“Shhh… no more crying. No more begging. You lost the match and now you’re gonna take it up the ass, and your girlfriend is going to watch me dismantle your manhood. She and I are going to see the moment you stop being a man and start being my fag. We are going to laugh. And when I’m done with you, I’m going to fuck her and you’re going to watch. I’m the winner, baby… now get down on your knees. Time to worship the champ.”
Brian and I would often work late and end up in the office alone. He preferred that I blow him in his office but ultimately I sucked his dick all over the office.
Servant is such a strange word, isn’t it? It makes people think of maids and butlers in some British costume drama, like something out of the past. But servants are very much with us today, whether we are talking about faithful servants to God or those who find a higher purpose in serving those around them. It can be surprising to discover just how quickly the term can take on meaning in your own life.
***
“You have servants?” I asked my sister. It was such a far cry from the modest upbringing we’d had back in the States. And it was surprising given Jennifer’s work in international development and promoting economic equality.
“Don’t get so excited. They came with the house,” she explained as she exited the airport road and pulled onto the highway that would take us to Rabat. “It’s expected here,” she continued. “The previous owners had a housekeeper and a gardener and we were expected to continue employing them too.”
“How fancy!”
“Not really. And I mean, with the new baby, having Amina in the kitchen is a ton of help. And she’s very sweet. Emir is more of a pain in the ass. But at least I don’t have to weed the garden.”
“Your place needs a full time gardener?”
“No. Really it’s all a bit more than what’s needed. But like I said, it’s expected. And he does security too. He stays on the property. Lives in a little guardhouse to the side. So it’s not a lot of activity for him, but I suppose his being there helps to keep everything safe. As a deterrent.”
“OK, I get it. And I imagine Benny must be in heaven. Three year old kid, used to a crowded apartment in New York. Now he lives on a big property with servants to look after him. Huh. So why did I come?”
“Because you said you would, idiot! And work is crazy and Benny was plenty to deal with on my own before—and now I have an infant too. Plus, we never saw much of you in New York anyway and since you don’t have a job at the moment, why wouldn’t you come stay with us and help out?”
Why not? She was right. I didn’t have a job at the moment, or apartment, or a lover. I had spectacularly blown up all three a month ago, and now I floated from friend to friend and from couch to couch—and now into this family visit with no clear return date.
“Also, Amina is helpful with Benny, but she’s only with us during the day and I need her to cook and clean. I guess Emir can be useful. He’s grumpy as hell with the rest of us, but he comes alive around Benny and other children. So they play out in the garden some of the time he’s on duty. But there’s still the baby and the house and everything, and I could really use your help. Especially since Brian is posted to Bussels for the next nine months.”
“Sure, sis. Happy to help.” I looked out the window. “Plus, I’ve never been to Morocco. Should be a great visit.”
“It will change your life,” she replied. I’d soon learn how much.
***
In another 45 minutes we arrived at the house: a large two-story affair on ample grounds, walled off from the other houses in this subdivision of diplomats, expats, and rich Moroccans. The house and a few small outbuildings were surrounded by lush gardens with a blanket of grasses, hedged in with fragrant jasmine, and dotted with fruit and nut trees along the perimeter.
It was an extremely comfortable looking existence. My sister lived better abroad than she did in the US. Would she ever return? In such circumstances, I probably wouldn’t either.
To enter, we had to pass a little guardhouse and go through a gate closed off with outrageously tall wooden doors banded with iron. “Do you have a remote for this,” I asked, “or do you need me to get out and break down the castle doors?”
She laughed. “No need. It’s afternoon, so Emir should be on duty. Oh, here he is.” A young man, about 25 exited the small guardhouse. “Hello, Miss Jennifer.”
“Hello, Emir. This is my brother, Paul. Paul, Emir.” Emir stared back at me and made no move to shake my hand. Young, dark-eyed, serious. Handsome in an intense sort of way. Kind of like one one of those stone-faced but bright-eyed social radicals from a high school history text, whose page you’d always turn to and jack off when you should have been doing the reading.
“Good to meet you,” he simply said. “Enjoy your stay.” He left to open the gate for us and waved us through.
“You weren’t kidding. Grumpy as fuck!” I said.
“Actually, I thought he was quite pleasant with you!”
***
“So tell me what happened with you and Jon?” Jennifer asked. We had finished a lovely dinner outside on the patio in the back garden. Birds chirped happily from the fruit trees and jasmine thickly perfumed the air. Emir seemed to be a grumpy little fucker, but he kept a beautiful garden.
Amina had made and left a delicious chicken tagine with olives, so there was very little work for us to do—just pour a glass of wine and dig in.
“Tell me what happened.”
“Pour me another glass of wine and I’ll tell you.”
“Four?” She raised an eyebrow.
“You’re my sister, not my mother. And besides, this requires wine. Frankly, you may want one too.”
“OK.”
“Benny still good for a little bit?” I looked out and saw that he and Emir were still out in the yard, kicking around a soccer ball.
“Oh yes, he loves Emir. And Emir is actually quite sweet with him.” I could see it was true. Emir frequently squatted down to talk with Benny on his level, to show him something in the grass, or pat him affectionately on the head. No surliness on display now.
“Now, tell me. Jon. Suddenly he’s gone, after three years? And no warning? He just split?” I sighed.
“In short, I cheated on him. And he caught me.”
“Huh. OK. But plenty of relationships hit some kind of bump, maybe some infidelity, and they find a way to move past it—“
“—Many times. It happened many times.”
“You slept with the guy many times?”
“He caught me being unfaithful many times. Different men. Many men.”
“Wow—“
“The last one was his cousin.”
“Oh my God.”
“His cousin who got me the job at the magazine.”
“So that’s why you left the magazine.”
“And why his cousin’s wife left him.”
“Jesus!”
“See? I told you’d want that glass of wine.”
“But you two seemed so in love. I thought…”
“I did love him. He was like… he was like a comfortable sweater that’s easy to put on and even easier to take off when company comes.”
“Ouch. That doesn’t sound too great. But he was so good to you, Paul.”
“Too good. I could always count on him. And he always gave everything to me. No surprises. Nothing unexpected.”
“That’s generally a good thing, Paul. Life can’t be fireworks all the time.”
“I guess I needed something different. And so does he.”
“He needs someone who’s not slutting around on him—and with his cousin! I’m think I’m on Jon’s side here.”
“You probably should be,” I said. “Figures,” I added, raising my wine glass to hers.
“It does,” she replied, clinking against mine. “Wow.”
***
By 10:00, given the wine and jet leg for me and a day of solo parenting for Jennifer, we went to bed.
But as tired as I was, I was also restless. I tossed and turned, couldn’t sleep. Eventually I gave up, pulled on a pair of shorts and went outside to the garden to have a cigarette. I tried not to do this often, but sometimes I found it relaxing, almost contemplative, just watching the smoke curl up and into the night.
But even in the darkness I sensed someone was with me. Eventually, Emir stepped forward and I could see him in the moonlight. We stared at each other for a tense moment or two before it occurred to me that he wanted a cigarette too.
I extended the pack to him. He nodded but did not take it. After an awkward pause, I pulled it back, fished one out myself, and handed it to him.
He put it in his mouth, letting it dangle, still looking at me. I pulled out my lighter. Again, he did not take it, so I stepped closer and brought my lighter to the tip. Fired it and watched the flames illuminate his dark eyes. He sucked in, puffed a few times, expelling smoke as it caught fire, and then it was lit.
It felt so strangely intimate to do this simple thing for him. To brave his surly demeanor, move in close, and light his cigarette.
He drew in deeply and exhaled a cloud of smoke. It hung in the air between us as he stepped back. I expected him to say thank you, but those were not his words.
“It is not right, you know. What I heard.”
“What you heard?”
“You and Miss Jennifer, speaking after dinner.” What could he have heard? He was across the yard. But of course voices carry, we had been drinking, and I knew I could sometimes get too loud.
“Cheating on my ex? I suppose I have to agree with you there.”
“No. Lying with a man. With many men.”
“Some cultures see things differently.”
“This is not a matter of culture. It’s a matter of God.” I exhaled quietly and thought. How should I respond? How could I respond?
I said nothing. We smoked in silence. I did not want to pick a fight with this intense and judgmental man.
Young man. I mean, he was at least 10 years my junior. Probably 15. And he was judging me, lecturing me, in my own sister’s house! A house in which he was a servant, for Chrissakes. I started to get angry about it. I broke the silence.
“You are entitled to your view but I don’t think you should be expressing it to me.”
“I speak and act according to my God and no one can silence that. You are not right with God. Until then, it is you who should keep silence with me.”
The arrogant, backward, insulting prick! This could not stand. I would have to challenge him—or leave.
But I did neither. I stood with him in silence for another 10 minutes until he finished his cigarette and ground it out. He turned to leave.
“Good night,” I called out to him. He did not respond.
***
I awoke an hour or two after midnight, I think. There was a sound. Footsteps in the hall? I was on high alert.
My door swung open. I stiffened. I could make out a form—male, young. Emir?
Very quickly there was a hand over my mouth. “Don’t make a sound,” he told me. Yes, it was Emir.
A belt unbuckling. Pants coming down. Normally a welcome sound. One of my favorite sounds. A horny trigger. But in this context it just felt ominous.
His other hand came off my lips and moved to my hold my throat, as my mouth was quickly stuffed with cock. Soft, thick cock that started to swell up and stiffen. Oh my God.
He squeezed my throat and thrust his pelvis forward, grinding into my face. “Here, faggot,” he whispered. “This is what you deserve. What we both deserve.”
There was no consent. Or perhaps it was simply presumed, by nature of what I was. And who he was.
I started to cry out, to say something. He slapped me. A loud stinging slap across the cheek. “No, faggot. I am the one who speaks here. Your mouth is for sucking.”
Under the circumstances, what could I do? I complied. I began to suck. He stiffened further. Instinct took over. Probably for us both. I certainly did know how to do this—to pleasure a man.
He grew in my mouth and I relaxed my jaw to receive the length of him. Took him into me, parried his thrusts, made my throat into a vessel for his thrusting shaft. A warm, wet hole wrapped around his growing cock.
He kept his hand on my throat, a firm grasp but not crushing me. Just holding me. Controlling me.
Despite the politics of this—an assault, of sorts—I felt my own cock stiffen. I moved my hand down to my pajamas. Grasped myself, squeezed it. Felt the pre-cum stain forming in the pajama fabric.
He slapped me again. “No.”
I released myself. My cock twitched and ached. But I fought the urge to move again.
I concentrated on him. On taking him in. On pleasuring his cock with my tongue, my mouth, my accommodating throat.
It did not last long. 10 minutes, maybe? He was picking up his pace. Thrusting in, fucking my skull, triggering my gag reflex. He pushed and grunted and I could tell he was getting close. He stiffened and threw back his head.
“Receive it,” he told me, and he unloaded in my mouth. Jets of hot, salty cum. I struggled to breathe as I swallowed him down, taking his load into my stomach.
“Good, he said, pulling back. “Clean it off.” I looked back at him, still stunned. Another slap.
I got back on his cock, licking up the sticky remains; his wet, spit-soaked cock glistening in the moonlight.
He stepped back and wordlessly covered the monster with his underwear, pulled up his pants, buckled his belt. “Tell no one about this.” And he was gone.
I sat there, stunned for a full three minutes before I realized I was still hard. Three quick strokes of my cock and I erupted with a sticky mess into my pajamas.
Jesus Christ. What the hell?
The story continues on my Patreon!
Become a patron of Jay Spear Stories today: Get access to exclusive content and experiences on the world’s largest membership platform for a
The guy’s dating your daughter. She complains that sex with him hurts because of his dick size. You decide to check for yourself. Turns out his dick IS big and she’s right, it does hurt to have sex with him.
“Boy, I’ve been trying to concentrate on my work and you music keeps distracting me”, my neighbour Chris didn’t seem to be in a good mood. He leant on the door frame with an annoyed look at his face.
"Sorry, I haven't realised it was so loud. I'll turn it down", I looked up at the man towering in front of me. My eyes were drawn to the wet stain on his t-shirt in the area of his armpit.
"Listen, I'm not going to play with you", he stepped into my apartment and walked into the middle of the room, "Get here, boy" he commanded.
I closed the door and walked to my neighbour, stopping in around a step away from him. I was too shy to make eye contact with him, so I just stared at his chest, which was at my eyesight.
"You know, the walls here are very thin," he paused for a moment, "and sometime I can here your videos. I also notice you glancing at me whenever our ways cross somewhere in the building".
My heart started beating a bit faster and I could feel my ears burning. I realised where he was going.
"Believe me, I know boys like you. Small, weak... too shy to look a man in the eyes when he's talking to you...", he grabbed my jaw with his hand and carefully forced my head up, making me look into his eyes. "It's completely normal to be scared, boy. Look at me and look at you... we are not equal. And you know that, don't you?"
I slowly nodded my head, without breaking eye contact with him.
"You see, you realise that. So why pretending to be something else?"
My whole body was shaking and I was about to start crying. Chris saw it and he just smiled.
"I think it would be better, if you were honest with yourself", he continued, "Tell me, what you feel"
"I...", I hesitated for a moment but Chris raised his brows showing me to continue, "I feel so... submissive... I just feel like I should do anything you tell me", I mumbled.
"That's better, boy. You see, there're dominant alpha man like me and there're submissive betas like you. It's just natural... So, I've got some work to do around my apartment and since you have so much free time, you could help me out. Do you want to help me?" he looked at me.
It felt like he was giving me a choice but I knew there was just one correct answer. But what is more important I felt the need to serve him, so timidly I answered "Yes".
"What yes?"
"Yes, I want to help you"
"Good but before we go, there's one condition. Climb on the couch and stand up".
I followed his order. He pulled down my joggers and my briefs. A little smile appeared on his face when he saw me naked.
Chris pulled out something from his pocket and showed me, "You know what this is?" He was holding a small metal chastity cage in his palm.
"Yes," I nodded.
"From now on you will be wearing it when I say so. You have the last possibility to say 'no'. But if you do so, I won't come to you with the same offer again. So, do you want to be mine, boy?"
"Yes, I want to be yours"
Christ closed the cage around my small dicklet and gave me a nice slap on my bare ass. "Now, let's go", and he led me to his apartment.
If you like my blog, you can support me here: www.buymeacoffee.com/writermax
ellievsbear
izzy806
origamiaround
vaporwave
amandla
