Gay Fag Slave

The Best Man

By the end of the reception, the best man was missing. “Anyone seen Brett?“ But a few of the hall workers had “taken a shine” to Brett. The men kept an eye on him as he got more & more inebriated throughout the night - a sloppy drunk. Hitting on all the single ladies & even some of the married ones too. Real belligerent with the staff too - thinking he’s a real stud. The head server offered to show Chris the private wine cellar… but the guys were waiting for him. The server guided him through the cellar and into a dark room. As the light snapped on Brett suddenly realised there was no expensive wine to be quaffed in here, neither was there a way out. Suddenly the men jumped him. Despite all of the alcohol he had consumed, Brett was strong and athletic, a real gym bunny and put up a decent fight. It took all three of his assailants to wrestle the struggling stud to the filthy, cum stained mattress. The men quickly had the drunk groomsman gagged & tied up nice and tight. Tom had been in the navy - knew how to tie a drunk asshole up real good.

“I’m sure he took off with one of those girls he was talking to - you know Brett”

“Yeah. Let’s go.. I’m sure he’s busy - having a great time with some lucky girl”

Brett felt a strong hand smack his tight, besuited ass..as he bucked in his restraints like a wild stallion being reluctantly bought to heel.

“MMMMPHHH!! MPHHHHHH!!!

“We’re gonna have a great time, buddy… you’re the best man right? Well.. we’ll see just how good you are…

When my renter first moved in, he somehow convinced me that he should get the master bedroom.  Something about those sparkly eyes, cocky grin, easygoing happy confidence…  He ended up getting a lot of action so it made more sense anyhow.

When he convinced me that the other bedroom should be his workout room & I should sleep in the basement it made sense too.  He’d enjoy working out more in a sunny room & having it right next to the bathroom made it easier for him to shower afterward. It was cooler in the basement, darker, quieter.  I’d sleep better, he said.  Although being right under “his” bedroom & listening to the mattress creak under him & his latest conquest didn’t always contribute to me sleeping well, I definitely didn’t mind.

When he started scheduling out the times that I could be upstairs it seemed weird.  But he always had good reasons.  He had friends over a lot, he liked his privacy when he worked out or watched TV, he wanted to meditate…  He started emailing me scheduled times that I could be upstairs. 

After a month or so, the times came with scheduled activities next to them: prepare meals listed on fridge, scrub bathroom, clean living room…  It was true that his doing any cleaning hadn’t been part of our agreement, but since I almost never used the upstairs anymore it ended up being me just cleaning up after him & his friends.  He was often away or busy during my scheduled times upstairs so it was hard to nail him down to discuss it.

When I finally did talk to him about it, he laughed in his easy, jokey way.  He had good explanations for how busy he was lately.  He rubbed his massive shoulders & bulging pecs as he looked me deep in the eye & asked if things were okay.  He grinned at me sweetly & said, “You’re doing a great job, bitch.  I really appreciate it.”  I was taken aback by the “bitch” part but it was said so casually, just a joke about me doing all the work.  It seemed funny to him, and for some reason to me too.  After that, I was often “bitch”, “faggot”, or “slave boy”, said in the endearing way he’d address a loyal bird dog.  As he stepped over me wiping something up off the floor, I’d hear, “Good job, slave boy, this place is looking great.”  When he called down for me to come help him hang a picture he was putting up in place of something I’d had up, he’d call out, “Hey, faggot, come lend a hand.”  It was so casual & natural that it seemed weird for some reason to complain about it.

Then his dirty laundry started appearing at the bottom of the stairs, clearly just tossed from the top of the stairs.  Doing it at the same time as mine wasn’t a big deal.  “Deliver laundry clean & folded” appeared next to one of my scheduled times upstairs.

I came home from work one day I found my living space in the basement full of boxes of his extra stuff.  He turned around.  “Hey, don’t touch any of this stuff, okay faggot?  I’m gonna go through it soon & I know just where everything is.”  He bounded upstairs before I could argue but his stuff sat there for weeks, making it impossible for me to have people over.

When I finally got sick of it & confronted him, he listened thoughtfully, smiling & nodding.  “You’re right, slave boy, I’ve been taking you for granted.  You’ve been doing a lot of things for me that I really want & it’s about time I do the same for you.”  I hadn’t been expecting that. 

I really hadn’t been expecting him to stand up & pull down his shorts, letting his perfect, fat dick bounce out, swaying back & forth half hard, drooling a line of precum.  I sat there dumbfounded.  He smiled down at me sweetly & winked.  “Go ahead, it’s okay.”  My mind went blank as I leaned forward & opened wide.

When he was getting close, he lightly took a handful of hair & pulled my head back.  “Okay, that’s good.”  I looked from his face to his bulging hardon desperately- “But…” 

“I’m saving that for my date tonight,” he smirked.  I’m ashamed to admit that I begged.  My brain was off, all I could think about was his taste, his scent, how he’d feel & look as he came, something I’d heard in the room above me so many times but never experienced in person.

He rolled his eyes playfully & gave a little pout.  “Well… I am a little short on cash for tonight’s date.  How about you get this load instead of next month’s rent?”  I didn’t even take the time to do the math before nodding yes.  When he pushed back in, I was no longer in control.  He held my hair tight & fucked my face with hungry, hard strokes, oblivious to my choking.  When he came, my eyes were so clouded with tears I couldn’t see him but the feel of his thick dick pulsing, the smell, the taste, the sounds of his deep, guttural, satisfied grunt will be with me forever.

As I heard the same sounds coming from above me later that night, his happy, contented groan rising over the sounds of the creaking mattress upstairs, I jacked myself off to one of the best orgasms of my life.