A gay story: I'm Not Your Slave “I’m not your slave,” said my wife as she picked up her suitcase, and slammed the front door behind her.
She had packed only one suitcase, the essentials, and she was leaving everything else behind. The thing she wanted most in the world was never to see me again. And all because I had asked her for a pair of clean socks.
Dammit. This was a rotten situation. Not that I was madly in love with the woman. I never was. She was a convenience. She had fulfilled certain needs of mine, but now she was gone.
I’m not the kind of guy who’s good at taking care of himself. I need someone to do for me. To clean the house. To do my laundry. To cook my meals. And yes. I need to get off, occasionally, too. A woman is good for so many things. And now mine had left me.
What was I going to do? I was in a real pickle.
I had never been on my own. I always had a woman taking care of me. First, my mother, and then my wife, Greta. I had moved from one caretaker to another. I didn’t know how to do anything for myself. I depended on other people. On women. And now my wife was gone. She had said “I’m not your slave,” and slammed the door behind her, leaving me to my own devices. How was I to deal with a situation like this?
It was dinnertime, and there was nothing on the table. Great! I’m already very slim (though muscular). I didn’t need to lose any more weight. And also, I just looked in my dresser drawer and I didn’t even have clean socks and underwear for tomorrow. What the fuck had that bitch been doing the last couple of weeks? Not my laundry. And the house was a pigpen. I should have seen this coming. I should have noticed the little ugly looks she was giving me all the time when I told her to do something.
And recently she’s been lying there like a sack of Idahos, when I plowed her pussy. No response at all. Not that I really needed a response. I just needed to get off. She had been a real convenience. Everything had been working so well, and now everything was broken. The house was a wreck. My life was a shambles.
Well. One down. She wasn’t the only cunt on the beach. I would find another. There’s always some nice lady happy and anxious to take care of a handsome, rugged, slim (but well-muscled) stud like me. Yes. Fuck her. I was going to be fine. I’d just go down to Spiffy’s Bar and find myself another one. But I had to do it quick if I didn’t want to have to do a laundry.
I know. I know. I could have hired a maid for the housework. I could have hired a prostitute for the bedwork. I know. I know. But I don’t make that kind of money. I’ve got space in the bed, and I just need someone who’s gonna take care of me, and be happy for the space in the bed. That shouldn’t be so hard to find. Like I told you. I’m a handsome, sexy fuck. I work out at the gym. I’m buff. I’m toned. Muscles. You name ’em. Biceps, Triceps, Pecs, Lats, Abs, Glutes. I’ve got ’em all. Enough to keep any woman happy. Fuck that bitch. There’s plenty around that’s gonna be glad to get me.
I found a frozen chicken potpie in the freezer and put it in the microwave. Fuck. I hate cooking. But I had to eat. I took the pie out and put it on the table. I ate it. It was fucking awful. Phooey. I spit out half of it. I looked at the instructions on the side of the package. Oh. You’re supposed to bake it. Not microwave it. Well how the hell was I supposed to know that? I’m not a gourmet chef, am I? Fuck.
I needed to do something and fast. I needed a cook. I needed a cleaning lady. And most immediately, I needed a laundress. I hate wearing dirty socks and underwear.
After dinner, if that’s what you’d call that garbage I had just swilled down, I went down to Spiffy’s. There were a lot of good-looking women in there, mixing with the guys. Slugging down bottles of beer. Yes. I would certainly find what I was looking for in Spiffy’s. I looked at the other guys. Most of them had no physical definition. A lot of them had beer bellies. I was definitely a stand out in this crowd.
I sat down at the bar next to a good-looking lady and ordered myself a beer.
I looked at her and smiled. She smiled back.
“Can I order you a beer?” I offered.
“Sure, why not,” she said. I called the bartender over and said “Another one for the lady,” as she gulped down the rest of the beer in her bottle.
“Richie,” I said, stretching out my hand.
“Cora,” she said. We shook hands.
I bought her five more beers, and things were going along pretty good, and I was about to invite her over for the night, (and to wash my socks in the morning) when this motorcycle type dude steps up next to her.
“Come on, babes. Time to go home?”
“Yeah, honey,” she said to him.
What the fuck?
“This here’s my old man, Bucky,” she said to me.
“This here is Richie. We been talking.” She introduced me to Bucky.
Numbly I shook hands with Bucky.
“Thanks for the beers,” she said, and she and Bucky left the bar.
What the fuck? This cunt’s been sitting next to me talking all night, drinking my beers, and she’s got an old man? She just went home with Bucky, and I’m sitting here all alone, with nobody to wash my socks? And it’s late. It’s fucking late. It’s too goddamn fucking late to start looking for someone else. Fuck her. I mean. Fuck her. Fuck fucking Cora. Bitch. Cunt.
I was in a real bad mood when I got up from my stool and left the bar. A black black mood. You wouldn’t have wanted to meet up with me. I was ready to slug someone. I really was.
I walked down the main street to where I had parked my car. I heard a lot of loud music and noise coming from behind a closed door. I looked up at the sign. The Blue Parrot. It was another bar. I had never even heard of it. From the sounds coming through the door, they were having a real good time in there. Maybe I should check it out.
I opened the front door, and got blasted with a wave of loud rock disco. There were people crazy-dancing in the middle of the room. It was a dance floor, I guess. I figured I would have a beer and see what was happening. I went up to the bar, and ordered a bottle. I leaned against the bar, and looked at the dance floor, at all the happy dancers.
It was then that I noticed that they were all guys. A lot of them had their shirts off, and they had pretty good muscle definition, as opposed to the guys in Spiffy’s. Where the hell were the women?
Suddenly I realized, I was not alone at the bar. There was a young guy standing next to me, rocking with the music as he drank from his bottle. He smiled at me. I smiled at him.
“You’re new here,” he noticed.
“Yeah,” I said. “I didn’t even know this place was here. I was just passing by and heard the music.”
“Well, welcome to The Blue Parrot,” he said. “I’m Andy.” He stuck out his hand, and we shook.
“Richie,” I said.
We chatted for a while, and I told him all about how my wife had left me, the cunt, and I had no one to wash my socks and my underwear. He had his own tale of woe. It seems he had been staying with a friend, but the friend had kicked him out, for whatever reason, and he had nowhere to sleep, and no money for a hotel. Poor Andy. I felt sorry for him. Life was giving the two of us a slap in the face.
That’s when I thought of it. Maybe we could do like a trade or something. I would let Andy sleep in my bed. He would have a place to sleep. And tomorrow morning he would wash my socks and underwear. That seemed like a fair exchange.
I discussed it with him, and he seemed very willing. He said he liked doing laundry. Crazy guy. But if that’s his thing, hell, who am I to say no?
We left The Blue Parrot and he walked with me to my car. We got in and drove to my place. “Sorry the place is such a mess,” I said. “It needs to be dusted and vacuumed.”
“I’ll do that for you,” he offered.
“You will?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said.
“Can you cook?” I asked him
“Of course,” he answered, looking at me like I was a lunatic for even asking.
Hell. Maybe I had really stumbled onto a good thing here. Someone who would cook, and clean, and do my laundry, and pick up after me. And all I had to do was to give him a place to sleep. Neato.
“I don’t have any pajamas,” he apologized. “I left everything. I can get my stuff tomorrow.”
“No problemo,” I assured him. What the hell did I care if he didn’t have his pajamas? I didn’t wear pajamas anyway. I didn’t wear anything. We stripped down, and before we climbed under the covers, I could tell he was really admiring my body. Well, why not? All the work I had put into it at the gym. I was a walking work of art. Body art.
I fell asleep fairly quickly, now that I knew my needs would be taken care of and I had no worries. I don’t know how quickly Andy fell asleep, cause, after all, I was asleep.
The next morning, I showed Andy where the washing machine and the soap was, and I showed him where the vacuum was, and I gave him a few dollars to go down to the store and buy some food. I showed him where all the pots and pans and the silverware, and the dishes were kept. And I gave him a spare key. This guy was a gem. I was hoping he was going to stay for a long time. With a guy like this, who even needed a wife?
Then I left for my job on the sanitation truck. When I came home tonight, there would be a hot meal waiting for me. I was set. All day long I was feeling slightly grungy in my second day socks and underwear. But tomorrow would be a different story.
When I walked through the front door, I was bowled over. I had never seen the place so neat. So spic and span. Everything in its place. Greta had never kept the house like this.
Andy came into the front hall from the kitchen, with a dishtowel in his hand. He was drying his hands.
“Dinner will be ready in a little while,” he announced. “Roasted leg of lamb, and roasted potatoes, and artichokes vinaigrette. And I bought some mint jelly to go with the leg of lamb.”
“Great,” I said. I was really impressed. I had never been fed like that. Greta had served a lot of canned and frozen foods. I couldn’t wait till dinner. But first, I needed a hot shower. All day long on the garbage truck. Well. You know.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” I told Andy.
“Fine,” he said, and went back into the kitchen.
I went upstairs and stripped down and took a nice hot shower. I soaped my body all over, admiring all my manly muscles. The Biceps. The Triceps. The Pecs. The Lats. The Abs. The Glutes. I was really so toned. I caressed each of my muscles lovingly as I soaped them. I hated to take my hands off myself, but I knew it was dinnertime, and I stepped under the showerhead and rinsed off. I dried myself with a clean towel. A clean towel. I hadn’t had a clean towel in a couple of weeks. I kept telling Greta to wash the fucking things, but she wasn’t doing it.
I walked naked into my bedroom and opened the middle dresser drawer. My underwear drawer. I had all fresh underwear. Shiny white and sparkly clean. Andy had done my underwear. Just to double check, I opened the top dresser drawer. Yes. My socks were there. Each pair neatly done up into a little roll. I lifted a roll up to my nose and sniffed. Laundry detergent. What a glorious, glorious fragrance.
I put on clean socks and underwear, and a pullover shirt, and a pair of slacks and went down to the dining room and sat at the table. Andy peeked in from the kitchen, and smiled when he saw me sitting there. He kept bringing in platters. Lamb. Potatoes. Artichokes. Cups of vinaigrette dressing. A bottle of mint jelly. And the table was beautifully set with the best china and silverware. There were even linen napkins. He must have been looking around a lot while I was at work. I forgot we even had linen napkins.
The meal was just great, and I complimented Andy on his chefery. He blushed a little and smiled, thanking me. I could see he was happy that I liked everything. After dinner, he did the dishes, and I went into the living room to watch ice hockey on television. When he had finished the dishes, and totally cleaned the kitchen, he came into the living room, wiping his hands on that towel again.
I invited him to sit down and watch the match. He sat next to me on the couch, and we watched. But I wasn’t sure he was really concentrating on the game. He kept looking over at me expectantly. I don’t know what the fuck he expected. I watched the ice hockey.
When the game was over and the Divets had won, we went upstairs, and got undressed. We both got into bed. I turned off the lamp, and nodded off. I was tired. It had been a big garbage day. Semi-consciously I heard Andy tossing and turning next to me, but I was used to that. Greta had been a tosser.
The next morning I didn’t give Andy any money, because we had enough food. There were leftovers. Something was bothering him. I could tell.
“What’s wrong?” I asked him.
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter,” he answered.
“Yes. It matters. Tell me.”
“I have no clothes,” he told me. “I went over to my friend’s house, but he wouldn’t let me take my stuff. I bought a toothbrush with the money you gave me.” He started to cry.
“Oh, gee,” I said. “Don’t cry.”
He kept crying
“There must be something around the house you can wear. Something of mine, maybe?”
“No. I thought of that. You’re too big. Your stuff wouldn’t fit me.”
He was right.
“I get paid on Friday,” I told him. “On Saturday we can go out to the store and get you some stuff. But in the meantime….”
I had a brilliant idea. He was a small guy. Around Greta’s size. Greta had only taken one suitcase, she was in such a hurry to get out. She had left a lot of stuff behind.
“Look in the drawers and in the closet,” I told him. “Maybe there’s something of my wife’s you can wear in the meantime.”
He didn’t answer me. I guess it was a stupid suggestion. What guy would want to put on women’s clothes? I shrugged and went out the door.
It was another heavy garbage day, and I was looking forward to getting home. Andy came out from the kitchen again, and I noticed that he had on some of Greta’s clothes. Her blue silk blouse and slacks. He looked okay. It wasn’t like he was wearing a dress or anything.
We had dinner, and watched TV and went up to bed again. When we were stripping down, I noticed that he had on a pair of Greta’s rayon panties. A blue pair. They looked okay.
Unfortunately on Friday morning, I came down with a light case of the flu, so I couldn’t go into work. Andy kept bringing cups of chicken soup up to me in bed, and feeling my forehead with the palm of his hand.
“You definitely have a fever,” he decided.
“Oh, fuck. I hate being sick.”
“You’ll be fine. I’ll just nurse you back to health,” he assured me. This was just great. Greta had never taken good care of me when I was sick. When I was a kid, my mother took care of me like this. Andy was turning out to be one of the better things in my life.
“This means I don’t get paid today,” I told him. “We can’t buy you clothes tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he told me. “I’ll get along, the way I’ve been getting along,” he assured me.
He looked nice in Greta’s peach colored shirt and slacks. It wasn’t really a man’s color, but who was gonna see him except me?
I did get better by Sunday, and everything was going great for a couple of weeks, until I started noticing a little sloppiness. I had come home three days in a row and the house hadn’t been dusted and vacuumed. My clothes hadn’t been washed. And we were eating canned food.
“Is anything wrong?” I asked him.
“No,” he said. But in a cagey kind of way. There was definitely something wrong. He seemed miffed. I couldn’t imagine why he would be miffed. I hadn’t done anything. Every day the situation got a little worse. He was sleeping in my bed, and he was not cooking and cleaning. I didn’t want to have to throw him out on his ass. We had had such a good thing going. Maybe he just getting a little lazy. Maybe he just needed a little discipline.
“Clean the fucking house,” I yelled at him. “It’s like a pig sty.”
“I don’t feel like it,” he told me.
“You don’t fucking feel like it???? Well you better fucking feel like it,” I threatened him, glowering into his face.
“Oh, yeah? Make me,” he sassed me.
“I fucking well will make you,” I told him.
“Oh yeah?” he asked. “What are you gonna do? Spank me?”
Unwittingly he had given me a great idea. I seized upon it. “Yeah. That’s just what I’m gonna do. “I’m gonna fucking spank your ass.”
“I’d like to see you try,” he goaded me.
That was more than I could stand. A challenge like that could not go unanswered. I sat down in a chair and pulled him roughly over my lap, and began slapping his fleshy bottom.
“Hah,” he crowed. “I’ve got slacks on. I can’t even feel it.”
The stupid guy was telling me how to hurt him. Okay. I pulled down his slacks and panties. Everything was lavender today. I looked down at his flesh cheeks. What a target. I began slamming my hand down on them. Both of them. The right one and the left one. They were slowly going from white to pink, and he was screaming and crying, “Oooowwww. Ooooowwwwoooowwwwoooowwww.” And he was twitching all around in my lap. And his cheeks were going from pink to red, and he was screaming and crying, “Oooowww. Oooooowwwww ooooowwwww ooooowwww ooooowww. And twitching around in my lap, with his red cheeks squirming and rising and falling, and I was really liking this. It felt good to pound his round soft cheeks. The only thing was I noticed I was getting a hard on. I was getting off on this a little.
“Christ, I’m getting a hard on,” I said. I knew it would be improper to mention this development, but it just slipped out.
“Now, I suppose you’ll want me to suck it off for you,” he said, still twisting in my lap.
I hadn’t thought of that. But it was an interesting thought.
“Well, I won’t,” he screamed. “I will not suck your cock.” He was defying me. I would have to show him.
“Oh, yes you will. If I say you will, you will. You’re gonna suck my cock for me.” I decided.
“No I won’t.” He was really being rebellious. I could not let this continue.
“Yes, you will.” My mind was now made up. He was gonna suck my cock. That would teach him to let his chores slide. I pushed him to the floor in front of my chair, and stood up just enough to lower my pants and underpants, then I sat back on the chair. My cock was hard. All that spanking, and talking about sucking had given me a tremendous woody. I needed to get off. I needed it bad.
Roughly I grabbed his hair, and pulled his head up into my lap.
“Chow down,” I ordered.
“No,” he refused obtusely.
“Yes,” I said, and smacked him across his face. His jaw fell open and I fitted his mouth over my steaming dick. Wow. It felt great.
He started really to suck me. He got my dick all wet, and he sucked on it and made throaty noises, and he moved his head down so that the tip went all the way back into his throat. This was something new for me. Believe it or not, I had never had a blowjob before. I had never even thought about it. What had I been missing? This was fucking incredible.
“Yeah, suck it. Suck it,” I encouraged him. He didn’t answer. He just kept sucking. He was obeying me. I was feeling pretty cocky. Not only was I getting a great blowjob, but I had found a way to control Andy. To get him to behave. To get him to do as I wanted. I felt pretty masterful, and I liked that feeling.
Then I felt something even better. I felt the cum boiling in my balls. “Oh, fuck. I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum.”
He started sucking insanely hard, like he was trying to help me, the idiot. Didn’t he realize I was gonna shoot my hot sticky cream right down his throat? Fucking idiot. Yeah. He was gonna have to swallow my hot cum. The more I thought of that, and the more frantically he was sucking on it, and letting the head of it hit the back of his throat, the more I realized I wanted him to swallow my load. Yeah. That would be the best punishment of all, for him having defaulted on his household duties. That would show him.
“I’m coming. I’m coming,” I yelled, and I forced his head down, until his face went red from lack of air, and his nose was buried in my hairs, and he was coughing and choking. Coughing and choking, and yes, gobbling. Gobbling down the hot milk that was pouring into his throat. What a great cum. Damn. Fuck. I needed that. I had totally forgotten that my willy had his needs. But now I had Andy, here, to take care of my willy. From now on, that was gonna be one of his duties.
My cock softened in his mouth and slipped from his red, puffy lips. He looked up at me, and I thought I saw a smile. But that couldn’t be. It must have been just the stream of cum dripping down from the side of his mouth.
“Okay. Now we’re gonna go up to bed, and tomorrow you’re gonna clean the fucking house and do the fucking laundry, and start cooking some fucking decent meals. You hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” he said.
He had called me ‘sir.’ I liked that.
And for a few days everything went back to the way it was, and Andy was behaving, and the house was clean, and the underwear and socks got washed, and we had beef bourguignon, which I had never tasted, but it was terrific.
But I didn’t get a blowjob, because Andy was behaving so well, I had no need to punish him. But then the inevitable happened. He started to slack off again, and I had to give him another asswhipping and make him suck my dick again. But the punishments weren’t working on a long-term basis. Every few days, he would back slide.
Clearly, I was going to have to escalate the punishment. But I didn’t know what else I could do. I was totally at a loss. But leave it to good old stupid Andy. He went and proposed his own downfall.
One night, we had frozen chile for dinner, and after dinner I looked around the house, and it was a disgusting mess. I went up to my dresser, and sure enough, low on socks and underwear.
“Andy. Get up here,” I screamed from the bedroom.
“What the fuck is the matter with you?” I screamed at him in a fury. “You’re not doing your fucking job. I let you stay here. I let you wear my wife’s clothes. I let you sleep in my bed, and this is how you repay me?”
With that I gave him a couple of vicious slaps across the face. Then I tore off Greta’s clothes, and threw him down on the bed, and began wacking away on his bubblebutt.
“What the hell am I gonna do with you? What is gonna get through that thick skull of yours, that I mean business? That I want obedience?”
I was slapping away, and his cheeks were getting redder and redder, and he was squirming all over the mattress, trying to get away from my painful palms, and he was moaning and crying.
“Oh, stop. Stop. Stop. It hurts. It hurts. Just don’t fuck me. Please don’t fuck me. Please. Please.”
“Please, who?” I asked.
“Please, master. Please, master. Please don’t fuck my ass. I’m begging you, master. Don’t fuck me in the ass.”
‘Master.’ That was even better than ‘sir.’ I liked that. And more than that, he had planted a seed in my brain. He was begging me not to fuck him. That thought would never even have entered my mind, if he had not mentioned it. Yet what could be a more effective punishment, than for me to fuck his ass, when he was begging me not to? It was all so simple. And it never would have even entered my mind, if he hadn’t brought the subject up. Stupid fuck.
“You know what, you lazy fuck. I’m gonna fuck you. Yeah. I’m gonna fuck your ass.” The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. What a great punishment.
I ripped off my clothes, and climbed over his upraised ass on the bed. My willy was hard as a rock. I had been getting to really love spanking Andy, and then getting a blowjob. But now I was not just getting a blowjob. I was going to fuck his little ass. Yeah. That’s what I was gonna do. Fuck his little ass. Plow in as hard as I could. Teach the little bitch to play games with me. Wasn’t I his master?
I could hardly wait to stick it into him, so I aimed down and plunged. He screamed. I could feel a dry scraping against the head of my dick. I guess I really should have used some sort of greasy stuff, but I was in a mindless frenzy. I wanted to stick my willy into his asshole and pound away as hard as I could, to teach him not to mess with me. But as I was slamming away, it was getting moister and looser and easier.
He was sobbing, and crying, and there were tears dripping down his face, so it really must have been hurting, but if it was hurting him, why the fuck did he have that stupid grin on his face? Dumb fuck.
It was starting to feel real good on my willy. His warm asswalls were totally gripping my plunging tool. Yeah. Yeah. This was really nice. This was better even than a blowjob. This was even better than fucking my loosecunt wife. Yeah. This was fucking nice. I liked this. It was so good, that I was even hoping Andy would slip up every now and then to give me an excuse to have him feel my rigid rage.
“I’m getting ready to come. I’m getting ready to shoot my load,” I screamed, as my head flew back. I couldn’t hold it in much longer. What an unscratchable tickle was edging up my tube. Holy Hannah. “I’m gonna shoot my hot cum into your hot little asshole, cunt,” I yelled into his ear. Yeah. ‘Cunt’ was the right word. Demeaning.
“No. No, please,” he begged me. “No, master, please. Please don’t shoot your hot sticky sperm up my asstunnel. Please don’t blast your wad inside me. Please. Please,” he begged, all the while moving his ass as if it were the eye of a tornado, all around my helpless lightning rod. It was almost as if his ass were trying to suck the cum out of my balls. I know that sounds crazy. But that’s what it felt like. “Please, please,” he moaned. “Not inside me. Pull it out. Pull it out.”
“Too late, bitch,” I screamed into his ear. “Here it comes. Take it. Take it.” And it blasted out like a hurricane inside his tornado ass. And the ten tidal waves of my cum flooded into him. We both just lay there in stunned silence. Not moving. I didn’t even have the strength to pull my cock out of his ass.
“Thank you, master,” he whispered.
The stupid fuck was thanking me for plowing his ass. “You’re welcome,” I said, and I kissed his head, and we both drifted off to sleep.
I wish I could tell you that this punishment had solved all the problems in my house, but it hadn’t at all. I was forced to repeat it regularly. Why was he always being so recalcitrant? I couldn’t figure it out. He couldn’t have liked getting beaten and fucked all the time. Could he? Of course not. Who wants to get beaten and fucked all the time? But why was he always getting this strange look of contentment on his face after I disciplined him? Contentment and maybe even triumph. Like the cat who swallowed the canary. Was he some kind of sicko? No. It couldn’t be contentment and triumph. It just couldn’t. Maybe he was just trying to put up a brave front. Yes. That must be it. It was a brave front.
We did go downtown and buy Andy some clothes. But it’s funny. Even with all his new clothes, I come home and he’s still dressed in Greta’s wardrobe. He says it feels nice and silky against his skin. And sometimes, if it gets cold at night, and he doesn’t want to sleep in the raw, he puts on one of Greta’s silky lacy nightgowns. And you know, he doesn’t look bad in it. He looks kind of nice. Kind of sexy. I almost want to kiss and cuddle him in bed, but then I would want to fuck him and I can’t, because that’s a punishment. And I certainly can’t punish him if he’s been good.
But he’s not always good, and sometimes I do have to lift the nightgown and let him have the full force of my anger on and inside his behind. And now sometimes he calls me ‘daddy,’ which I like a lot. But mostly he calls me ‘master,’ and tells me that he’s my obedient loving slave.
I remember when my wife went out the front door, she had said “I’m not your slave.” But now I have Andy, who cleans my house, and does my laundry, and cooks my meals, and sucks my dick, and whose ass I fuck. And it seems like Andy is my slave. And you know what? I like it. I love having a slave.