"A Gentle Master" - (mm) - by AlX
At thirteen I knew about sex, of course, and had even peeked
at some adult magazines. I occasionally masturbated, and my experience
with girls was limited to only kissing and holding hands. My
best friend was Bill who I had known for almost three years.
He had a stronger personality than me. He was more of a leader
while I was more of a follower. Like me, Bill hadn't done much
with girls. We had talked about sex a few times (he was the one
who had acquired the porno magazines I had seen) but I was pretty
sure he was as inexperienced as I was.
We were at a movie matinee one summer Saturday. The theater wasn't
crowded and we sat alone in a back row, just the two of us. It
was just like all the other times we had been together, until
about halfway through the movie when he whispered: "I have a
boner."
I flashed him a quick look - and saw his weird grin - but said
nothing. He have never before said or done anything even remotely
gay, so I was shocked. And why he was telling me this? It was
odd, inappropriate, and totally out of the blue. I ignored him
and returned to watching the movie.
I thought that was the end of it but about a minute later he
whispered: "Did you hear me? I have a boner."
I looked over again. The theater was dark but the glow from the
screen cast light on him. He was smirking. He looked at me and
then down into his lap, which sort of forced me to look down
as well. His legs were spread but I couldn't tell if there was
a bulge or not. It felt weird to be staring at his crotch. "So?"
"Do you want to feel it?"
"No," I answered quickly, without thinking. Why would I want
to touch him? I wasn't a fag. I wasn't a sissy. I turned away
and returned to watching the movie. Or at least tried to, as
I suddenly found myself overcome with anxiety. Why would he ask
me to touch him? Did he think I really would do that? Did he
think I was a fag? Did he really think I would WANT to touch
his hard on?
I should have told him to stop. I should have said, 'Cut the
crap, I ain't no sissy.' But I didn't. By not protesting I let
him know that I wasn't totally shocked or outraged. He leaned
over again. "OK, but my boner's hard and you can feel it if you
want to."
I remained staring at the screen, acting as if I was ignoring
him. But how could I ignore him? He had just asked me to touch
his cock! Before that afternoon I had never even thought of the
possibility of touching another boy. But now, of course, the
possibility was more than a thought; it was an option. Bill had
successfully planted the thought in my mind. And when I peeked
over I saw his left hand in his groin. He was rubbing himself.
He was keeping himself hard!
As I sat there trying to pay attention to the movie, I found
myself unable to NOT think about his boner and his 'suggestion'.
I stole a sideway glance, hoping he didn't notice. And because
it was dark in the theater, and what Bill was doing was 'dirty',
and because I had my own sexual desires I started getting excited.
I started getting my own erection. And I started wondering what
it would be like if we were to rub each other.
Bill must have sensed this, for he leaned over and whispered:
"Are you sure you don't want to touch it? No one can see you."
He waited for me to look over. When I did he looked down into
his lap, which again made me instinctively look there as well.
So there I sat, watching my friend rub himself. It was like being
in a trance, until Bill nudged me, and in a firm voice - a soft
command actually - he said: "Go head, touch it."
Did he know that I would do it but only if I had the right amount
of encouragement? Or that if I was TOLD to do it by a gentle
master, I would be submissive enough to actually do what he wanted?
Did he know that I would be easy to control if he was dominating
enough to control me? Did he know things about me that even I
didn't know?
When I looked up at him he nodded as if to say everything was
OK. I looked back at the movie screen, away from Bill. A mix
of thoughts and emotions and feelings and fears flew through
my mind. My heart was beating fast. I didn't know what I should
do. I didn't know what I was capable of doing.
Of course, my hesitation and lack of protest gave Bill the insight
that all he had to do was coax me a little more: "No one will
see you. And I won't tell a soul."
I kept debating. Was there really anything wrong about this?
How would it feel to have Bill rub my cock? And then without
thought - it was more a mixture of instinct or being under Bill's
will - I slowly reached my left arm over the armrest and let
my hand land on the inside of his thigh. My hand stayed still
while I held my breath. I checked to make sure no one in the
theater could see me. And then I slowly slid my hand up a few
inches, my fingers gliding on his pants, until my hand moved
into his groin and my palm rested firmly upon the bulge. There,
I did it. I was feeling his boner, just as he wanted me to.
I felt almost dizzy with nervous excitement. His cock was hard,
and through his pants I knew it was thin and long. It felt dirty
doing this - dirty but good. And scary if we ever got caught.
I was doing something 'wrong' but also doing something sexual.
I soon became too excited to give it further thought. I kept
my hand still for a while, but then started to squeeze his hard-on.
When I heard him let out a slight moan I moved my fingers slowly
up and down. Bill shifted in his seat and spread his legs a little
wider.
"Good job," he said in a voice slightly louder than a whisper.
His words confused me, and also brought on some new emotions
(who doesn't like praise?). I kept my hand moving, slowly massaging
his bulge up and down, all the while staring up at the screen.
Since I was getting an erection of my own, I whispered: "I have
a boner, too. Do you want to feel it?"
I was expecting reciprocation so when Bill answered, "No," I
was taken aback. If I was touching him, why wouldn't he touch
me? Fair is fair, right? I should have stopped rubbing him, but
I didn't. Instead I collected my thoughts and continued kneading
his erection with my hand. Little did I realize that from that
moment on our roles had been set in stone. He was the master
and my role was to please him.
I didn't have long to wait to learn how much further Bill would
push me, for minutes later he reached down and unsnapped the
top of his pants. This startled me and I went to pull my hand
away, but his free hand grabbed my wrist, keeping it near his
lap. He looked me in the eye while his right hand lowered his
zipper just about two inches. He didn't say anything; he didn't
have to. He was certain I knew what he wanted me to do.
Of course I knew what he wanted. And here's what I reasoned:
I was already touching him through his pants, so was touching
him inside his pants much different? Or maybe I didn't really
reason that; maybe I was just acquiescing to his desires. So
when he released my wrist I not only kept my hand near his lap
I actually slid my hand under the waistband of his pants. At
first I felt him through his underwear but sensing what he really
wanted (and maybe what I really wanted, too) I dipped my hand
into his underwear and felt, for the first time, his naked cock.
It felt warm and soft. And hard. And knowing what would make
him feel good I gripped him firmly and began stroking him up
and down.
"Good job," he whispered again. He glanced over and gave me an
approving smile.
More confusion. Part of what I felt was a sense of pride, but
I also felt I was doing something more 'wrong'. I worried that
I really might be gay, but I also enjoyed making him feel good,
of pleasuring him And more than anything I realized that it I
was OK being submissive to him, to letting him be in control.
More than OK; I was actually enjoying all this. So when he said
"Faster" - more a command than a request, I complied. I speeded
up my hand motions.
"Do you still have your boner?"
I nodded, once again hoping for reciprocation.
"Touch yourself." Then, in that firm tone again, he said: "Go
'head. Rub yourself."
Of course I listened to him. I moved my right hand to my own
lap and slowly massaged my cock through my pants. Bill smiled
at me, surely confident that his control over me was complete.
And for the next ten or fifteen minutes we stayed like that:
my left hand buried in his pants, my fingers fondling his cock,
my fingers massaging his warm skin, while my right hand massaged
my own cock through my pants. And while neither of us reached
orgasm, something more important had occurred: Bill had taken
me to new territory, getting me to fondle his cock. And had successfully
dominated me sexually, and subconsciously associating my pleasure
(as I rubbed my cock) with giving him pleasure (as I rubbed his
cock). Our roles were firmly established.
The touching stopped as the movie ended. Our erections were gone
by the time the theater lights came up, and we walked out talking
only about the film. On the walk home neither of us mentioned
what had just happened, and I thought the experience had been
something that would never happen again. I couldn't have been
more wrong.
******
We went our separate ways, each back to our own home for dinner.
To be honest, I really didn't give the afternoon much thought.
Considering it just a one-off I didn't feel the need to analyze
what had happened, although I didn't go back to his house that
night as I usually did on Saturdays. But I ended up there the
next day. In the afternoon we were upstairs in his room playing
card games and All Star Baseball. Neither of us spoke about what
had happened.
A little after five o'clock his father called up to say he and
his wife were going to a neighbors and wouldn't be too late.
That left the house to Bill and I. After we heard the downstairs
door close, Bill got up, checked the window, then dug under his
mattress. He extracted a glossy magazine, an adult magazine with
a picture of a half naked blonde on the cover. Then he sat on
the edge of the bed, placed the magazine in his lap and opened
it. "Come here. Check it out."
We had looked at adult magazines in the past but it was always
relatively innocent. We never touched ourselves and I think we
were too embarrassed to even get erections. But given the events
of the day before I had a hunch that today's magazine viewing
would be different. Which made me feel both unsure and excited.
While I hesitated Bill flashed me an 'I'm waiting' look. He patted
the mattress beside him, a silent command which I obeyed. I crossed
the room and sat next to him. He opened the magazine and flipped
through to the first pictorial section. We sat side by side,
so close our legs almost touched. As he turned the page his arm
brushed against mine.
It didn't take long for me to get hard, and I assumed it happened
even quicker for him. Then, to my surprise, he reached under
the magazine with his right hand and began to rub himself. He
did it so naturally, not caring that I was sitting there. I wanted
nothing more than to touch myself but was still too embarrassed
and scared.
When he paged to the next pictorial section he set the magazine
on his lap and used both hands to unsnap his pants. Then he pulled
the zipper down a few inches, which revealed the top of see his
white underwear. I saw the shape of his penis inside, as if straining
for release. And then Bill pulled one side of his opened fly
out, as if offering me entrance. He looked at me without speaking.
Not that he had to say anything; it was obvious what he wanted
me to do. What he was instructing me to do. Seeing my hesitation
he said:
"You did it before."
What perfect logic! A precedent had been set in the theater.
Since I had fondled his cock before, why wouldn't I fondle it
now? As I had in the theater, my mind raced with emotions and
fears and feelings. I remembered that playing with his cock before
hadn't turned out badly, how it actually felt good to have done
that. Nobody had seen us, and nobody would see us here. And once
I found no good reason not to concede to his request I reached
over and poked my left hand inside his pants, resting my palm
on his underwear-covered penis. Once again I was fondling Bill's
cock.
He went back to turning the pages slowly, examining every detail
in every picture. Breasts and panties and asses and the wispy
strands of blond pubic hair. He ignored me as if I wasn't sitting
next to him rubbing his erection. That felt weird, as if I was
there only to give him pleasure. My arm brushed against his,
our legs touched, and my own cock grew harder. As my left hand
was snug inside his half-opened fly I couldn't move it too much,
so I merely squeezed his cock with my fingers, gripping him tight
then releasing it, again and again. Surely this felt good to
him for he seemed to get harder.
And oddly enough it felt good for me to. I enjoyed the sensation
of having his cock in my hand. Of pleasuring him.
As if sensing that the back of my hand was rubbing against the
zipper, Bill lifted the magazine and looked down. "Lower the
zipper."
I guess I could have stopped fondling him and used my left hand
to do that but instead I kept squeezing his cock and used my
right hand to lower the zipper. To do this I had to lean into
him; my head was now level with his chest. I lowered the zipper
all the way down and pushed the flaps aside until his cock -
still sheathed in his underwear - was free.
I started to move back to a sitting position, but Bill placed
his hand on my back and said, "Stay." Commanded me, actually,
as if I was a dog. At the time I was too "in the moment" to contemplate
what was happening. Only later did I realize that he was taking
his domination of me a step further.
And so I stayed there, hunched over his lap, my head just a foot
or so away from his groin. My eyes had nowhere else to look but
down between his legs, at my hand palming him through his underwear.
Without being told to I moved my left hand up and down the length
of his cock, still keeping a firm grip. And when he ordered me
(always is a soft, but firm voice) to "Use two hands" again I
obeyed. I placed my right hand on the bottom of his cock, and
knowing what would feel good, moved it lower until I was palming
his balls.
"Good job," he told me, praising me just as he had in the theater.
I rubbed him like this for a few minutes, still hunched over,
as he sat with the magazine at his side. He flipped through the
pages until he found a particularly hot picture to focus on while
I rubbed him. I began to explore different ways of rubbing him.
I let my thumb work circles on the tip of his cock while my fingers
rotated on the base. Did I want to take his cock out of his underwear?
I wasn't sure. All I knew is that I wanted to make him feel good.
Bill rested his right hand on my shoulder and pressed slightly
on my back, forcing my head even lower, closer to his cock. What
was I thinking as this was going on? Nothing; I was too excited
for conscious thought. I just continued stroking him, until he
reached down to grip the waistband of his pants. "Help me," he
said. "It will make it easier for you."
Unable to argue with that logic I repositioned my body, leaning
over him even more now as I helped him lower his pants. To keep
my balance I lifted myself off the bed and moved directly in
front of him. As he lifted his butt off the bed I hunched over
him - I was half kneeling, actually - and soon his pants and
underwear were at his ankles.
At this point I was still hunched over him, staring at his naked
cock. When I started to move I felt Bill's hands on my shoulder,
pushing me down. "Stay there," he told me, and soon I was kneeling
on the ground, my body in between his knees. Could there be a
more submissive physical position? Then he reached under his
pillow and took out a tube of hand lotion. "Here, this will make
it easier. Give me your hands."
As I held out my open palms I almost felt like an obedient dog
giving his master its paw. I watched as Bill squeezed a few drops
into each palm. I wondered if this is what his cum would look
like. I knew I was about to find out.
Bill looked down at his cock and that was my cue. I moved closer
and for the first time in my life my face was just inches away
from a naked cock. I placed my hands, now covered with greasy
cream, as they were before - my left hand gripped the shaft of
his cock, my right hand fondled his balls. Despite the cool cream
I could feel that the skin of his cock was warm, hot almost,
and there was a hint of moisture around the tip.
And like a pro I began to masturbate him. I stroked him up and
down, all the while squeezing his testacles, doing to him what
I would have wanted done to me. I heard him breathing heavier,
and I saw him pick up the magazine. When he laid his back onto
the mattress his cock pointed up even higher. "Keep going," he
instructed. And "Faster". "Tighter." "Uh, huh." "I'm getting
close." "Don't stop." And then: "Ahhhhh," as shots of hot sticky
fluid erupted from the tip, filling my hands, dripping down onto
his stomach.
But then quickly the reality of what I had just done had sunk
in. I had just jerked off my best friend. I had made him cum
- and now my hands were sticky with his warm good. I was so embarrassed
I just wanted to leave, to get away from him and go home. I couldn't
speak, I couldn't look at him. I just stood up and left the room,
headed into the bathroom down the hall to wash my hands.
Standing in the bathroom, I tried to make some sense of my feelings.
I didn't feel 'bad' so much as felt worried what others might
think if they found out. I was also feeling incredibly horny
- especially when I looked into my hands and saw the sticky residue
of his cum. My own cock longed for release. It was almost sore.
And so I unsnapped my pants and pulled my penis out, and using
my sticky hand began to stroke myself, quick strokes with Bills'
warm cum as lubrication. Lost in the moment I didn't hear the
door open.
When I turned my head, there was Bill in just a tee shirt and
his underwear. "Don't stop. Keep rubbing yourself." He stepped
inside the bathroom and leaned against the wall. What an odd
moment, to have him stare at me as I held my cock in my hand.
And then he said: "So, playing with my cock gets your cock hard?"
I didn't answer, I just stood there. I was too horny and dazed
and too submissive to care what he said.
"You need to cum, don't you?" As he started to walk towards me,
I took a few steps backwards until I was standing by the toilet.
"Sit," he said forcefully.
I lowered myself onto the wood seat and watched as Bill walked
until he was now standing directly in front of me. He reached
for the waistband of his underwear. As he lowered it to reveal
his erection he said, "My cock turns you on. It's OK. I won't
tell anyone what you like to do."
I felt ashamed, but I secretly knew he was right. His cock did
turn me on. And I did like doing what I did to him. I looked
up at Bill but he shook his head. "No, look at my cock. Look
how hard it is."
Fully submitting to him I obeyed. With me sitting I was almost
face level with his cock, and it turned me on even more, so much
so that without thought I started to stroke myself with both
hands, my right hand at the base, my left hand at the head. It
felt good to be rubbing myself, to pleasuring myself. And, to
be honest, there was something so erotic, so hot, to have his
cock in front of me. And when he took it in his hand and began
to give it long, slow strokes, I got even more turned on. But
finding my hand drying up, I instinctively raised my left hand
and licked it.
"Did you just taste my cum?" Bill asked.
I had forgotten that my hands were still sticky with his cum.
And I really didn't taste anything; I was just lubricating my
hand. Confused I kind of shook my head and shrugged at the same
time, a response that made Bill laugh. Not caring I lowered my
hand and return stroking myself, faster now. As I did, Bill took
a final step closer. Then he arched his back, which moved his
cock just inches from my face. When I tried to back my head away
I felt his hand on the back of my head, keeping it in place.
I didn't really think about what was to happen next. I just went
along with whatever Bill was going to have me do. So when he
said, "Open your mouth," I did. As my lips parted he pushed my
head down, lining up my mouth with his cock. And as my hands
worked my cock, he began to work his cock slowly in and out of
my hand. I heard him say, "Good job" and "Nice." I wasn't giving
him a good blowjob - I wasn't licking his shaft or tonguing the
tip of his cock - I was just giving him my mouth to fuck.
I had no objections, no protests. In fact, as I sucked his cock
I grew even harder and got close to cumming. Perhaps he sensed
how close he was, for then he said, "Look at me." With his cock
firmly in my mouth I looked up at my gentle master, and felt
my hands bring myself closer and closer. I was Bill's submissive
slut, willingly sucking his cock, ready to do whatever he asked
of me, and it was then that I felt that familiar feeling overtake
me. Bill's pre-cum leaked into my mouth as my cock began to fill
my hands with my own cum.
After I came, Bill withdrew from my mouth and proceeded to stroke
himself, faster now, trying to get himself off. I sat there,
staring at his cock again, and thinking about all the changes
the weekend had brought. Was it all planned or had it just happened?
Maybe that initial theater experience - Bill whispering "Want
to feel my boner?" - maybe that was just happenstance. But everything
after that must have been carefully planned. Sensing my inner
nature Bill had guided me on a journey I never could have expected.
Expertly and easily he had coaxed me into fondling him in the
theater and exploited my submissive nature. He had gotten me
easily and almost wordlessly to not only masturbate him but to
take his cock in my mouth.
Minutes later Bill made some animal sounds that let me know he
was about to cum. I just sat there, waiting, glad he wasn't going
to cum in my mouth. But I knew that someday that- him cumming
in mouth - that too would surely come to pass.
THE END
Written February 2015
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