They ended up driving for nearly an hour out of town, the suburbs Shane had known all his life slowly giving way to small farms and rural homes. He finished his dinner on the way, Roger making sure he ate everything he’d given him, and then offered him dessert–making Shane wedge himself under the steering wheel so he could suck him off while Roger smoked and drove. He made him pull away as he got close, and Roger finished all over Shane’s face–he allowed him to lick up everything he could reach, and left the rest of it to dry. It was late in the evening when they got to Roger’s home, a small two bedroom house on a parcel of property surrounded by trees. They went inside, and Roger showed Shane his room–little more than a closet, with a small cot inside, and told him to get some rest–they had a day off tomorrow. Those were rare, and Roger said he had a lot planned for the two of them. Shane was ordered to get up at five, and have breakfast ready by six.
He didn’t sleep well. The cot was uncomfortable, the room was cramped, and he kept thinking about the disgust in his mother’s eyes when she’d looked at him. What could Roger have done to make her hate him so much? There had to be a weakness. Maybe if he could just get them away from him, they’d become normal again. Or maybe it was an object which gave Roger this…power, and if he could just figure out what it was, he’d be able to stop him. He had to stop him though–there was no other option. If he didn’t…well, he didn’t think Roger would be letting him keep his mind mostly intact for long–and if he didn’t figure this out soon, then there probably wouldn’t be anything he could do about it. In might already be too late anyway. Eventually, the exhaustion caught up with him, but his alarm went off right at five, and he got up, found the kitchen and the fully stocked cupboards, and started cooking.
This, at least, he’d gotten better at. He had a massive breakfast made by six, when Roger walked into the room. Shane saw him smirking, as he lit his morning cigar, and asked him what was wrong. “That’s a whole lot of food, boy, and I don’t let anyone waste food in this house–so you’d better have your appetite ready.”
Shane was confused–he’d made the amount he usually did, hadn’t he? It took him a moment to realize that he’d always factored his father into the equation, but now, it was just the two of them here. Roger ate little, picking at the food, and instead made Shane gorge himself. He was so full, he could barely stand it by the time he finished, and he had to lean back in order to relieve some of the pressure.
“Damn boy, that was excellent work. You’re gonna be making at least that much for yourself every morning from now on, right?” Roger said, and Shane nodded, with a whimper. “Don’t be scared boy–you want this after all. Still, why don’t we relax for a while? I could take a load off and relax for a bit, couldn’t you?”
He could. The events of the last 24 hours were still fresh in his mind, but Shane doubted he’d be able to relax in this situation. He followed him into another room of the house, and there, along the wall, he saw something he hadn’t noticed the day before–what looked like a toilet seat propped up on four metal legs.
“This is my favorite chair, boy, but it’s been missing a key component–a nice mouth underneath it. Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna shit in ya–but man, nothin’ helps me relax after a long week a work than a hot, eager tongue on my dirty hole–and that’s where you come in. Get under there.”
He shook his head, and begged him not to, but Shane couldn’t resist. He looked up at the ceiling, with Roger looming over him and framed by the toilet seat. “Please…I don’t…why are you doing this to me, sir?”
He just chuckled, and dropped his own coveralls down and stepped out of them. “I did you a favor and wiped this morning boy–but I don’t usually keep toilet paper around. Still, you’re gonna be loving this soon enough, I promise you that,” He stepped over the seat and sat down, his fat ass descending until it was all Shane could see, and the smell…fuck, it smelled so fucking good–but then again, Sir…Sir always smelled good. “Go on boy, lick it! Like an ice cream cone–taint to crack.”
Shane did as he was told, and to his own horror…he liked it. Hell, he more than liked it, he was hornier than he’d thought possible. Soon enough, he was grunting and snorting as he licked, and Roger unzipped the front of the boy’s coveralls to let his hard cock loose. “Stroke all ya want boy–but don’t cum. I always cum first. Still, the more you stroke, the more you’re gonna love eating ass–so be careful.”
Shane didn’t care, he started milking his cock anyway. His jaw hurt, his tongue was sore, but he kept at it, now digging into the hole, tasting him, groaning out a “Thank you, sir,” as he did. He only had a dim memory of what else happened–the ashtray that rested on his chest while Roger smoked, dropping the occasional cinder onto his belly. The clamps he used on Shane’s nipples, tugging whenever the boy started to lick too slowly for his liking.
Shane found himself feeling…so much better. He loved this, didn’t he? A nice day off, spending it eating out Sir’s filthy hole, smelling his cigar smoke wafting down around him, tits aching, cock leaking…it’s what he loved, right? Something didn’t seem right about this–he should be fighting harder, or should he be licking harder? Roger was jacking off, tugging, telling Shane to go digging, and he did–it wasn’t too long before Roger came, and he gave permission to Shane to cum as well–he rubbed their cum together with the ash from his cigars, coating Shane’s growing belly, and then zipped him back up.
“Alright boy–time for a late lunch, and then we’re gonna get you started on smoking cigars yourself, and talk about my house rules for boys.”
Late lunch? When Shane got up, he discovered he’d been under the rimchair for nearly three hours. His face was greasy and wet with his own drool, but when Roger kissed him…he leaned into his Sir, sucking smoke from his mouth, and wondered if he really was home after all.
Bracken's Corner 