When Nathan and Master Legrand first arrived, the boy assumed that the two would get down to business almost immediately. How could he not? Master Legrand had so much fun testing the merchandise. And he had kept the gay twink slave scantily clad in his black jockstrap and little bow-tie, marching him out of the limo and through the hallways in near nudity.
Nathan was an object of desire, full of longing, and when they finally reached the extravagance of Legrand’s golden bedroom, he assumed that his purpose—to be played with by his Master—would be unleashed.
But that’s not what happened. At least, not immediately.
There were no toys, no restraints, no other men. There was only the Master and the boy—all that mattered. Master Legrand sat on the bed, framed by a ghostly painting of fog-shrouded deer. He instructed Nathan to sit on his knees on the floor, and wait.
When the Master finally beckoned for the boy, it had felt like an eternity had passed. So fixated he was on orders from his new owner that he hardly knew he was in the middle of training. Their night of passion had already begun, but what he didn’t understand was that before pleasure came obedience.
Nathan crawled across the ground eagerly towards his Master’s grip, and looked up at the older man with the sort of dewy-eyed innocence that one can rarely find in this world, much less purchase. Master Legrand kneaded his bubble butt, squeezed firmly the muscles of his flank—muscles that he knew he’d wear out eventually. Nathan had already become an excellent investment, and he had only just started to suck on the tip of Master’s cock through his suit trousers.
Master Legrand ordered the boy to perform various acts of worship as he slowly stripped himself of his suit. The boy’s senses were dizzied from focusing back and forth on Master Legrand’s bulge, and lips, and grip.
He was led to the bed, and positioned on his hands and knees atop the gold quilt. Master Legrand took the opportunity to explore the boy’s body, fingering him in preparation for what was to come. The boy moaned in agony and ecstasy as one. Then two fingers slipped in. He cried out wordlessly, the sort of gasp that only comes from the test of submission.
Satisfied with the width the boy slave was capable of stretching to—and the pitch his cries reached—Master Legrand scooped the boy up and used him hard with his massive tool.
The bow-tie boy found himself in a whirlwind of positions, bouncing on Legrand’s giant cock, curled into a ball and rocked by the power of his master’s hips.
His eyes rolled back into his head. And at some point, amid the jackhammering of his prostate and the screaming from his throat, the boy simply stopped thinking. All that he could feel or understand was the impossible size difference between himself and his owner, and the next position he needed to assume. The breeding was all that mattered, and it mattered without words…