A Secret Club


Gaspar’s Country Club is exclusive, to be sure. The annual fee for membership, most people don’t make in a year. The golf course is pristine, the dining facility top flight, and the grounds are gorgeous and exquisitely maintained. If I’m not mistaken, it employs nearly one hundred and fifty workers. I’m a golfer, and I bring guests and clients there frequently. They all leave impressed. But when I’m not busy with my game, which, by the way, is quite good, or working a deal, I like to head down the “utility road” to the other part of Gaspar’s, a club within a club. Membership there is by invitation only, and prospective members are rigorously vetted. One would be correct to call it a secret place. The ones who belong call it the Manclub.

My apologies. I really ought to introduce myself. I am Victor Pennington. I own a large, international construction company. Most of the projects I take on are immense and complex, requiring the kind of machinery that few entities can afford. Projects include tunnels – one recently bored through a mountainside in the Pyrenees – underground transit, some mining, and high-rises buildings. There are other large companies out there, but I am competitive by nature, and often get the deals I want.

The club, the other club, is on a one hundred acre parcel situated a mile away from the mani complex of buildings. One travels there by golf cart form Gaspar’s proper. It, too, is well-maintained, though more rustic. Why is it a secret, you may wonder. Well, it is an oasis, at least I think of it that way, a respite away from the stress and tumult of the business world.

It is all male. The one distinction, and an important one, is that there are those who are members, and those who are stabled there. You may catch the drift of this by now. Yes, the ones residing there permanently are the slaves of members. There is one slaveboy for each member. Their accommodations are simple, but adequate. They live in two dormitories at the edge of the property. There is a large, equipped kitchen in one of them, and good, healthful food is always available.

Now, I have a family, and a happy home life. But there is something that I can satisfy at Manclub that can’t be appeased in a ‘normal’ home environment.

Helen is my wife and de facto business partner. She’s as sharp as any man who ever put on a shirt and tie. My daughter, Candace, is the ‘baby’ of the family, all of sixteen years old, pretty, smart, and outgoing. Tod is my son. He’s tall, dark-haired, adiosbet yeni giriş brown-eyed, naturally athletic. He’s studious, and at or near the top of his class at all times. He’s got my ambition and drive, but he tends to fall into moods of doubt, turning inward, and keeping things to himself. He’s eighteen. Sometimes his moods concern me.

I acquired my slave from an agent, of sorts, who discretely trades in these matters. Nearly all Manclub members have gone through him. His office is in Chicago. I flew there one Saturday last year, and we looked over the profiles and photos of prospective boys. It’s necessary to go to Chicago to do this as no information is ever sent out. Not by email, and never anything on paper.

I’ll call the agent Bill. I, frankly, don’t know his true name. Bill keeps a small office in a building downtown. The signage on the door of the office states simply: Apex Consultancy.

We spent the morning poring over files, and I was eventually getting drawn to one in particular. A slim, blonde, willowy lad, twenty years old, pale skin, no body hair, full red lips. I liked his looks. His name is Jason_____. He’s from a small town in Iowa, and has some college. He dropped out in his junior year.

Each of the boys is interviewed at length by Bill and, so, there was a detailed personality profile included in the file.

Jason was described as soft-spoken and of a delicate nature. He tended towards reading books for pleasure, eschewing movies, nightlife, and the like. As with all the slaves, he is a homosexual. This is not the only requisite. They must also exhibit strong tendencies to serving a straight man. In my discussions with Bill, we talked about the possible root causes of this orientation. In large part, so it seems, it stems from a need for a strong masculine presence in the boys’ lives; a father figure. Someone they could look up to and find comfort in. Apparently, many of the boys had no father at home, or the father was weak or abusive. This made sense to me.

In any case, Jason possessed an overwhelming need for a strong straight man in his life.

Now, as you may guess, the majority of straight men are perfectly happy with their wives and families, or their girlfriends. Therefore, without Bill’s services, the man and the boy might never meet. Happily, Jason and I turned out to be quite compatible.

In Bill’s office, I read over Jason’s ‘statement of intention’ ; something each slave candidate adiosbet giriş must compose. For my part, I wanted a boy who was generally attentive to my needs, consummately obedient, and highly motivated to please me sexually.

Jason covered these bases more than adequately. I was particularly impressed with his willingness to explore the edges of servitude, both sexual and psychological. Some of what he offered sexually was most appealing. And surprising! I was pretty much sold on this sweet boy.

I left a short letter of introduction and a photo of me with Bill. The photo featured me by my pool wearing Speedos and flashing my winning smile. Bill assured me that once Jason perused them there in his office, they would be destroyed. In the letter, I simply said that I very much liked what I’d learned about him, and that I hoped he would come to California, to the club, and see how we got along. I mentioned that I was strict but caring and fair-minded.

So, as I said, this was more than a year ago. Jason came to the club back then, we got to know each other, and soon after, he was ensconced in the dormitory, happy as could be. I was happy, as well. He was everything a man could hope for in a boy. At least this man.

Now, we have a very close and satisfying relationship. I come to Manclub twice a week, sometimes more. I spend the afternoon, and stay over.

At home, however, I’ve been more and more concerned with Tod. He’d always seemed a confident and competent young man to me, but I wondered if he might be just mimicking me, following in my footsteps, but not really embodying that confidence, that ‘I can conquer the world’ mindset. It seemed to me that he was struggling.

At the club, I talked to some of the other guys about him, and most thought he’d get his feet under him in time. Phil, though, had another take on the matter. We were at a table at the lounge.

“Look, Vic, why don’t you bring him out here and let him have Jason for awhile. I mean, Jason would do anything for you, right?” Phil said, taking a sip of his manhattan.

“I don’t know, Phil.” I said, thinking it could be risky. “I don’t know how he’d take to this kind of thing.”

“What kid wouldn’t love it? I mean, he’s not a kid, of course. But, right? The feeling of power we get from our boys? That thrill of owning another human being. Heady stuff, vic. You got to agree.” Phil said, and I knew just what he meant.

“I guess I could talk to him, you adiosbet güvenilirmi know, hint at what I do here.”

“From what you’ve told me about your boy Jason,… man, who wouldn’t feel great after a session with him. I’m actually a bit envious of you, Vic! My boy Robbie is great, but he just doesn’t have that… depth! That level of devotion. You’re a lucky guy, my friend!”

“I am. I really am.” I said, and with conviction.

That night, after having Jason give my anus a thorough cleaning, then feeding cock between his soft lips, (our usual nighttime ritual), we were on the balcony of my suite, and I broached the topic of Tod. I stretched out on a chaise longe and Jason knelt at the foot of it, naked, resting back on his heels. As usual, after servicing me, there was a beatific glow to his face. I imagined he was savoring the co-mingled tastes of the funk of my manhole and my fresh sperm. We were most content.

“Jason, I’ve told you about Tod. You know a bit about him.”

“He sounds like a fine young man, sir.” Jason said. “You must be very proud of him.”

“I am. He’s turned out well. He’s not queer, or anything like that. It was a relief when I could see that he liked girls.” I said.

Jason And I had an understanding. He knew that I valued the benefits to me of having a homo serve me, but that I felt such a person could not be considered a whole, complete man. We had ironed that out early on.

“He’s a real man, sir. From what I hear about him, that’s very clear.”

“I’m not sure I’ve shown you a picture of him. Have I?”

“No, sir. I would like to see what he looks like, though.” he said, sitting a bit more at attention.

Of course, I thought, he’d love to see my male offspring – the result of his randy, straight master fucking pussy. I was rather fond of the way Jason’s mind took those depraved, yet fascinating twists and turns. My ego enjoyed them immensely.

I had a yearbook photo of Tod in my wallet wearing a jacket and tie. I handed it to Jason. He looked at it for several seconds.

“He’s so handsome, sir. He’s a fine looking man.” he said.

He was holding the picture up so that it could catch the light better, then suddenly his hands dropped into his lap. I took a look and, sure enough, my boy had an erection. A full-on one, at that.

“You’re aroused, Jason.” I said, not accusingly.

“He just looks so…, so nice, sir. Your son.” he said quietly.

“Maybe you’ll have the pleasure of meeting him sometime.” I said, feeling suddenly that something could come of Phil’s idea.

“That would be an honor, sir. Truly” Jason said, his voice sweetly laden with his disarming sincerity, (and not a small amount of ardor!).

To be continued…

Bir cevap yazın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak.