Shelter from the Storm Pt. 02 - Sex Stories

Shelter from the Storm Pt. 02

... community and no choice in what we do. Weown the boys here, Aston. We own them just like we own the grapes on the vine. We keep a good stable of cute little slave-boys, and we all have our way with them -- as much as we want, whenever we want. It's the way life is meant to be: dominant men taking what they want, and submissive little boys to serve their cocks."

My pulse was racing. I swallowed, hard. A dirty, nervous energy was dancing in my tummy.

James put down his knife and fork. "But you know what, Aston," he said. "There's not much point in me telling you what life here is like. Much, much better for you to see it for yourself."

My stomach lurched. James was standing up. "Come on, you peachy little boy-slut. I'm going to give you a tour."

My heart pounding, my whole being filled with nerves, I stood up. Smirking, James walked to the door, opened it, and turned to look back at me. I hesitated. I was suddenly feeling much, much more naked in nothing but the little pink shorts.

But James was waiting. So I swallowed my nerves, and followed him out of the room.

He led me along the stone corridor, past a series of other doors just like his. "These are all men's quarters," he commented. "Every one of the big boys gets a good-sized, well-furnished set of rooms, just like mine. There are others on the other side of the fortress."

"What are the little boys' rooms like?" I asked.

James chuckled. "Little boys' rooms? Aston, you've got a lot to ...

... learn."

"What do you mean?" I asked, feeling even more wide-eyed and clueless.

James grinned at me. "There's a communal sleeping space for the little boys to curl up in if they need it. There's usually a few in there on any given night, and it's very comfy. But Aston ..."

And he stopped, turned, pushed me against the wall, and looked me dead in the eyes.

"Little boys don't have many nights when they need their own place to sleep. Because by the time the night comes, a little boy is almostalways in a big boy's bed."

My heart was hammering in my chest. I was suddenly conscious that I was breathing very heavily, and my knees felt weak. But then James' grip slackened, and with a grin, he let me go.

"Come on," he ordered. "Let's go downstairs."

We had indeed come to a staircase. Trying to compose myself, I followed James down. At the bottom, we passed through an archway, and into a large hall. And here, I got my first real look at the community I had stumbled upon.

It was the end of breakfast. Two long tables stretched the length of the hall, and sitting at them on an assortment of chairs and benches, still finishing off their food, were half a dozen men. They all looked somewhere between 25 and 45, and every one of them was big and well-muscled (all wore t-shirts or had rolled up their sleeves, and I could tell just by looking at those toned, tanned arms that they were fit. And there was something else about them too: a kind of relaxed, confident self-assurance, as ...