Misdelivered Mail Male Sex Training

Jack hadn't been able to locate that exact DVD at the store and had been disappointed at the failure to do so. Here it was—for him to enjoy as he was being mastered. He certainly hoped he wouldn't wake up before he'd been thoroughly fucked.

Sam, the Roman soldier, picked up the dildo and showed it to Allen, who had reached the center of the room and propped his torso up on his arms extending to the floor. His eyes were on the Roman soldier and the earthen-ware dildo. His look was wary. The dildo looked larger than anything he'd taken before.

"Do you recognize who I am?" the man asked.

"Yes, the man from the costume shop."

"You looked apprehensive when you were in the shop. Are you afraid of me?"

"Yes, I little."

"Afraid I will be cruel?"

"Yes, a little."

"Does that arouse you?"

Allen didn't answer, but he lowered his head in submission, a signal understood by them both.

"Good. We will share a mutually beneficial relationship. Remember that no matter what the role we are playing, I am the master and you are the slave. I own the store. I am the Sam of the store's name. I know who you are. Allen Brice. I know what you bought in my store. For instance, I know you bought a version of this." He rotated the dildo. "You bought a size eight thick. Have you used it on yourself yet?"

"Yes," Allen answered haltingly.

"This is a size nine. I am a size nine."

Allen shuddered.

"I got the impression from watching you in the store that you are ripe for some excitement in your sex life. If I'm wrong, tell me."

Allen didn't answer, which was an answer.

"I want to be quite clear," Sam continued. "Not many have followed my command at the door the first time. I take that as an indication of how badly you need what I can give you. And this surprises me. You are quite good looking and have a perfectly formed body and a sweet, soft mouth. You are a bit small in stature, but there are many men, including me, who see that as arousing. And yet, here you are and there you were in my shop—buying fantasies. Tell me, do you open your legs for men?"

"I have," Allen answered.

"Have you possibly lost a lover recently and are having trouble replacing him?"

"Yes."

"You've found someone but he isn't fulfilling your fantasies?"

"Yes, that's right."

"But is a satisfying sex partner otherwise?"

"In most respects."

"I am not looking for a slave," Sam said. "I will not possess you permanently. But I am able to give you what you want—and possibly help you get more of what you want from your sex partner—or enable you to find more satisfactory sex partners. If that's not what you want, you may slither on out of the house and thank you very much for the very nice blow job at the door." He paused, giving Allen a chance to withdraw. But Allen stayed put. He'd decided before he came that he'd carry through with it if this was what he thought it was and the other man was presentable.

Sam was very presentable in many ways—he certainly was horse hung—and in many ways reminiscent of Allen's lieutenant.

"You bought a size eight thick dildo in my store. I like to think that the men who shop there underestimate their needs. As I said, This dildo is a size nine extra thick. If you stay here, I will be fucking you with it."

Again Allen made no effort to move.

"And I also will fuck you with this, also a size nine." He pulled his own cock out from underneath his short skirt. Allen had been intimately introduced to it at the door already, but it didn't look any less formidable now in full erection.

"So, we will begin," Sam said, sitting on the side of the couch. "Come, serve me wine and feed me grapes. I am a Roman general and your master, back from many months on the campaign trail. I brought you back with me, one of the last survivors of a vanquished people. I saved you from being ravished and dispatched by my soldiers. I saved you for myself. You have not yet been touched in that way by man. I have saved you to do that myself.

"I haven't had a man in those months, as the marching and fighting have taken all the energy I can give. I am home now, bathed—and I fucked the bath attendant—and massaged—and I fucked the masseur—and I am here now, hungry for wine and food and more young, virginal male pussy. I seized you to be my personal servant to serve me at the dining couch—both in delivering food to me and riding my cock.

"I am here now, to use the present I bought for myself. I am thirsty and hungry—and randy. Serve me this wine and then feed me these grapes. I will take care of deflowering you myself. Be aware that you know exactly why your life was spared thus far, what you were brought to do for me, and that your life hangs in the balance of doing it well.

"Pour me wine and hand me the cup. Yes, like that, but don't withdraw from me. Stand there, between my spread thighs, as I drink the wine. Fondle my cock with both of your hands. Yes, like that. Your job is to keep me hard, knowing that my intent is to take your virginity from you—fully and brutally. I am back from the cruel battles. My need and intent is to ravish you. But you are resigned to it—glad to be alive. Willing to please me to remain alive—knowing that if you don't please me, you won't live."

Allen was totally into the role play, panting already, thinking of the impending loss of a virginity he no longer had. Thinking of being the property of this rough-handed man, intending to fuck every ounce of his pleasure out of an untested, smaller slave.

"Put the wine cup back on the table. Pick up the grapes."

Trembling, Allen complied. Sam pulled the young man in between his spread thighs, and pulled Allen's tunic over his head, leaving him only clothed in a tied loin cloth. Sam's face went to Allen's belly, which he nuzzled and kissed. Moaning lightly, the slave stood his ground, murmuring, "Yes, master, yes," and putting his hands on the Roman's bald head. He shuddered as the Roman general pulled on the knot of the loin cloth and it fell to the floor. Grasping the slave's buttocks, the soldier parted the cheeks, moved the calloused middle finger of each hand to and into the young man's virginal hole, and swallowed and began to work the slave's cock, bringing an ejaculation out of the young man in short order as lost as he'd become in the role play.

"Keep your body perfectly straight while you feed me the grapes," the general growled, as the slave exclaimed in surprise at being easily lifted and raised over the soldier's head as he reclined on the couch. The strong Roman used the slave as a straight-bodied dead-weight lift over his body. He lifted the slave up from his body and then brought him down, whereupon the slave would place a grape in his mouth. Every third feeding the general took the slave's lips with his and transferred the grape for the slave to eat. After several rounds of feeding, the general commanded the slave to part his thighs and remain close on top of the general's stretched body as the two exchanged grapes in their mouth. Telling the slave to close his thighs on the cock, the general dry fucked the slave's thighs while they finished the grapes.

Looking over at the TV, Allen saw, to his surprise, that this was part of the porn film Jack had shown him the other night. It just wasn't a part of the scene that Allen had seen before.

As the TV scene continued, Allen moaned, knowing then what came next. The general came off the couch with Allen in his arms, spun Allen's body around so that he was head down toward the floor but draped on the front of the Roman general's body. As in the film, the general told the slave to do the splits with his legs and then started munching on the slave's asshole with his mouth, while the slave, holding onto the general's legs behind his knees, sucked the general's cock.

Constantly in the mind of the slave—and in the mind of Allen, fully invested in this role play—was the need to please the Roman general, to give him whatever he wanted, to be totally submissive and responsive to prolong his own life.

Raising and turning the slave's body with ease, the Roman grasped the young man's back to his chest, pulled the slave's buttocks up, while the slave locked his fists behind the beefy soldier's neck, and set his passage down on the cock. The slave then twisted his calves around the general's thighs, while the general put the slave into a full Nelson hold. The appropriate cries and begging for mercy that followed came, by the power of suggestion and the tale being woven, from a virgin being debauched. Relentlessly, mercilessly, the general fucked the whimpering and groaning slave to an ejaculation.

As the Roman recovered his erection, he took the moaning and fully submissive slave to the couch, laid the young man down, clutched the slaves throat to keep him flat and subdued, put the slave's left ankle on his right shoulder, and fucked his ass with the earthen-ware dildo.

At some point the position was adjusted a bit, with the general turning to be on top of the slave and the dildo was exchanged with a real, churning, shooting cock.

Sam left Allen stretched out on the couch, panting and sighing and contemplating how satisfying and exotic the role-playing fuck had been.

It wasn't too long, though, before Sam reentered the room. He was wearing football gear—or most of the equipment. He had on tight, silken football britches and athletic shoes with cleats. The pants had a big bulge at the crotch, which Allen could attest probably was all Sam, with a codpiece that laced up. He had hip protectors wedged into the waistband of the pants and was wearing shoulder pads. The rest of the heavily muscled chest and six pack and armor-like flat belly were raw Sam. He had dark smudges under his eyes and a mean look in his face.

He held out another set of silken football pants and said, "Here, put these on and come in the other room."

"This isn't any of the costumes I bought in your store," Allen said.

"I know what you bought in my store. What we just did—the Roman scene—was your fantasy. This one is mine. Get up and put these pants on and come into the other room."

The next room was small, and all it had in it was a huge wall TV, which now was rerunning the Philadelphia-Washington football game from the previous weekend.

Good, Allen nonsensically thought. He never had seen the final score of the game. He had spent the third quarter jacking himself off because Jack hadn't taken care of him, although Jack held him in his lap and penetrated him with two fingers, rubbing Allen's prostate, to help him come. In the fourth quarter, Allen had been too busy pouting and shoveling beer bottles at Jack to keep track of the score.

"Here, you're going to be hiking this," Sam said, as he handed Allen the strangest-looking football Allen had every scene. It looked more like a monstrously thick cigar. Allen shuddered when he realized it was a thick dido.

"I've always wanted to see this done in a real game," Sam said. He was busy unlacing his codpiece. "I've done it in pickup football games. We're going to do it right now. This is my costume fantasy for the day. You're the center and I'm the quarterback. Get down in your stance, facing the TV set."

Allen went down into a center's stance, his trembling hands holding the fake football in position, ready to snap it back to the quarterback. As Sam counted off numbers, he worked fingers into the seam of Allen's football pants and split the silky material along the seam running from Allen's belly to past his asshole. Allen felt his cock and balls drop, and then Sam was pressing his cupped hands under Sam's taint and cried out "Hike."

Instinctively Allen hiked the ball back into the hands of the man crouching over his spread legs as he bent over to the ground. An arm went under Allen's belly to hold him up in a bent-over doggy stance, and Allen cried out and huffed and puffed as Sam fucked him, first, with the football dildo, and then with the real thing, grasping and milking Allen's cock toward the end to give them a nearly mutual ejaculation.

* * * *

The next Monday Allen went to the mailbox at his house and discovered another misdelivered envelope destined for Sam Strang on Oak Street. With trembling hands, he turned the envelope over. In the bottom right corner, a notation had been written: "Indian brave" and, below that, "8 pm Wednesday."

Wednesday evening Allen was scheduled for a pickup basketball game at the gay men's sports club that he hoped Jack would go to. The role-playing fucks at Sam's house had him keyed up and his juices flowing. He felt sexy and more open to the possibilities with other men than before. He was interested in taking risks he hadn't taken before. There was a thug of a guy who had hit on him at the club but that Allen had been afraid to risk. He didn't come out for the pickup games on Wednesdays, though. He was there on Thursdays. Allen thought he'd give the guy a try—all because of how Sam had opened him up to possibilities.

Allen was interested in seeing Jack again too. He felt that Sam, in just those two sessions, had loosened him up, made him sexier. He wanted to know if Jack would notice that—and would give him more attention.

There was no question where Allen was going on Wednesday evening, though. Sam met him at the door in full war paint. He was wearing low-rise deer hide britches, with a laced-up codpiece, moccasins on his feet, a breast-plate bone chest shield, leather bands dripping in rawhide strings around his biceps, and a feather headdress.

Allen wore a loin cloth and moccasins. He didn't wear the loin cloth for long, though. With a movie of Indian gang banging a white old-West cavalry soldier blaring on the wall, and tent-like walls around three sides of an area with a floor-to-ceiling pole in it, the Indian chief lashed the young brave to the pole, wrists bound high over his head, lightly lashed his naked body with a many-pronged rawhide whip until both he and the young brave were hard as rocks, and then unlaced his codpiece to free his erection, held the brave's legs straight out from his sides in a splits, and fucked him from behind to completion.

For a second "go" at him, the Indian chief staked the brave who Allen was portraying out spread-eagled on a mound of dirt in his backyard, face down in the dirt; tickled him with feathers, saying they were providing the effect of the ants from the hill the brave had been staked on; and, eventually, mounted the brave's ass and rode him like he was a horse loping across the prairies.

Thursday, the misdelivered letter in Allen's box gave the fantasy as "Plantation owner's son; time for company," with the date of "Friday" and time of "8 pm."

So keyed up was Allen over the prospect of another role play that he went to the sports club's Thursday pickup basketball game. He found out that the thug who had been propositioning him was a policeman named Larry. In a remote corner of the locker room—on the same bench that Jack had originally fucked him, Allen let Larry handcuff him to a bench, his arms over his head and a gym bag under the small of his back to give Larry's cock a good penetration angle, while Larry slapped him around, squeezed his balls until he wanted to scream, and gave him a brutal missionary fuck.

Lost in the fantasy of a prisoner being taken in his cell by a cop, Allen luxuriated in every minute of the taking. Most surprising was that afterward Larry told Allen he had been a lot of fun and that what he'd like to do to Allen would really stretch his limits. When he went on to tell Allen what that would be in graphic terms and asked for his phone number, Allen gave him his actual cell number.

Before Sam, Allen would never have submitted to the handcuffed fuck, let alone shown willingness to do something darker.

* * * *

"You are the step-son of a plantation owner on the Mississippi who has, along with your mother, gone to New Orleans for a week," said Sam as he led Allen back into a bedroom with a four-poster bed, with canopy, grasping the back of Allen's neck with one hand and latching onto one of Allen's forearms with the other. Allen was wearing the colonial dandy costume he had bought at the store—frilly and blousy white cotton shirt, tight britches, and something similar to ballet slippers on his feet. Sam was wearing coarse woolen britches and a Henley pullover shirt in the same coarse material. Playing on the TV on the wall was a DVD of a group of black bulls gangbanging a young white guy on a river bank.

"I am the overseer of the plantation and I have lusted for you for some time. You are flirty. You know I want you. You know you want men. I know you are mine for the taking. Your step-father and mother are gone. Your step-father has been preparing you for him to deflower himself and you have become increasingly receptive to that. But he isn't here. I am here. It is time for you to lose your virginity. And you are going to lose it to me."

Suddenly, without warning, when they reached the bed, Sam backhanded Allen across the cheek and Allen spun around and fell back on the bed at the foot of the mattress.

"You've been a little tease," the overseer growled. "This is your time." Pulling the britches and undergarments off the legs of the son of the plantation, the overseer pulled his own shirt over his head and, grabbing the young man's ankles, bent and pushed his legs up into his chest and rolled his pelvis up. The young man was still trying to catch his breath as the overseer attacked his cock, balls, and hole with his mouth. In short order, though the son of the plantation gave in to the attentions in little mewing sounds and soft moans.

The overseer turned him over on his back at the foot of bed, hooked one of the young man's ankles on his shoulder, and held his torso flat on the bed with an arm across his neck. He worked the young man's ass with the other hand, penetrating him with an increasing number of fingers until he had worked in four up to the knuckles. While the son of the plantation writhed under him and begged for mercy that was not forthcoming, the invading hand pumped him slowly, with fingers rubbing the young man's prostate. The young man yelped and fired his load as the knuckles breached the sphincter, pulling in the thumb as well, and sank in to the wrist.

Moaning deeply, the young man went limp as the overseer fist fucked him for a couple of minutes more before withdrawing.

"You've taken a fist before, haven't you?" Sam asked in a voice displaying some awe.

"Yes, but not for some time," Allen answered, his memories going back to the desperation and high arousal of his time in Afghanistan—of the other men in his unit who preyed on men. Of how rough they could be. Yes, he had been fisted before. Never had he taken it with so much want and need and sense of being fully possessed as he was doing now, though.

The overseer fucked him in a reverse position, the young man facing down, his torso streaming down to the floor from the foot of the bed, his fists buried in the carpet at the end of the bed to keep himself steady. His calves were on the bed, held there with the overseer's hands clutching his ankles. The overseer's trousers were flared and sitting low on his hips. His cock was buried, reversed, in the young man's channel and he was pumping hard.

"Break away," Sam muttered, "and head for the door to the corridor." Allen did so, coming up short, because the doorway to the corridor was taken up with the figure of a massive black man, wearing only torn and loose cotton britches held up with a rope. As Allen stood there, transfixed for the moment, the black man leered and unbuttoned his fly, and a huge cock flopped out.

"You have two choices," Sam barked. "There's a door over there. If you run through there and get to the front door of the house and touch it, you're safe and the role play is over. This is Jamil. He's playing a slave on the plantation who has lusted after you as much as the overseer has. The overseer has said he can have you after the overseer has fucked your virginity out of you. If you want the black slave to have you, try escaping around the other side of the bed."