“Do you like men?”
I know you shouldn’t lie, and I know it’s not terribly smart to lie to an imposing figure like Master Figata. Still, when he asked if I did or did not like men, I reflexively told him I didn’t.
Of course, that was wrong; he knew what Master Kamp had got out of me during my earlier interview with The Order. …More than just the truth. And yet, years of hiding my longest-held secret reflexively took over, even in the face of a Grandmaster.
Master Figata, his wizened face etched with a dubious look, asked me to stand. He had me remove my pants, then suit, tie, and finally my collared shirt, leaving me down to nothing but my undergarments. An inner submission guided me through the motions, led by Figata’s voice. It took charge when I was uncertain and, as Master Figata’s hands revealed to me, it was far more honest than I was.
My erection, exposing how much I was turned on by being ordered by older men, pressed out against my garments and stained the front with precum. Master Figata brushed his hands briefly across the tip of my member, and just that slight motion sent a spark coursing through the nerves of my body. It made me whimper with need.
How good it felt, I thought, to have the truth coaxed out of me.
He went behind me, and reached his arms over mine. Master Figata’s stony hands squeezed my pecs, groping them firmly enough that when his hands relaxed, I felt the ghost of his strength still in the flesh. I shuddered. The way he fondled me, crushing the muscle completely in his large palm, then working his grip gently towards the tip of my nipples, sent waves of pleasure coursing through my body.
It was so exciting — being manipulated like an object, like a toy. Forcing me to reveal secrets to someone of such great power, who seemed to know exactly how to bring my body to the brink with practiced motions.
My legs were weak, and my knees trembled. Master Figata looked at me with that warm, welcoming smile and said nothing. He just kept fondling my chest, squeezing and kneading my pecs, occasionally using a thumb to push hard on one nipple or another.
With words of instruction I understood before I could even think about them, I found myself on all fours on top of the Master’s cleared wooden desk.
He traced the lines of the desk with the tip of his finger as he walked behind me. With his hands upon me, he instructed me to spread my legs just a little wider. I complied, my body shaking with excitement as he pulled my underwear down. Those same strong hands that nursed my front, now squeezed and fondled my rear.
“Beautiful,” he murmured.
It felt good to be complimented, but better to be played with. Mr. Figata brought his face between my cheeks. He lapped at my entrance, and the plunge of his wet tongue put me in a sort of trance — I arched back against him, instinctively.
He obliged, working a hand beneath my buttocks and holding me steady as he attacked my hole. Master coaxed me into a frenzy with each lap, occasionally fingering me as he caught his breath.
Master Figata’s tongue lured me into a rhythm that made me forget both time and place. When the last flick slipped out of me, I nearly collapsed onto the desk, overloaded with pleasure.
He rose up above me — I heard the clattering noise of his unbuckling belt as it dropped onto the floor. He took his cock in one hand, stroking himself slowly, then dipped it into my hole.
I had never felt such pleasure. His thick manhood, like a powerful muscle, plunged and punched into me. It made my balls draw up tight inside. My body obeyed wordless orders of submission. I could only grunt as he drove into me, and I allowed myself to be spread.
Each time this Master thrust into my ass, I felt as if I were going to fly apart. And with each thrust he found, through some divine force, my prostate — that little knot of nerves tucked up inside of me that bombarded me with sensation.
As his pace quickened, he flipped me over onto my back. It was the first time since he brought me to the desk that I got to look at his face, which glowed with purpose. He pounded me over and over, and allowed me to stroke my own rock-hard cock alongside him.
I didn’t realize that this was The Order’s lesson guiding my hand, for I was so lost in the waves of pleasure that no thought came to me at all. I just wanted to cum. And I wanted Master to cum inside me.
As if to celebrate my wordless admission, Master pulled out and jerked off his own much larger cock alongside mine. We exploded, together, and anointed my inner thighs with shared seed.
We laid like that for a short time, joined in shared carnality, sweaty, and spent. He ran his fingers through my hair, cleaned me up with a nearby towel, then dressed me properly.
I left Master Figata’s office with a far better understanding of The Order, myself, and the value of truth.
It was one of the best days of my life—and it was still but one of many lessons The Order, and my new masters, had designed for me. After what Master Figata taught me, I was prepared to face them. All of them, and as often as possible.
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