As I promised, here’s a excerpt from my most recent novel, Claiming the Slave. This is the first time the narrator plays with the potential slave, Carter (who is East Asian). Although the dialog has been tweaked a little bit, this is essentially a recounting of my first scene with the real Carter. So if you’re a total novice wondering if people actually do the shit you read about, they absolutely do…
I walked up onto the porch and knocked on the door. A few moments later, Carter opened it. He was dressed almost exactly the way he had been on our first meeting, a tight black t-shirt and slacks that showed off his legs. He looked at me for a moment and then lowered his eyes to the floor. “Hello, Sir,” he said, a little softly.
His instinctive submissiveness was highly arousing. Many subs are automatically submissive with doms, but there was something deeper here. Carter’s submissiveness went further, as if it were something that had been drilled into him from a young age. Many Asian cultures emphasize that sort of deference to superiors, I guess. Regardless of where it came from, I liked it.
He stood back to let me enter. I walked in, trying to exude a sense that I owned the place. That comes pretty easy to me, and I’ve learned over the years that subs respond to it quite well. Carter kept his house in a very tidy, almost spartan, state. The living room, which was carpeted, had a leather couch, a small coffee table that held nothing but a tv remote, and a wall-mounted flat screen tv with a gaming console under it. The coffee table had obligingly been slid off into a corner, to provide the most possible room. The mantle over the fireplace held a single small picture of what were probably his parents. Off to the side was an archway leading to a dining room, equally tidy and simple, and a hallway running to the kitchen. Carter liked his furniture on the traditional side, like the house itself.
“Get over here, boy,” I said, pointing to a spot on the carpet a foot in front of me as I set down a small gym bag with some toys in it.
“Yes, Sir,” he said, scurrying over to the appointed spot. He stood meekly, arms by his side, head bowed slightly. I ran my hands over his chest, enjoying the firmness of his toned body under his t-shirt.
“Take off the shirt, fucker.”
He complied, treating me to a very nice sight. As I said, Carter was not heavily muscled, but he was toned, and had a sleek quality to him. By western standards, he was pale and his skin had that slightly yellowish quality many East Asians have. Although I have a taste for hairy guys, there was something very appealing about the smooth hairlessness of his torso. For a small guy, he had surprisingly large nipples.
“The pants too, boy.”
Carter quickly popped the button on his slacks and stepped out of them. Underneath, he was wearing a pair of a plain white jockstrap. As I circled around him, I saw that the straps of the jock very nicely framed the roundness of his butt. I smacked one cheek with my hand, hard enough that he jumped slightly. I’ve learned that with subs it’s important to make them feel objectified very early in the session. A moment later, the redness growing in his ass cheek was matched by the redness in his face.
I circled back to his front, then reached around to grab his ass with both my hands, pulling his body up against mine. “You’re a bit scrawny for my tastes. I like a nice, muscular ass, boy, the sort of ass that begs for fucking. But yours will do for the evening.”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” He said it quietly, like he was scared to draw my attention by speaking.
I released him and he resumed his former stance, not making eye contact. His cock was hard in his underwear, which was a good sign that I was doing things right. I reached out and squeezed it. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, faggot?”
He nodded mutely.
“What was that, fucker? I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes, Sir. I’m enjoying this, Sir.”
“What are you enjoying about it, boy?”
He was quiet, struggling to answer the unexpected question. After a surprisingly long time that showed he was taking the question seriously, he said, “I’m…enjoying you just taking charge of me, Sir. It’s…satisfying, Sir.”
Without releasing my hold on his cock, I turned him around and pulled him into me, so that his ass was pressed against the bulge in my crotch. I wrapped my free arm around his chest and began teasing one nipple with my fingers. “This is what you were made for, isn’t it, fagboy? Letting a real man like me take charge of you.” Subs usually love that talk about ‘real men,’ so I do a lot of it with them. Getting them into the submissive headspace is crucial. Once that’s achieved, keeping them there is fairly easy most of the time.
Carter nodded and then softly said, “Yes, Sir. That’s what I’m for.” He moaned in pain slightly, probably from what I was doing to his tit.
“Feels good to finally be with someone who’s not afraid to just use you for his needs, doesn’t it, bitch?”
“Yes, Sir. I’m just here to serve you, Sir.” There was something surprisingly genuine about the way he said it. Most boys that I play with learn to say such things, either because I teach them to say it or because they’ve picked it up from another dom or from watching porn, but Carter was saying it because he believed it to be true. I found that surprisingly arousing.
I ground my crotch against his ass. “I’m going to fuck you before we’re done, boy. But first things first. Get on your knees.”
The moment I let go of his nipple and his dick, he dropped to his knees with his head bowed. Unlike many novice subs I had played with, he was not offering any resistance or hesitation. It was as if he wasn’t playing a game but truly saw himself as a slave.
I walked around in front of him. Because he was shorter than me and his head was bowed, my crotch was a few inches above his line of sight, so I grabbed his hair and pulled his head back, forcing him to stare at my bulge. “Do you want this, fagboy?” When he remained silent, I repeated the question more forcefully.
“It…it’s not my place to want things, Sir. I do as I’m told.”
His answer startled me. Normally when I dom a boy, I play on the boy’s desires, making him beg for what he wants. I enjoy the thrill of being desired and being in control. I suppose it’s a remnant of being overweight and closeted in high school. For a moment, I was unsure how to proceed with a boy who didn’t want my cock, or at least didn’t say he did.
I unzipped my pants, letting my cock spring out of my briefs. I was blessed with a good cock, a thick seven-incher with a pronounced curve and prominent head. When guys on the apps ask me about my cock, I say that I’ve never gotten any complaints about it. It may not be big enough to satisfy the size queens, but most guys find it more than enough for their needs. Carter stared at it and opened his mouth without saying anything.
“Now boy, I like a blow job with some variety. Sucking it is very nice, but it’s only one technique, and I expect you to not bore me. Now get to work.”
Carter clearly listened, because he proceeded to give me very good head. He sucked and kissed and licked and nibbled on it and paid attention to all the parts: the head, the ridge, both the top and the underside of the shaft. When it became clear that my pants were making it hard for him to get at my balls, I pulled him off my dick, stripped down all the way, and then sat on his couch, manspreading to give him full access. He went back to work on it and I leaned back and just enjoyed his efforts. When he wasn’t using his hands to stroke my cock, he was caressing my balls or reaching up to play with my tits. It became clear to me that he was genuinely focused on pleasuring me as much as he could. He never tried to play with his dick. He was definitely an unselfish sub, unlike some of the previous boys I’d trained as slaves. I already felt more at ease taking charge with him than I did with many boys on a second or third session.
As he was servicing me, I reached down and started to play with his tits, slowly pinching them harder and harder until I began to get grunts of discomfort from him. Those sorts of noises always arouse me, and my cock swelled a bit as he started to moan around the dick in his mouth. His struggle aroused me even more, and I realized I was in danger of blowing my load sooner than I wanted to. So I pulled him off my cock.
“Show me your bedroom.” I grabbed my toy bag
Carter stood up and took me upstairs. His bedroom was as tidy as the living room: a good-sized bed neatly made, a night-stand, and a long low dresser on which he had laid out a number of toys. Two landscapes and a photo of him at a swim meet hung on the wall. He took up a position at the foot of the bed and waited, head bowed.
I looked over the toys he had laid out. He had a riding crop, leather cuffs, two types of tit clamps, a ball gag, a modest-sized dildo and butt-plug, and a few other similar items. There were also a number of condoms and a bottle of lube. The toys looked to be of good quality. Many of them looked like they’d never been used. I picked up the crop and tested it with a swipe through the air.
“A nice basic collection of toys.”
“Thank you, Sir. I thought you might want to use something on me. I ought to have known that you would bring your own, Sir.”
“Having a selection of toys to use is never a bad thing, boy.” I set my bag down and began to rummage through it. “But you forgot the rope,” I said, drawing out a small coil of white nylon rope.
If you liked this, Claiming the Slave is available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.
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