396 lines
21 KiB
Plaintext
396 lines
21 KiB
Plaintext
MASTER OF THE HAND, By WRITER MAN 2537
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I am the "Master of the Hand" to my subjects. I have
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total control over them, their desires, their needs. I earn
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my title honestly. I need no whips or chains, and don't need
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to seek out those timid creatures that want to obey. Given
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my own knowledge of the human nervous system, my own trained
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hands, and my own techniques, I can control any of you I wish,
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straight or gay, macho or effeminate queen.
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You don't believe me? But of course you don't. The
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doctors I used to work with refused to believe it, even when
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I used my technique to turn one of them into a grovelling
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slave of mine. He stills comes over when I call him. But
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they still don't believe me, or him.
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I will give you part of my secret; the human body has
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nerves all through it, and they come closer to the surface
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some places than others. My breakthrough was learning how to
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trigger those impulses in any way I chose. It was simple once
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I discovered it. I can touch a part of your forearm, and you
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will jerk away as though I had touched you with a red-hot
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poker instead of my index finger. I can touch a nearby
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portion, and you will taste lemon juice, no sugar, sour on
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your tongue. It is that simple.
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I will now tell you that there are six areas (twelve
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actually, six on each side of your body but as they are
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paired, I count them as only six) where the slightest
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appropriate touch will cause you to experience a strong sexual
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desire. Many mammals such as dogs know this, for on them one
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area is on the neck, by biting the neck of the female, they
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stimulate this area while they mate. But I digress.
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A knock came at my apartment door one day as I was
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working on one of my slaves, a sailor who visited me every
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time he was in port, per my orders. Ordering him to lie
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still, I left him where he was, sprawled across my bed in a
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pleasant agony, pulled on my pants and answered the doorbell.
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Usually I am not attracted to those very young; I prefer
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my men to be mature, at least in their mid-twenties. But as
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I saw this young man-child standing there, I knew that he
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would make a pleasant addition to my stable.
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Tousled chesnut hair in those half-curls that are the
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plague of many mixed-ancestry Causasian men here in America,
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which would neither curl neatly or lay down when combed. A
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face like a fighter's, not puffy and beaten, but stubborn and
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stern-looking, or it would be in twenty more years. Now, it
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was merely masculine on him. He wore a white T-shirt with
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some organization emblazoned on his ample chest with jutting
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pecs, and white shorts, like pants with the legs cut off, and
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the remainder of the legs cuffed and hemmed. Trousers whose
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legs ended at the groin. White socks and white sneakers
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finished his clothing. White, all white on his pale skin
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adorned with an occasional freckle. It was an effective
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combination, those tight trousers evincing the suggestion of
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a huge male organ (was he even wearing underwear? No, but a
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jock-strap, barely visible in those transparent clothes).
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"Yes?" I finally remembered to say to him.
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"I represent the..." Some organization or other, I
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forget. He was selling door-to-door to raise money for some
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trip or other. Lightbulbs were his product.
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I decided while listening to his spiel that this young
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man would be a nice addition to my collection. "Come in and
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sit down, and tell me more." I urged him.
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He sat on my white couch, white on white. Only his blue
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eyes and brown hair for color.
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"How old are you?" I asked. It helps to be certain one
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isn't breaking the law."
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"I turned eighteen last month." He assured me to my
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relief. My slaves never talk, on pain of being turned out of
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my stable, but it helps to be sure one is not a lawbreaker.
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"Well, then..." I scooted closer, ostensibly to look at
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his flyer lying across his lap. "How much are these?" I
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pointed to one of the products."
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He told me about it, but I wasn't paying attention. I
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used my closeness to reach over and touch, through his shirt,
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one of the points I mentioned earlier. I pressed a little
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harder, to be sure of hitting the point through the cloth.
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He gasped, moaned, arched his body. I had hit it right.
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His shorts and jockstrap bulged with the erection these boys
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get so easily at that age. Two seconds, and he had a full
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erection, hard as a stone in his confining outfit.
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"Do you like that?" I said as I hit the point again.
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"Uh, uh, yes. Yes!" he moaned. I had chosen the point
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carefully; this point gives only pleasure and is located near
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the armpit.... But I shall not tell you the exact location.
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Knowledge is dangerous in the wrong hands.
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Time now for me to begin his training. "Then kiss me to
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show how much you like it." I ordered him.
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His trembling lips sought out mine, and he kissed me,
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clumsy in his eagerness. I rested a hand on his erect bulge
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(NOT one of the points despite the way many people dive for
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it, but merely an erotic gesture of mine), and he hunched
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against my hand, his flyer falling to the floor as an unheeded
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rustle of paper.
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I felt his tongue slide into my lips, and I pulled away.
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"I did not say you could do that." I said as I reached for
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Point #5 on his leg, one that causes pain with the pleasure.
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I pinched hard, and he gasped. "I'm sorry." he said,
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gulped hard and continued. "Can we go into your bedroom?"
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I laughed easily, lounged backwards, pointed at my crotch
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still in its pants. My cock made a visible line on them.
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"You have to taste that first." I said.
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"Huh?"
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God, the young are so dumb! "Gnaw at it through the
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pants. Get it good and hard for me."
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"Oh." he said, and went down, nibbled at it with his
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teeth, both afraid of hurting me and of what he was doing.
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"Don't you like it?" I asked him sternly.
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"Uh, yeah, but I never... That is, I usually do this
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with girls. I ain't never...."
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"Sucked a cock before?"
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"No." He gulped. "Please don't send me away."
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"Then it's time for your first lesson, I said to his
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visible relief. "Take it out and work on it."
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He was literally panting with his eagerness as he first
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stripped quickly, leaving only his shoes and socks on, then
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fought with the zipper, worked it down, fished with a hand
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lightly covered with white hairs to free my cock from the
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trouser leg. He brought it out into the light, and hesitated,
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looked at me.
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"Do it." I ordered him, and hit Point #5 again to remind
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him of my power.
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He gulped it down with a dry mouth. "Get your mouth wet
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with spit and try that again." He stopped, moistened his
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mouth while his eyes were locked with mine, and he tried
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again, his spit dribbling onto the shaft as he plunged down
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onto it. He worked my pants down until they were lying on my
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feet, and I kicked them off quickly, to lie naked underneath
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this ministering teenage slave.
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"That's better." I encouraged the novice. "Really work
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that foreskin back and forth. Use just your lips and really
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work it, kid."
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He followed my advice and I lay there, enjoying my
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blowjob from this virgin to male-male sex.
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A slight sound alerted me. I looked up to see the sailor
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standing in the doorway, timid in his nudity as he saw me with
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another man.
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"Master, forgive me." he said. "I was wondering what was
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keeping you."
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The kid's head jerked off my cock as he heard the strange
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voice. I grabbed his head (in the process, my middle finger
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finding Point #1 there and hitting it, just to be sure) and
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said, "Get back to work, kid."
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He moaned as I massaged his scalp (the way to work #1)
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and went back to work. The sailor slave stood there, looking
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at his master being sucked by a young kid. He groaned, and
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his cock stood up rigid.
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"Master, please, may I join you?" he finally got out.
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"Okay, get over here and show this kid how it's done."
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I let the two of them lap at my cock for a time. The kid
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was really getting off on the sight of the sailor man sucking
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down my cock, and sent his hand over to find the sailor's cock
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and jerk it for him. The sailor reciprocated after a glance
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to be sure I would allow it. He knew my tempers better.
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The kid knelt down to get on the floor and he and the
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sailor were beating each other under my legs as they together
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slurped on my cock. He wasn't experienced, but he was eager
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and that helps a lot.
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I straightened up slightly and knocked their hands away,
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took the two cocks in my hands. There are thirty-six ways to
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stimulate a man's penis with your hand. I used #21, the fast
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flog, my hands a blur on their hard rods.
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The kid gasped, his mouth full of my cock, and he shot
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his load, splattering my hairy legs and the hairy sailor near
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to him, a huge load that seemed to never want to stop.
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The sailor groaned as he felt the come splash on him, and
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met it with his copious flow. I had spent the last hour
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before the kid arrived, teasing this man, bringing him close
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to orgasm again and again, only to stop and bring him back
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down again. He had been horny as hell when the knock came at
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the door, and I had ordered him not to touch it until I had
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returned. So, though older, his load was easily the match for
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the kid's, and splattered the adolescent hunk as much as he
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had been splattered, decorating the taut stomach with his
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seed.
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The kid caught his breath, returned to sucking my cock.
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He was as hot as ever, and I used my hands to hit two of his
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points together, and that was enough to send him writhing as
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he slurped furiously.
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And that did it for me. I roared, exploded, sent waves
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of my come into that waiting, young throat, filling him full.
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The kid gagged on the salty taste, but took it all, swallowing
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it eagerly.
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I rubbed some of the kid's come I had scooped off the
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sailor into the kid's hair, just to mark him well. His hair
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was matted with sweat, and the come blended right in. He
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looked silly at this, giggled.
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My intercom rang. "Yes?"
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"Is Kevin up there?"
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"Oh, God, my mom." the kid agonized. "I'm right here."
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he shouted.
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"Aren't you done yet? Come on, we have to go."
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"Okay, mom, I'll be right down." The kid looked at me,
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uncertain.
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"Go ahead, kid." I told him, grabbing the sailor's
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flaccid cock impudently. "I'll manage here. Just come back
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tomorrow without her."
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"Okay, sir, I will." the kid grinned. "Same time?"
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"Yeah. I'll be waiting for you." I laughed as, dressed,
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he left hurriedly. I had plans for that kid. But that was
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later. I turned to my sailor, asked, "Ready to go again?"
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The kid showed up right on time, his shorts (blue this
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time) tenting out in front of him. I knew with a smile when
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I opened the door for him, that he was ready for the second
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part of his training.
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"Am I too early?" he asked, nervous as hell. He'd had
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time to think, but not so much that he changed his mind. Of
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course, they never do. I can call one a month or a year
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later, and they arrive on time as always. My power of touch
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is a powerful weapon. "I told mom I was staying the night
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with a friend." He warned me.
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"No, you're right on time." I smiled and told him. "And
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I will be a good friend to your body. Take off your clothes
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and we'll get started. I was only wearing a white bathrobe,
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holding it together with one arm, and I let go, let it drape
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open. He gulped, looked at my flaccid cock, his mouth
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drooling already.
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He tugged off his T-shirt (the same or a close relative
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of the one the night before) and I got a real good look at his
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chest this time. Pert little nipples made small circles on
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his pecs. His stomach was taut, not rippled with muscle, but
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a flat depression that centered on his tuckered navel. The
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bare beginnings of chest hair dotted between his breasts,
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still a transparent white, but beginning to spread and darken.
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I stroked lightly up between his breasts, letting the hair
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tickle my palm, and tickle his chest at the same time.
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He untied the string and let his shorts fall. His cock
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was rigid, rock-hard, so easy to accomplish at his age. He
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groaned as my hands continued to brush his chest, and he made
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a movement as if to fall to his knees and suck on my cock
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again.
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"Stop." I ordered him, and he aborted the movement,
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straightened up, looked at me curiously.
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"Do you know who I am?" I asked. It was my beginning
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ritual.
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"No, sir." he said.
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"I am the Master of the Hand. You may call me that, for
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it is a title I well deserve, and I shall show you why I have
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that title this night." I said. I let the bathrobe fall from
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my body and said, "This way to the bedroom."
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He entered, gasped when he saw the set-up. I had a metal
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rod that stretched from wall to wall. I had the sailor, still
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here in my bedroom, attached to the rod by handcuffs that held
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both his hands and were looped over the rod. The sailor had
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a huge erection. I had been seeing to that; it is my power.
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This sailor would keep this erection for as long as I chose,
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until I released him. And so would the teenaged boy I was
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adding to my collection of studs.
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I pulled a second pair of handcuffs from the dresser.
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"Give me your hand." I commanded.
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"I don't know about this." the boy began unsteadily.
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I was foolish, forgetting to touch again his points of
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passion. I dropped the cuffs to the floor, reached for him.
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The teenaged stud gasped when I touched, with both hands,
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the pair of points on his chest. Two-handed, I stroked them
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gently and he gasped, arced again with his passion, his cock
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trying to reach up and take me. I had my own plans for that
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cock, though. I worked through his points, each time taking
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the pair of them, touching all six pairs, until he was gasping
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and nearly sobbing, trying to catch his breath that his
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passion would not let him do.
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"God." he breathed. "How do you do this to me?"
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"I am Master of the Hand." I intoned. "You will obey me,
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and I will give you pleasure like you've never had. You will
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now give me your hands, so that I may cuff you to the rod."
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This time he didn't object, gave me one wrist, which I
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fastened. I'm no sadist, but the helplessness of fastening
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a man like this stimulates his passion. I fastened them
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loosely; he could have pulled loose if he wanted. Throwing
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the other cuff over the rod, I fastened the other.
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"Now you will experience the pleasures I have in store
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for you."
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I took his hard cock in one hand, reached for the
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sailor's with the other. The sailor had had time to recover
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from his last orgasm, and was ready for more, I judged,
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hefting the cock, testing its rigidity. He could handle the
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passion I would send to him, or faint from it.
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There are thirty-six ways to handle another man's cock,
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and I went through them one by one. First I used a gentle
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stroke, almost pedestrian, that anyone could do.
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Then I switched, pushing down the foreskin so it would
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be out of the way, my index finger and thumb making a circle
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that barely touched the adolescent cock, rubbing back and
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forth over the glans, stimulating half of the pair of skin
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that gives a man pleasure. Too much of this will make a cock
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sore, but a little stimulates him incredibly. Try it and see,
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but perhaps you, being untrained as am I, should use a little
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lube on your thumb and finger before you begin.
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I will not reveal all of my talents here, as I have
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warned you before. But I made my moves one at a time,
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stimulating my two studs, bringing them to the brink, then
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switching to a less passionate stroke that brought them down
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once again. I varied this with intimate touches on their
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helpless bodies, strokes, brushes, touches, caresses, touching
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those places other men ignore, unaware of the body's ability
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to give pleasure so many ways. A caress of the ear lobe with
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the lightest touch of one finger; a stroking of the skin under
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the armpits, touching the tops of the feet.
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"God, I never knew my body could do this." the kid
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breathed.
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I gave him the touch on the forearm I've told before, the
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touch of hot-iron. He yelled with fear.
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"I am the giver of pleasure and pain." I told him. "I
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prefer pleasure, but my slaves must obey me." I touched him
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again, and he screamed.
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"God, don't do that, man! Please!" he cringed before my
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power. "You're not human! You can't be!"
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"I am more than human." I told him. "I am the Master of
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the Hand." And I returned to the touches of pleasure. His
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cock had drooped when I touched his forearm, it sprang to
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attention again. I used touch #21 again, one of the best for
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a novice. The speedy flogging of his cock caused him to yell
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again, this time in pleasure, begging me to do it harder,
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harder!
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My sailor man was getting too close, I knew. Time for
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me to add the rest of it. "Turn around." I ordered him.
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"What for?" the sailor begged me, knowing it was a
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foolish question.
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I touched the spot on his leg that pricks like a needle.
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"Obey me, slave!"
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"Yes, sir!" the sailor was obedient again, and turned
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around to let the kid see his hairy, bubble-shaped ass. I
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pulled the kid along the rod by his cock, aiming for that
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brown tuckerhole. The kid cooperated with me, and I picked
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up speed, until the kid's cock met the sailor's ass with a
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hard ram.
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I aimed perfectly, of course. Without lube, with the
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force of the speed we had maintained, the kid's cock slid up
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the sailor's ass, buried to the hilt the first stab.
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The sailor yelled, a combination of pleasure and pain.
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"Agh! God, kid, give it to me!" he yelled. And the sailor
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came right then, shooting his come in audible splats against
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the wall, without even touching his cock.
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The kid tried to oblige the sailor, hunching at him, but
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I pulled him out again, his cock sticky with blood. I wiped
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it off with a towel I kept for those purposes. "Now you turn
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around, kid." I said, touching him at Point #2 to emphasize
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my intent.
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"No, please, Master." the kid begged like I knew he
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would. "Please don't send that guy's cock up my ass. I
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couldn't take it."
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I had no intention of doing that to him, but a slave must
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be trained to obey, not argue. "Turn around, kid." I
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commanded, touching Point #2 again, to make it pleasant for
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him.
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He turned around, shivering, expecting the sailor's cock
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to come flying at him the way he had. But I was done with the
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sailor, who was nearly passed out, hanging listlessly. The
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sailor's leave was almost over, he would leave soon to return
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to his base. And I had the kid to teach to obey me.
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I licked at my finger, lubing it, worked it gently into
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the kid's butt. He moaned, and I quickly touched Point #4 to
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help him take the finger. His butt muscles worked and my
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finger slid in all the way.
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I didn't try for more that time, just left my finger in
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his ass while my other hand worked the kid's cock, going for
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the passionate strokes now, always varying, but always harder
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and harder, more and more sensations piling up on the kid.
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I looked at the clock. I had been working this kid's
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cock for a half hour. Long enough for the first time. I
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switched once again to Stroke #21, releasing my finger and
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turning the kid toward me, kneeling down in front of him so
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his cock was aimed at my face.
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"Shot that come on my face, kid!" I commanded him and he
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closed his eyes, his angelic face screwed up, and he humped
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at me, his cock exploding in my hand, powerful bursts of semen
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like only a teenaged boy can give it to you, an abundant flood
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of juvenile come that coated me in a solid coat, covering my
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face like I knew it would.
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The kid finished shooting his load what seemed like an
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hour later, relaxed, sagging against his bonds while his cock
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drooped in my hand. I gave it Stroke #8, which is designed
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to ressurrect cocks that have just been through orgasm, and
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his youthful body responded immediately, rock hard despite the
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coat of come still clinging to the opening it had come from.
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I leaned over, licked at his cockhead, cleaning it
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carefully, something I usually never did. I took it into my
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mouth briefly, a high honor coming from me, not sucking, but
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just tasting the youthful cock.
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I stood up, began again my ministrations to his young
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cock, again giving him pleasure. I thrust my face against
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his, letting him feel the sticky wax of his come against my
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five o-clock stubble. "Lick it off my face!" I ordered.
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He lapped at it like a good, obedient slave, now fully
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ready to take orders as I gave them.
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But I wouldn't rest this night, not with a teenaged cock
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in my hand, and a teenaged boy strapped to my rod. I would
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stay awake the entire night, putting the finishing touches on
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his training, piling orgasm upon orgasm on him until he lost
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count of them, lost track of time and his senses, his whole
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world revolving around me and my hand.
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For I am Master of the Hand, and this is my power.
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I have released many of my former slaves, straight men
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who have been married, a forbidden thing to remain in my
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stable. Therefore, I have several openings available to the
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right stud.
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Are you interested, little man?
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THE END
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