His Cock, My Master.

Part 1



M/M M/F, Submission and Domination, Cuckold.

By Cate  


Bratby was talking about the native tribe in the remote African 
valley where he had been studying mountain gorillas.
"If the woman has several lovers, and most of them do," Bratby 
observed, "the child has many fathers and one main father.   Simple 
people, they think all the men have  had a hand in making her
pregnant."
He sniggered and sucked  deeply on his cheroot.
"No reason why you shouldn't be one of the fathers for your own kid,"
Bratby said.
I made an unidentifiable sound.   "Your wife's kid," Bratby said with
a guffaw, "Eh?"
Sometimes Bratby let me pull away and answer him, other times he got
angry if I didn't continue to suck his engorged penis.   He was  
contentedly smoking his cheroot and had a glass of whisky on a table a
few feet away.     He reached for the whisky and I had to move 
slightly on my knees and turn my head with him, sucking harder to
keep the swollen cock from  twisting away from me.    It was one of
the dozens of little tests Bratby had devised for testing my 
submission.
"Not so cocky now, are we?" he said contentedly, sipping his whisky  

Not that he needed to test me.   A month ago he had made me strip 
naked, here in this room in the little gate-lodge.   I had begged him
not to force me, but he had insisted.   This was the way he was going
to pay me back, he'd said.   He had mocked the limp appendage I 
called a penis as I stood in shame before him.   He'd forced me to 
take off his trousers for him, to reveal the proud almost 
perpendicular tilt of his magnificent organ through his underpants.
He had seen the sick submission in my eyes  when I knelt naked between 
his knees and  he had mockingly accepted my unconditional surrender.  
I was then made to beg to be allowed to suck his turgid cock.   The
swollen head of his penis was poised above me like a cobra head and
I had reached out my tongue and touched the glazed purple glans 
corona which showed through the stretched foreskin, a tiny drop of
pre-cum beading out of the meatus.   He had directed me to first 
trace the outline of the head of his  turgid member, then ring the 
shaft of the penis in a spiralling motion with the tip of my tongue,
feeling the erect rod slap against my cheekbones and nose as I did 
so,  then on to his scrotum sac with the soft,  pigskin texture of 
the skin, the firm plum-sized testicles nesting swollen inside. My 
tongue strayed into his pubic hair and I smelled the strong scent of
his languid arousal as I again dipped my head and traced my tongue
along the line of his perineum.   He lifted up slightly in the chair,
putting his feet over my bent shoulders to allow me to tongue his 
asshole

All this I remembered now, on my knees again before him in the early 
winter dark in the little gate-lodge of the old manor house my wife
and I were trying to renovate.  How he had ejaculated the first time
into an empty whisky tumbler to show me how copious his cum was.
The way his ejaculation had spat furiously into the glass and how 
he had milked his cum to the last drop from his still engorged penis.   Whenever I saw my own cum it was just a pea sized blob which climbed wearily out of my penis and had to be squeezed and shaken off, not this violent eruption of white jelly produced by Bratby's shapely plums. How, later, after he had come twice in my throat, he had made me drink the cold cum from the glass as a final sign of my submission.   Now as I sucked I could feel  my master begin to deflate.   This was another trick of Bratby's.   At our first session he had sat in front of me, naked, his penis erect and made me watch as he willed it to detumesce slowly  until it rested between his legs on the seat of his chair.
"Bet that happens to you all the time, old boy" he sneered.   Christ,
what had Patricia been saying to him, I'd though.    "I can do it
whenever I want" he went on and then made me watch as his gloriously
shapely penis with its heavy hood and two clearly delineated veins 
and prominent frenulum  went into the ascendant again , rising to 
assert itself proudly erect against his paunch.

Usually he liked to come in my mouth a full three times in an 
afternoon and to drag each session out as long as possible, letting
his penis go limp and forcing me to retain it in my mouth, just 
tonguing it gently until he saw fit to allow his hot blood to fully 
engorge it again.
"Patricia keeping well?" Bratby asked sneeringly and I bobbed my 
head. "Don't worry," he went on, "I'll keep my promise, okay?"
I made another inarticulate sound, a slight submissive nod of my
head.
"Sorry about cuckolding you, old boy," he said. "but a woman can't
go without forever."
He took a sip of his whiskey and lit another cheroot.   I tongued 
the by now wrinkled foreskin of his almost totally flaccid penis, 
then felt it very gradually stir and begin to harden, to become more
glossy, wetter under my tongue, press against the roof of my mouth.     I didn't really think he wanted my shrewish wife on a permanent basis and it was a sick perversion that I had to do this to keep him away from her and, more important, to keep concealed the fact that I was not the father of the child in her womb..   But he had me and he knew it.
"Wasn't very nice of you, old boy," he said. "trying to kick me out 
when I couldn't pay the rent.   These university research grants don't get you 
very far, you know."
His penis had reached full turgidity now, but he had not yet given me
the signal to proceed.   I was to simply retain it passively and 
obediently in my mouth, until this beast which was now my master was
ready to be fully satisfied.

Not, of course, that this was the only hold he had over me.   He had
caught me spying on himself and that Chinese girl of his having sex here in the front room and he also knew that I'd liked to watch him padding naked through the back yard to the pump on summer mornings, a view I had from our bedroom window, his polished bald pate 
glinting in the sun, his massive shoulders and matted chest hair, and
his semi-erect tool,  his early morning piss-hardon.

It was the Chinese girl he'd used to trap me.   She was stunningly 
beautiful.   He knew I'd fancied her and I'd thought she might cure
my impotence.   I was fairly sure it was Patricia's hard, shrewish
coldness that was making me fail with her, making me unable to give 
her the child she craved, the baby that she though would "make her 
a complete woman".    Patricia had slapped my face and gone berserk
when I'd suggested she have sex with Bratby while I slept with the
Chinese girl.   I told her some rubbish about "trying to save our 
marriage"  But I knew now she'd arranged the whole thing in advance
with Bratby.   Well, I didn't KNOW in the way you never really know 
with a woman, but I was pretty certain.   She'd eventually agreed,
then I tried to pull out, having second thoughts, seeing Patricia so
vulnerable in the new underwear she'd pathetically bought for the
occasion.   We'd tried to ring the Chinese girl who had been away in 
London, to put her off, but she had already left.   Trouble was, 
she'd done a bunk and I ended up with nobody and Patricia spent the 
week-end in the gate-lodge with Bratby.   And she'd double-crossed 
me by using no protection. 

Tasting the increased flow of pre-cum, I sucked vigorously, avid 
now to satisfy my master, and Bratby began to grunt with 
satisfaction, pushing forward in the chair, his penis now attacking
the back of my throat, making me gag, short thrusts, then a series
of long, slow ones, then a final staccato tattoo and he blew off
violently in orgasm in my throat,  overwhelming me with the 
fullness of his cum, a choking stinging throatful as he gripped 
my ears and slammed my face against his protruding belly, then 
gripping my head between his thighs, his lower legs crossed behind 
my head and mercilessly holding me to him until all of his copious 
cum was expelled in my throat.    He bellowed in triumph as he 
expelled every last drop into me.

We did it once more, it took over an hour, and he finally released 
me at six o'clock.

Patricia was even more shrewish now that she was six months gone 
and still afflicted with morning sickness.   I knew that she would 
quite likely have gone away with Bratby if he had wanted her - and 
if he'd had any money.   We ate mostly in silence apart from a few 
barbed remarks about the mess the builders had left the house in.  
My father had founded Hardcastle Safes and I remembered him 
bringing me to see one of these old, two key safes in a London bank,
the letters Hardcastle engraved in the massive iron door under gilt
scrollwork.   My name, he'd told me, as I stared in childlike wonder.
The company was long gone and the safes were out of date and 
contained mostly documents and piles of old deeds crumbling away 
in thousands of banks while massive new safes with electronic 
combination locks and complicated alarm systems had replaced them.
The company had been sold after my father's death and my mother 
had bought several Park Lane apartment buildings and opened a couple
of expensive flower shops in London.   I was supposed to be
converting this old manor house into flats and getting tenants for 
them.   So far only one flat had been completed  -  the only tenant
was Bratby   who had paid no rent since a month after he moved into 
the gate-lodge last year.    I wasn't looking forward to mother's
next visit.

Patricia's belly was swollen with pregnancy.   My stomach rumbled 
uncomfortably.   It occurred again to me she was filled with
Bratby's child.    Bratby had told me that even if I had managed 
to have intercourse with my wife on the same night as he first did, his semen would have overcome mine - that in the gorilla world dominant males always had a constituent in their semen that killed off the semen of their competitors and that he  was confident his had this quality.   Again I felt a shameful rush of shame and disgust at my subjection to Bratby, then a wild, uncontrollable thrill of pleasure that rocked me to the core.   My face flushed.   This vile cud, the jellied acidic greyness eruped in my belly, full of Bratby's cum and I tasted him again, sour and triumphant in my throat.
"Please don't belch at table," Patricia said severely.  

Bratby insisted that I become familiar with the various parts of 
his penis, pointing out that only in this way would I be fully 
capable of following his instructions for my pleasuring of him. 
We had naming of parts,  Bratby making me touch each part in 
turn with my tongue, offering my obeisance to it, the neat slit 
of the urinary meatus, the full glans with its swollen corona,   
and the shaftskin which he liked me to push back to a position 
he favoured on his plump shaft.   It was cold outside and Bratby
had lit a paraffin stove in the tiny living-room of the gate-lodge
and I knelt naked between his knees.   I had been with him for over
three hours and my jaw was sore as I choked down Bratby's third
orgasm of the afternoon.   He smoked a cigar while he recovered 
and I knelt before him, awaiting his pleasure.   He smiled 
sardonically at my limp semi-erection.    
"I don't want you trying to pleasure yourself, old boy," he'd said 
at the beginning. "I don't know if you're gay but I'm certainly not.
What you do in your own time is your own business."
This particular afternoon, while I was sucking his cock, Bratby
decided to humiliate me further by recounting at length and in 
exquisite detail, his conquest of my wife.   He spoke of undressing
her, giving a minute description of her underwear even down to the
labels on her bra and panties, his opinion of her figure, then told
how they had grappled at each other and fell on the bed, mating like
wild animals, before settling down to a prolonged bout of leisurely
sexual intercourse.   They'd  had a break for a meal and, according 
to Bratby, had continued in their sexual delirium, falling asleep at
last around midnight.   Bratby recounted how he had woken to find 
Patricia's hand on his sex, 
"I had a rock hard erection, old boy," he observed. "I'm afraid 
I mounted her without further ado and gave her the ride of her life."
I could not understand how I could loathe Bratby so much and yet I
was in thrall to his cock .
"Funny thing, but she knew she was pregnant that weekend," Bratby
said smugly.   "She said she felt like she'd never felt before.   
Lucky I got her at her fertile time."
It was awkward, totally humiliating to be kept sitting on the floor 
like this, stark naked before my hairy conqueror and Bratby's penis
had started to become proudly erect again, perhaps stimulated by 
thoughts of my wife and his triumphant conquest of her.   He 
motioned me to my knees in front of him again, making me take his 
penis gently in my mouth.   I pushed back the shaftskin until he 
told me to stop,  then held the meaty shaft with my lips, my tongue 
gently stimulating his glans corona, flicking lightly over the meatus
until Bratby indicated that I should stop and hold his cock 
motionless while we could both feel it swelling to fill my mouth.
"By the way," he said. "it gets a bit cold here in the Winter.   I 
want you to make arrangements for me to move into that nice little 
new apartment you've fixed up in the house."
I gagged, but he would not let me withdraw to speak.
"I'll want to keep this place  for  writing my thesis," he said,
"and, of course, for us!"


My world was about to fall in.   My wife was just about to give 
birth, Bratby was installed in the best and most comfortable part
of the house, and my sister had just arrived, sent by my mother, 
to find out what the hell was going on.    Susan was a lawyer but 
had had a nervous breakdown after losing a long-drawn out fraud case 
a couple of years ago and now did legal and clerical work for my
mother.    Bratby had slyly pointed out that it wouldn't do if my
mother found out that the child wasn't mine - wasn't, in fact, her
grandchild as she now thought.   Susan could become absolutely 
white-faced with temper when she didn't get her way and she was 
at her wits end to know what was going on, what with the fact the
house was still only half-finished, the builders had disappeared
and Bratby wasn't paying any rent.     I was trying to get by with
a mixture of lies and evasion and, although they'd had a couple of 
interviews,  Bratby was becoming very difficult to find, except for
me when he summoned me to the cottage.    One afternoon Susan was 
actually outside, banging on the door while I knelt on the floor 
with Bratby's cock in my mouth.

She rang Mother every day with a progress report and said it was 
only a matter of time before she would smoke Bratby out.
The following Saturday afternoon I knelt on the threadbare carpet, 
my mouth and tongue coated with pre-cum as Bratby fought for his  
third orgasm of the afternoon.   I was ashamed and sick, and yet 
thrilled at  my humiliation.   I had the nearest thing to a full 
erection I'd had for years and could confidently hope to masturbate
effectively as soon as I reached home.   I sucked furiously, 
trying to put out of my mind for the moment what I'd seen earlier- 
what I'd tasted in my mouth, what had fouled my first delirious 
anticipation of the taste of Bratby's cock.   But now my stomach
rumbled and I gagged as Bratby forced his monstrously turgid penis
against the back of my throat, groaned and then  bellowed with
triumph as he released his full wad of salty, gamey cum to join
what felt like an uncomfortably huge amount of it already in my 
stomach.   But I was shaken. After I'd undressed and knelt before
him, my mouth salivating to take my master's rigid cock and humbly 
serve his pleasure,  I'd seen one of Susan's expensive Italian shoes
lying beside the oil-stove.   And as I bowed my head towards him I 
noticed that Bratby's pubic area was discreetly perfumed with 
Duchesse de Guermantes , my sisters almost unobtainably expensive
fragrance, and the shaft of his cock was distinctly ringed with her
dark red lipstick.     The triumph in Bratby's hard  little eyes 
had been unmistakable.

    
Bratby's cock  was swollen and turgid, an angry purplish red, and 
the slit eye of his meatus glared out from the crown of the glans.
For all the striations, irregularities and veins on it, the skin
of his cock looked very smooth. I had read somewhere that the 
softest skin on the human body is not a woman's, but the skin on the
male penis.  The head was shiny and well shaped. The ridge on the 
underside of his shaft was very thick..   .  I grasped his rod; it  
felt plumply hard. My hands felt cool against his warm skin. My mouth
was opening, my tongue extending, as I bent down to embrace his 
meat. As my lips enclosed the firm smooth head of his cock, I had 
an involuntary shudder of joy in my total submission. My lips closed
just past the collar of the head. Saliva  drooled down my chin. The
first taste of his organ was tingly, like tongues touching. Bratby 
let out a low, guttural  moan. I could feel the pre-cum which was
already oozing from his meatus on my hands as I lubed his shaft. 
My hands slid down its length.   He clasped his hands firmly behind
my head and raised to meet my advance, pulling me farther in than I
was prepared for. I tried to pull back, but he was not to be denied.  
I pulled down his foreskin and  set to work on the underside of the 
head with my tongue. From the moan that escaped Bratby's lips, I knew
he liked that.  I licked under his tip with wild abandon. I tightened
my lips around his shaft and, sucking as hard as I could, began 
working my mouth up and down his monstrous rod.
Bratby's hips were bucking up off the chair a bit more now, but,
with my hands grasping his cock at the base, I was able to keep
him from pushing in too much, although I was obliged to acknowledge
that ultimate control would be his and his alone.  I had about six
inches of him in my mouth now     His cock tasted of sweat and salt.
It was so slick that, with the  quantity of saliva I was producing,
my tongue glided around and my lips slid up and down its length  
easily. My saliva was coming in thick, viscous doses. The mixture of
spit and sweaty  phallus gave off a pungent, musky smell. The
combination was actually intensely arousing for me as well and 
I became aware that I had an almost full erection.  I had hoped
to please him by getting  my lips down to the base of his cock 
and I had  managed to take in about six inches at one point, but
no more. I sucked him hard. I stroked him with my hands and twisted
my whole head from side to side as I plunged my mouth up and down 
this  magnificent phallus which had made itself my master and I 
imagined myself in humble obeisance to it,
and I knew that only unquestioning obedience to its needs would be 
accepted and that only in the deepest humility and submission would 
it reward me with its tumultuous bounty.
 

I gulped air in loud breaths. Bratby may have thought I was going to 
start pleasuring myself, for he sternly ordered me to replace my 
hands on his thighs. My cheeks ached from incessantly sucking this
monster. I couldn't feel my lips from the friction caused by sliding 
them across the  veined and striated shaft. My neck was  warm and 
stiff from the non-stop motion  I  desperately tried to suckle the
rigid monster harder. The upward curve of  Bratby's  phallus made
it dig into the roof of my mouth whenever I tried to  take it 
further down my throat.   I stood up, mouth still attached to the
beast,  to get a better angle. I got about seven inches in before 
I gagged on it. My brazen attempts to deep throat his turgid 
instrument  aroused and amused Bratby. 
I realized that  Bratby took a perverted  delight in my attempts 
to swallow him whole and even more in my lack of success.   I wanted
him to come in my mouth. I wanted him to gasp with pleasure and 
twist around on the chair before me. I had after all, been working 
with that goal in mind all this time. The twisted perversity of the
whole thing hit me hard as if I was seeing the whole thing from 
outside.    I began gasping for his meat like I was French kissing
a lover. My hands were all over his cock,  his balls, his stomach, 
and his hips. I put my arms under his legs and cupped his ass cheeks
as he threw his groin up into my face.
"Put your finger up my ass," he ordered, gasping, "I want you to - 
uh, uh..."   I lubed my finger in the mess that was drooling down
my chin and Bratby heaved up so that his hairy asshole was staring
up at me and I tentatively prodded it with my finger.
"Push it in, ream me," he yelled. "That's it, a couple of inches in,
you'll feel that little gland thing, the prostate."
Bratby let out an "OMIGOD!". He quickly clamped his hands behind
my head and began pulling me harder and harder as he thrust higher 
and higher.
" Suck me,  get ready to drink my juice!"
I had found his prostate, a slick little gland about the size of a 
walnut and I began to stimulate it eagerly, gradually increasing the
speed at which I was palpating it.   He groaned again.   He  paused
for a moment, then began slamming my mouth at jack hammer pace. I 
felt as though my lips would tear, but, obediently, I still worked 
his  phallus and his prostate diligently. Suddenly, I tasted a 
stronger gush of Bratby's pre-cum. I nearly gagged from it's strong 
taste, but knew we were close to  the climax. He held me close  in 
the hot smell of his groin and made short, quick thrusts
into my mouth.   He stood up, still deep in me, my mouth still 
working his shaft. He knocked me back so hard that I had to clench 
his ass tightly just to keep my balance. He  half rose from the chair
and stepped forward, until my head was forced back with his plums
directly above my chin. He began ramming straight down,  so hard 
I nearly choked. I was gagging and flailing desperately to stop  
him killing me . In this position he had total control and he used
it mercilessly. Then, just as I thought I would choke, he changed
over to short, superfast jabs, just inside my mouth. He still had a 
grip on my head and all I could do was hope to survive while
he rode me out. .  He removed one hand to grab his cock near the
base. Immediately, he jerked and spasmed; hot, salty cum shooting
into my mouth.  He bellowed and pulled his cock out of my mouth 
and shot the rest of his massive load into my face. Droplets flew 
all over. He grunted and gasped as he rubbed his cock, still pumping 
it's payload, all over my face.
"Oh God! Oh God!!" he yelled. 
I coughed and choked as hot sperm leaked down, its strong taste 
seemed to burn all the way down. My mouth was full, cum dripping 
down my chin, I  gagged on his bitter seed, but he clamped my mouth 
to his balls tightly and commanded me to drink every drop.  I totally
submitted again, in agony but also in a delirium of joy at my total
subservience.  Bratby  grabbed me by the back of the head with both
hands and rubbed my face all over his groin. His pubic hairs dug 
into my cheeks and sperm and spit coated my face To my horror, I 
found that every time this man's huge prick brushed my lips, I 
mouthed it compulsively.   And this time Bratby gave me no respite.
As soon as he had recovered he sat down again on his chair and
motioned me to take his now deflated penis in my mouth again.    
He took out one of his  Dutch cheroots from the tin on the table 
and I heard the scrape of his lighter. 

He had been doing this more and more lately, so that often I had 
his penis in my mouth for an hour or more at a time   And these 
were the times, as I knelt at his feet with his cock in my mouth,
when it pleased Bratby to gloat over me, giving further details 
of his  sexual adventures with first my wife and now my sister.

To be continued. 