Free Breakdown Motel Part 2 (Gay BDSM Erotica) by Ty Marton

he realized, his own cum
dripping own onto the cool cement floor below as he endured the
brutally intense pounding at the hands of his unseen master. The
heat in Jeff’s prostate had grown by now to a red-hot, sustained
blaze, each pumping thrust of cock up his ass seeming to stoke it
like a bellows blowing oxygen over glowing coals. The heat seemed
to melt Jeff from the inside out. His will to resist was gone. His
feelings of self-preservation were gone. Even his sense of identity
seemed to have vanished. All that was left was a singular instinct:
the instinct of submission.
    The instinct of a slave.
    He wasn’t Jeff anymore, he realized, just
like the slave beside him wasn’t Danny. This was the culmination of
submission. They weren’t individuals, they were property. They were
tools…
    “…I’m a slave…” Jeff muttered, his voice low
and reverent. Danny opened his eyes at the words, staring at Jeff,
suddenly stoic once more, his fear and discomfort gone now. He
nodded with an odd, expectant eagerness, and Jeff immediately
repeated himself.
    “I’m a slave!” he cried out, barely wincing
as his master forcibly spanked the palms of his hands down over
Jeff’s ass cheeks at full strength, still pummeling his cock in and
out of Jeff’s ass as fast and as hard as he could. Jeff’s eyes fell
shut, a strange, idyllic open-mouthed smile growing across his face
as his anonymous master grabbed a fistful of his hair, jerking his
head upright.
    “Do you understand?” Danny whispered,
staring up at him with wide eyes.
    “Oh, yes,” Jeff gasped, his voice shaking.
“Fuck yes…”
    Within moments, he could feel his master’s
first small explosion of cum shooting deep within his ass. Jeff
moaned at the sensation, savoring each successive spurt of the warm
fluid, his leg beginning to spasm and twitch against their bonds as
he began a sustained orgasm of his own. The budding heat at the
base of his groin felt as if it were spilling straight out of him,
not in a steady drip, but in a fountainous series of bursts. In
perfect sync with the dominant brute behind him, Jeff was hitting
the submissive climax his masters had intended for him to hit. It
washed over him and took ownership of him, redefining his very
identity, forcing him to exist within a single context: the context
of a slave.
    “Fuck yes…” he repeated, whimpering the
words out in a shuddering whisper. “ Fuck yes… ”
     
    ~*~
     
    SPLASH!
    Jeff gasped, supremely startled by a thick
torrent of ice cold water landing across his face. He shook his
head and tried to squirm out of the way, but couldn’t, his neck and
wrists strangely immobilized…
    Then, it came to him. He was still out in
the desert, locked away in the stocks. There was a hot morning sun
beating down on him – he’d made it through the night. The dungeon,
the padded table, Danny… despite seeming so visceral, none of it
had been real. Jeff hung his head, breathless as the water dripped
down off of his face, shaken from his abrupt return to reality, and
from where his subconscious had been so eagerly willing to take
him…
    “Mornin’ sugar,” came a sickly sweet voice.
Jeff blinked some of the water clouding his vision out of his eyes
and raised his head, barely able to make out the figure standing in
front of him, empty bucket in hand. It was Trixie, just as cocky
and buxom as she’d been when Jeff had first pulled her over. “Are
you glad to see me?” she asked with a smile, biting her lip and
adding, “Because I’m sure as hell glad to see you…”
    Jeff said nothing as she slowly moved behind
him, reaching out and tracing her red fingernails down his spine.
“You look good out of that uniform,” she cooed, giving his ass a
playful squeeze and teasing her thumb down his crack. “Tight little
ass, too…”
    She bent down and retrieved a soapy rag from
the bottom of the bucket, wringing it out before bringing it
against Jeff’s ass cheek and starting to scrub.