going to go through all the trouble to let you smell his sweaty socks. Well? He’s waiting.”

“AAAAAHHHHH! Please, may I take your shoes off and smell and lick your socks? It would make me so happy. I need to smell and worship your feet. Oh God, please, I’ll do the best job ever. You must have wonderful feet. Oh, please, kind dishwasher, sir AAAAHHHHH!” And his naked muscle body bucked uncontrollably on the payment.

The Gothic twink Master nudged Mateo and whispered in his ear, “Don’t say yes right away. Draw it out.”

“Well, I’ll think about it. Maybe you are not experienced enough to please me.”

Then Spike interjected, “Do you know this pussie jock is an international underwear model?”

“Whoa! No shit. And he was begging me to let him smell my stinky feet- the stinky feet of an illegal immigrant dishwasher.” Both Mateo and Spike couldn't hold back their belly laughter.

“Yeah, and he brags that he can have any female model or celebrity in the world.”

“No shit!”

“OH fuck! God! Please stop torturing me, kind sirs. Please, just let me smell your fucking sweaty socks! I’ll untie your shoelaces and remove your shoes slowly, then I’ll place the back of my head on the ground and bring the bottom of your foot to my face and move it around so your sexy toes are over my nose, and then I’ll inhale deeply and deeper and deeper….”

“And what about my stinky feet inside my socks?”

“FUCK! Oh God, yes, your feet, after I smell them really good, I’ll peal your socks off and rub your foot all over and then do the same with the other, and I’ll kiss your feet and suck your toes and… and.. ah….” Monty’s body spasmed and jerked, and his dick began to squirt a little precum as he grunted and grunted.

“Well, Ok. You may begin,” Mateo finally consented with a huge, broad smile.

And just as he described, he untied the shoes and pulled them off, then smelled Mateo’s’ sweaty socks for several minutes before peeling them off and worshiping his feet with his tongue. He kept the back of his head on the pavement and placed each foot, one at a time, over his mouth and moved that foot around to kiss it all over. He was in pig heaven.

“And my toes? They need sucking, don’t they?” Mateo prodded.

“OH fuck, yes, sir!”

“But what do you say, Mr. international model?”

“AAAAHHHHHHH!” Fuck, his boy had constant tremors and shook like crazy. His dick was bobbing, needing just one single touch to climax, “FUCK, PLEASE, may I suck your manly macho toes, please, kind sir?”

“Begin,” Mateo giggled at the feeling of immense power over such a huge, muscle man worshiping him.

“AAAAAAHHHHHH! May I cum, sir? I don’t think I can stop it. Please, Mr. Spike, Master. Please?”

“Pussie jock, it’s not my call,” I told him, “You’ll have to ask Mateo, the dishwasher, for permission.” Spike turned his head to Mateo and shook it. “No,” and smiled, loving the erotic torture.

“Pussie boy, if I give you an answer, will you promise to accept it?” Monty nodded yes. “Then my answer is no. I don’t see any need for you to climax now. Besides, you only sucked the toes on my one foot.”

“AAAAAAAHHHHHH!” And Monty placed the just-licked foot on his chest so as not to set it on the dirty pavement and reached the other and put that one over his mouth. He began his most important and enjoyable task of licking the other foot. He had to crane his neck and move the foot to fully worship those toes and the entire foot. HOWEVER, Mateo took advantage of the position of the foot resting on Monty’s massive chest. He began using his toes to squeeze and abuse the nipples there.

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” Monty’s massive body was in total sweat. His hips were fucking air. “May I cum now?” His plea was ignored. “AAAAAHHHHHH!” Monty began to cry.

Immediately, Mateo looked worried that he had done something wrong and had hurt the blubbering naked sub at his feet. Spike shook his head no. “Pussie boy," Spike called out. That’s a good boy. Yes, cry your heart out. Let Mateo see your tears of joy. Show him how happy, pleased, and satisfied you are. And thank him for training you to not climax.”

“Oh, thank you, sir, Mateo, I am so turned on by you.” He broke down and cried and cried. Then, “You are so kind to me., I’m so sorry I acted selfishly and pathetic by asking for my climax. How fucking silly of me. Please forgive me, sir.”

“Well, fuck, that was amazing, Spike,” Mateo said as he put his sock and shoes back on. Thank you so much. But I need to dump the garbage and get back to the kitchen.

“You’re welcome, my friend, anytime you see us here. By next week, he’ll be begging you to let him lick your ass?” They both laughed as Mateo maneuvered his garbage bin closer to the dumpster to hoist it up and empty it. Just as he did, he looked into the dumpster, “Say, someone threw a lot of fine-looking clothes in here. Fuck,” he said as he lifted them out piece by piece. “What stupid idiot put these in here.” He examined them one at a time, “These are fine quality.”

Monty came to his senses and reality and looked up at Mateo handling his clothes. He wanted to say, “Hey, leave those alone. They’re mine.” But he knew better.

“And these loafers, they look like expensive suede. Fuck, I think this white shirt is made of silk. You know what a shirt like this costs? 50 bucks!” Monty paid $200. “Oh, I see it’s a complete suit. It’s too big for me, but my papa will love this, once professionally cleaned, of course.” Then he looked at Spike, “Do you know who these belong to?” What a silly question. He’d been fucking over a naked man right there, and he found a complete outfit in the dumpster…right there. He can’t put two and two together. Most likely, he saw Monty as a filthy alley transient and would never think he had ever worn fine extensive clothes.

“Ah, I’ve been here for an hour. I didn’t see anyone put those in there. Maybe pussie jock boy did. Did you?”

“Well, I…I think…they might be…maybe…” Spike stared at him with daggers in his eyes. “Ah, no, I didn’t see anyone put those in there.” He whimpered and then sobbed more openly. His big boner bounced around and shook as he cried.

“Well, there you have it. Besides, finders, keepers. So, they’re yours if you want them.” So spoke the Gothic twink Master

Monty was in a daze. He thought, “I’m the captain of the wrestling team, the school hero, a member of royalty. I’m a fucking fashion model! My sexy image is on posters. People adore me. Women seek me out.” Now he was naked on the muddy pavement, wallowing in trash and garbage as he licked boots, naked! Licking feet and sucking toes, naked. And begging a fucking lowlife, immigrant, Hispanic dishwasher to be allowed to do it. “Don’t they know who I am? I’m a fucking celebrity!” He paused. “But now I have a punk alley, Master! I’m a fucking pussie jock boy. So much happening, so many sensations, so many new rules and requirements.” He sobbed. “Where do I belong? I know I am not gay, not really a faggot. I don’t have sex with men and never will.” He didn’t care about the expensive clothes, but he needed to leave wearing something,

“Well, thanks, Spike. Yes, I will take them: and he bundled them all up and placed them on the pavement (they were already dirty), then he dumped the garbage into the dumpster, took his bundled clothes, and left.

When they were finally alone, Spike spat on Monty and asked, "What are you?"

“A worthless piece of shit.”

He wasn't expecting the sharp blow as he got bitched slap again. "Wrong answer. The correct answer is, `I am a jockstrap pussy boy.’ Now, what are you?"

In an almost inaudible voice, masked even more by the tears, Monty replied, "I am a jockstrap pussy boy."

Spike then turned and started to walk out of the alley. Monty spoke up urgently, "You can't just leave..."

Immediately, Spike hurried back toward Monty and unleashed a hard right punch to Monty's face. He then grabbed Monty by his balls and his chin with the other hand.

Monty now felt real fear. "Open your mouth, jock pussy," he snarled.

Monty complied, and the Gothic Nerd spat into his mouth. "Now swallow." As he said these last words, he squeezed Monty's balls, who then swallowed. Somehow, that was worse than anything that had come before. "What are you?" the twink Master demanded.

"I am a jock pussy," Monty replied automatically.

"And what's your purpose in life," the nerd demanded, again with a squeeze on the balls.

"To serve vigorous, mighty, formidable men," Monty replied – to his and the nerd’s amazement. He was beginning to know his place in life.

"That's right, jock pussy. And jock pussies like you don't EVER tell powerful men like me what we can and can't do. Got it?" Spike demanded, and he again squeezed Monty's balls.

"Yes, sir," Monty replied. Amazing as this whole affair seemed to Monty, the fact that his cock was again rock hard and aching was probably the most amazing thing of all.

"Now, did you have something you would like to REQUEST from me, jock pussy?"

Monty began to sob, "Sir, I don't have any clothes. Can you please help me out?" He whined.

The nerd smiled, spit in Monty's face again, and said, "Sure, jock pussy, I'll do something for you." He then released Monty, put his hand in his pocket, and pulled out Monty’s wallet. After rummaging through it, he removed Monty's ATM card and driver's license. "What's your PIN, jock pussy?" Monty gave him the number.

Now, I will go to the mall and buy you something to wear home, but it will cost you.”

“What? What will it cost, sir?”

“Just a little ball-licking, that’s all. I mean, if you truly want to suck on my balls, that is?” Spike asked politely, which was his way of setting up his victims. Too bad Monty hadn’t figured this out yet. No way was Spike going to be satisfied with a little ball licking, but we’ll see.

“Sir, please, I’m not gay. I don’t suck balls. That’s queer. No offense, sir, but it’s not who I am.” Monty stood facing Spike. There he was in all his naked muscle glory. All boned up. Then, the sound of another trash truck gets louder. “Oh God, someone is coming. Please just take my card and buy me something to wear, please.”

“So, you think you are too good to suck my balls, hum? You think that’s a gay thing, do you? I just saw you licking bare feet and sucking the toes of a Hispanic immigrant dishwasher. Is that a straight thing?”

“Maybe. That’s why I did it. I’m not gay.” Monty pleaded.

“Well, I don’t think you have to be gay to suck toes or balls. But, hey, no problem. Maybe I’ll see you around,” and he turned and started to walk away.”

“FUCK!” Monty yelled to himself. He can’t just stand here naked. I’ll get arrested. He reconsidered; he had no choice. “Wait! Sir! I’ll do it. I’ll suck your balls,” he screamed out loud, then immediately felt embarrassed that someone might have heard him. (Of course, he did!) He saw Spike, who was nearly a block away, put his hands up, cupping his ear as if he couldn't hear him. Then, even louder, “PLEASE, SIR, PLEASE LET ME SUCK YOUR BALLS!” Spike still had his hand cupping his ears, signally more from Monty. “PLEASE, KIND SIR. I WANT TO SUCK AND LICK YOUR BALLS ALL OVER, PLEASE. I’LL MAKE YOU FEEL REAL GOOD. THIS PUSSIE JOCK BOY WANTS TO SUCK YOUR BIG BEAUTIFUL BALLS. PLLLLEEEEAAAASSSEEEE!” He screamed as loud as he could.

The guys in the trash truck were tooting their horn and laughing their heads off as they passed the naked muscle stud. “Hey boy, you can lick and suck my balls!” More tooting and hysterical laughter from the two men driving by.

Spike turned around and began to walk back toward him. When he gets there, “So you need to suck my balls, so you?”

“Oh yes, please.”

“But that offer is off the table. You didn’t respond soon enough.”

“But sir, I want to, please,” Monty pleaded

“Well, it’s too late. Now if you want me to buy your clothes to wear home, you need to suck my balls and lick my ass.”

Monty's face caved in. Licking feet was one thing, and balls? OK. I can give in, but licking a man’s ass, no way. “Sir! Please let me lick your balls, and I’ll lick your feet too. I’ll lick you all over, please, please let me, and please get me something to wear home.

“You don’t get it. You think you can manipulate me? Tell me what to do. Do you think you are superior to me? I don’t think so. You are so fucking lucky I let you lick my boots. You pleased and begged me to let you, and I went way out of my way to let you have your fun. Now you insult me. Refusing to pay for your own fucking clothes?” Of course, he didn't mean by paying money. He meant by paying with greater and greater acts of humiliation.

“But please, sir, I’ll lick your balls and feet too. Those aren’t gay. I’ll do it.”

“Now he’s trying to bargain. Hey, pussie cunt, I’m out of here.” And again, turned and walked away.

Monty could not believe this. If he just gave in, this would be over, and he’d have clothes to go home. “Ok, Sir, OK. I’m sorry. I give in,” Spike was not too far away, so he didn’t have to yell. Spike returned to his pussie jock boy.

“Yes, sir, I give in. I’ll lick your balls and ass just as you want me to. I surrender. Anything you want. I just need some clothes.

“Too late, that deal is off the tale. It expired when you turned me down. The new offer for me to buy you something to wear home is that you will lick my balls, lick my ass, and suck my dick. And you will beg me to let you.”

Immediately, he wanted to say, no deal. Licking balls, and even ass - yet he had licked the ass of a woman – wasn't gay, but sucking dick, there was no way around that. However, there wasn’t any way to say no, either. Monty simply fell on his knees, placed his head at Spike’s groin level, and opened his mouth, waiting.

“See, if you just listened to me. You could have been home by now. Spike unbuttoned, unzipped his pants, and pushed them down off his hips. With his legs wide, his pants were not going to fall. He pulled out his dick and balls but held his dick up against his belly, giving Monty access to lick his balls. Monty leaned forward, brought his mouth to Spike’s balls, and began to lick them all over. Then he opened wider and swallowed those Gothic balls, moving his tongue around inside his mouth to massage them. Monty found it not unpleasant. Then the Gothic nerd let go of his now stiff dick to rest Monty’s forehead. Monty bobbed his head to mouth the balls and rubbed his forehead along the underside of his Master’s dick.

“Now, don’t you feel better?” leaving the balls in his mouth, he nodded genuinely. It was not a bad experience.

After a few minutes, Spike gently pulled his balls away from his pussie boy and turned around. He lowered his pants below his ass cheeks and bent forward. Monty resisted. He did not want to do this. He once reflected on licking a woman’s ass and resigned himself to doing what he agreed. Hesitantly he licked the top of his twink Master’s ass crack, but only the upper portion. Up and down, limitedly and carefully. “No, lick my full ass crack, top to bottom. And spread my ass cheeks, so you can get your tongue in there.”

As Monty was spreading his Master’s ass cheeks, and slicking along the entire ass crack, guess who showed up? Mateo, but this time with a teenage busboy, Angel. He was a hard-working illegal immigrant. So he was on the down low.

“OH MY GOD, Spike, you did it,” yelled out Mateo. “You said it would take a week to get him to lick ass and LOOK - AT - YOU! See, Angel, I told you some awesome kink was going on out here. Oh, this is the alley Master, and the ass licker is his faggot pussie jock boy. Wow, amazing.”

Spike stayed bent over but looked up at Angel, who was only a teenager. “Hey Angel, I was telling Mateo here, my pussie boy loves to lick assholes. I really didn’t want him to do this, especially out here where people could walk by and see us, but he insisted. I even told him to at least put on some clothes, but he said no. He can be a stubborn bitch.”

Then Spike yelled out to Monty, “I told you to pull my cheeks apart. Now do it.” He did, “Now boys, watch this. Right now, he is just licking my ass crack, but would you like to see him push his big royal, muscle tongue into my asshole?”

“YYYEEEEAAASSSSHHHH! Let's see that.” Angel looked at Mateo and was just so amazed.

“OK, pussie fart face, I wasn’t going to make you rim me out, but these boys want to see you do it. So go for it.”

And Monty did. He jammed his tongue way into Master Spike’s asshole. When he did lick the ass of a woman friend, he only licked her ass crack. But here, he went in fully, pushing his nose hard against the crack valley and projecting his tongue as far out as he ever had it. It hurt his jaw, but he was now into it. Take it, pussie.” Monty soon, weirdly, discovered that his Master’s ass was an erotic treat. His mind was in a daze, but he stayed focused on his delicious mission, on his erotic high.

Then Spike tuned to the two boys, “Look, here is a little technique to make him work hard and better. Each of you go to each side of him. Each grabbed one of his nipples and pinched it hard, I mean really hard. You’ll see him work better.”

The “boys” did not hesitate. They each grabbed a nipple and pinched and pulled and twisted it.

“AAAAAHHHHH,” Monty roared and groaned. His head was bobbing up and down, drilling that asshole. “AAAAAHHHHHH!” Monty, whose erection had subsided long ago, was producing another boner. Actually, it was the busboy who was producing his erection. They pulled and twisted. “AAAAAHHHHHHH!”

“See, boys. Now check his dick for me. What is the condition of it?” Spike kept referring to these two restaurant workers as “boys.” But Mateo was in his forties, and Angel was an older teen.

“Jerking. And leaking.” Angel yelled excitedly.

“Great. Now, if you can, I’ll treat you to a little bonus. Go ahead and catch some of his leaky, dribble juice in the palms of your hands." They did, “Now, it’s your treat. Go ahead and lick that honey off your hands.”

They liked it. The boys went wild. Soon, Spike ended the ass-eating session and dismissed the boys. He was ready to go buy Monty some clothes to wear home. Did he forget about the dick-sucking?

The Gothic Nerd looked down on Monty with contempt. "Don't go anywhere, jock pussy. I'll be right back."

The Gothic Twink Master
Part 3 of 4

He then winked at Monty and left. Monty scurried to get behind the dumpster, curled into a fetal position, and cried. How the hell had he gotten into this mess, he wondered. He was a macho man, a manly man, a frat jock, and NOT a jock pussy. And yet there he was, naked in the alley, crying like a 10-year-old. He lay there for bout 20 minutes before somewhat regaining his composure. However, he felt like crying again because it was nearly one hour before the black-coated twink Master returned.

"Okay, jock pussy, I got you something to wear home," he smirked. "Now stand up."

Monty stood up, and Spike began to laugh. "Man, what a site you are, jock pussy. Too bad your frat brothers can't see you now." And, indeed, muscled Monty was quite a site, his hair sticking out, his face red and blotchy from the crying, but most embarrassing was that his cock was still rock hard. He just stood there as the nerd looked him over, hoping the world would swallow him up.

"Here, put these on," Spike said, and he threw some tiny material “garments” at Monty. “It’s your uniform for tonight.” Taking them, Monty started to say something when Spike interrupted, "Just one word out of you, jock pussy, and I’ll take your uniform back and leave, and you can get home naked!!" Defeated, Monty put on the black bikini, stringy thing, with great difficulty.
Monty had to struggle to get it on, and when he did, his hard cock was very prominent and noticeable, as were his big balls, which almost fit in the pouch. “Turn around, model it for me.”

“Looks good. Wearing this bikini publicly makes you a true pussie whore.” Spike then tossed him the next garment, which turned out to be a pink tank top that was cut short to just cover his nipples, but he was skin bare from there to his string waist thing. Monty looked like a cheap faggot whore.

Spike then handed Monty another item. "This is a one-day bus pass, jock pussy. He will take the bus home today. I'll get your keys and wallet back to you tomorrow."

Monty was horrified. Walking to his car like this wouldn’t be bad enough, but taking the bus?. "I can't... you can't expect...” as these last words came out, Monty received his second punch of the day, knocking him back to the ground.

The nerd stood over him, placed his foot in Monty's crotch, and slowly began to rub. "Remember. You are the jock pussy, and I'm the authentic man. You don't tell me what I can and can't do – EVER!"

Spike laughed. "I'll drop your keys and wallet off at the dorm’s front desk tomorrow."

With that, Spike turned and walked away. "Have fun getting home, and remember, if I catch you here again, your price will be much higher. Bye, jock pussy."

22-year-old Montgomery Triamine Brooke was on a rampage – a pussy rampage, that is. For the last week, he had been fucking every coed he could. And yet, those images of being naked in the mall trash alley and looking up at the body of his twink Master, dressed in black as he ate his asshole, would not go away. Why didn’t he make me suck his dick? He wondered. Monty was not sure how or why it had happened – he only knew it wouldn't happen again. He also doubled his workouts at the gym, making his buff body look buffer and easy to get laid. He did, however, avoid the Cherry Hill Mall. Whenever his friends asked him to hang out, he found an excuse not to – which was crazy. After all, he WAS the quarterback, a built, muscular macho man, and if he ever saws that fucking scrawny, twink, nerd piece of shit again, he could easily beat the crap out of him.

Monty finally convinced himself that it was a weird aberration and that he could handle anything. He felt proud that he did not lower himself to suck Spike’s dick, though he wondered what it would taste like, feel like. So, when he needed a new DVD to finish a project, he decided to go to the electronic store at that same mall to get them. He dressed as his usual all-American jock frat boy. For reasons he did not understand, well, maybe he did. He felt some apprehension as he parked his car and walked into the mall. "Nonsense," he told himself. "You can handle this. Besides that, little pissant Gothic Nerd probably wouldn't even be there."

He passed several groups of punk teens but no sign of HIS Gothic Nerd. He went into the electronics store, bought his disk, and was leaving when his nightmare recurred.

"What did you buy there, jock pussy," the voice demanded as he exited the store.

Monty stopped in his tracks, noting that Spike was dressed differently. He is still in black, still in his Gothic style, but in a different outfit, also commanding authority. Monty was not only startled that the nerd was there but that he called him “jock pussie” so loudly that others nearby heard him. He found himself face-to-face, well not quite, since he was taller, with the ghoulish-looking skinny, bossy twink. He started to speak but couldn't figure out what to say. Little twerp 5’ 4” 110 lbs. Spike reached over, took the package from Monty's hand, and said, "I asked you what the fuck you bought jock pussy."

Monty looked around to see if anyone was standing, observing them, but no one seemed interested. "Uuhh, I got your dick… I mean a dick, err, I mean a disk, " he embarrassingly blurted out.

Spike just laughed, "Nah, pussy, my dick is yet to be earned by you. You’re not worthy of this ultimate reward. I told you if you came back, the price would be higher, and it is. Give me your car keys."

Monty just stared, "What? I'm not giving...."

The Gothic lad stepped closer so that they were almost touching. "Listen, fuck face, I ain't asking you. I'm telling you. Give me your fucking keys, jock pussy." As he said this, his voice got louder and much more menacing.

Not wanting to attract attention, Monty pulled his keys out of his pocket and handed them to him. When he reached into his pockets, Spike couldn't help but notice that Monty's bulging crotch was a little more prominent.

"Okay, pussy boy, if you want your keys and your disk back, you know where to go. I'll see you in ten minutes."

"I'm not going..." Monty began, but the nerd turned and walked away with his disk and his car keys. Monty could not believe he just stood there and did nothing while this little punk took his stuff. He almost felt like he was 10 years old again. Frustrated, he turned, "I'm not going to do it. I'm not," he said. He then realized that he must have been talking out loud as several people turned to look at him. He blushed and then headed toward the mall entrance, planning to leave. He could use his emergency key under the fender. The other keys he would worry about later.

However, as he exited the mall, he turned left – his car was to the right. He couldn't believe it when he found himself walking down the alley and behind the dumpster. He expected to find “his” twink Master there, but he was alone. He waited for what seemed like hours but was only 30 minutes. Finally, he decided to leave. Just as he exited the alley, he appeared in front of him.

"Going somewhere, jock pussy," he sneered.

"Uh, you weren't here when you said, so I thought..."

Raising his hand and pushing his finger into Monty's chest, "You don't think jock pussy, you do – that is, do as you're told." As he said this, he punctuated each word with a finger thrust and backed Monty back into the alley. Once behind the dumpster, he placed Monty's keys and disk on an old wood crate. For the first time, Monty felt a little fear.

Seeing the look in Monty's eyes, the punk laughed and scowled. "Don't worry, jock pussy, ain't going hurt you – at least not yet."

"Look, can't we work this out?" Monty whined. God, where did that pathetic voice come from?

"Sure, we can work it out, boot wipe. Which boot you gonna clean first, left or right??"

"Neither!" Monty replied, "I'm going to leave..."

"Fine pussy, boy. Go ahead."

Monty reached for his disk and keys when the black-dressed Gothic nerd quickly reached out and grabbed his arm. "Uhh uhh, jock pussy. That shit is mine. You gave them to me. You want `em back, it's gonna cost you."

Monty just stood there. He couldn't believe it. He was letting this low-life, little kid, scum make a fool out of him – yet he couldn't stop it.

"Look, I got some money," Monty began.

The nerd just stepped closer, reached up, grabbed Monty by the chin, tilted his head down, and looked him in the eye. Monty felt as if he wasn't looking into power. "Money ain't what I'm after, jock pussy. And besides, it isn't what you really want to offer. You want to know what I want?"

“You want me to suck your dick. Ok, I’ll do it. Let’s just do it and get it over with.” Monty announced surprisingly calmly.

Spike said nothing, only smiled.

“Look, sir, I’ll suck your fucking dick, OK? Whatever you want.” Monty was getting upset at Spike's silent stare.

“Come on, I owe you that from the last time we were here. You need me to do it, sir.” It was more like pleading.

“Don’t tell me want you will do or what I need. What I want is that last shred of your dignity and your pride. Of course, being a jock pussy you ain't got much left. But what little you do have, I'm going to take. Cause you remember, I'm a macho man, and you’re the unworthy pussie. Got it?"

Monty felt his eyes begin to tear up. “Christ,” he thought. “I just begged him to let me suck his dick, and now he says I’m not worthy. Fucking shit!” I'm going to fucking cry! Fuck!

"So, you want to suck my dick, do you?”

“I’m not a faggot. I don’t suck dick, but if you need me to do it, then let's do it.”

“I think you are miss-placing the word ‘need?’ Do I need you to suck my dick, or do you need to suck my dick?” There it was. All laid out. All in plain English. He just stripped my soul bare. But I am not gay? Honest.

Spike opened his full-length black wool Gothic coat, exposing the front of his black jeans. He unsnapped and then unzipped his pants and pushed them down, and his stiff dick sprang up sharply and wobbled like a diving board when a swimmer jumped off it.

It was neither supper long nor fat. But in its own way, it was perfect. Maybe 6.5 inches, with the appropriate sort of slender girth. It was jutting out there, and it was magnificent. Awesome, and Master’s. Yes, it was his dick.

“I asked you a question, whose ‘need.’”

Monty cried out with humiliation and embarrassment as he fell to his knees. He was still wearing all his preppy, all-American clothes. “I need to suck your beautiful dick, sir.” His sense of shame was replaced with a sense of honesty. And he sobbed. At that moment, he was defeated. He quit fighting, quit resisting. He gave up.

Just then, the late afternoon trash truck drove up and, this time, stopped. It was this very dumpster they needed to empty. The driver, in amazement, even turned off the engine to better understand what he was seeing. A punny 5’ 4” “boy-Master” standing with his stiff dick out, and this hunky, 6’ 4” muscled, 22-year-old kneeling before him was a sight to be seen and understood. No one could pass this up.

The driver and his co-worker, two youthful Latino garbage men, hooped down from their high cab and came to stand close to the duo, not to interrupt, but to watch and listen.

“Repeat to these gentlemen what you want and why.” The nerd twink spoke softly.

“I am a pussie jock. I need to suck your magnificent dick, kind sir. Please let me suck you off. I promise I’ll do a good job and work to please you.”

“But you aren’t gay, remember? You don’t suck cock, remember? You never suck a dick, remember?”

“That's all true, but I need your dick. I need to service you to lick and suck your dick.”

“But you have no experience.”

“Please, just let me. I can do it right,”

“You want to practice on me? Your Alley Master?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t think so. I think I’m entitled to have an experience cock sucker working on my dick.” Spike paused., “However, perhaps these two hard-working, sweaty gentlemen might assist you. Perhaps, if you asked them kindly to suck their dicks, they might let you. I see they have a lot of classes, and it may take some begging to get them to agree to have you practice on them. But that’s up to them.”

For the first time, Monty looked at the garbage men in their filthy, stinky clothes and wanted to puke. But he knew what Spike wanted. He had already given up fighting. He was now only a spineless mass of whimpering, trembly muscle.

Still on his knees, he pivoted to the garbage workers, “Please, kind sirs, may I …”

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” Spike shouted. “You’re going to ask these nice strangers, who owe you nothing, to practice your dick-sucking on them, to USE them… like that?”

Monty was stunned. He didn’t know what the nerd was talking about.

“Pussie jock, you’re presenting yourself as worthy of their cocks. These are professional garbage people. Get where you belong.”

Again, Monty was confused.”

Spike turned to the workers and, for the first time, actually acknowledged and addressed these guys, “Would you fellas mind opening the rear hooper of your truck so he can climb in and present himself as the piece of garbage he is?”

They were curious as anyone about what the twink Master had in mind, and if they were going to get their dicks sucked in any way, shape, or form, they were happy to go along with Spike. Sure,” and one of them jumped into the truck cab, started the engine, and pulled a lever. The huge, noisy back hatch lifted, exposing the trash bin and wet, slimy, filthy garbage… of all sorts.

“Well? Show these kind gentlemen where you belong.”

Monty, now light-headed and dizzy with humiliation, knowing this had gone too far to stop now, stepped to the edge of the trash fille hooper, grabbed a sturdy handhold rung, and stepped up to fully jump into it

“WHAT THE FUCK? You can’t do that, you asshole pussie.” Spike yelled at the top of his lungs to stop a huge mistake from happening.

FINALLY! Spike came to his senses. Monty was so pleased; it was all a joke. He was so relieved. Monty even smiled as he realized he had been punked. He felt embarrassed to think he would sit in the garbage hopper of a trash truck. He even giggled at himself. He mouthed the words, “Thank you, sir,” to his twink Master. What a fucking mind trip! But he calmed down.

“Do you really think I’d let you go into the garbage hooper like that?” Monty just smiled. Of course not. Shit for brains. You can’t go into the garbage-filled hooper like that. Your clothes would stink up the garbage.”

“Wha…?” was all Monty could say.

“Strip out of those stupid preppy threads so you won’t stink up the garbage.’

Monty was stunned. Yes, he had stopped resisting, but still, his mind was being twisted this way and that- twisted and pulled and bent. He no longer had any way to think or rethink anything; he was too far gone and slipping off his shoes without even realizing it. Then he undid his pants and removed them. As he held them, he folded them neatly, lining up and matching the decreased so they would get wrinkled. And then patted them flat and handed his folder pants to Spike.

Spike nodded to the trash hooper. Monty swallowed and carefully set his neatly folded pants in with the garbage. Spike made a hand jester to continue. And in his continued daze, he carefully removed his shirt, another nice silk one, and foolishly folded it. Looked up at Spike, who nodded, and into the hooper, he set it also.

Without being further instructed, he scooped down, removed his socks, picked up his shoes, and tossed them in too. Then, he slipped off his underwear, and into the hooper it went. Monty stood there now naked.

“Well, ask these fine city workers if you are presentable to enter the garbage.”

The workers were so shocked that his hunk of a muscle man, an international underwear model, would obey every wish of this “boy” in black. “Ah, sure.”

“Well, aren't you going to ask permission to hop into the trash?”

Monty turned to the two Hispanics in filthy clothes, “Please, kind sirs, may I get into your trash hooper? I hope you find me presentable and allow me to enter your fine garbage vehicle. I’d be so pleased if you'd allow this pussie jock to climb in.”

The two trash workers could not get over their incredible good fortune. And, picking up on the attitude they saw in this teen twink, 5’ 4”, owner of this hunk, they pretended to have the same attitude. Hell, they were not going to look like pussies themselves. “Well, I think so, but if you don’t behave, we’re just gonna close the hooper with you inside, and me and Delray will drive you off the dump and drop you in the pile. And, of course, Monty believed it, no question. “Get in there.” Then to present a sense of power, added, “Asshole!”

The second man, the one who was not driving, Delray, wanted in on the abuse and use of this naked hunk. He approached the muscle man and unsnapped his pants, pulling them apart and lowering his boxers to his knees, freeing his big dick, which fell limply. Due to the waist-high height of the hooper, Delray needed the stud, who was kneeling in the trash, to lower his body to align his mouth with his dick.

“Now you see here, boy, you need to get down. Best if you lay on your belly, stick your head toward me, and open your mouth hole.”

Monty looked around the trash and soggy, stinky garbage and, in a daze of disgust, laid his beautiful body down and into the wet mess. Again, picking up on Spike's attitude, “Now, what do you say?”

“Please, sir, may I use your dick to practice cock sucking so that I may be better at sucking Master Spike’s dick and not embarrass him.” Delray was so pleased that he was drooling, and his dick got hard without touching it. “Sir, I promise to be a good cock sucking whore. If you will give me a chance, please, kind sir.”

Without a word, Delray pushed his hip forward into the waiting mouth hole, which immediately went to town on the think, cut 8-inch dick. Since this was the first dick he had ever sucked, he was gagging, coughing, spitting, and choking all over the place. At moments, he freaked out because he couldn’t breathe. Delray had no patience. Like many men, he just unartfully fucked that throat, fast and hard, until he came. For him, it was great. And he pulled out.

Terrell, the driver, had a little more finesse. He was a ladies’ man, Went not working, cleaned up nicely, and presented himself well. He took Delray's place.

“Lay on your back.” Monty rolled over carefully, noting that he was covered in shitty cat kitty, wet, iggy coffee grinds and the squishy innards of cantaloupes and rotted peals. He placed his head back down, face up. “Scoot toward me.” He did. “More.” He moved closer until the back of his head was tilted down, and his chin pointed up. His mouth fell open. “That's it, big guy.” After pulling his pants and underwear down midthighs, Terrell skinned back his uncut dick and placed the tip into Monty’s mouth but didn’t push it in at first. Then he inserted his stiff dick and immediately massaged the hunk’s throat. “That’s it, big guy,” and slipped it in another two inches. “There you go,” and another inch. Soon, Terrell’s’ stiff 9-incher was at the boy’s throat entrance. “Easy, big fella. Easy, there,” he said, calming the muscle man further.

Monty started to panic, and Terrell backed off a bit, “Relax, there, big boy.” And in he went and slowly fucked seven inches in and slowly out. “Now, I’m going to go into your throat, so just hold your breath. The boy’s body shook and trembled. He had a look of fear on his face. “Stay calm. And in we go to the count of three. One, two, three, and out we come.” Monty remained mostly calm. “OK, you’re doing fine, and we go into the count of four.” And this time, he counted slower. “One… two… three… four… And out we come. There, aren’t you the learned cock sucker?” He would have shown a smile if his mouth was not stuffed. “Now, we’re going in, and this time, you nod your head when you need me to pull back.”

“OK, here we go,” and slowly, the full 9 inches was inserted. Monty jerked his body but seemed OK. He held his breath. “Such as good boy. A good cock sucker. Your Master is over there watching you. You can’t see him, but he is smiling and obviously proud of you.” Monty nodded. Terrell waited a few moments, and the dick came out a few inches. “And again.” Yes, Monty could do this. “Okay, I can’t hold back. Now brace yourself and….” In one slow, full trust, Terrell pushed in fully and shot blast after blast after blast. Terrell inadvertently was squeezing Monty’s throat from the outside, like strangling him, just a normal reaction. And then withdrew. Monty coughed and sputtered, and snot, saliva, and cum sprayed all over his face and hair. Monty tried to rest as he lay fully on and mixed in with the garbage.

“Hey Spike, Thanks for the use. I hope he had sufficient cock-sucking practiced for one day.”

The twink Master called to Monty, “Hey, pussie jockstrap, what do you have to say to these fine gentlemen?”

Monty shook his head, trying to come back to life, “Whaaa…”

“Thank these gentlemen for, you know.”

“Oh, thank you so much for training me to be a good cock sucker. I really appreciate it. You Sirs are so kind. So very kind to fuck my face and throat. I hope I please you very much.”

“Now, don’t you think you should get out of the garbage truck and let these guys do their job?”

“Yes, sir.” And Monty slowly crawled his aching, bruised, and garbage-coated naked body out of the hopper and stood there wobbling.

“There, Now you ready to suck my dick, pussie faggot” Spike asked him.

“Yes, sir,” he said non-energetically. He was exhausted and smelled like shit. He just fell to his knees and penned his mouth. His body swayed from dizziness.

“If you think I am coming anywhere near that filthy, slop-covered body, you’re full of shit. No. We’re done for the day. You may go home, go back into the mall, or rejoin your buddies or whatever. You are dismissed.” Spike whispered something to Terrell. They were nodding back and forth, and both laughed. Then Spike left.

Monty looked so pathetic. Nake and all on his own, to go…. to go …where all covered in garbage? How can he go anywhere?

“Ok, big fella,” Terrell said, “Let’s get you dressed and back to your dorm.” With no help from Delray, Terrell sat Mont on the edge of the hopper. Then he fished through the hooper garbage and found his clothes, piece by piece. “OK, there we go, lift your foot up.” Monty did, and Terrell pulled on one smelly, wet sock and then the other. Next, he picked up the boy’s underwear, covered in some greenish slime. “OK, here we go. He had the mesmerized boy stand so he could step into the briefs and pull them up. “See, you’re doing fine., Monty was of no help as he was in shock. “Now, these pants. Here we go. Looks like they’re coated in puke or something. But here, step into these.” And Terrell helped him. “Now, the shirt. Oh wow, this is silk, isn’t it? Nice. OK, let’s get this on you,” and he fed the boy’s arm into one sleeve and then did the other arm. “See? See how nice you look? Ok, now the shoes. Sorry, I could only find one, and this one is filled with... with… you don’t want to know. But it looks like diaper contents.” He squished his foot into it anyway. “Walla! There you are. all dressed to kill.”

Monty could not speak. With one shoe missing, he looked down at himself in utter disgrace and puked, getting some vomit on his pants. Then he sobbed. “There, the big fella, don’t worry. Spike told us to take you here, back to your dorm. And he told us how to do it. Say, you got one good master there, don’t cha.” Monty did not react. He just let himself be manipulated by Terrell or anyone else.

Terrell could get past that gloomy frown, “Say, you’ll OK, now. And Spike filled me in on how you are a member of the royal family in the UK. Wow. I’m impressed with you, your Lordship. And that you are the wrestler at school. Fantastic. And just getting to be an international underwear model. Aren’t you the successful lad!” Still trying to cheer him up. “Yes, and he says you are such a lady killer. I’ll bet. I’ll bet they will be crawling all over you soon. I mean…after you shower and change and … You know…”

“Say, and the best news is… Master Spike told me to tell you he was pleased with you. And that in only a few months, he might, just possibly, let you suck this dick! Wow! Won’t that be great! Yes, sir, you have one very kind, loving Master there.”

“OK, now, ready for us to take you home?”


“Yes, but.. well… we can’t have you in our nice clean cab. You’re so smelly and all. So, just hop back in the hopper, and we can drive you back while in there. OK? Great!”

Monty pulled himself up and into the garbage… again and sat there in disbelief. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to close the cover. We’ll drive with it open. OK, big fella?” Monty nodded in disbelief. “Oh, and there is one condition, and sorry for this, but as we drive you back to your dorm, you have to pull your dick and beat it off as we drive. It’s a direct order from Master Spike.”

He looked at Terrell quizzically. “Look. I’m not supposed to tell you this part. Still, as we drive back with the hatch open and you in full sight, beating off, Mr. Spike will be following us, maybe from a distance. He wants to watch you beat off, but not climax until we arrive in front of your dorm front entrance. Something about his taking a video to record your progress… or was it… your descent?”

It was all a blurry haze. Monty rode in the trash truck's open hooper, slowly lumbered along the two-mile route to his school, and then beat off upon his arrival. As instructed, Terrell pulled his huge noisy truck up directly in front of the main entrance, Stopped, and then blasted his horn to make sure that whoever was around would catch Monty climbing out of the trash hooper of the garbage truck, all covered in… well… garbage. And smelling like puke, piss, and baby shit. He has no memory of how he got back to his school, but he found himself standing at the info desk, asking for his spare key.

“What the fuck, dude! Back off. You look and smell like fucking shit!” No doubt. He was dressed, less one shoe, covered m slime and crap, literally, standing there, all glassy-eyed, AND his dick hanging out through his zipper.

Coming to his senses and thinking quickly, perhaps for the first time today, “Sorry man, I was the victim of a hazing. I just need my key to get cleaned up. Sorry, man.”

“Wow! Fuck! They got you good, DUDE,” the desk clerk told him with a smile as he handed Monty his backup key.

The Gothic Twink Master
Part 4 of 4

Days, then, weeks went by with no contact from Spike. More weeks went by… nothing! Monty remembered all the shit that happened to him on their last alley meet-up, but what really stuck in his mind was that one image of Spike standing there with a beautiful dick sticking out. The dick he thought he finally was going to be ordered to – allowed to - suck. He refused, of course, because he wasn't gay. He resisted doing a lot of stuff with Spike because he thought it was gay. What made it gay to him? It wasn’t the sexy stuff, but the fact that a man was telling another man what to do. That seemed gay.
That a young man, a nerdy twink, was controlling a muscle man that was gay. Wasn’t it? As Monty reflected on it, he realized it was not gay at all. It was all about his fear of losing power, self-control, high-society status… or surrendering. It was not a gay thing; it was a submissive thing. His twink Master just happened to be a young, Gothic gay twink. With their great difference in physical build, Spike being 5” 4”, 110 lbs. and muscle Monty being 6’ 2’ and 210 lbs., Monty could easily overpower the twink.

Absolutely. But if he did, he would lose something that was mysteriously extremely important to him, being in the presence and control of this Gothic lad. He had always had fame, fortune, power, and celebrity thrust upon him, but he never had anyone who could or would take charge. He never had anyone who could or would cherish him in such a primal way that resulted in him being free of all responsibility and self-determination. For Minty, it was a haunting, mesmerizing realm. It was stranger. It was alluring, captivating, erotically abusive, and intriguing….and he wanted to know and experience much more about being powerless.

Then a text, “Meet me at the Outcast tonight, at 9 PM. Dress appropriately.” It was from Spike. Monty never heard of the place, so he looked it up and read about it. It used to be a gay bar, but due to its new clientele being mostly teens, it changed to a coffee den as it became “the” favorite hideaway to more grungy, punk guys and many Gothic men and women, too. The internet showed photos showing the large room and the many people crowded there. One thing that stood out was that the patron wore black. Everyone was showing black leather or vinyl or skin. Many had black vests and no shirt or black coats and no shirt. Just the thing.

The other interesting thing was that there were few tables and chairs. Some were around the sides, but most of the seating “pit” area had dark old sofas, overstuffed chairs, and lots of pillows on the floor for all to sit on. In other words, it was a huge room that was cozy, and people sat close together, all touchy-feely.

At 8:50 p.m., Monty walked in wearing his beige pleated slacks, white silk shirt, and tan loafers… well, old habits are hard to change. He was so excited to see his skinny, twink Master, Spike. Finally, he’s having some alone time with him. They could talk, figure things out, where they stood, and what was in their future. He could find out “the plan.” The packed room was dimly lit. About 60 men and women were there, all jammed together, sitting around, mostly shoulder to shoulder, or in the case of guys on the floor pillows, knee to knee. Monty looked around and saw Spike in one of the small sofas, talking and laughing with guys on either side of him and guys and women on the pillows at his booted feet. He seemed to be the center of attention, even among his Gothic and grunge buddies.

He felt strange. Spike was in the middle of a lot of friends, having a good time.
How in the world would Monty have a serious discussion with him or even get his attention? Luckily, the music was not too loud. He thought stepping over so many people to get closer to Spike would be rude, so he just stood there. Many patrons started to stare up at this out-of-place stranger who just entered their “secret” den of social “outcasts.” Yes, it was a public place taken over by these black-clothes-wearing patrons. The room got quieter, and Spike finally looked up and noticed him standing there, almost as if Monty was annoyed.

“You can’t come in here like that,” Spike called out.


“You can’t wear clothes like that in here, pussie jock.”

Monty felt so embarrassed. He had been called a pussie when they were alone or with a couple of people, but here were some 60 men and women, jam-packed solid, and they all heard it, and they all laughed and giggled.

“Whaa… whaaa…?

“Are you blind, asshole? The only colors allowed in here are Black and skin.”

Was he thinking Spike wanted him to strip naked? This is a public place, not somewhere hidden down a trash alley. And everyone was fully dressed in what they considered their high-class punk and Gothic outfits, all adorned with chrome chains, wristbands, leather spiked dog collars, piercings, and many with spiked hairdos. Monty and his nerd Masted were locked in a stare. Monty was not going to strip, but on the other hand, if he left, he knew it would be for good, never to see this awesome twink lad again, never to experience true, total submission, unconditional submission under any circumstances. But he was frozen. Spike seemed not to care if he stayed and stripped, or turned and left. But that was not true. Truth be known, Spike was as enamored with Monty as Monty was with him. The only thing was Spike’s requirement of unconditional submission was just that.

“Are you here to lick my boot?” Spike called out, not overly loud, but loud enough for all to hear.

A wave of humiliation quickly swept over Monty. Again, this was not a private, secret time or place. How could he say YES? Still, it was, fall in line, comply, submit, or… get the fuck out… forever.

Monty was dizzy. He could not see himself leaving. He could not see himself stripping naked and licking boots here and now. Mostly, he could not see himself leaving! Spike flashed his cocky smile and pulled gently on the front of his shirt, signaling to Monty to strip. But Monty was not going to do it. He couldn’t, not in front of all these Gothic socialites. Why his finger went to his shirt and began to unbutton it, Monty did not know or even realize. But his hands kept busy in his daze, his dream. But then, he stood naked. Not even wearing underwear or socks. Naked. He was not even aware he had a boner, pointing upward.

The entire room was in awe. Not just because Monty was naked but because he was such a magnificent, muscular, handsome man. Flawless. At this point, Monty was still near the entryway to the room. He was barely inside. He couldn’t walk to Spike because the people on the floor were solid and comfortably sitting close to each other.

“I asked you, would you like to lick my boots, pussie boy?”

The room was silent. The Master and the hunk were the center of attention and viewed as tonight’s entertainment. Then he committed. “Yes, sir?”

“That's not how I trained you to respond, is it,” Spike spoke casually, calmly, knowing he now had his very own hunk for sure.

“Sir, may I please lick and kiss your boots all over? I want to please you so much.”

“Actually, that's not quite true, is it? Who derives the pleasure from your licking my boots.” The two men were about 50 feet apart, holding this rather intimate conversation.

“Ah, fuck, Sir. I do. Please let me have the great pleasure of licking and worshiping your books.” Monty’s dick bobbed and twitched. Everyone noticed except Monty.

“Yes, I can do you that big favor as I visit with my friends. Just get down on all fours, crawl over to my boots like a good jock pussie boy, and wait for further instructions.”

He got down and tried to find the best route to his nerd Mater since everyone was hip-to-hip, thigh-to-thigh. But he slowly and carefully crawled, gently placing his hands in tiny empty spaces and his big knees on top of people’s laps. Hands were all over him, petting and touching, and they even licked his flesh, here and there in passing. He kept mumbling, “Excuse me… excuse me,” as he carefully made his way over his “betters” toward those wonderful boots jutting out from his seated Master. The sofa Spike was sitting on was very low to the floor, so his booted feet jutted far out in front of him.

When Monty arrived at the boots, Spike was busy chit-chatting with the guys squeezed in on either side of him, ignoring his hungry, naked sub for the moment. But there was no space in front of Spike. Surrounding hands seemed to guide him to lay down flat on his belly as he placed his mouth on his Master's powerful boot and waited for further instructions. His full body was lying on several laps, and no one minded. In fact, they all relished wide-eyed, his wonderful, smooth, tan body. These punks, grungers, and Gothic men and women were like kids in a candy store. Their hands were all over him, gently rubbing and touching his unbelievably naked body.

What a fucking hot image! A floating bare-skin muscle hunk laying on a sea of black leather and vinyl-clad laps of strangers. It wasn’t by any plan, but the fellow who happened to be situated more directly in front of Spike, his good friend, Pierce, was seated at Monty’s right hip. Pierce was intense in his appearance with his white-powered face, purple lips, chrome-spiked dog collar, and hair stuck up in a center row of 10-inch points. He took it upon himself to lift Monty’s leg up and over his head so that he was now sitting between the hunk’s legs so that as Pierce sat on his floor pillow, Monty’s knees were on either side of him. Pierce was facing Spike and looking down at Monty’s mounded, muscled ass. This caused Monty's feet to be projected past Pierce and positioned about four feet apart. Of course, Pierce’s body was preventing Monty from closing his legs. The manipulation of his body was of no concern to him since his entire focus was on the boot his face rested on. His only task was to wait for permission to begin to lick them.

“Oh please, please, please, please,” Monty chanted. He knew from experience that nothing was a given with Spike. It would not be beyond his Master to simply dismiss him at any moment based on his whim. “Oh please, oh, please, oh please.” Monty was begging with his eyes and mumbling to no avail. “Just fucking let me lick your fucking boots. FOR GOD’S SAKE! PLEASE! I’ll do anything; just don’t dismiss me. Please.” Monty knew that if Spike let him lick his boots, it would show how powerful Spike was. But if he did not allow it, he’d be flexing even more power. Occasionally, Spike would glace down at Monty and smile as he saw him, open mouth, at the ready, with his saliva dripping all over his boots.

The distracting music went off at some point, and everyone was whispering, watching in awe. Perhaps all these people Monty was laying on and around, maybe 10 or 12 laps, were waiting for a signal from Spike to do more than just touch him and pet him. After all, he was Spike’s property, and they all figured that out quickly and respected it. And it was not that Spike was any leader of this group. He was just one of them and would respect anyone there with a “guest” present. They were all friends and acquaintances.

All attention was on the naked hunk, his black-dressed Gothic Master, and their impending interaction. Monty held one boot in his hands and stared up at Spike, looking for permission to begin worshiping those boots. He had done it before, but not in front of so many strangers, Spike’s friends, and superiors.

Monty dared not move a muscle. It might be seen as resistance. He lay there still. But the others surrounding him continued to pet him and rub him lightly. They were not trying to tease him, just touching. I mean, his body was right there. Even Pierce, who held Monty's thighs, had to reach out two feet to caress Monty’s ass, balls, and twitching dick.

But then, why should he have to reach out? Pierce scooted himself forward those two feet, so his belly was now right next to Monty’s balls. There he was, so delicious. However, his moving up forced Monty’s legs to be pushed much wider apart. It created a “proper” strain on the hunk’s hips. It is a reminder of his submission. The grunge guy who had one of Monty’s feet in his lap had to slide in the direction the foot went to maintain that foot in his lap. The girl with the other foot did the same. Now Monty’s feet were “stuck” six feet apart. His beautiful, perfectly shaped feet and sexy toes were displayed and ready for molesting.

Pierce had an unbelievable sight right there in his lap. Such a muscle-mounded ass with huge hanging balls and a big stiff dick, which he could not see, pointing down. He reached under Monty and very light felt that dick jerking and twitching. He avoided firmly touching Monty's hair-trigger cock, especially since he knew he must never interfere with Spike's plan for his boy to climax or not. A wise decision. But Pierce did use his fingertips to lightly trace the nearly hairless ass crack, up and down. Those wiggling, teasing fingertips danced and enjoyed themselves.

FUCKING SHIT. Monty hadn’t even done anything. He was just patiently waiting to do his FUCKING JOB! Yet, his body shook and trembled and jerked involuntarily. Two dozen hands were now ready to tease, grope, and tickle him. Not by plan, but people just like to touch what’s in front of them. They were likely not aware of the erotic impact of their touches. Luckily, Pierce knew enough to avoid caressing muscleman's dick.

Suddenly, Spike raised his hand, and the room went deadly silent. Something was about to happen. He looked at Monty and asked calmly, almost in a whisper,” What do you say, jock pussie?”


Yes, there was 22-year-old Montgomery Triamine Brooke, grandson of Baroness Barbara Brooke of Ystradfellte, UK. The school’s hero and wrestling champion, the muscle jock who could have any woman he wanted, the handsome lad of wealth, social status, fame, and a budding international male model. Yes, this is the now desperate, sobbing, pleading, grabbling, begging boot-licker (to be). He had surrendered before, but this time, Spike pushed him to complete desperation to surrender fully.

Spike looked at his pussie jock boy and pointed his little finger at the muscle man, wiggling it to nod “yes.”

Monty went into a full spasm, his body twisting and jerking, and he yelled out, “OH, FUCKING THANK YOU, SIR! THANK YOU, KIND MASTER! OH GOD THANK YOU!” and then aggressively went to town licking the boot he held for so long, kissing it and licking it all over. 58 days of pent-up desire came busting out of his in all directions. His hip was humping Pierce’s lap, and his legs and feet were flailing and jerking. Two dozen hands had to hold him still, or at least as still as they could. But everyone loved it. His complete capitulation. His body was not his. He was not controlling any part of his body except his mouth and the hands holding onto the first boot. Monty wrapped his arms around that precious boot, hugging it as he licked and made love to it. In between licks, he’d mumble, “Thank you,” repeatedly.

The two grunge “foot holders” were now playing with his big, sexy feet. The woman lifted his foot to her face, licking it and nibbling his toes. While the guy used his two-inch-long, black-painted fingernails to light rake them over the soles of his foot, which caused his knees to bobble and jerk. But still, no one let him loose.

Feeling so pleased, Spike was happy with how this training session played out and fully satisfied that Monty had now recognized that he was Spike’s pussie jock boy. None of this was planned out. From previous experience with Monty, he knew what worked: find out a man’s weakness and use it against him.

Suddenly, Monty inadvertently looked up from his concentrated boot-licking, and there it was. IT WAS RIGHT THERE! Spike’s dick was sticking out of his pants. It was hard and beautiful. Magnificent! And it was right there. It wasn’t huge, but it was the most awesome, coveted dick he had ever seen or wanted. He had never been allowed to worship it, never. He only dreamed about it. Just looking at it,” AAAAAAHHHHH!” he moaned, not knowing what to do. “AAAAAHHHH!” there it was. Not just a dick. It was his Master’s dick! The most powerful dick in the world. The giver of pleasure, of purpose, of life. It stuck up proudly.

“Pussie jock,” Spike whispered, “You ready for a reward?”

“AAAAAHHHHHH!” he nodded yes.

“Slide up here and kiss your new Master. Greet it properly.”

Monty never raised his body. He just slid it up Spike’s leg to the point where his mouth was next to the welcoming dick. Pierce would not give up his prized placement between Monty's legs, so he also scooted up. In fact, he wiggled the hunk’s hips to be firmly situated on Pierce’s lap. Now, for the first time, Pierce fondled pussie jock’s dick. But not to bring him off. That was still Spike's call. But he tickled it. Lightly, gently manipulated it and allowed it to twitch and spasm all it wanted without rendering enough friction to allow it to shoot. As he did that with his right hand, he used his sharp fingernails on his left hand to lightly scratch those big balls all over. “AAAAAHHHHHHH!”

Monty placed one hand on each of Spike’s slender hips and kissed his dick lovingly. He kissed it and began to lick it all over. He felt that was OK as long as he did not suck it without permission.

“You may suck it, but only gently, like a lollipop. You are not allowed to try to climax me.” Spike told him. Monty was in sub-slave heaven. He was so happy. He worshiped his Master’s dick and loved it. Finally, he felt at home. Even though Monty was obeying and sucking him gently, not trying to bring him off, Spike was way too into it and going to shoot his load anyway. It was not only Monty who had waited 58 days. It was also Spike who waited.

With a nod from Spike, the dozen or so punk, grunge, and Gothic friends all began in unison to stimulate the hunk sub. And Pierce began to finger fuck him, big time. It was a wonderful crescendo of stimulation, and as soon as Spike shot his load, volley after volley down his pussie jock’s throat, Monty was at the point of no return. “AAAAAAHHHHHHH!” the pussie boy came as well. It was all inspiring. Monty collapsed on top of Spike, who allowed him to stay put and continued to nurse his Master’s dick.

Spike was now sure this muscle hunk would be his for a long time. He knew how to keep his attention over the long run. It included a two-pronged approach. First, Spike will parse out erotic privileges over time to leave him always in a state of wanting more. Second, he will gradually manipulate Monty into increasing public humiliation and degradation displays... to the extreme.

Sometimes we look at wealthy or famous people and think, “They have it all.” Truth is, they may have what YOU treasure, but they may not have what they see as important to them. How many celebrities would love to be unrecognizable so they can go to the supermarket, walk their dog around their neighborhood, or attend some artsy street fair., - but they can’t? What 22-year-old Montgomery Triamine Brooke, muscle-bound grandson of a Baroness, wanted most in life was to be controlled, used, abused, publicly humiliated, and owned. And the fact that Spike was a twerpty, nerdy, skinny, small-built, social outcast teenager was the most powerful type of Master he could have.

Monty continued to nurse Spike softening dick. Spike tapped him on the top of the head to release his dick, but Monty was in heaven. He now had everything he wanted. He did not respond by releasing his Master’s dick but continued to gently suck it. Spike smiled and allowed this 22-year-old muscle hunk pleasure. Then, surprising to Spike, he became erect again and soon blasted a second load down his pussie jock’s throat. That was enough for Spike. He didn’t want his super sensitive dick touched anymore. So to continue his pleasure differently, he turned around, kneeled on his seat, pushed his black jeans pants down, and stuck his ass out. Monty did not need any more of an invitation than that. The pussie hunk locked his mouth onto his Master's asshole and tongued it nonstop. This was fine with Spike, who, for the first time, found an ass-eater who “worked” his asshole with unending passion. And in front of an audience of 60 of his friends.

Yes, Spike would keep Monty for a long time. He knew how to keep his attention over the long run.

The End

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