To literally get off of being a slave."Oh God...Oh Ghooood...No. No no no c-calm down Heather...they want you afraid..."In both things, she was right....I am a slave. I love to be a slave. Being obedient and submissive feels so good. I wish I was born a slave. Slave. Slave. It's important I let that word burrow into my mind and become natural. Being a slave isn't scary. Being a slave is my life. I want to learn to love it and be happy at my Master's feet.My Master will show me how wonderful it is. There was another pause that was not a pause.The boy looked at the circle that could be made by those hands, those arms. He was outside of the circle now, free. He could turn and walk... run ... away. Yet ... not quite free. The man's right index finger rested on the boy's left arm, a butterfly touch, the boy's doing, not the man's, accidental the boy thought, but then he thought too that there are no accidents. It would take all his strength, more strength than he thought he could muster, yet. I loved feeling his warm mouth on my cock and had to hold back a little from cumming too soon. I started playing with his cock and balls, and then his ass, so I maneuvered myself until I was under his cock, so we could 69. This is my favorite position. Well, one of them anyway.I pushed him forward some so I could suck his balls, and then I slid my tongue along his ass and started rimming him. He really moaned as I did this, and I could tell he was enjoying it. After a little of that, I. Instead of her standing there, there is a boy. A boy awkwardly poking his tousled head round my door. “Oh,” is about all that I manage. “Simon,” the tousled head says back, quietly. “Simon?” I ask, incredulous. Who is this lad, standing in my room? Watching my half-naked snivelling? “I'm Patrick's son,” says the head, running a nervous hand through his unruly, pale ginger hair. “He used to work with, um...” he trails off. It is as if he sensed what I was thinking. Or maybe my questioning glare.