Master Tom Part 2
Master Tom Part 1
March 8, 2023Master Tom Part 3
March 8, 2023SERVE YOUR MASTER TOM Part 2
Date: Sun, 2 Oct 2022 16:55:42 +0000 (UTC)
From: ropingtop@aol.com
Subject: Dom and seb – installment 1 (authoritarian)
HEY THERE READERS! Let me introduce myself. I’m Dominick, but most people call me Dom. Know what’s funny about that? I’m a dominant guy, so I’m Dom the Dom.
Ha ha. I hope some of you thought that was a little funny, and maybe some of you thought of that commercial for stomach medicine that goes something like “Dom, da dom dom.” Yeah, it’s stupid. Even cheesy. When I’m watching television with my boy,
I always slide a finger or two inside his shirt, squeeze his nip, and chant it. He pretends he hates it, but when he’s wearing a pair of his super tight pants, I can see his cock jump. That is, when I don’t lock him up.
My boy: yeah, he’s got an interesting name, and it makes us even cheesier. His full name is Anthony Sebastian Martino. Outside of our home, people call him Tony, but I HAD to pick up on the pun: Sebastian becomes Seb, and he and I are Dom the Dom and seb the sub.
You’re groaning. I get it. Just wanted you to know it up front. I won’t bring it up again. So, here’s the deal with seb and I.
We met about four months ago, and about a month ago, he “agreed” to be my sub, after bottoming for me for three months. We’re gonna tell you our story in alternating chapters. Me first, then seb. Or tony if you want to use that. You can either call him a sub, or my boy. He hates being called my boy, but I told him to get over it.
That’s part of the job. So is what’s happening to him right now. As I type this, he’s tied up in a chair, and gagged. I put him there as soon as he got home from work (my boy is a lawyer. How fancy!). I didn’t even have him change. He’s still in his white button down, his skinny tie, and his suit pants.
He’s being taught a lesson for flirting over the weekend. If you’ve trained a sub or a boy before, you’ll know that it can take a while to break bad habits. Or “habits” let’s say. It had been a while since tony had nbottomed, and he had never been a sub before. He’s got a lot to learn.
After he sits properly (straight back, chest out), for fifteen minutes, I’ll take off his tie, open his shirt, and add some clamps. Then after fifteen minutes like that, I’ll twist them, and add some weights to them. I might take the gag off then and fuck his face.
Or maybe drag his tight ass into the bedroom and throw a hot fuck into him before dinner. I’m leaning that way, but let’s see. So, you know tony/seb is a lawyer. Me? I’m one of those guys you see on the street when something goes wrong with a water main, or there’s a power outage, etc.
I’m not the guy working the jackhammer (although I’ve been told that my cock is like a jackhammer. I’m proud of that). I’m the guy in the hard hat whom you may think is doing nothing. I’m a supervisor: worked my way up through the ranks so that nnow I can stand back and let the young, hot guys do the physical labor, and tell them how to do it right. I started out of high school, and I’ve been at it for 25 years.
Almost ready to collect a pension: just five more to go. Tony/seb is going to be working at it a bit longer. I’m 46, he’s 31. Up for partnership in probably 3 years. He’ll get it. I know something about discipline. He knows I know something about it too. I just yelled at him to keep his tits pointing, otherwise the clamps are staying on for 20 minutes.
He sighed, and he speaks withn his eyes. He’s pissed. Good. He’s always a better fuck when he’s a little angry. But this is all background. You wanna know how we met, what we look like, all that stuff. Here it comes. I’m a big guy: maybe 210, maybe 5’11” or even 6 feet if I stand up real straight. Nice little gray beard, very light blue eyes.
Moustache. Women seem to be really fond of my smile. Subs seem to be really fond of my “wand.” It’s 9.5 inches. And it’s thick. It gets the job done. I can’t remember when I wasn’t a Dom. I came out a little later than is the rule these days: my first relationship of any kind happened when I was 27.
There was this twinky kind of guy who walked past a site where I was working with a crew. He let out a “WOOF.” It was a hot day, I had opened more buttons on my shirt than I probably should have, and my sleeves were rolled up, so all my hair (I’m REALLY hairy. So is Tony when I don’t shave him) was showing, and I was sweating like a pig. I think he thought I was going to ignore him. NAH., I looked up and I yelled.
“HEY, PRETTY BOY. YOU KNOW HOW TO DO ANYTHING ELSE WITH THAT MOUTH THAN WOOF. I GET OFF AT SIX.” I laughed at how he reacted.
He looked really nervous, and he wasn’t close enough for me to see that he had gone pale, but he told me that later. Because… YEAH, he came back. At six. I was packing up the truck and he was there. In front of me. He smiled.
“You told me to come back, Sir. I never disobey an order.” “FUCK. I guess that boy (his name was Jamie), brought me out. I mean, I was doing jerk off and going to bars, yadda yadda, but this was the first time I was taking someone home.
Kid knew what he was doing too. When I got him on his back, buck naked, he whined “Please go easy on me, Sir,” but he grinned. I knew he didn’t want me to, so I didn’t. And it felt so good that, even though I never saw him again after that quickie, I developed a thing for thin, pale blond boys. Which tony/seb isn’t.
“The heart wants what the heart wants,” as my mom used to say. I’d add “the prick wants what the prick wants, too.” And that’s what I wanted. As I learned over the next year, so did more than a few of those cute blond boys.
I think at one point, I was fucking five nor six different guys a week. I slowed down, but I was still pretty much a serial top. I didn’t get into being a DOM until one night, when I was really getting into this bottom boy and screwing him really good, he moaned
“DAMN SIR. SO GOOD. MAKE ME YOUR BITCH.”
Now, no one has ever complained that I’m not enthusiastic about having sex, but I just went WILD when he talked to me like that. One thing led to another and soon — yeah — they started calling me “Dom the Dom” in the bars. Along the way, I met Eric. Danish blood, pretty boy, former rower for his university.
Taller than me, so I’d worry sometimes if his heels were gonna break my bedroom lamp. GREAT sex. OH DAMN, it was the best sex I had ever had until I started hooking up with tony. And we were together for two years.
Then I came home early one day. See, Eric didn’t work. He was a grad student, so I traded with him: he’d stop having to pay rent, and he could live with me.
His “rent” was being a live in-house boy, giving up his ass to me, and getting tied up and played with a few times a week.
I thought everything was fine. He’d cuddle into my chest when we went to bed every night, he’d sit on my lap or between my legs, and do anything I told him to do. But that day, I came home at about 4. My day normally ended around six, so it wasn’t THAT early.
I yelled “SURPRISE HONEY, I’M HOME,” because I didn’t see my babe. I heard noise in the bedroom though, so I headed there.
And there was my boy: in bed with one of his fellow students. NO! That was the thing. It wasn’t another student: it was one of his professors.
I remember the look on his face. “Sir, it’s not what you think. Really.” I looked at his partner. “YOU. You’ve got ten minutes to get dressed and get your punk ass outta here. And if you aren’t, you’re gonna get what Eric’s gonna get, only harder.
MOVE.” Well, for an academician, he moved really fast. When I heard the door slam, I stood there, my arms folded. I was angry.
REAL angry. “If it’s not what I think, what was it, boy?” I asked. Eric was still in bed, cowering under the blankets. “Sir, it, it.” I used one of my favorite expressions: one I learned from a television show even more cheesy than my jokes: “If it walks like a duck, if it quacks like a duck and it has feathers, i
t’s a duck.” He began to cry.
“I’M SORRY SIR. IT WON’T HAPPEN AGAIN.” “You’re right about that, bitch,” was my answer. I thought for a minute of throwing him out immediately. Nope. I was gonna take his ass one last time. And I did. I tied him to the bed, shoved a
jock strap in his mouth, and fucked him six ways to Sunday (another expression from mom). When I was done, I gave him an hour to pack and get the hell out. But, SIR,
I have nowhere to go,” he pleaded. “Call your fucking professor. I’m sure he has room for you.” He did. They’ve been together since that night. I wish them well. Not really. Well, the whole thing left me sour. REALLY sour. Bitter.
All the food words you can think of. I lost interest in any kind of sex and according to my friends, any kind of relationships, period. My team tells me that I got more hard-assed than usual, didn’t let the small stuff get by me, and that I was a horrible boss for about four months.
My best friends, Gary, and Tom, stepped in with a sort of “intervention.” I really owe it to them that I met Tony. I swear, if I ever marry that boy, they’re both gonna be best men. We were out drinking one night — one of the local, not too cruisy bars. Tom asked me.
“You ever hear of this social hour: `Cover for Every Pot?'” I thought it sounded vaguely familiar. Turns out Gary and Tom had been going to it for a while. It was a singles mixer. You paid the cover fee, and got tickets for two drinks, and you put on a colored sticky.
One color was for tops, one was for bottoms, and one was for those guys who claimed they were versatile “There’s always way fewer tops than bottoms, Dom, and lots of versatile guys who really aren’t. Give it a try with us next week, ok? It’ll cost you 20 bucks, and for all you know, you may meet the NEW man of your dreams.
If you don’t like it, that’d you give up: watching reruns of action series and jerking off?” Gary had a point. The group met on Sundays, so it was convenient, and the price was right.
So, the week after, Gary and Tom showed up at my place, helped me pick out an outfit (jeans, but no chaps, checked shirt, black leather vest for “that touch” and a cap). “Hell, if I were a bottom, I’d go home with you,” Tom remarked. I didn’t remind him that he had done that once when he was drunk and wanted to “see what it’s like bumping pussies with you,”
I just accepted his compliments, and off we went. You know those big buffets at the Las Vegas hotels? One dish after the other until there are so many choices that you can’t make up your mind? “Cover” was like that
. I had no idea it was that popular and I joked to Tom that I wished I had come up with the idea: the organizers were making a fortune. I SWEAR: if it had been a supermarket, it would have been hard to keep a cart with few enough items to use the express line.
The guys had been right: I think there was one top for every 6 or 7 bottoms, and the “versatile” crowd was even bigger. Ofcourse, Gary Tom and I were just hanging out together.
I’m not above saying I got a few looks, but I didn’t see anyone who really caught my eye, although there were plenty of twink types there. Then I looked up at a crowded section of the hall. “Who’s that?” I asked Tom.
There was a stocky, dark guy wearing glasses. He had a moustache, a sizeable nose, and massive arms. He dressed like a preppy, even though he didn’t look like one. NOT my “type” at all. I was mesmerized. Gary shrugged his shoulders. “Never seen him. Must be new.” I laughed.
“Geez, you guys are no help. I thought you were gonna find me a boyfriend tonight, or at least a one-night stand.” Tom laughed. “You never had a problem with that. But chunky? Dark-haired?
Older? You turning on us, Dom?” I couldn’t stop staring at him. I wonder if he “felt” my looks because finally, this hottie looked up at me and smiled before he turned away. Gimme a minute, readers. Time to put on the clamps. I wish you could see the look seb is giving me.
A mix of hate, fear, and desire. I should have caged him too. “I gotta meet him,” I told the guys. “See ya later,” and I took off. I started walking over, trying not to look too eager. He looked up again, and this time after he smiled, he blushed. I saw he was wearing a “versatile” button. Well, we’d see about that. “Hey.
You caught my eye. I wasn’t gonna leave without talking to you. I’m Dom.” I held out my hand. He took it and gave it ahearty shake.
“Nice to meet you Dom. I’m Anthony, but everyone calls me Tony. It’s my first time here.” “Me too. Coincidence, huh?” I was beginning to drown in his smile. “Yeah, I can thank my friends. They were supposed to be
here tonight, but they punked out so, I’m working solo.” We started chatting and he told me that, just like me, he was coming out of a broken relationship.
He had been with a guy who he described, laughing as being “even geekier than me,” for about two years. One day, the guy told Tony wanted to maintain the relationship, but he didn’t want to have sex anymore: not with Tony or anyone. I found out that Tony had been topping his partner, and when the guy said `no more sex’ Tony had offered to switch roles.
His partner wasn’t interested. “Well, I loved that guy but that’s like telling an Italian he can’t eat pasta ever again so… “he smiled that smile. “Here I am.” I smiled. “I’m really sorry that happened to you, Tony. I agree with you about the sex part.” Then I pushed on something because I needed to know if I was wasting my time.
“You told me you were topping him but, you’re wearing a versatile sticker.” That smile again. “Yeah, I’ll tell you why. I bottomed for my first three boyfriends, and I liked it. They seemed to enjoy it, too.
Then I met someone who really, REALLY wanted me to fuck him, and I enjoyed that. Then there was the last guy and …” he blushed. “I didn’t really give him any say in the matter. He has such a great ass and, well, I wanted him 24/7, but maybe it’s time to get back to where I started? I don’t know.” He looked at me.
“You seem to be what I think of as a stone top: no ifs ands or buts, you top.” “Well, you got that right, Tony. I tried the other way, it didn’t work, not for me, or for the other guy.” “You know, I don’t want to be presumptuous,” he said
“But maybe we could leave here and go and get a coffee or n something and talk? I mean, I’ve been here for an hour. I got a lotto looks, but you’re the first guy who talked to me.” “These things are like that. Everyone wants to be the princess,” I said,
then laughing. “Hard to be a princess with a beard.” He laughed at that. “No, I could see you more as a wicked villain. Not a prince. And that’s pk too. You know a place close?” I in fact did. “Let me just go say good night to my buds.
Don’t go anywhere.” I went back to Gary and Tom. “The man who only eats chicken looks like he’s got a hankering for beef,” Tom joked. I gave him a look. “
I gotta go. Talk tomorrow.” I went over to Tony. We ripped the stickers off our shirts and headed out. We would up at a diner, drinking bad coffee and sharing stale donuts. We talked for about an hour and a half, and for the first time in my life, I was a perfect gentleman. Finally,
Tony yawned and stretched. I saw when he stretched out his arms that there was a jungle of fur coming out of his short sleeves. He had a real nice chest too, with hair popping out of the top button. “Dom, I’m really enjoying myself, but I need to get home and get some sleep.
Early day tomorrow. Can we exchange numbers and, maybe continue this?” “Don’t have to ask me twice, Tony,” I told him. “But let me just be honest. I’m interested in you. But you said it up front. You can see that I don’t flip. If anything happens…”
“Let’s let it happen,” he smiled. Just a goodnight kiss for now, ok?” We got outside the diner and kissed. Well, as this story goes on, I’ll let you know about what a damn good lover tony is, but I’ll say right now that, from that first one, tony has been the best freaking kisser
I’ve ever dated. His lips are so soft, and his tongue knows how to wrestle, and when to submit. But I’m jumping ahead of myself.I pride myself on making the first move: I think it shows that I want to be in control. I hadn’t reckoned with an Italian American lawyer who wanted desperately to switch from topping to bottoming (that wasn’t terribly clear from our first “date,” but I eventually got that out of tony when he became “seb.”
Again, I’m getting ahead of myself). Tony called first and asked me if I wanted to meet for dinner two days later. “Only if we go dutch,” Withhold. He laughed. “I was
hoping you’d say that Dom. Now I don’t have to worry about being
embarrassed to say it.” He picked a place that was a few blocks from his apartment. He looked good: he was still in “lawyer drag” as he put it: business casual.
I had had a particularly messy day on the job, so I had cleaned up first. I found out at the dinner that he had wanted to be an actor, majored in it in fact, but when he faced the fact that the acting field was just too risky, he switched to law school.
Now, he worked in house for one of the big theater organizations that are behind a whole lot of the shows on Broadway. He liked it. His minor in college had been accounting, and he got to “play with numbers” as part of his job. He clearly made more money than I did, and I was really pleased that he didn’t do something like insist on paying the check.
“I’ll walk you back to your place,” I said, not offering, not asking, just telling him. After I did, I playfully knocked his loafer off his foot. He grinned and blushed. “Do you want to come up for a nightcap?” he asked. “Yes, but not tonight, tony babe. It’s a nschool night. Thatch doing Friday?”
“Going to the movies with you,” he said. Then he added “You pick the film.” When we left themnrestaurant, I grabbed his hand. He squeezed mine and we walked about five
blocks to his place.
We did some serious necking outside of his building, nand I couldn’t help myself: I pushed him against the wall of the building, and I began squeezing his ass while I frenched him. He pulled away at one point.
“I’m out of breath, and I’m hard as a rock, Dom. Either you’re coming up or you gotta go.” I laughed. “Next time. After the movies. Pack an overnight or something.” “Yes Sir,” was his response, which pleased me to no end. Excuse me. I need to go and put the weights on the clamps now.
I’ll be a minute because I LOVE hearing seb scream when I do. It turns out we like different types of movies, but the one type we agreed on is action films. I forget which one we saw, and that’s because I couldn’t keep my eyes off of tony, and because of what happened after the movie
. I never asked him if what he wore that night meas “business casual,” or if it was “go get a man,” but he was FUCKING HOT. He had on white corduroy jeans and this snug dusty rose twill button down shirt. During the movie, I put my arm around his shoulders and tried to get my hand inside of it.
He giggled and whispered down boy. Later.” It was hard to wait, but I did. And it was worth it. We had agreed that tony was going to spend the weekend with me unless we couldn’t stand each other, so we headed to my place.
“It’s probably not as nice as what you’re used to, but I hope it’s ok” I told him. I was serious. I mean, you hear stuff about the “gay ngene” and all that. I missed a lot of them. One of them is the “decorator gene.” I have no sense of it. I keep the place clean, but there’s nothing fancy about it.
I got us a couple of glasses of wine (I DO know something about wine), and we sat down on my sofa. I put my arm around Tony again. “You’re not fending me off this time, handsome,” I said, and opened a
button before I closed in on a nipple
ushed my beard against his ear, I lea”I hope not,” he whispered, and I learned that tony’s nips were hot-wired. When I brrned
that those were even more sensitive. He was whining and squirming right away. nHmm. Two hot spots in five minutes. You’re in trouble, sexy.” “I guess you’ve got me where you want me,” he moaned.
Not quite. I want you on your knees. With your mouth on
my dick.” “Sounds good to me,” and he `assumed the position.’. Let me tell you folks, you know the cliché’ about it being like riding a
bicycle: you never forget. Tony may have topped for the last few years,
but he got right back into the swing of it.
Whomever had taught him how to suck cock deserves a medal. DAMN, that first blow job was GOOD, and it set the standards for all the ones that have followed. He licked my head until I was pretty much in HIS power, and then he deep throat me.
He stayed down for a few minutes and then he slid back. Now, there are few things I like better than being deep throat, so when he pulled back,
I grabbed the back of his neck and shoved his face forward. I heard an
“MMMMM” come out of him, and I began rubbing his earlobes, which just got
We were just starting, so I didn’t say anything when he reached down to begin jerking himself off.
Now, I keep his hands tied behind him when seb sucks me, so there’s no problem with him pleasuring himself without permission, but that night, he actually came before I did. He could tell I was close and pulled back to ask I’ll swallow if you want.” “You do what you want, stud.”
Again, that changed later, but that night, he pulled his mouth off my dick and added my jizz
to the puddle of his own. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket andcleaned it up.
“Souvenir,” he smiled. “Bedtime,” is what I answered. It was the first time we saw each other fully naked: my salt and pepper fur, and his solid black mane. We were both hairy then, now only one of us is (you guess which one, LOL). He fell asleep first, snoring gently, lying on my chest.
I have arms that are long enough for me to reach down to seb’s ass, and that night, I slid a hand down and ran a finger up his ass crack. “OH YEAH” he moaned and gave one of his big smiles. “This weekend. That’s mine,” I told him.
He was already asleep. OK, now you’ll have to excuse me. seb’s moans are getting to me and so is recalling our “courtship.” I’m gonna need to go and plow him. He’ll tell you his version of this story next time, and when I come back, I’ll write about the first time I tied seb up, how I found out he was ticklish and the day he submitted. Lots to cover. See everyone soon.
