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  • 3 weeks later...
Posted

Just finished part 2. Posting soon.

Hope you all enjoy it.

 

AWESOME!!! You're a fantastic writer.  

Btw if you've finished writing it, why haven't you posted it?  (I'm not trying to be a pest, I'm just eagerly looking forward to complimenting you after I read part 2)

:-)

Posted

AWESOME!!! You're a fantastic writer.  

Btw if you've finished writing it, why haven't you posted it?  (I'm not trying to be a pest, I'm just eagerly looking forward to complimenting you after I read part 2)

:-)

Exactly, please post part 2 already!

  • Upvote 1
Posted (edited)

Newest staff member part 2

Training

“That’s everything.” The younger Riley said, after setting down the last of three duffle bags on the floor of the small guest bedroom located in the basement of the older man’s house. Mr. Marx, as he had told the boy to call him, was surprised that Riley didn’t have more stuff, but remembering his less than spectacular background, he figured the boy was lucky to leave with as much as he did.

“Well, now that you’re moved in,” Mr. Marx aid, motioning for the boy to follow him. “Perhaps you’d like a tour of the premises while I explain your duties?”

“Sounds awesome!” Riley responded, practically bouncing around the house as his new host/employer showed him the rest of his large estate. The young man was sufficiently impressed by the amazing décor and expansive size of the house, making comments like “wow” and “holy shit” each time Marx opened a door to reveal yet another bedroom, or bathroom or even just the occasional closet. He was told he was welcome in every room of the house except one: the basement “store room.” In actuality the store room was really a small dungeon Marx had built with a sling, giant tv, shelves and shelves full of leather and other fun sex toys and costumes and some very well hidden cameras (just like those he’d installed in the boy’s bedroom and bathroom). Eventually he knew he’d end up letting the kid see what was in the dungeon, but not until his indoctrination was well under way. In the mean time he couldn’t have the boy snooping around and accidentally getting scarred off.

As Marx expected, the explanation of the boy’s duties around the house and grounds were going in one ear and out the other as long as the two of them were looking around, so he was glad he had thought ahead to have them printed up for the young man to go over later once they were through with the tour. He didn’t expect the boy to be so excited by the site of his pool and hot tub that he found himself listening his pleas for the two of them to jump in right that minute. Unable to say no to the beaming boyish smile and begging eyes, he nodded yes and before he could say “lets change into our suits and meet back here,” the boy had already slid off his shirt and pushed his shorts down to his ankles and jumped in wearing only the tightest old pair of white briefs that Marx had ever seen.

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Not one to stand on ceremony, Marx shed his shirt and khakis and followed suit, doing a cannonball in just the black bikini briefs he’d worn to help hold down his dick in case it got hard (which was a constant threat around such a handsome young stud).

The two Rileys swam and splashed for almost an hour before they hopped out in order to take a rest in the hot tub, giving Riley Marx an opportunity to get a peek at Riley Dawson’s bulge in his soaked, thus see-through, white undies. Just as the photos from his friend’s account hinted, there was nary a hair anywhere on the boy from the neck down, except for a whisp under each arm and a slight, blondish treasure trail, leading to a heavy cut dick, which was gently tucked down the right side of the briefs, over two, perfectly peachy orbs.

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His own man sized meat was stiffening rapidly at the sight of the boy’s bulge, not to mention the almost impossibly perky bubble butt pressed in the rear of the briefs, and Marx thanked his lucky stars that his own underwear choice gave him some discretion as he sank into the hot water and started the jets.

“As much fun as that was Mr. Dawson,” Marx began, once he was sure the bubbles were thick enough that the boy couldn’t see him readjust his cock below the water. “I’m afraid I can’t have you taking swims in such skimpy attire.”

The young man looked confused as he climbed carefully over the side and sat on the edge, submerging only his calves and feet, leaving his crotch at eye level with the older man.

“Skimpy what?” Riley asked, kicking his legs lazily as he put a towel around his shoulders and arms, making Marx notice his farmer’s tan for the first time.

“Attire.” Marx repeated, tearing his eyes from the boy’s meat and forcing himself to look the young man in the eyes. Catching the still lost look on his 18-year-old smooth face, he realized the boy had no idea what he meant, so he continued. “What I mean is, if you’re going to swim in the pool or take a dip in the outdoor hot tub, you need to wear a bathing suit. Even with the distance between my house and the edge of the property and my 8 foot tall privacy fence, I still have neighbors who’s second floor windows look over my property and I can’t have them glancing over here and catching you in those tiny, transparent briefs. It might give them the wrong idea, understand?”

“Oh jeez, I’m sorry!” The boy said, looking down and finally realizing just how transparent his underwear had become. Blushing red from his cheeks down to his toes, he slid slowly into the tub until he was covered up to his chin. “I didn’t realize. Please don’t kick me out sir, I promise I’ll be more careful!”

“I’m not going to fire you Mr. Dawson.” Marx said, hoping to stop the tears that had formed in the boy’s eyes before he began truly crying. Obviously the kid was used to stern and sudden punishment for any infraction on the rules, and while that might come in handy in the bedroom, he had no desire to make the boy cry over something as stupid and inconsequential as swimwear. “All I ask is that you wear a swim suit, no need to get upset.”

“Anything you say” Riley swore, quite serious and still on the verge of crying. This assurance made Marx’ cock expand in his briefs, and he thanked his luck again for the color and the bubbles that kept him concealed. His dirty mind was picturing all sorts of nasty deeds included in “anything he said” as he slid over next to the boy and patted him on the back to make him feel better. He only came back to reality as the boy’s soft post-pubescent baritone continued to speak. “The thing is Mr. Marx…The thing is Sir, I…I don’t have a, uh…”

“Yes?” Marx leaned in closer to hear, using it as an excuse to put his arm around the young man and pull him closer.

“I don’t own a swimsuit.” Riley Dawson admitted, swallowing hard as he finished and turning his ashamed gaze to meet Riley Marx. The older man was tempted to kiss the sweet strawberry-red lips of his new house-boy, but held back in order to hear an explanation, which he finally got after a stern-voiced inquiry. In an avalanche of words, the boy repeated the tale of his hard childhood and how he had to share anything he had with his siblings, both older and younger. As it turned out, he was the smallest guy in his family, so any hand me downs where too big for him until the same time his younger brother could wear them, which meant he had to share, and since his younger bro was more popular and a better swimmer, he inherited his older brother’s swimsuit, and all Riley got was an old speedo his dad had worn when he was on the high school swim team back in the nineties. Once he told his family he was moving out and going to school, his brothers and dad went through his stuff and took anything they deemed to be theirs, which included most of his underwear, nice clothing and even the old speedo. To his ever-growing embarrassment, he admitted that most of the stuff in his duffle bags was worn-out, too small, torn or stained, and he was hoping to spend his first pay check to get more clothing so he wouldn’t embarrass himself.

When he was all done, he turned back to Marx with a look on his face that seemed to say ‘you can fire me now.’ Instead the older man pulled his young friend into a hug and squeezed tight as he expressed sympathy and admitted that he, too, had once been broke and also hailed from a large family that mistreated and ignored him. He went on to confide how he’d found a job with a wealthy man in his tiny town and worked hard and a few years later got his GED and eventually graduated from college and became a recruiter with the company who employed him now. “…And after years on the road building a solid work force and training young men like you how to become professional tech-execs, I am finally being promoted to full partner in a few weeks, and will be able to work from my home office a few hours each day making almost half a million each year for the rest of my life, and that’s after taxes!”

“That’s amazing dude! I mean, Mr. Marx, sir!” Riley said, smiling as the weight of his own past seemed to slowly lift off his muscular lily-white shoulders. Had he heard the whole story, including how the wealthy man from the small town had whored Marx’ ass out to help him raise the money for college, or what he had to do in order to get the job (involving some video cameras, leather chaps and hoods, roofies, and a dozen men from the company’s board of directors), chances are that young Riley Dawson wouldn’t have been so quick to accept the older man’s guarantee that it would all work out. Luckily, Marx had a plan to slowly introduce these elements to the boy in such a way that by the time the kid enrolled in classes next semester, he’d be in too deep to walk away.

“How about we make a deal?” Marx said, changing the subject back to what the boy would wear while at the house. “You wear the polo and khaki shorts you wore to the interview or anything that will keep you covered and somewhat professional looking while working, and when I get back next Friday from my final recruiting trip, we will go shopping for some nice clothes and a swim suit all your own, on me. Seems only fair, since I am requiring a uniform, I should pay for it.”

“Seriously?!?!” Riley beamed.

“Seriously.” Marx agreed, beaming just as big from watching the kid’s reaction. “Consider it a signing bonus. And until then, you can use the hot tub in the poolhouse if you want to take a dip, no suit required!”

“Thank you so much sir!” Riley shouted, throwing his arms around the older man. Marx was once again semi-hard at the thought of watching the kid try on clothes, and the added contact of the slippery kid pressed against him was only making matters worse. He was about to pull away before the boy noticed, when he felt something poking him in the stomach, and leaned in to make sure he wasn’t wrong about what it was. Sure enough the kid was rock hard in his tighty whiteys and throbbing as he hugged his new benefactor.

“Wow, you really are a grateful boy, aren’t you?” Marx said softly, hitting the button to turn off the jets and rocking his hips just enough that their two erections met under water and sent a jolt up each mans’ spine. Embarrassed once more, the teen shot backwards to the opposite side of the tub while spouting apologies and lame explanations until Marx smile and put the boy at ease. “Don’t worry, it was just a reaction to the warm jets, mine got hard too.”

“It did?” Riley asked, looking down while keeping his hands firmly pressed over his own turgid cock.

“Yep, natural reaction when you combine human contact and warm bubbles, see?” taking a huge chance, Riley Marx made sure he was facing away from the one neighbor who could see his hot tub from their upstairs windows, then lifted himself up until his slightly-less-stiff, underwear-clad dick broke the surface of the water. He held himself there for a few seconds, enjoying the wondrous look in the teen’s eyes as he took in every inch of the man’s semi-erect penis, pushing out the side of black calvin klein bikini briefs. Marx knew that he was at least an inch short of full 9 inch length at this point, but even so his cock was quite impressive. Once he knew the teen had a good long look, he sank back under the water and smiled nonchalantly as if he showed his hard cock to other guys all the time.

“Holy shit Sir!” Riley said, a little too loudly, before realizing why Marx had faced the direction he had when he stood up, and moving back next to the man, then continuing in a whispery, half voice. “That thing is huge, must be twice the size of mine.”

“I don’t believe that Riley,” Marx said, trying to build the boy’s confidence and downplay the fact he’d practically just flashed the straight teen. “Young stud like you? I bet you’re at least 7 inches.”

“I wish!” Riley said, blushing again. This back and forth continued for a few minutes until finally the teen looked back and forth over his shoulder and unceremoniously stood up with his hands on his hips. Riley Marx had to hold in a gasp as the young erection broke the surface of the water and practically glowed as it stretched the waistband of the too-small briefs from the skin of the boy wearing them. He failed to keep the gasp in when Riley Dawson took one more look around and slid the elastic under his balls leaving his hard-on and perfect teen testes bouncing in the breeze.

If it was smaller than 7 inches, it wasn’t by much. Marx had seen and held a lot of hard cocks in his 43 years on this earth, since the wealthy man’s dick all the way back when he was just a teen boy himself, and he could estimate thickness and size without much more than a passing glance. In the 20-30 seconds the teen stood exposed in the center of the hottub, marx managed to memorize every vein and shadow, each curve of the head and balls, every whispy blond hair (all 14 of them on the sack, and two or three dozen in the small patch above the cock base). This dick was perfect in every way, and if he could be sure the neighbors weren’t watching, he’d have reached out and taken it down his throat right then and there. Instead he watched and memorized as the teen recovered himself and sank back into the tub, claiming victory in his insistence he wasn’t yet 7 inches with a firm “Told ya…Sir.”

“Yes you did Riley, yes you did.” Marx lifted his jaw up from where it had fallen almost to his feet and suggested they get out and head inside. Choosing to dry off in the poolhouse, they talked about random things like pool-cleaning procedure and expected duties until Riley Dawson asked about the second floor of the poolhouse.

“That’s my office,” Marx said, returning to his professional voice. “Only I go up there unless I have a client over, understand?”

“So it’s like the store room in the basement sir?” the boy asked, innocently.

“Not exactly,” Marx corrected him. “The store room is…personal. I may let you see it someday soon, once we know each other better, but my office is my business space. It is extremely important that no one be in there without me, since sensitive and confidential work files are kept on the server in there, understand?”

“Yes Sir, Mr. Marx.” Riley Dawson said, smiling as he did a little salute, looking adorable in his somewhat-dry briefs and a towel thrown over his shoulder. As he turned to pull on his street clothes, Mr. Marx handed him a robe and told him they’d toss their clothes in the washer and head inside. With almost inhuman lust, he watched the teen as he slid the briefs from under the robe and put them with his shorts and shirt in the metal basin in the washing machine just off the mudroom of the pool house. As the boy collected his shoes, he missed the older man slide the briefs into his robe pocket before adding his own clothing and starting the load.

While the two Rileys made their way inside for dinner, the younger continued with questions about his duties, referring to the older man again and again as “Mr. Marx” or “Sir.”

“You know after all we shared this afternoon,” Riley Marx interjected between questions. “It seems bizarre to have you calling me ‘Mr. Marx’ or ‘sir’ all the time.”

“I know, but you said not to call you Riley” The teen reminded him. “Especially in front of your guests or neighbors, since it might seem inappropriate.”

“You’re right about that Kid,” Marx said, handing the boy some take-out menus to choose from, since he wouldn’t expect the boy to be able to cook for him until he’d trained him.

“Do you have any nicknames? Or a middle name?” the younger Riley asked, while deciding on pizza.

“Not really,” the older man said, booting up the pizza app on his phone and putting in an order. “In school I was Ry-Guy, but that’s a little too familiar. Same with my middle name, Andrew.”

“I know!” Riley spouted excitedly, as he set the table for the two of them. “How about your initials? R.A.M….I could call you RAM!”

“That sounds…perfect,” Marx, aka RAM, smiled, his cock getting hard again at the double entendre of the new nickname. “Just make sure you still call me Sir in front of any guests unless I tell you otherwise okay kid?”

“Yes sir, RAM, sir.” Riley Dawson smiled for a moment, before something else crossed his mind and he frowned once more. “But what will you call me? After all you can’t refer to me as Riley cause people would wonder why we have the same name.”

“Well as far as anyone knows you are my nephew so it’s not too weird,” RAM replied. But as he caught the disappointed look on his young charge’s face, he gave in once more. “I guess you’re right about that too, so what should I call you? Robert?”

“No way RAM sir,” Riley insisted. “That name just make me think of my father. My middle name is Ian, so you could call me by my initials: R.I.D. RID!”

“Nah, sounds too much like bugspray,” RAM thought out loud. “You could go by Ry-Guy or Ry or Riles or Rino or Ian or Dawson or pretty much whatever name you want kid.”

“That’s it!” Riley said, as enthusiastic as before.

“What? Dawson?” RAM asked the boy while secretly watching his sweet ass bend over the table to fill the glasses with water.

“No, KID!” Riley said, turning and sprinting back over to RAM, unaware that his speed caused his robe to open, leaving him standing nude in front of RAM as he explained himself. “You’ve been calling me Kid all day and that’s what my Uncle Jesse used to call me before he moved away, probably cause he couldn’t remember which nephew I was, but still! No one would ever doubt an uncle calling his nephew kid, and when some nosey neighbor asks us who I am, I can pretend like I hate it and remind you ‘I’m not a kid anymore sir!’ It’s perfect!”

RAM was so caught up enjoying the boy’s bouncing cock and balls he’d have agreed to anything right that second, so they sealed it with a hug. Riley Marx, 43 yr old business man would be RAM sir, and Riley Dawson, 18 yr old struggling student and soon-to-be seduced stud would be Kid.

That night, after they donned some shorts so the delivery guy wouldn’t freak, the two men smoked a little weed from a big bong (once RAM convinced the kid that it was cool and wouldn’t get him fired), then downed a whole extra-large pizza and 3 glasses of jack and coke a piece. Finally around midnight, they found themselves passing the bong back and forth as RAM showed Kid how to work all the remotes in his home theatre, and watching some b-movie with ridiculous physical humor and as much nudity as RAM thought Kid could handle. They shared some more confessions about their pasts, laughed a lot, and concealed the stiff rods they each threw in their skimpy shorts. When the movie ended, RAM turned off the giant tv screen, and they left to go to their separate rooms, but not before the kid threw his arms around his benefactor and thanked him again for letting him move in, helping him save for school, etc. etc.

“Seriously Mr. Mar- I mean Ram sir,” the kid almost cried again now, but tears of happiness and relief, so Ram felt no need to stop him. “I don’t know what I would do if you hadn’t offered to help me like this. If I can do anything to repay you, anything at all, just tell me and I will do it.”

“Just do the job for now kid,” Ram replied, happy to feel the kid was semi-hard again. “That’s all you need to do…for now.”

After leaving the kid in the basement, RAM silently dashed out to the pool house and climbed the stairs to his office. Punching in his 6 digit code and inserting the key from around his neck, he let himself in and hit the switch on the wall. One overhead light turned on, casting the large room in a soft, yellow glow. On a far wall, the over-sized bed sat in rubber sheets, an empty leather cuff at each corner, with three cameras trained on it. Each camera was attached to a tv screen across the room at the desk. Those three sat above another three screens, six in all, which held security cam views on the left and the right, with the bottom-center screen revealing a normal PC desktop.

Sitting at the Desk, RAM typed in a password and clicked on an unnamed icon in the bottom corner of the screen. Like magic, the lights over the bed went off, the cameras turned off and all but the desktop screens changed from their previous shots and filled with new images. On the top left: a shot of the kid’s bedroom from the webcam on the desktop computer at the desk, showing the desk chair, room view and good angle on the full bed in the far corner. Top middle: a hidden cam in the light fixture directly over his bed. Top right: a view from a camera hidden behind the mirror in the corner furthest from the bed, showing the rest of the room, including the old weight bench and mirrored closet doors angled to show the rest of the room. Bottom left: a hidden camera from the mirror in his bathroom, giving a nice wide angle view of his locker room style shower (all three heads), toilet, urinal troff long enough for two or three guys at once and double sinks. Bottom right: switchable camera view from over each shower head, as well as direct shots over each drain in the urinal and even a shot from the vent over the toilet to get standing/sitting views on the john.

RAM pulled out his glass bubble, torch and a bag of tina as he scrolled through some alternate shots on the center screen including two views in the sauna, two views of the steam room, one view from inside the walk-in closet, one from the laundry room, one view from above the bathtub off the bathroom, and cameras down the hall, in the theatre, on the stairs, a bunch from the home gym and all 10 different cams from the “store room.” He chose to ignore the outdoor cams, main floor cameras, and second floor cameras, scrolling back until he found what he was looking for.

The shot from inside the walk-in closet showed the kid sitting on the floor, going through his three duffle bags, unpacking, as it were. It looked to RAM as though the kid was taking each item of clothing and deciding what to keep, what to wash, and what to get rid of. The pile of stuff to get rid of was obviously the biggest and now all the kid had was a new pack of white socks (still in the plastic with a receipt stuck to the adhesive strip keeping them shut), his wrinkled polo shirt, two white wifebeaters, a short-sleeved light blue oxford, a pair of black slacks with a tear at the knee, a pair of blue jeans with some work-out spots, a pair of jean cut-offs, small white rolled fabric that RAM guessed to be more briefs, one pair of well used, but very clean white tennis shoes, and one pair of well-worn but freshly shined black wingtips that looked about two sizes too small for the kid. Combined with the shirt, shorts and (unbeknownst to the kid) “borrowed” briefs in the pool house laundry, and the robe he was once again wearing, and that was all the kid owned…or so RAM thought.

As he lit his torch and took a hit from the pipe, he watched as the boy unzipped the third duffle bag. RAM assumed this would contain sheets or towels or something like that, since he hadn’t told the kid he’d be providing those for him until the kid showed up that afternoon. As he expected, out came a stained, crusty looking old towel, but unexpectedly, it unrolled in the kid’s hands, revealing a small gym bag with the name of a local high school.   From inside the bag, which seemed to have a busted zipper, the kid pulled an unidentifiable spandex garment, a balled up white cotton piece, a crappy weed pipe, an old zippo lighter, a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant spray, a comb, and a bar of soap. Last item from the bag was what looked like a lanyard with something on the end that seemed familiar but was too small to recognize without seeing it on one of the better cams. As luck would have it, the kid decided to ball up all of the stuff and walk to the bathroom.

Once under the lights and HD cams in the bathroom, RAM realized the thing on the end was a small camera. From the looks of it, the camera was an older model gopro, far more expensive even after the newer models came out, than this kid could possibly afford.  He was so invested in imagining how he got the camera and what he filmed with it, he almost missed it as the kid dumped the toiletries on the counter and walked out the door between the urinals and the showers, making his way down a small hall past the sauna and steam room and walking into the well-lit gym.

As RAM watched, bug-eyed, the kid tossed off his robe and the thin cotton plaid boxers he wore when the pizza arrived, and reached for the clothes he’d found in his gym bag. First the white cotton bundle turned out to be a dirty, disgusting old safeTgaurd brand jockstrap, obviously not originally belonging to the kid, as it was almost too big around the waist, and the pouch was so well worn that it barely contained his package. Second was the spandex mystery outfit. As the kid began to step into the legs, RAM forgot his massive hardon begging for attention, and felt some betrayal.

“He said he didn’t have a swimsuit!” He accused out loud to his empty office, while watching the teen pull the spandex up his baby-fat-covered thigh muscles. His anger melted away as the spandex stretched further up until it passed the waist line for any normal bathing suit and kept going. Suddenly some straps appeared and began stretching over the kid’s smooth chest and it dawned on RAM that what he thought was a swimsuit was nothing of the sort. There was no doubt as the kid finished dressing himself that what RAM assumed was a bathing suit or speedo was really something much more fun: a regulation high school wrestling singlet.

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Emblazoned across the chest was the same high school crest from the gym bag, it reflected the bright gym lights against the schools colors that made up each inch of the garment. Forest Green, black and white from the mid-thigh up to the perfectly framed boy-bulge, around each low-cut arm hole, and tightening sharply as each strap crossed the hairless pecs, shoulders and wound down his chisled back steadily-shrinking to the tiny waist. The only fabric that seemed stressed by the part that it covered was the butt, where the kid’s ample cheeks strained the bright green spandex, turning it into a lighter, more pastel green when he bent or flexed.

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As the teen began his work out, RAM placed the briefs he’d stolen over his nose, and began to jerk while he took a couple big hits from his pipe, filling the air full of tina clouds, strained through the thin white cotton from the briefs. Imagining the teen’s tight ass sliding down onto his huge organ sent him over the edge and he shot his massive load all over himself. Once his breathing returned to normal, he wiped the cum up with the tighty whiteys and thought to himself ‘when I get back next weekend, I will ruin that teen ass!’

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Edited by drscorpio
  • Like 7
  • Upvote 16
  • Piggy 1
  • Moderators
Posted

Moderator's Note: There were complaints about some of the pics in the last chapter. I have hidden the post pending further review. I will get it back up tomorrow.

 

Update: I removed several images of boys who looked underage. In my opinion, all the images remaining seem to be of adult men although a couple seem to be of the "barely legal" age. Post is back up.

 

denVERScub and anyone else who posts images in their stories, 

 

Please do not post images of guys who look underage. 

Posted

Very hot story. I think many of us wish this would have happened to us - well, at least I do. Thank you for taking the time to dream it up and for sharing it with us!

  • Upvote 1
  • 1 month later...
Posted

Great, well written story. I can't wait to see Ram start indoctrinating the kid.

  • 5 years later...
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