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It seems that when he was 18, Slut Boy's parents were killed in a plane crash and he was sent to live with his kindly old uncle, some 32 years his senior. My age, in fact. Must be somethin' about us 50-year-olds!
Anyway, uncle introduced him to the delights of going down on a nice length of cock, and also to the delights of being a sub to a dominant master. Whatta lovely uncle!
Then, after his trainin', it seems uncle – bless his tender heart – passed Slut Boy on to a professional poker player.
One afternoon, before a big stakes tournament in some London gambling club, the poker player took Slut Boy along to Big Daddy's hotel suite. There the two poker players played poker with the youngster – not with cards, if you get my meanin' - and Big Daddy expressed a desire to enjoy Slut Boy's submissive talents a bit more.
The English poker player said, words to the effect "Beat me in the tournament and you can have 'im on loan for six months". Big mistake.
The Limey and Big Daddy were the last two players standin' and when the Englishman got a full house – jacks over 10s – he bet the lot. Big mistake. Big Daddy had a full house too – aces over queens. The next day, when Big Daddy walked into the first class section of his plane for the flight home to LAX, Slut Boy was with him.
That was a coupla weeks ago, and that's when your's truly came into the picture.
We sucked down the remains of our Buds and Slut Boy kissed me tenderly on the mouth.
"Master Lash," he said, when we'd pulled apart, "I've got a confession to make."
"Shoot," I told him.
"When I said my cock was eight inches, I lied."
I grinned. "Well, Slut Boy, I've got some good news and some bad news."
He gave me one of his lovely smiles and asked: "What's the good news?"
I said: "We're goin' back to that little ol' torture chamber, Slut Boy."
"Yummy, yummy, yummy," he replied, fairly lickin' the drool from his mouth. "And what's the bad news, master?"
I kissed him slowly, then whispered in his ear: "This time, no fuckin' Mr Nice Guy!"
To be continued...
