It had not been that long since Apprentice Monroe’s disciplinary rituals at the hands of Grandmaster Wolf. The Apprentice had been stretched and abused beyond measure, but not with cruelty. There had been a great hollowing out of him, yes, but that which was removed from him was doubt, and worry. In its place, directly administered into his body through The Order’s orgasmic rituals, Apprentice Monroe had found his calling. He found a purpose.
Which brought him to that evening’s invitation. Master Figata, wearing a white suit with a crisp white button down and tie, led the boy with his large, stony hands into a room for what was pronounced as his “ordination.” The room was white, bright, pristine with otherworldly energy, as if it had been plucked from a distant, previous century. There was a temple daybed, sparse furniture, and a couch.
Master Figata sat down, and brought the boy with. The Master stared at the boy with a hard gaze, eyes glinting with confidence. “You know why you’re here, right?”
It had been sometime since this Apprentice had last seen Master Figata. The Master was the one who called him into the quiet, air conditioned hiss of the office. There, Master Figata had grilled the young apprentice as to whether or not he was attracted to men. It felt foolish to have denied the question then—doubly so now, here in the room of ordination, where he gave a very different answer.
“Yes,” Monroe was happy to sit on the couch, weak in the knees by being just in the presence of one of The Order’s masters.
Master Figata could sense the difference in the boy’s energy, the difference in his awareness of what his purpose was—both within The Order and outside it. He stripped the boy of his tie, then shirt, then trousers. Slowly, with the sanctity it deserves, Master Figata undressed the apprentice down to just a shred of garment. The boy’s hardening bulge was soon free of all constraints. Free to serve its Master.
Monroe had not been with many men, only those within The Order, really, but each of those moments was special to him, and charged with revelation. Since The Order had reached out, this was the first time he got to revisit a Master from his previous stage of calling, a time so long ago now that he was sure he had become a different person. Electrified he was by this, when Master Figata did strip down to his own undergarments, the boy could barely keep himself from burying his face into his Master’s nether regions. There was no need to rush—Master Figata’s strong grip slowed the boy, and brought his nuzzles to an obedient pace.
At first, the taste of the Master was sweet, and not entirely unfamiliar. A taste he could place as one of desire, of love, of yearning. But as the Master’s scent penetrated the boy’s nostrils that sweet taste transformed into something far more arousing. He sucked and gagged on Master’s gigantic cock, a mixture of drool and precum dribbling down his chin, until Figata was satisfied with his boy’s finesse.
Master Figata guided Apprentice Monroe to lie across the couch. Securing the boy’s hips in his iron grip, the Master drove his tongue deep inside that young ass. He licked him hard and fast, then pulled back for a moment to look the boy in the eyes, with an expression of triumph in his face. The Apprentice was yielding, like butter, and had come so far along in his journey.
With the same tool that stretched Monroe’s jaw to its limit, Master Figata brought his cockhead to the boy’s entrance. With one firm stroke, he was buried to the root inside the boy’s tight ass. Master began thrusting slowly, the feeling of his thick tool pounding in and out of the boy’s hole making them both moan in unison. His balls slapped against the young man’s ass cheeks each time the Master fully slammed inside. The pace quickened, orchestrated as much by their own passions as by the will of The Order watching over them.
The spirit of The Brotherhood welled up within them both. They were a blur of thrusts, Apprentice and Master completely in sync with each other. Their bodies twisted round the leather couch until they ended up, hardon-to-hardon, frotting wildly against each other, their tongues lost in combat. Eventually, Master Figata spilled his seed, first on his stomach, and then onto the couch beneath them.
When they had caught their breath, they shared a kiss. When Master Figata first took Apprentice Monroe under his wing, he had not been sure how long the boy would last—either physically, or mentally. This experienced Master wanted all that The Order had to offer this worthy apprentice. He ordained the boy’s forehead and hole with the drops of his exalted Master’s seed—he knew, now more than ever, that the boy had what it takes.
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