Sir Snob: Sex Slave to Shemales

Sir Snob: Sex Slave to Shemales

His body is sold to pay a debt, but he’s still in A-Rears!

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Disclaiming Fine Print:

1. Everyone’s waaaaaaay over 18,

2. Take note of the tags, please, cuz I don’t wanna hear no belly aching, such as – “This story’s falsely advertised, yadda…,”

3. Nothing is true here, as it ought not to be,

4. Please enjoy if you’re a fan or curious about shemales and guys fucking and licking each other in the ass, sucking face and cocks, and giving and getting handjobs.

5. If you’re not of the persuasion as described in #4, above, best to seek readings elsewhere.

6. ‘Nuff said! Read. Enjoy. Comment. Discuss amongst yourselves.

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After an arduous but rewarding day merging colossus corporations, while also merging out 200 “redundant” career menial lackeys, Claybourne Hamilton relaxes in the bar at the exclusive mens only polo club. He’s already dispensed with the requisite chit chat amongst the “important” chaps and has now retired to the smoking lounge, and with it the remains of his tumbler of 20 year single malt scotch.

From behind him approaches Wilburt, the resident gadfly, “Clay, my good fellow, I’ve heard through my channels that congrats are in order, and let me be the first to bestow them upon you,” he says with an obsequious theatrical bow.

“Burt, Burt, Burt,” when will you ever come to terms with your so-called ‘sources’ being purveyors of absurdly out of date news? I’ve already had all the ‘clubbies’ pat my back, not to mention the doorman to this very sanctuary of elite males,” sneers the one-eye-cocked Claybourne after he wafts a ring of smoke in Wilburt’s direction.

“Well, yes, I see.” Wilburt resigns with an insulting snort as he waves away the belched plume, “Of course this must put you in awfully good graces with BensonCorp’s bigs. What do you think that will mean for you, CLAY?” emphasizing his nickname to add salt to the barely disguised envious vitriol.

“That remains to be seen, but they will have to make it worth my while for me to make them even richer for another quarter. What it will assuredly NOT do is erase that promissory note specifying the return in full to yours truly of those 5,000 Pounds due me… when is it? … oh yes, last month!,” subtly retorts Claybourne as he stares down Wilburt.

“You will ASSUREDLY be fully redressed shortly after my investment disbursements have been completed. Ah, there’s Neville, I need to speak to him. Till some time later my good fellow,” says Wilburt as he turns to (dis)gracefully dismiss himself.

Clay laughs to himself and shakes his head with a grin enjoying how entertaining it is to shew away that fly with a defeated buzz. He then snubs his cuban in the club logo’ed pewter ashtray and smugly exits. Feeling a bit buzzed from the imbibement and yet another day filled with victories, Claybourne opts for the shortcut through the back alley to find his “other car”, a loaded Lexus. Just as he passes a pair of dumpsters he is blinded by a brilliant white beacon. Shielding his eyes with a hand he hears a clanking noise akin to the dragging of bits of metal along a rough surface.

“Mind if you tone that blasted lamp till I pass?!” he angrily shouts.

He thinks that this is surely an adolescent stunt crudely executed by envious fellow club members. As the light gets even brighter he clenches his fists down at his sides.

When he is about to issue another more stern warning he hears, “that’s the ornery bloke, bind him in our finest silver lockets, girls,” a chain is spiraled around his entire body after he’s been pinned to the wet and urine scented ground.

That was the last he could remember before awakening with a distinctly metallic taste in his mouth and crusty perspiration temporarily sealing his eyes and mouth shut. When he raises his head slightly to assess the current situation, he’s horrified to discover himself prostrate on a stone floor with his custom Armani suit entirely removed, nearly naked. ‘Those prankster hoodlums will wish they never met me after my attorney leaves them as bereft of capital as I am of thread,’ he resolutely declares to himself. He tries to move a hand down to push off what he thinks is the alley pavement, but is impeded by the twisted hemp tethering behind his back.

“High Commander,” a disembodied voice bellows from behind him, “Presale #8 is now conscious. Shall I bring him to be prepared for today’s auction?”

“Wait, what?!! You’ve had your fill of fun at my expense boys, now throw back my clothes. And while you’re at, release me from these amateurish shackles,” he return bellows, ignorant of the genuine gravity of his plight.

He again chortles looking at the immodestly uniformed muscular woman. In his haze he has mistakens the cock peeking through her war dress as that of a man’s.

“That’s the poorest excuse of imitation military costuming I’ve ever had the displeasure of witnessing. Now cease this childishness forthwith and let me be on my way,” sardonically adding, “And okay, ‘uncle’, if that helps end this charade any sooner.”

A return verbal volley from the femine sounding sentry roars back, “you have not yet earned your speech privileges. Now quiet down or you will be forced to have your detention protracted, unless you’d want to stay like that.”

He is stifled by the horrifying epiphany that this may really be happening and not merely a practical joke, “Fine, I’ll try to be a better mouse,” showing her that through this he still retains his birthright gentility.

“You talk funny for a man-gelding, but heed my prior warning, for it’s trespass delays your resale, S-L-A-V-E.”

“I take issue with your errant ascribement, for I am fully intact. Tell me where is this nightmarish cellar from the Middle Ages, and of what constructive purpose could it possibly serve?,” he then rolls to his side and gasps at the sight of the beautifully threatening iron and leather clad bodacious prison guard.

“I see from your agape oral orifice that you like what you see. Don’t get too attached, you’ll probably not last long on the auction block and be scooped up by a well-to-do matriarch, you looking so pretty and all,” he swallows nervously at the way she nearly salivates as she rapaciously surveys his body up and down, “maybe High Commander will assign me the task of ‘breaking’ you in for evaluation?,” he cared not for her tone nor her intent.

He wisely refrains from probing further, “Sincerest apologies for my transgression of protocol, I am but a stranger to this …”, he momentarily struggles with his phraseology, ‘…system.’ I intended no disrespect, miss, ah miss? …”

She understatedly laughs at him and not with him, “Ha, ha! Your gilded coated tongue will win no favors here, GELDING, only a tongue lashing if you’re so fortunate to get away with just that. And what is the meaning of this ‘miss’ you say? Is it for ‘missing’, or more desecrating, ‘vacant’? I would hope not for your sake.”

He decides not to further engage in conversation with this no doubt simpleton minion, “again, nothing intentional,” and after an awkward pause he emboldens himself to ask, “might you have in your important authority the ability to grace me with the removal of these bindings? I pinky swear not to usher a word of it to said ‘High Commander’, pretty please,” he says while donning a mask of ingenuine humility.

“You are a smooth persuader aren’t you? Since you have apparently learned your place beneath me, I shall entertain your request to unshackle you. They’re only used for transport and chastisement purposes anyway,” at that she unlocks the cell gate and wearily approaches her prisoner, “needless to say that any attempts at elopement will be met with severe reprisals, and those that issue them will only be encouraged to dispense such all the more from your fancy verbiage and countenance,” and at that he saw his opening to further soften her demeanor.

“You find me attractive? I am most graced by your flattery”, it’s ‘that old sweet talk delivery’ trick of which I am so adroit”, he symbolically pats himself.

Just before she undoes his bindings she turns him to face her and says to him slyly, “How ’bout you use that pretty mouth of yours for some actual good and kiss me. Sweetly!,” he gladly obliges and yields his best puckering, soon followed by the snaking of his golden tongue about her mouth’s interior.

She backs away from him reluctantly with her eyes closed, clearly savoring his passionate peck, “it’s time you get prepared, strip your loincloth for me so we can see of what price you may fetch,” he raises both of his arms showing her his still intact restraints, “Suppose you could see to undo these?

“Yes …” she ruminates while assessing his manicured physique, “I gander you’d make a fair compensation,” she says suppressing an approving smile, and he begins to slowly divest of what bare coverings remain on his person.

She holds her arms at her waist in akimbo, her hungry eyes riveted to his now fully exposed taut body, “very nice, so far. Turn around,” she nearly sighs in amazement at the muscular dimped buttox before her.

“You like?”

“You’ll do.”

She turns away from him, giving him a prime opportunity. Feeling his moxie revived he reaches out and clamps his hand over her wrist and spins her to face him. She’s too turned on to keep her senses and looks at him with an intense gaze of both shock and lust. She grabs the hair on the back of his head with her left hand, her right cradles his chin and turns it to become kiss-ready. She launches her tongue into his mouth – he dons bogeyes, hers closed in bliss. Her tongue moves within him so fast and deep he can almost feel it using his tonsils as a punching bag.

He breaks the kiss just as quickly as it started and asks her name, “Neemah,” she replies with saucer-sized doe eyes.

Suddenly realizing the inferior position she has allowed herself to subsume, she grins like a mad scientist before forcing him flat against the stone wall while violently ripping her tunic away from her torso. She latches her body on his back, her arms pinning his flush to the smooth, cool stone wall. One leg parts his knees. She grabs ahold of her impressive cock and guides it without delay directly up to his asshole. It’s his turn to be surprised and he turns his face back in shock.

Just as he’s about to issue a loud protest she slaps one hand over his mouth and another tight to his throat, ‘That’ll mute him alright!’ she says to herself, but says to him, “are you crazy man? if High Commander hears us we’re both through.”

She is on the verge of humping him when her worst fear is realized, “what is this, sentry? Conditioning the slaves for sale is NOT within your purview!,” her booming recrimination speaks volumes on its own, let alone, “for this, retraining is now your purview. Unlock the gate and bring our recalcitrant ‘guard’ over to ‘Reproc,” she grimaces from the involuntary switch from titillation to mortification.

The two guards flanking High Commander squeeze past her and escort Neemah out of the holding cell. She looks back to Claybourne with pleading eyes. The guards return shortly after without her. He realizes that he’s physically powerless to intervene but tries to advocate on her behalf nonetheless.

He’s surprised at his own ne’re exhibited empathy, “Blame it on me, I…” and is instantly hushed by the burly woman in charge.

“Quiet slave, hadn’t our ill trained guard informed you that you have the right to speak ONLY when addressed? I will overlook this transgression but once,” she says with some deference to his chivalry, before casting a lustful eye in his direction, “hmm. This one I may just prepare for auction myself. Have him primped by the Prepôir before returning him to my quarters.”

“Yes, my liege, it will be our pleasure to serve,” fawningly replies the stockier of the two guards, with the more svelte one subtly licking her lips.

“And, for your efforts you can share him between yourselves when I’m fully sated,” the two guards instantly perk up their eyes, tits and flesh staffs, then regain their senses and bring Clay out of the cell and down the hall.

On the walk over to the Prepôir the slighter guard pinches Claybourne’s butt cheek, making him jump. The other guard rubs that same cheek softly with her fat calloused hand, “Just wait till High Commander is done with you. If there’s anything left we’ll treat you real nice and let you suck our cocks and give us what’s remaining of your ass,” they chuckle, then rap on the heavy wooden door marked with a caligraphic ‘P’

The tall guard cracks open the door ajar and cautiously announces, “Prepôir. We are here to deliver the pre-saler to you for modifications per order of High Commander.”

“Yes, yes, I already know that. Bring him in,” the yet unseen Prepôir says with a lilting but impatient voice from the other side of the door.

The guards place their charge in between them as they march him inside. Claybourne is stunned to a standstill at the blinding beauty of the buxom blonde bombshell that is the Prepôir. The guards chuckle before jarring him out of his gawking daze by pushing him into the interior of the ‘shop.’

The Prepôir looks at Claybourne with a wistful demeanor, obviously pleased at the sight of her latest subject, “He is a fine specimen indeed, what is your level of training?” she asks of him in a sweet but insisting way. He hesitates from being still enraptured by her beauty and charm. Any other circumstance, and Claybourne would have…

“Answer her slave,” barks the impatient sentry.

He wears a puzzled expression at the meaning of her query, “I don’t understand.”

The obviously miffed pudgy guard demands, “Don’t play dumb wit ‘her, we all knowz ya got smarts ’nuff to answer”

“Not to fret about that ladies, his befuddlement is all the information I need to know. He’s probably never been trained before. Isn’t that right?,” states the Prepôir, and before she allows him to respond, “I am Pinelope, the Prepôir, and YOU are in for a treat, dear pre-sale,” she says somewhat condescendingly, “Oh, how I do cherish initiating the nubiles,” then speaks authoritatively to the guards, “Now leave us so we can begin his … ‘preparation.”

The stout guard warns, “High Commander is expecting to be the one to do the educating!,” and they turn to exit rather curtly.

He nervously watches the door close behind the guards, half hoping that they’ll about face and retrieve him before any of this unsavory sounding ‘preparation’ commences.

His attention quickly returns to Pinelope who detects his apprehension, “fear not my dear canvass for you will be pleasantly surprised at how good you’ll TURN … OUT,” her pun weighted, “You are quite the looker, and are easily perceived as being quite aware of it, but that, too, will inevitably be trained out of you.”

She issues a patronizing grin as she squeezes his lips together into a ‘fish face’ with her left hand. He issues a glare of warning at her to which she giggles with an overtone of belittlement.

“Come. sit.” she says pointing at the large flor-de-lis embossed comforter draped over the thick mattress at the center of the room.

He timorously obliges her directive, feigned request, and parks his butt half on the mattress, “let me get a closer look at what I’m working with. Hmm. Eyes seem nice and soft, body build modestly tight, strong chin, pouty lips, pretty hands and feet. Let’s peak ‘under the hood’ shall we.”

His bravado not being entirely suppressed he expresses the taking of exception to Pinelope’s assessment, “I dare say that I disagree on several…”

She holds a pointed up finger to his lips and instantly hushes his protest, “you are most amusing with your whimpering, another rather endearing quality. You WILL make High Commander a pretty coin. This is too easy. Let’s trim those lofty eyebrowses, for prospective purchasers will NOT be amused at their prominence. That way I can report the modification in the log. A watery cleansing is definitely in order, followed by a little body powder. You’ll be just as fresh as a baby. Now wash,” and she points to the sunken bath in the far corner.

He is resigned to his immediate fate and shuffles with a sullen gate to the blue tiled tub and descends to the water. It’s thankfully been warmed, somewhat.

Before he’s fully immersed Pinelope remarks, “That’s such a good compliant slave. Isn’t that soooo much better than snobbery? Of course it is. Now stop and twirl, SLOWLY, so that I may rate your maleness,” to which he begrudgingly obliges with a sarcastic Cheshire cat grin, “uh, uh, uuuh. You must be trained to be much more appreciative of your lowly station. In fact, I will take upon myself the burden of demonstrating what will assuredly be the form of your future matriarch’s chastisement upon receiving your flippant posture!”

She divests herself of her long flowing chiffon frock with measured leisure, revealing her very feminine curves and near flat belly. She walks with utmost confidence with lascivious eye contact towards him. His gaze is riveted to her classic Greek statue figure as he mindlessly enters the cleansing waters. With the removal of her loincloth springs forth a substantial set of silken gonads. She descends into the water and gently holds a hand on each of his shoulders.

“Let me show you what you’re in for my nescient, but stubborn sex servicer,” she whips him facing away and quickly sidles up to his backside.

He feels her cock ever elongating the more she slides her mushroomed tip and engorged balls along the upper half of his ass schism. Her dick’s trunk expands enough to poke his skin just above the small of his back.

“Tell me you like, no want… no NEED, to have my lady cock within your taut man buns,” he merely issues a closed eyed nod, “suds your upper body while I attend to your lower,” she sultrily says before placing a coo-soliciting soft peck upon the left side of his neck.

She unexpectedly sinks her teeth full force into his neck’s flesh like a sabertooth ensnaring its next meal. He first trembles but then yields completely to her attack. She reaches for the cleansing oil and ladles out a palm full while maintaining her tight dental grip. At the same time he suds himself, beginning with his sweat strewn face. The slick scented oil is spread by her all over his rear cheeks. She snuggles up against his left side while lazily caressing his muscular buns in circles with the splayed fingers of her right hand. She spirals inwards till making contact with his crack. Sliding a finger down to the base of his cleft, she simultaneously looks at his man humps to appraise its enticing curviness. She slides her right hand on the underside of his bristling testicles.

He hums, “Please …,” she then extends to reach the base of his cock, finger walking up to the tip and softly caresses it till fully flared from excitation. She takes a step behind him to gain better vantage of that pert behind exposed to her whims. She decides to part his cheeks as far apart as can be forced.

“Mmmh, such a lovely little slit for an asshole, my favorite kind,” then whispers to him, “it looks just like a little man pussy, perfect for my big cock to stretch into a big round chasm that’ll never close again,” her words sounding assuaging but her meaning quite stern.

Pinelope then works a finger into the entrance of his back passage. He sighs his delight at her touch. More digits are added in succession as she slides deeper into him. He then gasps at the pleasure of her reciprocating hand in and out of his enlarged asshole. In response Claybourne reaches his left arm backwards to capture her tight balls and thick cock head. She issues her own coo as he brushes the three middle fingers on the bottom of her balls while he strokes her frenum with his gripping palms.