GayBondageFiction

The conclusion to Todd Fleming’s Superboy series.

The Hunt for Superboy – Conclusion
by Todd Fleming
Series: The Hunt for Superboy

Check out Todd’s website at Todd-Fleming.com!

Superboy flew inside through an open window right into Dr. Sarah Charles office. The hero was still recovering from his encounter with The Superboy Destroyer. He spent most of his time helping reconstruction efforts to restore Metropolis towards its former glory.

Many blamed the hero for the wanton destruction and Lex Luthor was the savior that the people adored. Superboy had explained most of what happened with Captain Sawyer, but it would be awhile before he could get his reputation back as a hero.

He had avoided Amanda Waller as much as possible, but as he landed in Dr. Charles office, she was sitting in one of the chairs.

“It’s good to see you again, Superboy.” She said crisply. Legend was that her security clearance was so high that even the President was authorized to know all of her dealings. “Since you have been avoiding me, I thought that it would be wise to arrange this meeting.”

The hero cautiously nodded as he stood near the window. He wasn’t about to let himself be captured by her.

“Oh relax, I’m not here to take you to any government facility.” Waller snapped in irritation. “Is that why you were avoiding me? Give me more credit than that?”

Superboy blinked in surprise. How?

“How did I know what you were thinking?” Waller asked with a smile. “Your body language gives you away every time. We need to have a talk.”

“I’m listening,” Superboy said cautiously.

The black woman sighed as she took out a folder from her bag. “You are worse than Batman sometimes. Dr. Sven Cardoso is still in the hospital. It looks like the chemicals that made him look like you have been processed out of his body and he looks almost like his normal self. Unfortunately a side effect of his little experiment has left him with complete amnesia. He doesn’t remember anything that has happened.”

“Are you going to press charges against him?” The hero asked.

Waller raised an eyebrow, but slowly shook her head. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but no we are not. He has dangerous information that he can use not only against you, but against anyone who looks like you. We have given him a new identity and life, but we will be watching him closely for any signs of his memories returning. His victims have all recovered with similar symptoms. Their amnesia only extends to the point where they were first exposed. Other than that, they all remember who they are.”

Superboy sighed with relief. He had been concerned that Dr. Cardoso’s victims would be forever changed. “That’s good to hear.”

“Like Dr. Cardoso, we will be watching them. Unfortunately we were unable to access any of his files or notes. My computer experts tell me that his files sort of self destructed when they turned on the computers. It looks like whatever concoction that he created to control you is completely gone. Only Dr. Cardoso could tell us how he did and he doesn’t remember a thing.”

“Why are you telling me all of this? Why would you help me?”

Waller raised her eyebrow again as she put away her folder. “Honey, I may have a reputation for ruthlessly accomplishing my missions, but I am not heartless. The world needs heroes like you to help take care of threats that we mere mortals can’t handle. The Government is happy to let you do your heroic acts with reasons of course.”

“Thank you,” Superboy said softly still stunned by these revelations.

“Make no mistake that we will be watching your every move,” Waller said sternly. “You may think you are safe on the farm, but the wolves are always watching for signs of weakness. Take care that you don’t fall prey to them. Next time I may not get the orders to help you like this time.”

The hero barely kept the shock from his face. Did Waller just tell him that she knew his secret identity? He was going to have to be extremely careful in his future dealings with her.

“Oh and one other piece of advice,” Amanda Waller said sweetly. “The whole boy thing is getting a little old. Don’t you think it’s time you grew up and became a super man?”

Yes, he was going to be very careful around her indeed.

*****************************************************

Lex watched through the observation window as Dr. Taylor spanked Nick Hathaway. He had managed to keep secret that he had captured the college jock from both Superboy and Amanda Waller.

Despite the fact that his stolen powers had vanished, some traits from his chemical exposure left some of the hunk’s personality completely altered. The boy remembered almost nothing as his time as a slave, but telling him that he was a bad boy and spanking him always made Nick horny as hell.

“Oh yes!” Nick moaned as he came all over Dr. Taylor’s lap. “I’m a bad bad boy!” He moaned like a bitch in heat.

The doctor played his role perfectly as he tossed the moaning jock to the ground and ordered him to lick the cum splatter off his dress shoes. Nick obeyed right away as his cock stiffened once again with the pleasure of being dominated. Little did he know that he was being drugged daily to keep him compliant and to test if they could replica the chemicals that turned him into a submissive bondage slut.

Luthor had his top scientists take blood, semen, hair, and saliva samples in order to try and recreate Dr. Cardoso’s chemical creations. He had tried to hack into the madman’s files, but Waller had beat him to it. His eyes and ears in her little secret government organization told him that she wasn’t able to access any information either.

The business tycoon walked from one secret lab into another. He had been quite busy working with Superboy in rebuilding the damaged parts of the city. Their newly formed alliance was holding strong, but both new that it would not last for much longer. Everytime he saw the hero, he wanted to vomit from anger.

In his other secret lab, not one of his scientists had access. He could trust his top personnel with prisoners like Nick, but this was information that he would not risk to anyone but him. Even Mercy was denied access to the information from this secret lab.

Lex typed in his password into the keypad and the lab doors opened. He walked over to a lead safe that sat in the middle of the room right next to an examination table. This project he had been working on for a few months now. It would be his legacy towards mankind in his mission in destroying any meddlesome alien. As he opened the safe, a green glow reflected on his face. Superboy won’t even know what hit him!

***************************************

Rudy Jones sighed as he swept the hallways of Star Labs. This was a great job and since he had come down with amnesia, it helped him in putting the pieces of his life together. He remembered nothing of his past before waking up in the hospital. No memories of friends, family, no trace of anything.

He only knew that his name was Rudy Jones because Dr. Charles told him that was his name. She had been his only visitor in the hospital who claimed to know who he was. The older woman had been very sweet to him setting him up with this job and a new apartment, but something just didn’t seem right.

Day after day, he cleaned his section of Star Labs. Everyday as he walked the 25th floor, he felt drawn to the same office. The door looked like any other door that he had seen except that it was padlocked shut. He had seen other offices that required a security code to enter, but for some reason this door was different to him. He felt drawn to this room and wondered if there was some kind of clue of his past inside the room.

Rudy even brought up his feelings to Dr. Charles, but she just laughed and assured him that there was nothing in the room worth investigating. Yet he just could not shake these feelings that he had that something important was in there.

Putting down his broom, the janitor pressed his hands against the door. He felt a tingle all over his body as he tried to imagine what was behind this strange door. Everyday he passed this door, he was more and more sure that he needed to get in there at all costs.

The sound of air whooshing rushed by the window, and Rudy ran to it just in time to see Superboy flying by. No, he was wrong, the hero was going by Superman now. He felt nothing but admiration for his idol. He knew that Superman often visited Star Labs, but he was never lucky enough to be around when he came. Besides, why would he talked to a janitor like him.

Rudy grabbed his broom and resumed his duties. Even though this has been his life for months, he still didn’t feel like this was the real him. Oh well, he thought. Maybe one day his memories will come back.

The End?

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

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Roberta Hascombe stood with hands on slender hips, pixie smile belying her intent. The tension between her husband and the tall construction worker was obvious and she set out to exploit it; for sport and…who knows? This could be interesting. Let’s see where it goes, she thought wickedly to herself. ‘I hope I haven’t interrupted anything…important,’ she said coyly. Her face melted into a concerned mask. Gazing at Dave’s handsome profile, she added, ‘You seem upset, Dave? (a sideways glance at her husband).’ She dug into his pants and untucked part of his tee shirt. Boldly fingering the damp hem, she added, ‘Did you come straight over here from work?’ Dave shivered as the finger traced a quick spiral on his tanned mid drift and darted- fast as a hummingbird- in and out of the gap at the front of his trousers. Hascombe sat back in his chair watching the whole operation with a heady mix of envy and amazement. The bitch!! But, oh- he loved her in a strange way. Like a diminutive cat toying with an impossibly large mouse, the banker’s wife wove a cruel spell around the helpless buck. Dave’s pulse quickened as he inhaled her clean scent, battling an unaccustomed feeling of shamed excitement. The vixen graced him with a musical laugh and, ignoring her previous question, got to the point. ‘You look worried, Dave. Tell me about it…is there anything I can do?’ Her voice was all solicitude and Dave, hypnotized by her sparkling confidence and vaguely thinking of Cathy’s standing offer to help, swallowed his pride and grasped the fateful straw.

He told her the story in a rush of words, all the while watching the silent banker through the corner of his eye. The telling helped Dave to calm down. His voice was steady; deep masculine tones, dispassionate yet sincere. Finished at last, he ruined the illusion of righteous competence by shoving his hands in his pockets and bowing his head. Though the effect wasn’t intended, it electrified the odd couple watching his performance. Hascombe glanced at his wife and she licked her lips willing him to read her mind. She flashed a silent thought his way- I know all about your play room, dear! You knew that I knew…didn’t you??? The banker glanced at his lap, measuring the spreading wet spot, then back at his wife. He returned a thought- It’s been two weeks since you got fucked, dear…but not by me. She arched an eyebrow and sent him courage like blowing a kiss- Do something darling. Think of those handcuffs in your desk drawer… The banker sighed, gathered the proffered courage, and offered Dave a chair.

‘Mr. McGuiness,’ the Hascombe’s voice dripped with portentous concern, ‘this is a very serious matter. You have offered to pay…er…excuse me, to help in some way…’ the phrase hung in the air like an accusation. ‘But actually, you have no means of doing so. I’m not an unreasonable man, Mr. McGuiness. May I ask you for some suggestions?’ Dave squirmed in his chair like a prisoner sweating out an interrogation. He had dared to hope and felt it slipping away. ‘I…I could, maybe, work for you, sir. Like on weekends or something,’ he paused, vaguely encouraged by the banker’s silence. ‘I’m pretty strong, Mr. Hascombe, and could move heavy stuff around, do some building projects if you have any. I’d be your gofer…shit, Mr. Hascombe, you name it! I’d do just about anything, sir.’ Dave’s transparent sincerity, animal grace and exquisite mix of resolute strength and humility radiated from a strapping body primed for action. His focused will demanded a response and Hascombe was happy to oblige. He looked over the stud’s broad shoulder at his wife and repressed a smile. Roberta, for once, seemed overwhelmed; pale and breathless, all pretense scrubbed from her pretty face, she delicately fingered her crotch with a long, painted fingernail. Dave stared at the banker, oblivious to the pantomime enacted behind him. Hascombe fumbled in a box and extracted a cigar, casually decapitated one end of the smooth shaft, ran his tongue slowly over its taut surface, and lit a match. He blew the smoke from thin lips in an aromatic cloud. ‘The times we live in, Mr. McGuiness, are soft. People think they are entitled; that they somehow deserve the good life. You don’t strike me like that sort of man.’ Dave dared to hope again. Hascombe continued, ‘The past, of course, was much different. Have you ever heard of indentured servitude, Mr. McGuiness?’ ‘What? Like a slave?’ Dave was nonplussed. ‘Oh no…no!’ the banker flashed a patronizing smile. ‘A slave had no choice. But, a man could sell himself into service for a debt. Many a sacrifice was offered in this way- men selling themselves- just for a time, mind you- to…save their families.’ Hascombe warmed to his subject (in more ways than one) and continued, ‘Please, humor me Mr. McGuiness! I know I can be old fashioned at times.’ He glanced at his wife and wickedly added, ‘Isn’t that right, Roberta?’ Mrs. Hascombe looked at him blankly and whispered, ‘Yes, dear.’ Dave saw exactly where the conversation was going and simply couldn’t believe it. He stared intently at the banker. ‘Dave… I will make you an offer that you, of course, can freely accept or reject. I would be willing to indenture you to my and Mrs. Hascombe’s service in exchange for the indefinite postponement and even partial remission of your parent’s debt.’ Dave’s heart leapt with jubilation. ‘Make no mistake, though, Dave! Your indenture is understood to be unconditional. You will, in accord with the contract drawn up between ourselves and on the days appointed, be our slave for all practical purposes- without rights or recourse, subject to discipline, obedient and disposed to whatever I or Mrs. Hascombe command. Is this understood? Do you need some time to think things over?’ In the rapid ticking of seconds since Dave heard the words ‘postponement’ and ‘partial remission’ his jubilation had, indeed, ebbed somewhat. He considered the terms and wondered what ‘discipline’ could possibly mean. The whole thing seemed crazy and archaic; the weird fantasy of an eccentric old fucker imagining himself to be a cross between Ebenezer Scrooge, Rhett Butler, and a lord of the manor. Shit! he thought, what it boils down to is I do some work for him on weekends, just like I suggested in the first place. If he wants to play word games, no problem… The banker watched the young buck intently, reading his thoughts. It would soon be time for a little testing, but he waited as seconds mutated to minutes and was finally rewarded when Dave shrugged, hooked a crooked smile and said, ‘Yeah, I guess that sounds OK by me. Thank you, sir.’

‘Well, that’s fine then!!’ He scrawled a few lines on a piece of paper and shoved it across the desk. Chuckling, he motioned to Dave, ‘Obviously, we can’t draw up a legal contract, so this will have to do. As I said, humor me…now, please sign.’ Dave leaned forward and casually scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page. He sat back, waiting for his first appointment details and dismissal. Hascombe had other ideas. ‘You are now indentured to my service according to the terms discussed. Stand up, boy.’ ‘What the fuck?’ Dave muttered under his breath, paused, briefly considered the whiplash tone of the other man’s voice, and lumbered to his feet. The banker, barely able to contain his glee, rose from his chair and crossed the room. Dave gaped wide-eyed in a revelatory flash of pure revulsion at the wet spot staining the old man’s slacks. My God!! The bastard’s turned on by all of this! he thought. Hascombe laid a hand firmly on the stud’s shoulder and felt an electric shudder run through the younger man’s big body. He guided Dave to the center of the room. ‘Look what I bought, Roberta! Does he please you?’ She smiled demurely and managed a throaty whisper, ‘Oh yes, darling. Very much.’ Dave resisted a gathering sense of unreality and blushed with humiliation. He wanted desperately to leave, but Hascombe’s hand remained on his shoulder. The ‘master’ finally stepped back and surveyed his new buck. ‘Stand up straight, boy.’ Dave watched himself in resigned amazement as he slowly complied. Squared shoulders, spine straight, long, corded arms passive at his sides, planted on thick, denim clad legs, just slightly spread; Dave was the picture of healthy manhood and the forced posture of submission rankled to the core of his being. He stared straight ahead, blue eyes a kaleidoscope of conflicted emotion. Hascombe approved; the buck was doing fine and it was beginning to look as if he would pass this first crucial test. ‘I take it you’re used to back breaking labor?’ he snapped. Dave’s eyes shifted to his scuffed boots and he mumbled, ‘Yeah, I reckon so.’ ‘Hmmm, yes. You do seem like a healthy…ah…specimen. Let’s have a look.’ The tall buck felt like a prized animal as he endured the drilling scrutiny of the fucking pervert and guessed (wrongly) that this was the intent of the other man’s remark. He was quickly disabused of the notion and his breath hitched in shocked surprise when the banker’s nimble hands pulled the tail of his tee shirt from faded jeans and hiked the warm cotton up around Dave’s shoulders. He submitted like a skittish horse as the banker probed the warm contours of his muscled back. Hascombe’s mouth went dry as the humiliated buck’s twitching muscles responded to his random exploration. Satisfied, the trembling banker flipped the tee shirt back into place and slapped Dave lightly on the faded seat of his jeans. ‘You’ll do,’ he said and Dave exhaled a long sigh.

Hascombe took a seat next to his wife and the pair leisurely sized up their amazing acquisition. Dave’s mind was reeling with confusion. This wasn’t what he expected and his instincts shrieked a chorus of variegated responses to the ordeal he had just been put through. He wanted to kick the banker’s fat ass then fuck his wife against the wall, but most of all, he wanted to get the hell out of there. He thought of his mother’s tearful phone call- not two hours before- and Cathy’s unwitting rebuke. I’m all they have!! Hascombe interrupted with a fast query, ‘Are they expecting you back at the site today, Dave?’ The business-like tone, following the surreal experience of his humiliating examination threw Dave further off balance and he responded without thinking, ‘No, sir. Boss said to take the day off.’ He immediately regretted his truthfulness. ‘Ah, that’s good, then, we can start today.’ Hascombe looked at his watch, ‘Half past eleven. Tell you what, Dave- go home, get something to eat, take a shower or whatever.’ He scrawled something on a piece of paper and handed it to the bemused construction worker. ‘This is my address. I want you there at one o’clock sharp. No need to change clothes, come just as you are now and we’ll set you to work. Got it?’ His tone brooked no contradiction and Dave, vaguely aware that he was barreling past the point of no return, looked down at the burgundy carpet and mumbled, ‘Yes, sir, I’ll be there.’

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

A hunky Latino blue-collar worker with a penchant for drinking suffers his through his smelly feet being worshiped and tickled by his horny neighbor in this hot new tickling and foot fetish story by Denis.

Tickling the Drunkard’s Soles
by Denis

A temporary neighbor I met in a town where I lived for some years gave me an unexpected chance to tickle his feet one night when he was boozed-up. Everyone called him Henry, although I supposed this wasn’t his real name. He came from some Caribbean island, but he didn’t stay long in the town where I was living, just about two years. He rented an apartment in a building near me. He was a quiet and reserved man who earned his money hard and honestly. Many neighbors used to hire him for doing jobs as electrician, carpentry, plumbing and lots of others things, as was very good at all them. Henry used to work for the building company and tradesmen of the town –this was the main reason why he came, to get money and then leave. You could say Henry was an irreproachable guy, but he did have a fault: he was a pisshead. He knew all the bars in town and visited them frequently. When he had a few drinks in his system, the taciturn boy turned into a chatty nice one. Sometimes he even got involved in drunken brawls.

Henry was a ruggedly handsome hunk in his thirties with dark chocolate complexion, 6’ tall, broad-shouldered frame, wavy glossy black hair, intense black eyes, a perpetual five o’clock shadow and deep voice. He spent everyday in work boots, always a different type that made me wonder how his big feet would feel inside them for so long.

One day I was coming back from an unsuccessful job which had me very upset and starving for a good pair of male feet. But then my fortune changed overnight. That evening the bar on the outskirts of town was filled to the brim with drunken revelers; it was someone’s birthday. Henry was among them as expected. As I was coming home, I saw him leaving the bar and getting in his van. It was after 2 am and I quickly noticed he could hardly drive. He soon stopped in a lonely ditch at the side of the road. I got out of my car with my flashlight and slowly approached the van. I was worried that something was wrong with him but the first thing that caught my attention was his feet dangling through the open window. And they were just in socks!

I was delightfully shocked at this sight. “This is a funny way to doze down in a car”, I thought. I peeked inside and noticed that he was comatose, lying on his back over the driver seat while his head rested over his work backpack, his legs leaned forward toward window and calves perched on the edge of the window; hence his lower calves, ankles and feet hung outside the van enjoying the nightime breeze. I lit his face with my flashliight, but my hunky handyman was really plastered. He had also unbuttoned the upper part of his overalls so I could see his robust chest. The van smelt of beer, sweat and cigarettes. He was obviously working that day and went directly to the bar. A pair of huge rubber boots were laying on the floor of the cab. A wicked idea rushed into my head as my heart pumped wildly thanks to the pungent smell almost like ripe cheese wafting in the air, that unmistakable, distinctive and inimitable stench of unwashed feet.

Myy face was a mere inches away from his dangling doggies; those burly soles covered by white knee-length socks, bottoms grimy and damp. Every toe was perfectly outlined with five dirt-stains in both socks. I called to him but his brow just puckered and he released a grunt demanding to stay asleep. I stuck my nose beneath the toes, the pong would make someone retch but I didn’t move my head away until my lungs were filled. Yeah I admit it: I’m masochist about smelly male feet. Sniffing them is like an addict inhaling coke. I can say old Henry’s feet were worthy of being sniffed. Oh yeah, I might say these boys had not been bathed lately. I wondered about how Henry’s feet would be under their covering. Usually hard-working men have ugly and neglected feet, covered in calluses, ill toenails and other disgusting blemishes. But as I carefully peeled off his socks, I discovered that this wasn’t the case for Henry. My Latin neighbor had a pair of the most handsome feet I’ve seen in my life! His were rugged ones, but they were surprisingly in good shape. The removed socks retained the shape of his feet as if he had wearing them the whole week. I sniffed and touched those sweat-grimy socks onee more time and then I put them safely in my pocket.

Henry’s feet were big, I assessed by experience a size 12 ½ or 13. They were slightly paler than the rest of his dark chocolate body. The heels and balls were tough and quite hardened. The toes were long and plump, covered with tufts of hair. The unpedicured toenails were pearly in contrast with the chocolate of the skin. The soles were broad, beefy and yellowish except for his heels, ball under the toes and toe pads which showed dirty-salmon shades. His arches tended to wrinkle when the foot scrunched. Both soles showed old patches of dust and grime over the weather-beaten skin.There was a mole in the right arch and another in the heel.

I went to my car for my tool bag. I didn’t waste a second. I produced ropes and tied his wrists and arms with solid knots. I took care to blindfold him. Then I devoted myself to fix in place my precious, his bare feet. I rolled up the lower pants of his overalls so I could enjoy the manly sight of his hairy calves ending in those hunky feet. I locked his ankles with some loops and then I attached the knots to the front wheel of the van. “Let’s have dinner first”, I licked my own lips.

I slithered my finger between Henry’s pinkie and ring toes and released more of that intoxicating foot-smell. The gaps between the toes were sticky. There was no trace of athlete’s foot or anything. Henry’s feet smelt rank, but hadn’t any rot on them. Good, they were eatable! I moved my finger in each of these gaps to rub back and forth kindly; I know many dudes love this kind of foot massage between their toes. The fragrance pierced my nostrils like a sharp knife. Henry was drunk with alcohol, but I was drunk with the stink of his awesome feet!

I couldn’t help it, my foot starving overpowered me, so I leaned in with my mouth wide open and devoured those reeking masculine toes, first the big one, and then the second one and so on. Henry remained out of his mind in his drunky world. Next my tongue travelled lavishly along the massive sole by the yellow arch to the salmon heel which I munched as if I were eating a juicy peach. I caught the other foot starting from the heel and my tongue made the trip up to the fleshy ball and the toes. The man waggled his bound feet trying instinctively to recoil them, but he couldn’t escape from his sordid drunkenness. He was still oblivious to the fact that he was tied up.

I sucked on Henry’s succulent feet for long time. He was drowsily giggling while his toes jiggled from the licking. All the while that wonderful stench kept wafting from those tasty feet to my greedy nostrils and now glued all over my mouth straight to my brain. I held Henry’s ankles with both hands and guided his soles to the side I wanted to lick. Those alcoholic feet were very strong-tasting like real blue cheese. The grime was so engrained that it barely came off as I licked. Once I felt satisfied I’d go to another phase of our encounter.

“It’s cootchie-cootchie time now, my friend…” I said.

I started off with the classic tool, the feather. I had brought out a big stiff one and guided it to his left foot. I had another look at the rugged skin of his workman soles and I thought the feather wouldn’t be effective, but I decided to try anyway, so I glided slowly first the barbs along the arch. The feather went up, then down, then up again, then circling along the stocky heel, then climbing to the toes, then again crossing the arch. Any response except a vague wriggling of his toes. No reponse. I changed to the quill end of the feather and ran it along the side of one foot. No response. Then I slid it by the arch and got a nice stretching and shook the toes, but one second. I prickled the moles with the sharp point many times, he wiggled the foot and grunted. I slithered the feather in the gaps between the toes to obtain a funny wriggling from the digits; he settled his head down over the work backpack.

I changed to the fork and used it to prickle underneath the toes. Henry curled them momentarily. This man had a funny way to wiggle his toes and the arch got nicely wrinkled just how I love. If I had the chance to put him in stocks, I’d use my strings to hold his toes back and smooth his callused soles away. So I grabbed his right set of toes and held them back and I got the expected result: the rough surface of his sole got taut and free of all creases. God…THIS GUY HAD SUCH SEXY SOLES! I got to work by raking the fork up and down one, two, three, four times until the foot started to shake with each sweep. Henry began to stir against his will, he tried to look at what the hell was happening but he couldn’t see shit thanks to the blindfold. He started to ask and curse among roaring of his throaty voice. He was too much drunk to move properly and improvise an effective escape, so he tried to roll in the cab as he strained like crazy against his bonds; but the bonds held him tight.

All the while I didn’t stop of the raking his massive reeking soles with the fork. I showed them no mercy; they were hardy enough to endure my fork attack for some minutes. Henry tossed and turned more and more so I thought he was now lucid. He fought against the ropes furiously asking for who had tied him up like this and roaring tons of obscenities. When he was about to remove the blindfold from his eyes I went to try to hold his hands and secured them with more rope. We had a little struggle but finally I won and better fastened his wrists. Despite his agitation, he was still under the effects of the inebriation.

I returned to his feet among his futile threatening and curses. I tried to scratch his hardened soles with my natural nails but they were too rough. So I put my metal nails and repeated the movements the length of his handsome feet, tickling even his insteps. Henry shook and writhed his feet but I have to say that he never let out a laugh, just bellowing angrily while bucking and jolting inside the cab like a crazy drunken. Fucking luck! He isn’t too ticklish!, I thought disappointedly, but I didn’t give up yet.

His soles were sweaty but not yet slippery enough so I spread oil generously all over them. Next it was the turn of the brush and I began to sweep it from the heel to the ball faster and faster. Henry’s reaction was completely different this time, he convulsed uncontrollably and howled with the dribbling laughter of a drunkard. Ha, I’ve found your weak point, big man! I noticed his heels were exceptionally ticklish despite their toughness.

I brushed Henry’s soles for half an hour. Once his meat was completely tenderized I used the ballpoint and wrote a love letter over the wide heels. Henry’s laughter rose to higher levels of desperate screech. Although when I took the pinwheel and ran it by the plump ball under the big toe, Henry just lost it: unrestrained gales of laughter almost break the glass of the van. The man was extremely sensitive in the ball beneath the big toe, so I kept prickling and scratching every pointed tool over there and even I sadistically munched the tough flesh while the toe fought to clench against my face uselessly. I repeated the same treatment in the other foot. Poor Henry had to content himself to shake more heavily over the seat and guffaw-howl-screech like a madman.

The blindfold had fallen from his sweat-soaked face, but the foot-starving made me brave. I kept tickling him without worry of being discovered. Rivers of tears flew out of his closed eyes mixing with the sweat while his wide open mouth erupted loud and hoarse laughter to no end. The van shook at the pace of his jerking. He could break away from my ropes or do something but he stayed there undergoing that predicament under drunkenness. His screams echoed around in the that lonely road. There was just me and Henry, my cruel hands and his stunning, supersensitive and malodorous soles. The foot tickling was extreme but I saw such a resilient man facing his fate heroically.

I lost track of time, I only knew that I was using all my tools in an endless cycle and Henry seemed to be on the brink of sanity. My huge-soled friend was worn-out and his laughter became silent; he was about to collapse. I stopped the tickling; Henry sighed, panted like a newborn baby and passed out.

Now I knew: my chocolate handyman owned not only gorgeous but sensitive feet. I untied him. Then I checked to make sure his dirty knee-length socks were in my pocket and left. He remained there, drunken-comatose in his van with his enormous bare feet dangling out of the windows, perfuming the air.

There were many others chances to play with the good-looking and stinky size 13 soles of my neighbor Henry. Would you like to enjoy them?

Stepson's Doom – Part 7 With the help of Mr Byron and the other men, Les Caldwell thwarts his stepson’s attempt to run away from home and instead captures him and a friend […]

Stepson's Doom – Part 8 Mr Byron is rewarded for his efforts with a night alone with young Colt which he uses wisely, spanking the bound naked lad with razor strop then […]

I apologize that this is so late but it’s time for our readers to pick their favorite stories from this summer (June, July & August). There are quite a few stories to choose from so this month we are awarding […]

More gay bondage and fetish art from our resident artist Androscoped!

Be sure to check out his Tumblr page or his Instagram page.

The Superboy Destroyer adds another superboy clone slave to his collection; this time an arrogant jock with grudge against the super hero.

The Hunt for Superboy – Chapter 11
by Todd Fleming
Series: The Hunt for Superboy

Check out Todd’s website at Todd-Fleming.com!

Superboy was filled with guilt as he listened to The Superboy Destroyer tell his sadistic story. This was all his fault. Six promising young men were all captured and enslaved all to get to him. He knew that when he started his heroic career that he would make enemies and they would try to hurt him anyway possible, but he was not even close to being prepared for the likes of Dr. Sven Cardoso.

The Superboy Destroyer landed on the top of the Daily Planet and dropped the weakened hero who collapsed in a heap. He was still weakened with whatever chemical concoction that the evil doctor had made him breath.

“Look at it, Superboy,” The Superboy Destroyer ordered. “Your precious city is being destroyed by my loyal pets as we speak.”

The Boy of Steel gasped as he looked up to see thick billowing clouds of smoke. All six of the young men who were enslaved were now endowed with his very own powers. Now they were on a rampage of destruction while wearing his face and costume. The hero paled as he imagined what kind of damage that they would inflict not only on his name and reputation but in the world in general. Since he made his heroic debut, other heroes had started to work against crime across the world. Their reputations would be stained as well.

“Please stop this!” Superboy begged pathetically. “You already defeated me. Please don’t make Metropolis pay as well.”

“This is punishment for your precious city and their reliance on aliens like you!” The Superboy Destroyer snarled. “Mankind has the intelligence to take care of themselves, yet we turn to freaks like you instead of thinking of ways to do it ourselves. The world will be punished for this sin and so will you!”

Superboy could not watched helplessly any longer. He gathered up his strength and managed to pick himself up to his feet. With a running start, he ran towards the edge of the building and leaped up in the air. At first, the hero thought that he managed to regain his powers through sheer force of will, but in just a few seconds he started pummeling down towards the street below. He was quite pathetic as he started to shrilly scream afraid of the death that waited for him. How could this be the end for him?

As he braced himself for the death of the impact, Superboy closed his eyes and prayed to Rao that someone will come to fix this mess and bring Dr. Cardoso to justice. Yet the impact never came. The hero opened his eyes and saw himself looking at the pavement just half an inch from hitting it. The Superboy Destroyer floated above him holding him by the golden belt around his waist.

“Trying to commit suicide already?” The villain chuckled. “I didn’t think that my opinion of you could get worse, but it has. I’m not even close to being finished with you, boy!”

Superboy didn’t even try to explain his intentions as he was back in the powerful arms of his enemy. He felt so helpless and weak that his shame threatened to destroy what was left of his mind. To add to his confusion, his cock had come back alive and throbbed like steel in his cum stained tights and briefs.

“You will have to hear the rest of my story before you can taste the final taste of defeat.” The Superboy Destroyer said firmly.

It was the last thing that Superboy wanted to hear. Each new chapter and development was a painful realization that he had been defeated before he even knew the existence of The Superboy Destroyer.

“I knew that you would not be kept in jail for long so I need to act quickly.” The villain explained as he flew back up to the roof of The Daily Planet. “After I enslaved Eugene I immediately went after my next victim, Erik Weber. Erik was the star baseball player and was fast tracking to the Major League. Unfortunately for him, his grades weren’t doing so well and that was the opening that I needed.”

******************************

Erik smiled as he passed a window and saw his reflection. Damn, he was a great looking stud. His muscles bulged through his blue polo and khaki pants. There wasn’t a girl in all of Metropolis that didn’t dream about sleeping with him. As he looked as his reflection, he smiled flashing his dimples that made all the girls melt. His friends said he was vain because he always had to look at himself when he passed a mirror, but they just didn’t understand. If they were as sex as he was, they would be doing the very same thing.

As he walked into the library, Erik nodded to the older librarian and noticed that she was staring lustfully at him. Even old hags like her wanted him. He flashed his dimples at her as he passed by and knew that her boney knees shook with desire. All his life, Erik used his looks and charms to get what he wanted from life. Few could resist him when he focused all his attention on them. In fact many have said that he looked almost exactly like Superboy.

Superboy. Now that would really make him perfect. He admired the hero just like anyone else, but he found it a little insulting that people that he looked like Superboy. The truth was that Superboy looked just like him. Just because the do gooder had amazing powers doesn’t mean that he was better looking than Erik Weber. In fact he was much better looking that Superboy could ever dream of.

As he walked into the private study room, the baseball star stopped dead in his tracks. Instead of his nerdy tutor, another young man sat in the chair. The young man gasped when he saw that this stranger looked almost exactly as he did. The wavy raven locks and piercing blue eyes were just the same as his own.

“What the fuck is going on?” Erik demanded.

“My name is Dr. Cardoso and I wanted to talk with you privately.”

What kind of sick shit is this? The hunk thought as he turned to walked out the door. He suddenly coughed as some kind of smoke went up his nose. Was the building on fire? Why would there be smoke in the library?

“Now, now Erik, we must remember to mind your manners.” Dr. Cardoso chided gently. “I just want to talk with you. In return I will help you pass your midterms.”

Erik was feeling lightheaded as he turned slowly and faced the man who looked just like him. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Why I want to talk about you. Your body is amazing. I bet you hear that all the time.”

He did hear it all the time, but that didn’t mean that he got tired of hearing it. The baseball hunk felt more relaxed as he listened to the compliments. The doctor might look just like him, but it was clear that he was the better looking stud.

“Why don’t you flex your arms for me, Erik?” Dr. Cardoso asked gently.

It seemed like a simple request and one that Erik could not fault the other man for asking. A slight smile broke out on his face as he raised his arms and flexed them. His biceps bulged up showing the mass of muscle that was an art of perfection. The more he flexed, the more relaxed and the larger the grin on his face.

“WOW! Your muscles are amazing! Now place your hands on your head and flex your arms.”

Erik was feeling too good to even think as he immediately complied. His polo raised up a little bit revealing just a little bit of his rock hard abdominals and the waistband of his briefs. The thrill that he felt from flexing grew even more.

“I think that is enough for now,” Dr. Cardoso ordered.

The young hunk grinned as he lowered his arms and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Couldn’t take much more of me? I understand. There is no one as sex as me.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow as he listened to the vain statements. “FLEX!” He snapped.

Without even thinking Erik flexed one of his arms as he leaned forward to show the doctor had great his guns are. “Oh ya!” He grinned as pleasure flooded his body. Without even realizing it, the bulge of his pants started to grow slightly.

“Oh my,” Dr. Cardoso exclaimed softly. “You just might be the best looking guy at school.”

“What do you mean, might be? I AM the best!” Erik arrogantly stated.

“Lift up your shirt so I can be sure.”

This request seemed to be a bit strange, but Erik was determined to have the doctor admit that he was the best looking guy of all time. He lifted up his polo to reveal his rock hard abs. “Look not an ounce of fat! I bet even Superboy’s abs can’t compare.”

Dr. Cardoso smiled as he took the young jock’s other hand and placed it on his bulging khakis. Now Erik had one hand lifting up his shirt while his other hand cupped his very generous bulge. Normally this would have sent alarm bells going through his head, but he was far too gone in his own arrogance to notice.

“Am I not the best?” The hunk asked impatiently. When not getting an immediate answer, he lift up his shirt even higher to reveal more of his torso. Without even realizing it, his other hand was softly massaging his bulge causing more pleasure to flood his body. “Come on! Tell me how great I look!”

Still there was no answer from the silent doctor. Erik started to panic as his hand left his bulging crotch and flexed his arm while still holding up his shirt.

“Did I saw that you could stop touching your crotch?” Dr. Cardoso asked firmly.

“Oh shit! Sorry!” Erik apologized as he stopped flexing and cupped his crotch again.

“That’s a good boy,” The doctor complimented and the hunk felt a surge of pleasure. Pleasing the man that he had just meet only minutes before was now the most important thing for him. “You may relax now.”

Erik dropped his shirt and stood at ease as he faced the strange doctor. He felt that something was missing and realized that the pleasure that he was feeling while flexing had left a void in his soul. “Are you convinced now that I am the sexiest hunk in school?” He asked hoping to get confirmation that even the doctor was immune to his charms.

Dr. Cardoso shook his head. “I’ve seen a lot of great looking young men here on campus. Perhaps you need to take off your shirt so that I can see how great your body really is?”

His pulse started to race as Erik hesitated. He was vaguely aware that he was in a small private room with a strange man and he was just asked to remove his shirt. He started to cough as again as he inhaled more of the smoke that seemed to come out of nowhere. Little did he realize that he was walking right into a trap.

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

The arrogant jocks falls completely under Dr Cardoso’s control.

The Hunt for Superboy – Chapter 12
by Todd Fleming
Series: The Hunt for Superboy

Check out Todd’s website at Todd-Fleming.com!

The […]

Dr Cardoso recruits his final superboy clone to complete his collection….

The Hunt for Superboy – Chapter 13
by Todd Fleming
Series: The Hunt for Superboy

Check out Todd’s website at Todd-Fleming.com!

Dr. Cardoso knew that he was running out of time. It would not take long for Superboy to be released from jail and the hero would be hunting for the man who framed him. With five out of seven of the potential superboys in his control. It only left two possibilities, Adam Baker, a IT student and Clark Kent, a journalism student. The evil doctor had deduced that Superboy’s secret identity was Clark Kent, but he needed the other six boys under his control for the next stage of his plan.

In the dead of the night, Dr. Cardoso snuck into the dorm building where Clark lived. He quietly picked the lock of the dorm room and snuck inside. Clark’s roommate, Scot Stevens lay fast asleep in his bed unaware that there was an intrusion. The mad scientist crept quietly to where the young man slept. Looking down at the peaceful angelic face, he took out a vial of one of his chemical concoctions and let Scot inhale the smoke. This will put the young man in a deep coma. There was a little side concoction that would help delay Superboy. When Scot woke up, he would be sexually infatuated with the Boy of Steel.

With his only possible deduction now neutralized, Dr. Cardoso turned on the dorm room lights and shut the blinds on the window. He moved around the room looking for the hiding place that Clark hid his costumes. Going to the closet first, he went through the hanging clothes. The hero would be too smart to hide his costume in plain site.

For about an hour, the evil scientist search in vain growing more frustrated by the second. He wanted to throw everything around so that he could get a better view of potential hiding spots but he didn’t want to alert Clark that someone was searching through his things.

With a frustrated groan, Dr. Cardoso’s back hit the back of the closet. His eyes grew wide when he heard the hollow thump that followed. With his heart racing with excitement, the doctor found the switch that revealed a hidden compartment. Hanging there was the pristine uniform of Superboy in all it’s red, blue, and yellow glory.

Hands trembling with a mixture of excitement and lust, he took out the costume and carried it over to Clark’s bed. Laying it out, it was obvious that this was the real costume of Superboy. His deduction was correct, Clark Kent was really Superboy.

Leaving the costume on the bed and Scot in his sleeping coma, Dr. Cardoso quietly hurried out of the dorm room where his five sexy superboy slaves waited for him. Each boy was dressing in replica Superboy costumes and sported tented briefs as their master appeared.

Walking across the dorm, the evil doctor lead them to the dorm room of Adam Baker. Adam was the final Superboy look alike that he needed for his plans. Quietly ordering his slaves to wait for his signal, Dr. Cardoso picked the lock and crept inside the room. Adam and his roommate were both fast asleep. Taking out a second small vial of his chemical concoction, the villain made sure Adam’s roommate would be fast asleep like Scot was.

With the roommate taken care of, it was time to bring Adam into his little club. Dr. Cardoso took off his long raincoat to reveal his Superboy Destroyer costume. It look almost exactly like the real Superboy’s costume with one exception, instead of an ‘S’ on the shield there was a giant ‘X’.

Signaling his slaves to join him, they circled around the sleeping boy ready to follow their master’s instructions. To the undiscerning eye, it looked like six different Superboys were in the room. Even the best cosplayers could not hope to look so closely to the real hero.

The Superboy Destroyer ripped off Adam’s covers revealing a toned muscular body only wearing a black pair of boxer briefs. The sleeping young man’s eyes popped open from the shock of being uncovered. He opened his mouth to yell, but it was quickly covered by Daniel. His muffled cries tried to wake up his roommate, but thanks to the villain’s careful planning nothing would have roused him from his deep sleep.

“I am your new master!” The Superboy Destroyer declared as he ripped the black boxer briefs off the struggling boy. Adam’s cock was very erect from his deep sleep and his face colored from the hungry looks from the other Superboys.

Adam’s muffled cries grew more frenzied and outraged as the villain grabbed his erect cock and stroked it softly to keep it erect. The young man tried with all his might to break free, but the other Superboys holding him down were too strong.

The Superboy Destroyer grabbed Adam by his throat and squeezed it almost to the point of breaking his neck. Although he did not have strength on the level of Superboy yet, it was enhanced thanks to his chemical designs that he used with his slave’s cum. The villain now had the strength of five young men at their peak of youth.

“If you try and scream or yell for help, I will break your neck!” The Superboy Destroyer instructed sending a chill down Adam’s spine. His eyes were wide with fright as he nodded slowly. Daniel stopped gagging the sacred college student and helped to keeping his naked and excited body pinned to the bed.

He took out a vial that was different the the others that he carried. Each boy that he enslaved was exposed to a different chemical compounds. Daniel’s made him super horny, Nick made him sexually addicted to being naughty and being punished, Eugene was made to be a complete moron, Erik was made to get turned on by his inflated ego and narcissism. This new chemical compound was a combination of all the others.

Forcing Adam’s mouth opened, The Superboy Destroyer poured the chemical compound down his throat. The boy gagged from the foul taste, but the villain made sure that the mixture stayed down. The DNA exploiting chemicals worked quickly through the young man’s body as the villain ordered his slaves to let his newest victim loose.

At first Adam leaped up in rage ready to fight against the intruders who stripped him naked and molested him. As he raised his fists in anger, a funny look crossed over his face. His pretty blue eyes glazed over with a look of sheer stupidity as his cock pointed straight up to the sky pulsing with excitement and pleasure that he never experienced before.

The Superboy Destroyer smiled as he admire his new slave. As Adam reached to fondle his achingly hard erection, the villain slapped his hands away. “Not yet, my pet.” He said firmly.

“Please!” Adam moaned pathetically. “I need to cum.” He turned and bent over revealing his naked ass. “Spank me! Punish me! Just let me cum!”

This new chemical compound was working like a charm. Now Adam had the horniness of a frat boy who hadn’t cummed in months, his intelligence dropped down to the point of retardation, his ego was inflated as much as his cock, and he desperately needed to be punished. All the qualities that he would soon inflict on the real Superboy.

Instead of letting Adam have the release that he so desperately wanted, The Superboy Destroyer tossed him a replica of the hero’s costume and told him to put it on. The others watched as the young man obeyed his orders without thought. His level of horniness and desired exploded to a higher and higher level with each piece of the replica costume that he put on. By the time, the golden belt was buckled around his waist, the front of his briefs were soaked with the young man’s precum.

Now there were six superboy slaves. The final component of The Superboy Destroyer’s plan was ready to enact. The villain and his slaves marched right back to Clark Kent’s dorm where the hero’s costume was still laid out on the bed.

The Superboy Destroyer took out his last vial of chemicals and poured them over the invulnerable costume soaking it as the liquid seeped through the alien fibers. He ordered his slaves to circle the bed and pull out their rock hard erections that had been trapped in the blue tights and briefs.

All stroking in unison, the fake superboys moaned with pleasure as the jerked themselves. Adam was particularly enthusiastic as the new changes to his DNA made him so incredibly horny. The Superboy Destroyer’s control over them was evident as he ordered them to hold of cumming until he gave the order. He watched as each boy started to shake as his pent up orgasm was left in stasis.

It wasn’t until the villain was sure that each boy would pass out from the immense building of cum in their balls that he gave the order for them to cum. His slave’s moans of pleasure were so loud that for a second it looked like the unified cries of orgasm would actually shake the building. Ropes after ropes of pure white cum exploded from their cocks leaping right on the costume of Superboy. Their cum mixed in with the chemical compound that the Superboy Destroyer had poured on earlier and soaked into the fibers of the costume.

As their orgasms ended, The Superboy Destroyer started to laugh. It was finished. Superboy was going to have the surprise of his life when he put on his costume and the villain will be waiting for him at long last. The hunt for Superboy was finally coming to an end and soon he would get his prey.

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Captain Kirk suffers mind control and torture in this scene from the original Star Trek
Visit our Male Bondage in Movies  page for more.

Ajax is forced to work in naked in the quarry with a large group of other slaves, overseen by whip yielding masters who get off on keeping their slaves in line.

Antebellum – Chapter 12: Quarry Work
by […]

Ajax is prepped for another wrestling match after receiving some important news from both Steria and Nero.

Antebellum – Chapter 13: A Moment With Steria, News From Paradise and Massa Patrick’s Boyhood
by Drum
Art by Amalaric
Series: Antebellum

I hurried to the relative peace of the cabin Steria and I had been given. She was waiting with a big pan of vegetable stew. We were soon naked and enjoying each other’s bodies in passionate love-making. Then she dropped the dreaded surprise. ‘Ajax, I think I am knocked up.’At first I was happy and said so, ‘You’ve got my pup inside you, girl? That’s fine, I’m going to be a pappy.’ I said. ‘That ain’t how it is Ajax, and you know it.’ She said, ‘For one thing, once they know I am knocked up they’ll stop us meeting, make you cover another wench. And after that, well, you ain’t going to be a real pappy because they’ll send you back to your Massa, Massa Richards at Paradise and we won’t see each other again. The pup is slave born and will be the property of Massa Sullivan.’ She began to cry. I put my arm round her and took in the truths she was saying. ‘Well, we’ll just have to try and keep it a secret as long as we can so we can keep on seeing each other until you drop the child.’ She almost smiled when she said, ‘Ajax, you are so innocent of these things. I have to show Louella my rag every month. If it’s got blood on it then she knows I ain’t took, but the first month she finds I have a clean one she’ll tell the Mistress and Massa and that will be that for us.’ ‘Can’t you get some chicken blood from the kitchen to stain the cloth?’ I said. ‘That’s been tried, nigger. They whipped all the kitchen slaves and the cook. Now they make sure the blood is washed away and destroyed straight away.’ She said. ‘They think of everything to control us.’ I said.‘They’ll put you on another wench until they have to send you back to Paradise. I already heard talk in the laundry that they reckon you are a potent enough buck for servicing plenty of extra wenches so Massa Sullivan intends getting his money’s worth.’ We ate the stew in a quiet mood. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘We must try to keep it a secret.’ ‘I’ll try to,’ she said, ‘But if they know I know about these things. I’ll get a whipping.’ ‘They won’t whip a carrying wench, not one who’s been mated with a pedigree stud like me. And the longer you leave it the less likely they will beat you, girl.’ ‘May be you are right, Ajax.’ She said, her eyes red with crying.

‘Now I have to get ready to go to Massa Patrick’s house. Seems he wants me to fight one of his friend’s niggers there. I need a sponge down in the tub.’ She was sponging my naked body down in the warm water and she said, ‘There must be a better world than this for niggers like us. Being property and the bucks being made to fight for the white Massa’s pleasure. It ain’t right. They treat us like animals.’ ‘Don’t talk like that Steria, you know us males are bred to be big and strong to work hard and to fight each other for our Massa’s to watch and bet on. Why, girl, I bet in hundreds of years niggers will always be put to fight each other for the pleasure of their superiors. What else is a nigger to do, we are big, strong and primitive, fighting is in our nature. Besides, a nigger wins a fight and he often gets privileges, more food, better clothes, …’.‘More wenches to breed.’ She cut in, ‘Which, in turn means the Massa makes more money out of them by selling their get. In the end the Massa always wins.’ I dried off and she helped me oil my skin before I put on my best shirt and pants. I kissed her and went out into the cooling evening air. I walked through the groves and heard the crickets calling and the night birds. I went to the kitchen door of Massa Patrick’s house. The cook said, ‘Massa Patrick and Massa Jacobs are still eating, you wait here boy. Massa Jacobs’ nigger is already in the cellar.’

I sat in the corner on the floor and waited. She threw me a scrap of bacon rind which tasted good as I chewed on it. Eventually the serving wench came in and said, ‘Massa is ready for the coffee and then the niggers to be sent in. I must go and get the other one up.’ She went down the cellar stairs and, when she returned, it was the surprise of my life. She led Nero from Paradise up into the kitchen. ‘Shit Nero, what are you doing here? I left you at Paradise.’ I said as we both stood up. ‘Ain’t no Paradise no more, Ajax. They had a yellow fever outbreak and moved as many of us off the property. Massa Richards has gone bust. He has had to sell up. I don’t think you will be going back down that way. Massa Jacobs bought me and now I am his stud buck. Can’t get enough of my big, black wang. Once you get’s used to it covering a wench or a Massa is much the same. It’s only at first it can be a problem. At least you sometimes get’s the chance to sleep in a real bed.’ ‘I know, Nero, but I still pretend to hate it. I find they like to think they are forcing us to do something we hate.’ Nero grinned, his white teeth shining. ‘You got it man. What’s your Massa here like?’ ‘He’s a bit young, 24 or 25 or so, bit of a whipper, likes to force his authority on a slave.’ ‘Massa Jacobs too, about the same age, reckon they went to school together, or so I heard. Likes to show a nigger who the Boss is. Best to play up to them.’ Nero said. ‘My way exactly, boy. Leads to a quiet life, “Yes Massa, no Massa, just as you say Massa”, They say it’s good training, I call it common sense – no point inviting the whip. They are only too happy to put it across your back anyway. Some of them do it for their own pleasure. My Massa, Jacobs does.’ ‘So does mine, apparently.’ I said

Nero had given me much food for thought as we waited. ‘Why do you think they want us?’ he asked. ‘Probably to wrestle for them. My Massa likes to watch slaves fighting, says he wants to buy a brawler someday and win some money with him.’ I said. ‘I ain’t got no wrestling pants with me.’ Nero said, ‘I should have thought when the Massa had me oiled.’ ‘You won’t need them if I know anything. My Massa likes to see his bucks wrestle naked and oiled specially us big ones. But first he’ll want to inspect your body, feel your muscles over. Handle your privates.’ ‘Shit, man,’ Nero said, ‘what happens if you get randy? ‘Don’t worry about that, they like that even more, watching a pair of horny niggers fighting.’ One of the girls came in and said, ‘The Massa has sent for you two, come with me.’

We stood up and smartly stepped following her to a large and lavishly furnished room. As we saw there was a wrestling mat laid out on the floor. ‘You sent for us, Massa.’ I said. As I been trained I looked straight ahead and avoided eye-balling the Massa or Massa Jacobs. I noticed Nero did the same. ‘Ah! Here they are Lou,’ The Massa said, ‘As fine a pair of bucks as you will see anywhere. Say what you like about Tom Richards and Paradise but he owned some top quality livestock. Shall we take a look at them?’ ‘Yes please,’ Massa Jacobs said. ‘OK, you niggers shuck!’ ‘Yes Massa,’ we both said. Being careful to face them at all time we undressed first stripping to the waist, then dropping our pants and then the cloths so we faced them butt naked with our hands on our hips as we had been trained.

‘You know, Lou, I never tire of looking at a big, healthy, well-muscled and hung slave when he’s naked.’ ‘Me neither Patrick.’ ‘I never forgot the first auction my Pa took me to.’ Massa Patrick said, ‘I never saw so much naked flesh, bucks, wenches, piccannies, the lot. All butt naked and in chains being looked at by the buyers.  I remember standing next to my Pa as he felt the muscles on the bucks to see if they were healthy and strong. Then felt up the wenches to see if they were fit for breeding, he told me. It was the bucks who fascinated me, though, huge muscled field niggers, the bigger the better like these two. I was stalky as hell all that day. Later on my Pa said that he intended buying me a playboy, you ever have one?’ ‘Yes,’ Massa Jacobs said, ‘My Pa gave me one for my tenth birthday, found one from the plantation who was promising and well-behaved.’ ‘Well my Pa decided to introduce a new boy onto the spread so he said I could choose my own under his guidance and we went to see some young niggers. He asked the steward if he had any likely 12-year-olds and we were shown a young buck. He was the same age as me but, of course, bigger, you know how these niggers get big young. Anyway, my Pa told me to take a good look at him “same way as I did with the others, son.” So remembering what my Pa had done I first of all looked in the slave’s mouth and saw he had good teeth then fingered his hair to see if it was clean. His shoulders felt good and I told him to bend his arm. I was surprised that already he was muscly. His chest and stomach were firm and his dong was already a good size. His hams were well-shaped and his legs long and strong. I said to my Pa, “Pa, I think I’d like to own him”. Pa agreed and we bought him and added him to the coffle already assembled. An overseer brought them back here.’ He went on, ‘After that my Pa noticed I was in a high state and said, “Now for some fun.” He took me into town and we went to Miss Belinda’s Palace. “Time to get you a piece of growing up, son.” We went inside and I was introduced to Miss Belinda.  My Pa said to her,  “We had a busy time at the dealers,  it  seems my boy here is worked up, quite natural, anyway, Miss Belinda, he is a novice so if you could find a really nice lady to break him in and give him a piece of growing up I would be grateful.”  She said she knew just the girl and then, much to my surprise, my Pa said, “And if Miss Lucy is here and free I’ll take my pleasure too.”.’

‘They took me up to a room and a real pretty girl took over. We got undressed and I lost my virginity there and then – mind I was so horny I would have jumped anything they put before me. In fact, I have to admit that all the time we were performing my mind was on the males I had seen at the slave dealer’s yard. Guess I knew there and then where my tastes lay.’

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

An arrogant, over-sexed socialite who abuses his illegal alien servants has the tables turned on him in this HOT new tickling and cum control story by Richard!

Reversed Servitude: Sweet Revenge on a Racist Homophobe – Page 1
by Richard

The arrogant suit-and-tie-clad powerful aristocrat 6′ 3″ Alexander Bradford III, proudly wheeled his prized Aston Martin past the electric security gates to the Bradford Estate and onto the circular driveway of his elegant “Old Money” Spanish Colonial Revival mansion he cherished, the rear of the Montecito manse having a spectacular view of the California coastline and the Channel Islands beyond. Bradford was married to Santa Barbara socialite Charlotte Wellborne Bradford and had 2 young school-age children, Emma and Owen.

Bradford masterfully strode to the front door of the manse and entered the elegantly tiled foyer, pausing to admire his reflection in the antique mirror, the darkly handsome Bradford taking in his drop-dead-handsome looks, his suntanned face a nice contrast to the pale gray of his elegant bespoke suit and silk necktie, the suit a perfect fit on his toned, muscular body, the expensive fabric subtly emphasizing the gym-toned body of its esteemed inhabitant.

Bradford then took two steps down through a graceful archway and entered his elegant and spacious living room with its exposed carved and stenciled dark wood beams and shouted for his “manservant” Luis who appeared in the vintage white jacketed and white-gloved “houseboy” uniform Bradford insisted that he wear, as Bradford gestured for Luis to help him out of his elegant suit coat, another one of Luis’ many duties expected of him as his lowly servant.

Bradford totally abused his Hispanic live-in servant couple, 26-year-old Luis and his 22-year-old sister Maria, the couple charged with taking care of the family mansion, the sister doing the family’s gourmet cooking and cleaning the entire manse, acting as a nanny to the two spoiled, demanding, and perpetually quarrelsome children, and Luis serving as butler and manservant to the man of the house/manse.

Bradford ran the estate with an iron hand, always lording over the fact that both Luis and Maria were “illegal aliens” who could be deported “just like that” with an arrogant snap of his suntanned fingers. The supremely self-important Bradford assumed that the ignorant foreigners had no idea that the Bradfords themselves

could face consequences for hiring them under such circumstances and merely used their “illegal” status to lord that over them and pay them dirt-cheap wages.

Alexander Bradford had been shocked to learn that Luis was, of all things, gay, some months after the brother-and-sister servant couple had been “acquired” by the Bradfords, when he noticed that a muscular, slightly younger man (who turned out to be a personal trainer at an Equinox gym- to Bradford’s further disbelief and amazement since Bradford himself worked out at the Equinox nearest to his estate and was shocked that such an establishment would hire “one of those people” i.e. a gay man let alone a Hispanic one ). This younger man routinely dropped by to pick Luis up on Luis’ days off and Bradford was further horrified to note the younger man’s (whose name turned out to be Cesar) decidedly down-market vehicle’s rear bumper displayed a “gay rainbow” bumper sticker and that the miscreant had actually had the audacity to park the offensive heap smack dab in the center of the Bradfords’ circular driveway (not to mention that the thing was blocking the path of Bradford’s own Aston Martin when he roared home that one fateful evening). Cesar’s vehicle was thereafter banned from the premises, Luis reduced to meeting him outside the manse’s security gates.

Bradford later angrily confronted Luis over this “transgression” who confirmed that his employer’s suspicions were true and that Luis was, indeed, gay.

Bradford, a staunch supporter of a far-right group, “Concerned Citizens For Family Values,” proudly informed Luis of such and expressed his disgust for “persons of that sort” yet grandly allowed Luis to remain employed. Bradford simply warned Luis that since Luis had already been assisting Bradford with keeping his employer’s closets full of designer suits, ties, shoes, and the like well taken care of, helping Bradford select appropriate outfits and helping his studly employer dress for every occasion from business attire to sporting events to the many black-tie charity events he and Charlotte regularly attended, that Bradford “would be keeping an eye on” him and “not to get any ideas” while he was necessarily in quite close contact with his well-built employer performing these many tasks Luis had been assigned to fulfill. These had included subserviently helping Bradford dress and undress (up to a point anyway- only down to underwear, of course) which Bradford considered only fitting for a lowly servant to do (and Bradford rather narcissistically liked the attention and praise Luis had

already expressed for his employer’s fit body), but Bradford intended to make sure the “pervert” never got a chance to make some sort of pass at him as such “sick-os” were wont to do, in Bradford’s jaundiced view.

About a week later Charlotte Bradford announced that she was off for at least a week to visit an ailing auntie (the auntie actually being well-attended by a fleet of servants herself), Charlotte’s intention being to continue to ingratiate herself with her dear Auntie Imogen as her “favorite niece,” since it was evident that the old girl could not last much longer and the elderly aunt was known for frequently changing her will on whims, Charlotte having barely discovered in the nick of time last time when dear auntie had had her lawyers draft one leaving everything to a home for wayward cats. Charlotte punctuated her departure with an “Imagine, darling, all that lovely money going to those feline creatures instead of to us! The mind boggles! So I’m off!”

Alexander Bradford himself had to tend to the family’s investment firm so could not accompany (and had no interest in… other than ensuring the family reaped the benefit of auntie’s money) accompanying his wife on her “visit” to Auntie Imogen, and dear little Owen and Emma were off to their respective private “enrichment program” summer camps with gaggles of other similarly suitably privileged and bratty “little nippers” for several weeks, essentially leaving Bradford himself alone in the manse save for his servants.

Alexander and Charlotte themselves had maintained their own separate bedroom suites after their requisite two children had been duly produced, since Charlotte was as decidedly under-sexed as Alexander was over-sexed. While Charlotte was willing to nobly “submit” (as she put it) to sex a few times a year with Alexander, this left the sex-mad Bradford with a distinct need for alternative sexual outlets. Turning his supposed “family values” on their head, this largely consisted of regular “sessions” at a state-of-the-art fantasy role-play venue with high-class call girls in Los Angeles where he indulged his taste for kinky sex including bondage and domination of his female “victims” sometimes also involving tickling them against their will when this had not been agreed to in advance.

However, this was an expensive habit and involved lengthy drives to Los Angeles and back, often in heavy traffic, and Bradford was savvy enough to look for other outlets closer to home, as it were. Prior to Maria and Luis, the Bradfords had employed a succession of maids and housekeepers, mostly illegal Eastern European and Russian women who could be easily exploited by the wily Bradford, who forced them to wear sexy “French maid uniforms” (in his soundproofed bedroom only) and perform every sex act in the book, forcing them to blow him, rim his ass as he raised his hairy muscular legs high and used his bare feet to slap their asses for emphasis as they did so (much like Bradford had seen straight pornstar Manuel Ferrara do in the straight porn Bradford often watched), Bradford also using custom bondage gear to tie them to the bed and have his way with them, raping and sodomizing them as they begged him to stop, music to his jaded ears.

Luis himself had just recently learned from a tearful Maria that Bradford had been forcing Maria to perform all of the same sort of sex acts on their employer as had the prior hires, again under threat of supposed deportation if she failed to comply or if she reported this to Luis. Maria reported it to Luis anyway who vowed to make things right.

A still-fuming and vengeful Luis’ first encounter with Bradford after Maria’s unsettling revelation was the next morning when Bradford imperiously entered the massive top-of-the-line kitchen (“suitable for catering” as the estate agents say), impeccably dressed in the very custom-made designer suit, tie, and breast pocket handkerchief chosen and laid out by Luis the evening before for Bradford to wear, Bradford arrogantly plopping his already-shined-by-Luis dress shoes onto the clean marble counter and yelling- “Just look at those, you incompetent fool! You call those shined? If I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousand times I need to see my reflection in my shoes! I demand that they look like that- comprendes you lazy bastard???”

Startled, yet secretly amused to see Bradford “reduced” to wearing bedroom slippers instead of his polished designer shoes below the nattily attired rest of him, Luis decided to play along (for now) and replied “Oh, I am so sorry, senor, it will not happen again! When you return for your breakfast I will have them ready, you will see!”

“Well, they better be!” fumed Bradford as he stormed back upstairs announcing he needed to go over some office paperwork and would then return for his breakfast “which better be up to my standards as well!” snarled in the direction of Maria.

Luis then retired to his room in the spartan, dark, servants’ quarters off the kitchen where he dutifully re-polished and spit-shined Bradford’s already-polished spiffy designer shoes on a shoe-jack to perfection when an evil thought entered his mind. It had actually been a few days since he last saw Cesar and Luis realized he was a bit horny despite his confrontation with Bradford. And he just happened to have downloaded some particularly hot gay pornography on his laptop… surely there was time for a “quickie” jackoff session before Bradford returned?? Luis managed to do so in record time, preserving a good bit of his massive cumload he aimed at the clean top lid of the shoe polish paste he had used on Bradford’s glowing shoes.

Serendipitously, just after Luis cleaned up and returned to the kitchen Maria was just placing the eggs to be scrambled for Bradford into the pan… after an amusing exchange in Spanish with Maria, the duo chuckled to themselves as they relished the fact that Luis’ own gay sperm was being folded into Bradford’s special cage-free organic eggs for their employer’s consumption, just as Maria and so many others had been forced to swallow Bradford’s own cum when Bradford demanded sex from them.

Moments later, the nattily-attired Bradford again strode self-importantly into the kitchen with briefcase in hand, sitting down at the breakfast table and pointedly looking at Luis who hurried over to slowly remove Bradford’s amusing bedroom slippers leaving him temporarily clad in his knee-high designer silk socks under his spiffy suit pants. Luis then held the newly-polished shoes out for inspection and dismissive approval by his arrogant employer, who had now set about scanning the newspaper as if no one else was there (which he insisted Maria iron every morning so the newsprint would not smudge his clear-manicured fingers). Luis then set about kneeling down submissively and literally placing the newly-polished shoes onto his employer’s size 12 feet and meekly lacing them up perfectly as Bradford ignored this as simply being his due from his underling servant.

Bradford then set about savoring his perfectly prepared breakfast, Bradford calling out to Maria and bestowing her with a sly, sexy smile (thinking Luis had no idea that hot-stuff Bradford had been bonking his sister) as he said “Maria, you’ve outdone yourself! These eggs are the best ever, so creamy and delicious, with some special ingredient I can’t quite identify. Whatever it is, be sure to use it every day from now on!” as Luis and Maria exchanged bemused glances as Bradford self-importantly returned to rustling his freshly-ironed-by-Maria newspaper as if he alone held the key to solving the myriad of the world’s problems contained therein.

Luis’ growing need to somehow continue to “get even” with his imperious, demanding employer only increased over the next few days when Bradford took to getting a kick out of deliberately teasing Luis with Bradford’s hunky body (in an “as if” Luis could ever get his “faggy hands” on him otherwise kind of way) as Luis helped him dress- and undress – just to test Luis, Bradford told himself, much like he and his old frat bros used to do in college before gay-bashing any victims who were entrapped into coming on to them.

Bradford would blatantly flex his suntanned, just the right amount of hairy-chested musculature in the mirror when shirtless in front of Luis as he was helped to dress and undress, exposing the dark depths of his manly armpits as he did so, and searched for and received glowing compliments on his buff bod from Luis, and the scent of his muscular employer’s cologne which Luis was obliged to sniff in close but no actual contact with Bradford’s exposed armpits- so close and yet so far-, his suntan, his designer-cut and coiffed hair, his perfectly white teeth and fresh breath, etc. Bradford even ordered Luis to help him “measure” his flexed muscular and suntanned biceps with a tape measure and feel and vocally admire their sun-tanned, manly firmness with Luis’ white-gloved hands (direct touching of Bradford’s body was verboten however), to take and record his naked waist measurement not too far above the distinct bulge in his employer’s tight white Egyptian cotton Emporio Armani boxer briefs, and to tape measure and record Bradford’s chest measurement, Luis being “forced” to wrap his own white-gloved hands around the couthly hairy, muscular chest of his elegant employer from behind as he did so, Luis inhaling the delicious scent of his employer’s elegant signature cologne, and managing to “accidentally” make contact with his employer’s sensitive hair-haloed nips with his deftly educated white-gloved fingers and the edge of the tape measure itself as he did so, causing Bradford to gasp and jump slightly at the sudden unexpected electric contact with his ultrasensitive, manly, hair-haloed tits, which had caused the aristocrat’s ultrasensitive nips to become instantly eraser-tip erect, Luis noting a unmistakable but mild response down below as “something” twitched down below in the restricting confines of his employer’s tight white Emporio Armani boxer briefs-a “tidbit” (or “titbit”) Luis filed away for future reference, whereupon he quickly withdrew and announced the impressive chest measurement before Bradford could accuse him of inappropriately “feeling him up”.

Finally, Luis would be ordered to tape measure and record Bradford’s “hip measurement” as Luis was “forced” to wrap the tape measure over the tight curves of Bradford’s magnificent bubble butt which was only covered by the thin Egyptian cotton of his white Emporio Armani boxer briefs, and reach around to just above the promising but as-yet-frustratingly unexposed bulge in said tight-fitting, intimate garment, Luis again having to be careful not to make contact with his employer’s well-endowed, but as-yet-unrevealed, “private parts.”

Bradford kept up his teasing of his gay employee just for the fun of it over the next several days- laughing to himself that Luis probably had to go jerk off after his employer had so craftily teased him with his hot-but-unavailable bod (truer than he realized since Luis was indeed extremely turned on after every such session as he was left “high and dry” while Bradford either continued having Luis assist him to dress for work and then split or else padded off to his elegant master bathroom to shower unseen by Luis as the case might be, but in either case Luis was deliberately in effect left well and truly “teased and denied” each time this occurred.

Luis got some sense of satisfaction (literally and figuratively) over the next few days as Luis secretly got off on sniffing Bradford’s sweaty undies and gym clothes before Maria washed them and returned them to her employer’s bedroom, but Luis could not resist keeping some of the sweaty underwear as souvenirs, some of which, while otherwise scrupulously clean, actually contained stray pubic hairs of his employer or particularly pungent, musky scents left after a sweaty workout or full day’s wear. Luis had intended to replace the souvenir ones with duplicates until he checked online and found that the particular type of Emporio Armani ones that Bradford wore were only available for purchase in Italy (where Bradford had bought a full line of same on one of the Bradfords’ many European jaunts) and were prohibitively expensive on Luis’ paltry budget in any case.

Assuming that a mega-rich man like Bradford would not miss a few pairs of the hotshot’s missing sexy undies, Luis had taken to actually wearing recently purloined “souvenir” undies of Bradford’s and wearing them under the ridiculous vintage white-coated and white-gloved “houseboy” uniform that Bradford insisted that he wear, Luis getting a kick out of the fact that (unbeknownst to his arrogantly harsh employer) his “lowly servant” was actually wearing a pair of his employer’s own very recently used undies, and that the sexy Egyptian cotton fabric that had so recently supported and caressed his employer’s own “junk” and cute to-die-for tight ass were now secretly caressing the skin of Luis’ own most private areas just where they had so very recently supported and caressed his employer’s otherwise completely unattainable yet most intimate and private parts, all the while his employer was sadistically teasing poor Luis by flaunting yet denying Luis any real access to his buff employer’s hot bod.

However, Luis became a bit unsettled when just after the completion of one of Bradford’s sadistic teasing ordeals while Luis was assisting his employer to dress for work, and just after Bradford was fully dressed in the natty suit and tie selected by Luis for his studly employer to wear to “work” that day (more like “playing office” in the set-for-life Old Money Alexander Bradford III’s world), Bradford suddenly pointedly and rather sharply inquired “Do you know what’s been going on with my underwear, Luis? I’ve noticed that of the 10 pairs of Emporio Armanis I purchased on one of Charlottes’ and my trips to Italy, 2 pairs seem to be missing? Do you know anything about that?”

Luis, shocked that a mega-rich dude like Bradford actually kept count of such things shook his head and said “no senor, no se nada… I know nothing of this, I swear! Perhaps Maria, er, she misplaced them, senor?”

“Hmmm. I don’t think so, Luis. You, on the other hand, an outed ‘fag’, no less, as you have already shamelessly admitted to, are the far more likely suspect, Luis. You wouldn’t by any chance happen to be wearing a pair of your employer’s underwear now- virtually right under my patrician nose as it were? That give you some kind of additional sick thrill, perhaps, Luis?” then louder “I asked you a question!! Why are you being so evasive?”

Without waiting for his lowly servant’s further prevarication Luis’ spiffily suited and tie-clad employer powerfully strode right up behind where Luis tremblingly stood, his employer’s hot, outraged (but peppermint-scented) breath gusting into the shell of Luis’ ear barely an inch away from the huffing and puffing, outraged Bradford, whereupon Luis was shocked to feel Bradford suddenly grasp the belt of Luis’ black “houseboy” uniform pants, undo it as well as the clasp of the “houseboy” uniform pants and suddenly forcefully tug them down to mid-thigh, as a red-faced Luis was soon confronted with the undeniable fact that he was, indeed, wearing a pair of his butch, married, straight employer’s purloined white cotton Emporio Armani undies!

“THIS IS A FUCKIN’ OUTRAGE!!! HOW DARE YOU, YOU LOW-LIFE FAGGOT BASTARD!!!!??? THOSE BELONG TO ME, NOT YOU, YOU FUCKIN’ UNDERWEAR THIEF!!! THAT GIVE YOU SOME KIND OF SICK SATISFACTION, WEARING MY OWN UNDERWEAR JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE TOO POOR-ASS TO OWN NICE THINGS LIKE THAT, STEALING THEM OUT OF THE DRYER OR WHATEVER BEFORE YOUR SISTER RETURNS THEM WHERE THEY BELONG ???” yelled an outraged Alexander Bradford III.

Luis, shocked into silence, was further shocked, however, when he felt Bradford run a finger along the rear waistband going “yes, these are definitely mine- that only-available-in-Italy logo is quite distinctive!” as Bradford actually squatted down to Luis’ undie-clad ass for further examination.

Then , more to Bradford’s own horror than Luis’, Bradford suddenly noticed as he was now down so close to Luis as he squatted behind him that there was a distinct scent of Bradford’s own signature Bulgari cologne Bradford always wore emanating from the undies, a scent mingled with a slight musky male odor as well, Bradford suddenly further realizing to his utter disgust that the male odors were likely a combination of both his own and his miscreant servant’s private areas. Bradford was also aware that Bradford kept all of his cologne under lock and key along with his cuff links with the Bradford Family Crest, designer watch collection and other items of value. It therefore had suddenly dawned on the unimaginative, 100% straight-arrow Bradford that, unlike what he had naturally assumed, namely that Luis was wearing a pair of his undies after they had been washed was mistaken- that in fact this “sick fag” actually was wearing a pair of the proud, strutting Old Money peacock Bradford’s own unwashed Armanis and that the “pervert” was getting some sort of slimy faggoty “thrill” out of doing so, all at his studly employer’s expense, probably even laughing about it behind Bradford’s broad-shouldered back!!

“WHAT THE FUCK!!!?? YOU SICK FUCK!! YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU ARE WEARING MY OWN UNWASHED ARMANIS, YOU FUCKING PERVERT?” YOU GETTING SOME SORT OF SLIMY FAGGOTY “THRILL” OUT OF DOING SO, AT MY EXPENSE???? AND DON’T DENY IT- I CAN SNIFF THE SCENT OF MY OWN COLOGNE AND YOU AND I KNOW THAT I KEEP THE STUFF UNDER LOCK AND KEY!!”

Again stunned into silence at the revelation of the full truth, Luis stood silently with his head down as Bradford suddenly yanked Luis’ “houseboy” uniform pants the rest of the way down and yanked them off of his servant altogether throwing them across the room, before Bradford suddenly yanked down the stolen Armanis and yanked them from his lowly servant’s body altogether as well, suddenly revealing Luis’ own large, flaccid uncut penis and low-hanging balls under a profusion of manly dark pubic hair, Luis left bare-assed from the waist down.

Luis was further shocked and surprised when an outraged Bradford (never intending to reclaim the stolen, ruined undies for his own use ever again since they had actually been worn by his lowly servant and were forever “soiled” in his mind) forcefully shoved them right into Luis’ shocked face, “forcing” him to sniff, lick and worship ever inch of them as Bradford yelled what a “sick fag” he was and spanked Luis’ bare ass hard with his open hands for emphasis until it was satisfyingly fire-engine red and burning. To Bradford’s horror, however, what was intended to be a punitive act actually had caused Luis to spring a full-fledged boner, Bradford shocked at the girth, width and length of the low-life’s uncut, erect cock under his servant’s profusion of black pubic hair as much as by the fact that anyone could be aroused by sniffing another guy’s underwear and having his bare butt smacked red by a fully-and-impeccably dressed elite person in a fit of well-deserved outrage.

This blatant arousal only served to inflame Bradford all the more. “MY GOD, YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU ARE ENJOYING THIS, YOU SICK FUCKING BASTARD!!?? THAT IS SO FUCKING SICK!! YOU CAN KISS MY FUCKING ASS TO BEG FOR FORGIVENESS- BUT YOU’D ENJOY THAT TOO, WOULDN’T YOU, YOU SICK FUCK??”

Luis was pleasantly surprised when Bradford in fact actually did bend over a bit with the tight, tailored bottom of his impeccable bespoke-tailored suit pants thrust back at Luis whereupon he “ordered” Luis to loudly kiss and lick Bradford’s suit-panted ass and then sniff and lick the crack thereof, Bradford all the while yelling “YEAH, KISS MY ASS, YOU FUCKING SICK PERVERT!!!” as Bradford laughed maniacally, thinking this to be the ultimate in humiliation.

Seeing that this only made the “sick-o” more aroused Bradford “ordered” Luis to kneel down and jack off right there on the gleaming hardwood floor of Bradford’s master bedroom as Luis shot a huge splattering load (Bradford amazed at its potency, copiousness, and amazing distance, the startled aristocrat forced to jump to one side lest he be struck by the explosive barrage of gay, red-hot Hispanic cum wildly flying all over the place, lest any of the disgusting low-class spunk soil Bradford’s impeccable suit, Bradford blissfully unaware that he had actually been consuming the same fluids he was now so scrupulously avoiding contact with in the delicious breakfasts Maria served to him each day!

Bradford then ordered Luis to get down on all fours and slavishly lick up every drop of the lowly servant’s disgusting male fluids until the floor gleamed anew. Bradford then turned on his heel in his perfectly-polished-by-Luis dress shoes and imperiously marched off to “work,” briefcase in hand. Bradford made a note to himself to have the slavish and devoted staff at his tony Club wash and launder his intimate apparel in the future- after all he did tip them meagerly at Christmas- well the Club did require one to do so- but the mere thought of Luis having worn even one pair of his purloined undies sent a chill down Bradford’s patrician spine. After all, Bradford further mused, it would be like-ew- his own impeccably kept and meticulously cologne-scented junk, his proud manhood and omnipotent Bradford crown jewels containing their potent aristocratic seed which were so attentively pampered with the absolute finest high-end toiletry products as his carefully-guarded private parts indeed were so pampered, actually touching those areas of his no-doubt-filthy-and-unwashed, lowly servant’s! It simply didn’t bear imagining! As if! Not to mention the fact that the fucking uncut ‘Spic is hung like a fucking horse- not all that bigger than his own, of course (not that the low-life would ever get a chance to view it as much as the sick-o no doubt would love to!) but the thought of contact of that somewhat monstrous uncut Hispanic “thing” with his esteemed person was completely unthinkable!

Another uncontrollable shudder rolled over him as he mused about that unthinkable thought, but he then stepped down powerfully on the Aston Martin’s accelerator to “work” as the fine-tuned machine roared to life. Bradford then winked at an admiring poor-ass blonde in the VW bug next to him, no doubt dreaming of what it would be like to take a ride on the old Bradford cunt-tamer, probably creaming her pants at that thought along with all that went with being part of the elite 1%- she could always dream laughed Bradford, drunk with his wealth, power and self-evident physical prowess, winking back at himself in the rear-view mirror, a big smile on his movie-star-handsome face. It was good to be Alexander Fucking Bradford III!

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