The Slave (61 page)

When she managed to finish the first boot,
he merely dug that one into her crotch while she worked on the
second one.

She needed to come so badly that she
trembled when she bent over to lick the man’s sun-warmed and well
polished leather. The sharp acetone smell of the edge dressing did
actually make her head almost bounce against the shaft of his boot;
he mistook it for affection and ruffled her hair briefly before he
got up to get back to the party. “Good boot slut,” he crooned, as
he walked away.

With no one to take his place
and no instructions to the contrary―orgasms were allowed today, in
fact, encouraged unless instructed otherwise―Robin dropped one hand
over her button fly, cupped her complex package and rocked forward.
Almost instantly, she c
ame so hard she saw deep colors behind her tightly
screwed eyelids and her toes slammed hard into the ground behind
her. It hurt; the dildo slid and rocked inside her and would not
stay still, and her mouth and throat were dry despite copious
drinking and drooling. “OK, OK,” she muttered to herself, trying to
gather her resources and focus again.
I can do this. Oh, my God, but this
is so... hot.

And, as
Muscled
og
often pronounced―harsh!

* * * *

Her second break came after a lengthy
period of very little work, and when she got to the bathroom, this
time she showered. Grease, sweat, come―she was just soaked like a
washrag and plastered with layers of dirt and crusted bodily
fluids. Sitting on the toilet seat as she dried off, she sucked
down an iced sports drink, wondering why she never liked the taste
before. One more shift, and then she’d have a two-hour break to eat
and close her eyes for a while, and then... what? She still didn’t
know.

On the way out of the bathroom, she adjusted
Mr. Cushy with an unconscious grab, unaware that she was swaggering
just a little bit.

* * * *

The late afternoon shift was light, as
most of the men who truly wanted their boots done had rushed the
chairs early on. But a few came by, including two who had already
changed clothing and boots and wanted their new pair done up right.
Muscledog admitted he had only gotten to complete three pairs of
boots―and what a shame, too, because he loved boots and feet and
all things related to them. But his pumped-up form was too much of
a draw, his latex singlet stripped off by careless hands. His
already well-beaten body had been brutally striped and welted by
belts and whips; his tender nipples looked raw. Still, his
good-natured smile never faltered, and his cock, while not hard,
did manage an impressive tumescence from time to time as he was so
cheerfully abused.

“
You gotta feed this scrawny-ass bitch
more vitamins or something,” the man in Muscledog’s chair said, as
he eased his way in comfortably. Robin almost panicked before she
realized that in this case, “bitch” was derogatory for more than
the usual reasons. “Protein drinks, more weight lifting, something.
Christ, he’s got nothing there, poor faggot.”

Muscledog laughed and nodded. “We’re sure
workin’ on it, master. But Rob’s stronger than he looks!”

“
Yeah?” The man, bearded and scholarly
looking despite his rubber vest and jockstrap, peered down at Robin
and shrugged. “Then get him over here. Let’s see how strong he
really is.” He lifted his feet and pointed, and Muscledog grabbed
Robin by the shirt and pulled her over.

“
What?” Robin started to ask, but
Muscledog merely shoved her down onto her hands and knees in front
of the chair, between the footrests. One heavy boot came down onto
her back, resting on her left shoulder, and the other settled in on
her right. Instantly, Muscledog knelt over her ass, his sculpted
legs on either side of her as he leaned in to start
working.

Robin gasped and planted her arms firmly
against the grass. Stronger than she looked? She didn’t know if she
could make it through the cleaning process, let alone polishing!
Indeed, her arms trembled as Muscledog rubbed and buffed and the
man in the chair dug his heels into her back. The vest, shirt and
compression garment seemed to do nothing to pad her against the
pressure and she groaned as she struggled to keep in place.

This is yet another thing
hotter in books,
she thought for a moment.
Being used as a footstool hurts!
But then, to her
amusement, she realized she as wrong.

It was hot. It was amazingly hot. With her
head ducked down under the legs of one man and another man
straddling her body, these wonderful smells surrounding her, the
casual disregard for her feelings and even her usefulness, oh, it
was one of the hottest things she’d ever done. This realization
almost made her laugh, and she bit her own lip to keep silent,
knowing her laugh would give her away in a second. Instead, she
braced her arms and dug her fingers into the grass, struggling to
keep still while she was used as a surface to clean boots on.

Perhaps it was the novelty, perhaps it was
the sight of Dog’s huge, muscular ass over Robin’s relatively tiny,
round one, the contrast between his nakedness and her jeans, but
before long, they had voyeurs. One man brought over a flogger and
swiped it at Muscledog’s ass, and when the tails smacked Robin as
well, it was hardly his fault, now was it? There was much laughter
to accompany this illicit use of the off-limits bootslut, and Robin
tried desperately not to work her hips back for more of the sweet
thumping.

Muscledog had no such compunction; he worked
his ass back and forth with vigor and glee, rubbing his cock up
against Robin’s lower back, between the shirt and the vest. “That’s
more action than the little punk’s got all day,” barked one
spectator.

“
Poor thing! Bet he wishes he had a
hard cock up that tight little bubble butt.”

Yes, yes, I do,
Robin swore to
herself.
Oh,
my freaking God, yes!

“
Yeah, well, we can fuck the stud, so
why’s he wasting time on fucking boots?”

“
Because they’re my fucking boots and
that’s what I wanted!” cried the man in the chair. But his friends
argued and pleaded; two chanted, “Fuck the stud! Fuck the stud!”
and Robin felt Muscledog being jerked from her back. Then she was
grabbed by the bondage belt and pulled back while Muscledog was
ordered to take down the boot rests so he could kneel sideways. The
man in the chair pounded his boots down on his broad back and Robin
was thrust forward to take up the brushes and rags as men knelt
down in the grass on both ends of her newest brother slave. Condoms
were produced and slid onto engorged cocks and the cocks were
shoved into Muscledog from each end. His back arched as he took
them. The furry man in the chair leaned back and
chuckled.

“
OK, I kinda like this view,” he
admitted.

The two men fucking Muscledog gave each
other a high five and began to ream him with the energy and passion
of men who got what they wanted after a brief struggle. Even
temporary denial could be a turn on.

And as for Robin?

Her first instinct was correct―to get back
to work. She dusted the grass and dirt from her hands and grabbed a
brush and realized that without the narrow places to rest the
boots, she would have to be careful not to knock against
Muscledog’s back or smear products all over him. On the other hand,
she reconsidered, maybe he’d like that.

And then, in the next moment, she realized
he was being fucked from two ends right there in front of her and
it was the hottest fucking thing she’d ever seen. The man in front
was long and curved and his cock speared Muscledog’s mouth in a
slow arc, capped by the slave bracing himself whenever the man’s
balls banged against his chin. The one fucking his ass was less
aesthetically pleasing in his motions―he was plowing Muscledog with
a mindless fury, slapping his ass and thighs with no sense of
rhythm or artistry.

The savagery of the ass-pounding was as
much a turn on for Robin as the slow mouth-fucking. Taken together,
they made her drop the brush in her hand. Masculine laughter rose
as she nervously gathered her supplies and tried, desperately
tried, to deliver a passable shine in the midst of an
orgy.

Try as she might, it was nearly
impossible. Muscledog was strong and solid―more solid than she had
been! But getting fucked was a terrible distraction, and when the
man fucking his throat clamped down and came, the slave choked and
shook and Robin wound up smearing her blackened fingers over his
bruised skin. And when another man dropped to his knees in front of
him and started fucking his mouth anew, Robin couldn’t help but
wipe at her mouth with the back of her hand. She’d never been so,
so... cock hungry! In her entire life.

If the girls at the lesbian SM
club could see me now,
she thought again, wildly.
Oh, fuck, if Chris could see
me! Would he want me? Ken said he liked the younger men at the
leather bars, liked to rough them up and make them cry.
She remembered the
image of Chris, his fist tight in Leon’s long hair, shoving his
face down between Chris’s legs, a slight smile on the trainer’s
face as he watched Robin getting tormented and fucked by Gordon
Reynolds, Leon’s owner.

And saliva actually dropped from her mouth.
She was so aroused, it hurt. When she finished the shine as best as
she could, hands shoved her face forward, mashing her cheek against
Muscledog’s back as voices yelled at her to lick, suck, tongue that
boot, faggot...

She licked. The slick sides of the boot, the
curved toe, and the hot sweaty taste of Muscledog’s back; it was
one texture after another under her swollen, roughened tongue. She
dug her tongue into the boot, feeling the man’s toes under the
leather, and hearing him swear.

Someone else came on her, shooting jism into
her hair again.

With a soft moan, Robin came so close to
fainting she thought she truly had. But it was just a blurring of
time, from one moment of tasting the leather and skin to the next
sharp segment of time, drawing back as the man in the chair roared
for Muscledog to get his cocksucking mouth up to him. She scrambled
back on her knees, getting out of the way of the crush of men
around the muscular slave and crawled around to one side of the
chair, trying to find her water bottle and failing. For a while,
she just leaned there, feeling the thumping and pounding of the sex
and her own heart.

* * * *

It was Carl who came to get her as the sun
set and men shifted to an informal rest period before the evening
festivities took over. She took yet another shower and collapsed
onto her bunk bed thinking it was the most luxurious place in the
world. Naked and clean and chilled by the air conditioning, she
slept two hours, and gobbled an energy bar while suiting back up.
She was still chewing the sweet granola when Carl came back.

“
Oh, good, you’re ready,” he said. She
nodded and was about to ask what she was going to be doing now, but
he grabbed her by one arm and whipped a blindfold over her
eyes.

“
What are you doing?” she
whispered.

“
Giving you what you want, girl-fag.
What you need. Now shut those pretty lips until I give ’em
something to get busy on!”

He hooked a leather leash onto her collar
and kept a tight hold on it, up by her throat, leading her down the
hall, to what she could tell from the walk was the second guest
bedroom.

“
Carl, you are one good slave,” said a
familiar voice. Robin was sure this had been one of her customers
today, one of her boot masters, but she couldn’t remember which
one.

“
Nah, I am a bad, bad boy,” Carl
replied. “But tell you the truth, the punk needs a little taste,
and if you want him, I guess Master won’t mind too
much.”

“
And if he does, it’s your ass
anyway.” The man laughed and Robin was shoved to her knees, forced
to crawl to him. “Oh, my fucking God, what a sweet ass little boy
you got there. Are you sure he’s legal?”

“
Legal and hungry, master. Shit, he
can’t get his hands off us, and we’re just slaves.”

“
Just slaves, what a joke. How many
guys you plow today, Carl?” Rough hands pulled her head by the hair
and Robin gasped in a breath along with the thick cockhead shoved
into her mouth.

“
Day ain’t over yet,
sir.” Again, rough masculine laughter echoed from two sides of her
and Robin laved her tongue over the dry, flavored condom to moisten
it.
Mango,
she thought with amused desperation. It was mango-flavored,
from the new tropical fruit collection they’d gotten for the
party.

“
Fuuuck,” the man hissed, cradling
Robin’s head in his hands. “Hungry little come-slut, aren’t you?”
He braced his hands firmly and fucked deeply into her throat and
she immediately gagged.

Behind her, Carl gave her a heavy-handed
spank on her butt. “Hey, asshole, pay attention! You know better
than that! I’m so sorry, master. He is the worst cocksucker in the
house.”

“
No... no. I like I little of this. I
like choking ’em a little. Especially when they look like some high
school drama club fag.”

Robin did know better, she was just so
turned on and shocked at Carl’s little surprise that she was taken
way off guard. She coughed a little, relaxing her throat muscles
and when the next deep thrust came, she was better prepared. This
time, she swirled her tongue along the base as he fucked forward
and exhaled sharply and quickly, feeling the spongy head of the
cock fit into her throat like a plug in a socket.