Blake Mitchell

He already took off his pants, and my knees bend down automatically. I catch myself, standing up. My whole being screams at what I’m doing, the question I’m asking. Months of rigorous training, nights of being fucked and submitted to hypnosis and forced to take pills that were supposed to make me a better fag for him tells me to shut up and obey. But my fear is greater. 

“Here sir?”

He smiles, almost happy that I don’t obey. He knows that I understand what he wants to do. He enjoys my fear. 

“Yep.”

“But er… But…”

“Yep. Figured it’s time for you to see some other dicks than mine.”

I say nothing. I breath. I process the information. I get on my knees, starting to blow him. In minutes people are going to start coming in for the rally this afternoon. They’re going to film me sucking him. He’s probably gonna be rough with me, maybe piss in and on me, invite people to use me. I know his goal, he wants to show the whole university that I’m a fag for use and that he’s my master.