For years I'd worshipped Stephen C from afar. We met when we lived in a group household in San Francisco. There were four off us, all students. Stephen was quick to establish himself as the alpha male of that house. I know he scolded me more than once for neglecting house chores. I at first was indignant, feeling - "who the hell does he think he is, my father?" Indignant, yes, but I was also rattled by Stephen's fierce energy and vehemence when he reprimanded me. Those brief, explosive tongue-lashings also began to make my penis squirm with delight inside my pants. I would hear his rebuke, and, while receiving his harsh words, I'd be envisioning myself on my knees behind him, kissing his ass while he chewed me out. It wouldn't matter if he were clothed or not. Just the pure symbolic power of kissing a strong man's ass in a show of submission made me feel like a happy whore - and, indeed, I am a self-effacing weakling, truly less than a man. In this life, I only wish to devote myself to a real man, a whole man; as his servant - his helpful underling.
Now, after a period of subtle suggestions on my part that I was ready and very willing to be his boy, Stephen has come to acknowledge our bond.
I think he began to discover the pleasure of having an inferior man grovel (symbolically), at his feet, which I did with increasing boldness, over time, always submitting to his wishes without hesitation. Soon, though, I would literally grovel at the Master's feet and be his faithful little dog.
Today, Stephen lives alone in a nice apartment on Russian Hill. I go there three times a week to clean the apartment and to do his laundry. I have all kinds of cleaning products - brooms, brushes, and mops - stored there. I've never loved work before, but the 'pay' I get is sooooo good, I can't wait to get into harness! So, on a typical cleaning day, I go to work. Stephen might lounge on the sofa watching sports, or he may have business to conduct. He does much of his work from home.
After I work, Stephen inspects. This is a nail-biting event for me. He looks at everything, and he's more than ready to twist my ears if he finds something amiss. Once he slapped my face really hard for allowing a dishtowel to fall to the floor. Boy! that made my head spin! But as the image of his hand emerged redly on my cheek, my ears ringing, I stood there looking down at the floor between us, and I knew. I knew that this was what I wanted. I wanted to serve Stephen. Not just some guy like him. I wanted to be on my knees kissing his feet. I wanted to be his boy. Later, I relived the moment in my mind. I realized with a start that I wanted to feel his hand against my cheek again, to hear that "crack!" as it makes contact and reverberates.
Lately, Stephen has chosen to be naked when I'm there. Or he might just wear an old T-shirt and socks, if it's chilly. In either case, I get to see that fine swinging dick of his! Prominent, full helmeted, five and a half inches long when soft, low hanging balls, and all crowned with a thick black pubic bush! What a dream cock! And what a man it hangs from, too.
Well before I ever admired it in the flesh, I've had something like a schoolgirl's crush on Stephen's ass. I simply remember walking a bit of a distance behind him, once or twice,
by happenstance. Going for a bus, let's say, when he'd preceded me out the door by a minute.
And, I could see as I looked hungrily at him - my mind could envision - the beauty of his behind. And it truly is a manly ass. One that deserves, is due, in fact, the admiration of others; especially of a fag like me.
Even back then, I would hurry home to our shared apartment if I'd been lucky enough to walk behind him earlier that day. With the image of his, warm, white, slightly hairy ass fresh before my needy mind, I would rush to my room and discharge my passion in warm viscous loops of semen as I moaned his name.
That "pay" I mentioned? It's this: If the inspection goes well, then I get to service him! Oh, happy day!
And remember, I'm crawling behind this man who is naked from the waist down. Talk about a carrot on a stick. So I am so very ready to get behind him and show my respect! He'll normally give me a passing grade by tousling my hair and saying "good boy". This makes me so relieved because then I can show him my other talents!
Stephen likes to have my full attention when I service him. Of course, there's nothing I'd rather do more! He will sit in a leather armchair in the living room, relaxed, in charge, his penis already showing interest in what's to come. I kneel on the carpet about five feet away from him. I'm usually very excited at this point. And nervous.
Stephen will drape his tall, rangy frame into the chair. his arms over the sides, and his legs spread wide. The night I refer to here was no different.
"What are you thinking, Jimmy?" he asked me, point blank.. And, scary as it is to reveal all my bad and dirty thoughts to him, I do it. The answers shock even me, as I speak them softly to him.
"I can barely hear you. Speak up! Be a man!" He said in his firm, assertive voice., and this embarrassed me. I sometimes blush and look down. But I obey.
"Mr Stephen, sir. I was thinking about smelling the seat of your chair if you were to get up from it."
A smile spread across his face. He laced his fingers behind his head, and slumped more comfortably into the chair while I thought of what I'd just said. God, how embarrassing. A grown man, or so my years would lead one to believe. While normal men were basking in the sun of success - in both the world of money and business, and in mating and having progeny, I crept in the shadows, my small penis throbbing at one perverse thought or another.
Stephen chuckled at my embarrassment.
"And what would you expect to find there?"
"Sir?"
He gave an exasperated sigh. "The seat of my chair, dumb ass. When I get up? Remember?" he said, shaking his head. "Pathetic."
"Oh! Of course, sir. I'm so sorry. I was confused for a second." I said. I could hear my heart thumping in my chest.
"Whatever. Now give me the reasons for your smell-the-chair fantasy."
Sir, I was thinking how sweet it would be if you rose up from your chair and left the room. Then, feeling very excited and naughty, I would rush to your chair and bury my face into it."
"To what result would you take such action?" he asked casually, knowing full well the answer.
Sir, it would be to get the smell of your anus up my nose." I stuttered. Now I was really blushing! The more deeply I blushed, the louder and more hearty was Stephen's laughter.
"You really are a pig, jimmie!" Master said, still laughing. "Do you agree?"
Oh, certainly, Sir! A groveling little faggot pig who loves cleaning the Master's asshole!" I blurted out.
"Well said, boy! So we might conclude that you're fond of the way my asshole smells?" he said, tauntingly.
By now, blood was also rushing to my groin, and my small, stiff penis bobbed and jerked uncontrollably. Stephen seemed to enjoy watching it.
Stephen continued. "Wouldn't you rather smell the real article, Jimmy?"
"Oh, my, yes! Oh certainly I would!" I said, and never was I so ready to get my face between his soft, warm buttocks.
I began shifting around on the carpet before him, not unlike the way a dog behaves when he knows master has a special treat in his hand. I was quite excited at the coming prospect!
I'll give you some background. Mr Stephen sometimes withholds access to his buttocks and asshole as a way of flexing his muscle, showing he is boss. I remember the longest absence - 9 days. I broke down into a sniveling heap on the morning of day 5. He'd been treating me so coldly, torturing me with his indifference to my pain. I just cried at his feet. He paid no mind, just read his paper, then pushed me aside with his foot as he left.
