Hard Day’s Reward

by Christopher Pierce
(all rights reserved)


Man, there’s nothing like fucking some sweet, tight boy butt to blow off steam! But that’s getting ahead of my story. It had been a bitch of a day for me at work, and I was in no mood for any more shit to be handed my way.

As I drove into my building’s parking lot, I couldn’t wait to get inside, take my clothes off, get down on my knees, and serve my Master. He usually got home before me and was all ready with his clothes off and a nice big boner between his muscular legs, just waiting for me to take it into my greedy mouth and suck it off real good.

Still, serving a Master can be frustrating, especially when you’re owned by one who takes delight in not letting you come for weeks on end. It drove me crazy sometimes, the length of time he’d make me hold it.

It wasn’t as if he just neglected me sexually for a few days at a time. No way, that would be too easy. He liked to torture me. He’d fuck the shit out of me, work my cock in his hand, sometimes even take my fat pecker into his mouth, just to drive me to the brink of orgasm and then pull back, not letting me shoot no matter how badly I needed to. No matter how much I cried, begged, or moaned, he’d just laugh and pat me on the head.

“Not yet, slave,” he’d say in that deep voice of his. “You haven’t earned it yet.”

And I’d die where I stood, not knowing how much longer I could take it before I snapped or went off the deep end for good. The times he’d let me come were getting fewer and fewer, with much longer gaps in between.

I didn’t dare take matters into my own hands. Even if I could find it in my heart to be dishonest with him, he’d know if I shot off a load without his permission. He knew the rhythms and cycles of my body better than I did and could work me like a musical instrument.

Sometimes in my crazed state I’d find myself thinking of things that hadn’t crossed my mind in months, maybe years. I’d start remembering all the ways I used to come before I was claimed. Don’t get me wrong — I love being Master’s slave, and I adore him more than anything else on the face of the earth.

But I had been a top before I was claimed. Can you appreciate what that means?

Most slaves start out as bottoms, so all they have are memories of serving other men and being submissive to them. When they’re denied the privilege of coming, they just fixate on their Masters and hope and pray for the day they’ll get some relief.

It was worse for me because I not only have my Master to obsess about, but also a whole previous life where I had been a hunter in my own right. One where I’d get those fresh boys, new to the leather scene, take them home, and teach them what it meant to be a real man.

As total as my devotion was to my Master and slavery at his hands, it hadn’t obliterated my top self. That side of me lived on, burning for the time when it might get to express itself once again. But sometimes I’d wonder if I’d ever get to come again, much less have a chance to be a top. Day and night I would toss and turn in bed, mad with desire and my head filled with images and memories not only of serving my Master, but of dominating boys and making them my whimpering sex slaves.

I would fight to control myself, to be disciplined, to be the good slave I knew I could be. But it was damned hard, especially when weeks would go by without relief, my testicles a sack of blazing desire between my legs, my cock stiff and dripping all the time.

I pulled my car into my parking space, turned off the ignition, and got out. Tossing my bag over my shoulder, I headed up to our apartment. I was looking forward to what I knew would happen when I went in: My Master would take me, make me serve him for hours on end, let me loose long enough to cook us some dinner, then go to work on me, torturing and tormenting me until I cried and begged and finally passed out from exhaustion, my balls still full and bursting.

Turning my key in the lock, I took a deep breath and opened the door. It was dark inside. That’s weird, I thought. I like the dark, but Master usually has all the lights on when he’s home. I saw his truck in the space next to mine, so he had to be home. What’s up? I wondered as I advanced into the living room.

“Slave?” his voice called from the bedroom.

“Yes, Master,” I answered immediately, my cock growing full and hard as always.

“Stay where you are and strip down.”

“Yes, Sir.” Right away, I started taking off my clothes. It felt good to loosen my tie and yank it off, to unbutton my shirt and let it fall to the floor. I stepped out of my formal dress shoes and let my slacks and underwear drop down, too. My socks followed seconds later. I fucking hate dressing up, but my high-profile corporate job requires it.

Naked and hard, I stood there, my hands clasped behind my back, waiting for my Master’s orders. “Surprised” hardly begins to describe what I felt next.

My Master walked out from the bedroom into the living room. Tall, over six feet, chiseled muscle, strong bearded face, he looked hot as ever, but it’s what he was carrying that made my jaw drop to the floor with my clothes.

It was a naked boy. And not just any boy, but an award-winning boy, the kind you see on the covers of the hot gay magazines: beautiful dimpled face, short blond hair, slim and lean, toned and hard, with a butt made up of two gorgeous melon globes of firmness that sang out to be grabbed and slapped, and fucked. He was a treasure.

Master had him slung over his shoulders like he was a fireman rescuing a victim — or, more appropriately, like a caveman bringing home fresh meat from the hunt.

“Sir, what’s this?” I asked, so stunned I forgot the rule about not speaking unless spoken to. The boy hung on Master’s shoulders as if he belonged there, a smile of contentment on his luscious face. Master grinned, splitting his beard to reveal shiny white teeth behind.

“He’s for you, boy.”

“What, Sir?” I couldn’t have heard him right.

“He’s for you. You’ve been working real hard lately, being a real good boy, taking care of your Master’s every need . . . and I know you’ve been having a rough time at work.”

“Yes, Master . . .”

“So I figured I’d get you a reward for being such a good slave.”

My eyes drank in the vision in front of me. The boy was almost my opposite, his body so pale next to my own dark skin, his face immaculately shaved instead of my black goa-tee, his muscles lean and long, mine stocky and bulging. And he’s . . . for me?

“Mine, Master?” I asked aloud.

“Yes, slave, he’s yours for the night. I won’t turn him loose until tomorrow morning. Until then, he’s yours to do whatever you please. He’s under orders to obey you without question, or he’ll have to answer to me — and you don’t want to do that, do you, boy?” He shook the burden he was holding.

“No, Sir,” the boy whispered. I was surprised at his low soft voice. He had hardly seemed awake, much less listening to us. Blissful to be carried by Master, he looked like he was off in his own world.

But now he was in my world, and I was going to make good use of him. Master gently lowered him off his back to the ground, where he knelt obediently in front of me.

One thought stuck in my mind.

“Master?” I asked hesitantly.

“Yes, slave, you can come tonight.”

I breathed a great sigh of relief, thinking, This is going to be a wonderful night!

“To let you have your way with this piece of meat but not let you come would be too cruel,” Master said. “I’m not that much of a sadist.”

“Thank you, Master!” I said, laughing. “Oh, thank you!”

And then I focused my full attention on the creature on the floor in front of me. He was exquisite, to be sure, yet . . . there was something in his manner that bothered me. Something in his face, his tiny smile — was I mistaken, or did the boy have a hint of sarcasm or mockery in his expression? Was he daring to be amused by this situation? To be arrogant?

He can’t be, I thought, but there it was as I looked at him, taking in the graceful curves of his figure. Now I could see it in the tilt of his head, the way his hair fell down over his forehead: he was being obedient, yes, but at some level he was holding back, keeping something in reserve.

And there were few things I had hated more in my top days than a boy who thought he was above it all, that it was all a game and he had choices in the matter. I fucking hated it. Well, I knew how to deal with boys like this, and I’d done so many times before. Looks like I’m going to do it again tonight, I vowed.

“Stay, boy,” I said.

“Yes, Sir,” he answered immediately.

I walked back to my room, where Master lets me keep a small stash of my leather gear from before I knew him. I grabbed it and was back out in a moment. Master was sitting in his big chair, cracking open a beer and watching me. Without a word I fastened a leather collar around the boy’s neck, loudly locking it in place with a padlock.

“Thank you, Sir,” he whispered.

Then I fastened my leash to the collar, letting the long silver chain dangle down so he could see it. I wondered if he was aware of how hot he was, how alluring and seductive he looked sitting there.

“Down on all fours, boy.”

He complied languidly, sticking that gorgeous ass of his up in the air, the tiny smile on his lips.

Oh, he knows what he’s doing all right, I realized as I felt my dick get even harder. A tiny drop of moisture appeared at the tip. Well, I’ll wipe that smile off his face soon enough. It isn’t fitting for a slaveboy to be so self-satisfied. This piece of meat needs a lesson in humility. And I’m just the man to give it to him. But first, I turned to face my Master.

“Sir?”

“Yeah, slave?”

“Permission to enjoy my reward in your bedroom, Sir?”

“Go ahead, boy,” he said with a big smile on his face. “You’ve earned it. Have a good time.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I said and gave my boy a little slap on his ass. “Let’s go, boy!”

He trotted forward, and I led him on all fours into Master’s bedroom, that place of my torture I would now get to use myself for the first time as the top.

“Sit.”

He gathered his legs under him and knelt in place, looking up at me, his smile changing to a smirk. He obviously didn’t think he’d get much of a workout as the boy toy of another slave, and he clearly preferred the company of the Master of the house. But things were about to change. I shut the door of the room and turned to face him.

“Now listen, you snot-nosed little punk.” His eyebrows raised in surprise, but he was smart enough not to say anything. “You think because you’re fucking beautiful you’re king of the world, don’t you? You’ve always gotten everything you ever wanted, haven’t you? Stuck-up little prick.”

He pressed his lips together. He was getting angry and wanted to say something, but he knew it wasn’t a good idea.

“Well, have I got news for you, boy,” I said, walking closer to him. “You don’t impress me one bit. And you know why you’re in here with me and not out there with my Master? Because you’re not good enough, that’s why.”

He was definitely angry now.

“You didn’t even deserve the privilege of being carried by him, you worthless piece of shit. I’m going to teach you your place in the world tonight, boy. And it ain’t to wave your ass in the air with a smirk on your face. It’s to serve the slaves of Masters you aren’t worthy of.”

He couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Who the hell do you think . . . ,” he started, but before he could finish I slapped him across the face, nice and hard and loud. It stopped him cold mid-sentence.

He started to get to his feet, fire in his eyes.

“You want to take a poke at me?” I said. “Go ahead. But I’d better warn you — I could take you in my sleep, boy. My brothers were gang members and taught me everything they knew. You want to take me on? Just try it.”

He got back down on his knees, shivering with anger.

“Who do I think I am? Is that what you were going to ask?” I put my hand on top of his head, ruffling his beautiful blond hair in the most condescending way I could. “I’m the slave who’s going to use you tonight, use you like you need to get used, teach you a few lessons.”

He glared up at me, but I could see grudging admiration in his eyes. His own dick, which had been soft all this time, was starting to get hard. Just as I thought — he needs somebody to take charge of him and not let him pull any shit.

“Or were you going to ask who you are? Is that the question you were going to ask? I’ll tell you. You’re the worthless piece of boymeat my Master’s given me as a reward tonight. You belong to me as my property to use any way I see fit. So the sooner you accept that the easier this’ll be for you.”

He looked down at the floor. I slapped him again.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes, Sir,” he said softly.

“Louder, boymeat!”

“Yes, Sir!”

His dick was fully hard now, a trickle of precum starting to appear. That was it — I couldn’t hold back any longer. I stepped forward, leading with my boner. The boy’s succulent mouth opened to receive it, taking it all in. He immediately started sucking it, stroking and caressing it with his lips and tongue.

“Mmm, you’re a good little cocksucker, ain’t’cha, boy?” I grabbed his head and forced him further onto me. “Yeah, a good little whore boy that’s mine for the night.”

He wanted to suck me, controlling the speed and depth of my dick in his mouth, but I wouldn’t let him. I whacked the side of his head again.

“Don’t forget who’s in charge,” I said as I started face-fucking him hard, screwing his mouth just like it was an asshole. “Mmm, that’s good, boy, your mouth’s real nice . . .”

As before, he reacted well to the harshness, becoming compliant and obedient. I forced my club-like dick in and out of his mouth at my own pace.

“That’s right, boymeat,” I whispered as he gagged and choked. “I’m doing you how I want to. . . . I don’t give a shit what you want, or even if you can breathe or not. You’re here for me, and that’s all you’re good for.”

I could see his hands quivering, and I knew what he was dying to do. Liking the feeling of power I was experiencing, I knew I just had to wait. I kept my eyes on his hand as I drilled the boy’s mouth, waiting for what I knew was coming . . . and it did.

Getting face-fucked by me was too damn hot. He couldn’t keep his hand off his own fully erect dick. I let him wrap his fist around it before I smacked him upside the head again, much harder than before.

“Get your fucking hand off that thing, whore!” I snarled down at him as I grabbed a handful of his hair. “That little dog dick of yours ain’t yours to touch anymore, you got that?”

“Yes, Sir,” he mumbled around my dick.

“Now keep your damn hands off it from now on. As a matter of fact, keep those fuckers behind your back unless I tell you different. You got that?”

“Yes, Sir,” he mumbled as he obeyed me. His dick was harder than ever now.

“What are you?”

“I’m your property, Sir. . . .” He was struggling to talk as I pumped him more and more violently.

“What else?”

“I’m your boymeat, Sir . . .”

I was nearly ready to shoot, just needing to hear those magic words from his arrogant little mouth.

“What else?”

“I’m your whore boy, Sir!”

Aaah! That’s it! The orgasm filled me, covered me like a shadow of pleasure. I shot off, my hot sticky spunk filling his mouth. Holding his head tight against me, I ignored his snorting and sputtering.

“Better swallow it down, boymeat, if you want to breathe again.” He had the nerve to struggle, trying to get away from me, grunting and moaning in discomfort and fear. “You know I’m at least twice as strong as you, dog whore, so why are you fighting me? Swallow it down or this’ll be the last fucking night of your life.”

My softening dick felt the luxury of his throat flexing, taking it in, filling his gullet with my jizz, taking my essence inside. Only when his mouth was empty did I pull out. He collapsed onto his back, gasping and choking for air. I watched him for a minute as he caught his breath.

“What a drama queen,” I said.

He shot a glare my way but, lucky for him, didn’t say anything. Now it was my turn to smirk.

“You think you’re in some soap opera, huh? You think you’re a silent movie star? Who do you think is watching this little melodrama? No one, that’s who. I’m not impressed, so you can stop trying.”

He rolled over on his side, still glaring at me. His dick was rock hard, and he hated me for that, I knew.

“I don’t want a queen, I want a whore.”

“I said I was your whore boy, Sir,” he ventured as he knelt upright again, the tiniest trace of hurt feelings in his voice. I had broken through his armor without even trying. But I wasn’t surprised. Breaking arrogant boys’ pride used to be my favorite sport.

“That’s just it, boymeat,” I said as I took his chin in one hand and looked into his eyes. “You said you were my whore boy. But you didn’t feel it. You’re an actor, like all pretty boys your age. You can pretend to feel everything, but you don’t really feel anything.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

This time I hauled off and punched him. No dainty slaps anymore, not for this one. He let out a yelp of pain and shuffled backward, but I was on him in an instant, locking my hand behind his head and forcing his face down onto my bare feet, mashing his nose to my toes.

“I’m talking about you, boy,” I growled at him. “I’m talking about this. Breathe deep, boymeat. Take in that smell, the smell of my sweaty feet. That’s the scent you need in your nostrils, not some fancy cologne that costs more than you’re worth. Breathe it in, breathe in the smell of a hard day’s sweat, and know what you’re good for.”

He obeyed, inhaling deeply.

“What do you say, boy?”

“Thank you, Sir.”

I snatched his leash up off the floor.

“For what?” I asked.

“Thank you for the privilege of smelling your feet, Sir.”

“Good boy. You’re not as dumb as I thought. Now kiss my feet, and get them nice and clean.” He hesitated an instant too long, and I slapped him again.

“Do it!” I snapped, and he was there, his soft tongue lapping at my stinking feet, slurping between my toes, ab-sorbing all the sweat and lint and whatever else was on them.

“Good boy, good dog boy,” I said. “Now, you need some obedience training.”

“Yes, Sir,” he said between licks. “Thank you for the privilege of cleaning your feet, Sir.”

I yanked on his leash, pulling him around so that he was kneeling next to me like a dog in obedience class.

“Now, walk with me.”

Stepping forward, I started walking to the other side of the room. The boy kept pace with me, walking on all fours like a good dog. When I stopped, he did too, sitting down on his haunches smartly.

“Good boy,” I said as I scratched behind his ears. He responded well to it, raising his head to give my fingers more access. “Now it’s time you got fucked like the dog whore you are,” I said. “Up on all fours, boymeat!”

He obeyed instantly, readying himself for what he thought was coming. But I dropped his leash on the floor and sat down on the bed. The boy looked back at me, a confused and uncertain expres-sion on his face. No trace of his earlier arrogance remained. He was being humbled, slowly but surely.

I picked up a magazine and started leaļ¬ng through it. The boy started whining softly, a pleading, desperate sound.

“What’re you whining for, boy?” I asked without looking at him.

“You said it was time for me to get fucked, Sir.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Well, aren’t you going to fuck me, Sir?”

I looked at him then.

“I said it was time for you to get fucked. I didn’t say I was going to fuck you.”

The confusion on his pretty face deepened.

“I don’t understand, Sir.”

“I’m not going to fuck you unless I get some proof,” I said, my attention going back to the magazine.

“Proof of what, Sir?”

“Proof that you’re no longer the proud, smirking, spoiled brat who walked through that door earlier.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him look down at the floor, his face getting red with embarrassment. I knew he was fighting a battle with himself. But when the brain goes up against the dick, it never wins.

“How can I prove it to you, Sir?” he asked a second later, and I looked him in the eyes.

“Beg me, slaveboy,” I said. “Beg me to fuck you, and maybe I will.”

“Please fuck me, Sir.”

I laughed.

“You call that begging, boymeat? You think you’re so fucking hot? Well, this magazine is more inter-esting than you. Beg me like you mean it, or keep your damn mouth shut.”

There was another pause, and when he spoke again, his voice was higher and more anxious.

“Please, Sir, I’m begging you, Sir . . .”

“Yeah?” I answered in an uninterested tone, raising my knee to block his view of my dick, which was getting hard again.

“I need you to fuck me, Sir! I don’t just want it, I need it!”

I turned to look at him, and his eyes were closed, his head jerking passionately. Between his legs his dripping dick jutted forward, parallel to the floor. I silently opened the bedside-table drawer and pulled out a condom. Carefully unrolling it, I made sure every inch of my dick was covered with the tight latex.

“Please fuck me, Sir! I want to be your whore boy, Sir! Please let me be your whore boy!”

I reached for the bottle of lube Master always keeps on the table and squeezed some into my palm. As I listened to the boy whimper and moan, I started stroking my dick, getting it stiffer every minute.

“I need to be your whore boy, Sir! Please let me be your whore boy! I’ve learned my lesson, Sir. I’m sorry for the way I acted, and I won’t do it again. My asshole is aching for you, Sir. Please, Sir, please fuck your whore boy, Sir!”

Quietly, I sat up and got off the edge of the bed. The boy’s eyes were still closed, his hips flexing forward and backward in the air, his butt hole dying for attention, dying to be filled.

“I know I’m not worthy to serve your Master, Sir,” he went on, not aware I was kneeling behind him. “I know I’m not worthy to serve you. I’m lower than a dog, just a dog whore, but please show me mercy, Sir!”

My dick was inches from his asshole now, quivering with an-ticipation. Suddenly he was yelling, “OH, GOD, SIR, PLEASE FUCK ME NOW!”

I pushed my hips forward, my dick spiking his asshole and cleanly pushing into it. He gasped, almost losing his balance and toppling to the floor. I grabbed him around the waist with my left arm, holding him tight, and took another handful of his beautiful hair in my right hand. Pulling his head back, I exposed his neck, forcing it into a sublime curve, an image of total submission.

This boy is mine, I gloated silently.

It felt fantastic being inside him, as it always did to fuck a newly humbled boy. Being Master’s slave is wonderful, but this was glorious. All my conquests as a top returned at once to my mind, flooding it with memories of pleasures real and imagined.

I plugged him in and out, stuffing his hole with my man-rammer before pulling it nearly all the way out. My dog whore panted and whined, taking it like the slut he was. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, leaking slobber on the floor.

Loud slapping noises were heard each time I plunged into him, my thighs and hips sticky with lube. Little yelps and gasps started coming out of him with every thrust. Pretty soon I got tired of listening and reached for the rest of my leather gear. My grasping fingers found my cock gag, and I shoved it into the boy’s mouth, muffling his noise.

“I don’t want to listen to you anymore, boymeat. Keep quiet now.”

Remembering when Master had this piece of boyflesh slung over his shoulders, when he first got down on his knees like a dog, I gloated to myself. I changed him. I broke him from the little prick he’d been when Master brought him home. Now he’s the whore we both know he is. And he’s mine. Even if it’s for only one night, he’s mine. It would be a night he’d never forget, because in some way, no matter what else he does in his life, he’ll always be my dog whore.

I was so grateful to my Master for giving him to me. He knew how much I love cocky little boys like this. He knew I hate those passive wimps with no fire, no spark. I like breaking a boy down, no matter how short or long it takes, no matter what I have to do.

Oh, it was awesome to stuff that boy butt with my dick, to pump in and out until the pleasure got too intense and I just had to . . .

“Come, boy!” I yelled. “Grab your dick and shoot off with me. You’ve got ten seconds!”

Instantly the boy gripped his dick and started pumping. His body jerked and convulsed as I rammed him harder and harder. I was hitting him so hard that if I hadn’t still been holding him around the waist, I’d’ve pushed him off me.

“I’m gonna come boy, I’m gonna let it out!” I yelled into his ear. He arched backward, rearing up like a dog standing on its hind legs.

Then it happened, and there was no stopping it. Like a count-down to a blastoff, a fuse had been lit inside me. The fire burned through me and then out of me, racing down the length of my dick like a lightning bolt and igniting it. I shot off, feeling my milky cum spurting out of my dick head in a burst of ecstasy. Animal howls came out of me as my body rocked and shook with the orgasm.

My boymeat shot then, too, his dog dick squirting his load all over his hand and the floor. He shuddered, then let go of his dick and grabbed onto me. Standing up, I pulled him up with me, and together we fell onto the bed. Withdrawing slowly, I pulled my dick out of him. When I had the condom off, I admired the impressive load of jizz I’d dumped into it, then tied it off and tossed it in the wastebasket.

The boy snuggled into me, squeezing me like I was his big brother during a scary thunderstorm. His breathing deepened and then leveled out — he fell asleep. All evidence of his attitude before was gone. He was a changed boy, and I had changed him. I had my arms around him and held him as if he was my little brother.

God, it was great getting to top a boy again, I said to myself. I need to thank my Master . . . . And there he was, standing in the open doorway with a big smile on his face.

“Well, slave,” he said quietly, not wanting to disturb the sleeping treasure in my arms. “Did you enjoy your reward?”

“Oh, yes, Master, thank you! It was fucking fantastic!”

“I figured he’d be a good one for you, what with that attitude and all.”

“You . . . shopped around, Sir?”

“Yes, slave. I wanted to get you just the kind of boy you like so much to break. I trust you’ve humbled his proud little soul by now.”

“Oh, yes, Sir,” I said, smiling. “He’s a perfect little dog whore now, just like he should be.”

“You’ve done well,” Master said as he stepped backward out the door. “I’ll sleep on the bed in the den, maybe join you later. Just think what you could do to him by morning.”

“Morning, Sir?”

“It’s still early, slave. There are many hours until tomorrow. He’s yours until then. And . . . .” He was almost out of sight behind the closing door.

“Sir?”

“. . . if you keep on being as good as you have been,” I heard him say, “who knows what might happen? I just might have to get him for you permanently.”

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