Super Sucker pt. 9

It’s the day after Marcus’ party and Corey wakes up to a wonderful surprise from Master.

But there are games and plots afoot, things greater than Corey could have ever imagined. And Imperious is at the heart of it all.

The room around him was dark. Even squinting his eyes, Corey couldn’t see a thing. He walked forward for a little while, his footsteps echoing in the vast emptiness. But considering how there wasn’t anything around to use as a reference, he might as well have been walking in the same place.

Corey stopped, bringing his heels together. He recognized that he was naked but for the tight metal cage wrapped around his cock. That, and the heavy collar cinched around his neck, resting with a comfortable weight on his collarbones, reminding him of Master. Of being owned. Of being a slave.

In the darkness, Corey stood up. Ramrod-straight, just like Master had taught him. He slid his feet apart until they were planted on the "ground" a shoulder-breadth apart. His stance was strong. His chest proud. He had no shame in showing off his body. Just as a good jockboy wouldn’t.

Even though he couldn’t see in the darkness, and even though he doubted anyone else could see in it, Corey proudly let his chastened state show. It was important for a slave to maintain discipline at all times unless otherwise instructed. A good jockboy trains himself for his master with every waking moment, after all.

Corey wasn’t sure where he was, but he had learned to treat every moment, every situation, as one where Master could ask him for a surprise inspection. And even though he doubted that Master would be here, in this darkness, he didn’t want to risk disappointing Master by not being the best jockboy slave that he could be.

The darkness caressed every inch of Corey’s bare skin with a cool, feather-light touch. It sent goosebumps prickling against his flesh. It wasn’t long before he was feeling somewhat claustrophobic, a bead of sweat trickling down his brow. But he endured. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay in position.

After some time, there was a loud clang overhead. A beam of light fell around Corey, illuminating a circle some three feet across around him. He squinted in the sudden brightness as he heard a second clang and saw another beam of light descend some way ahead of him.

When his vision cleared, Corey saw that there was a man in the circle of light in front of him. He started walking. The light that surrounded him moved with his every footstap. But the other man, the other circle of light, seemed to get no closer.

The other man got up and turned to walk toward Corey. As he approached, Corey realized who he was looking at. Himself. Dressed in his hero costume. He supposed the more appropriate name to call the other man was Tempest.

"So," said Corey’s doppelganger. "This what we have become? A glorified sextoy?" it said, gesturing up and down toward him. "Aren’t you concerned? Ashamed? That you’ve let another man put you on display? Strip you of every shred of your honor and dignity?"

Corey stared blankly at Tempest. Honor. Dignity. They were foreign concepts to him. Now, at least. He didn’t understand why he should have been concerned. Much less, ashamed. "Good jockboys are proud of their bodies," he said, "I am a good jockboy. Therefore I am proud of what I am, not ashamed."

"But you’re not supposed to be," said Tempest. "You’re supposed to be a hero, the protector of Selene City. Does that mean anything to you anymore?"

Corey tilted his head. There was a faint sense of recollection in the back of his mind, but he quickly shoved it away. It wasn’t his place to remember. Wasn’t his place to think. He turned to another of his mantras. "Good jockboys are supposed to be at their master’s feet." he said. "I am Master’s good jockboy slave. I know my place. And my place is at Master’s feet."

"No, it isn’t!" Tempest insisted. "Your place is on the streets! Protecting the good citizens of Selene City from whatever evil might come to threaten them. That is who you are. Have you forgotten?"

"Good jockboys don’t try to remember things that they’ve forgotten," said Corey. "Good jockboys don’t think unless they need to. Good jockboys leave the thinking to their master." he added, with conviction. He had learned the rules by heart. They were the core of his identity. What made him a good jockboy slave for Master.

"So that’s it, huh? No more fighting? No more resisting? Complete surrender to the will of the enemy?" Tempest shook his head as he paced back and forth in his ring of light. "Almost makes me think we actually wanted this from the beginning."

"Good jockboys don’t fight; they obey their master. Good jockboys don’t ask questions; they obey their master. Good jockboys do what their master tells them to do. Good jockboys think what their master tells them to think," said Corey, unable to conceive of any other way to respond to Tempest’s accusations.

And why would Corey ever want to fight Master? Master was the center of his world. Of his universe. "This good jockboy loves his Master with all his heart. This good jockboy would do anything his Master tells him to do. This good jockboy would think anything his Master tells him to think," he said, with a small smile playing on his lips.

Tempest sighed. "You’re an idiot, Corey Cooper," he murmured. "A sentimental buffoon. But you know what, I have to give it to you. You kept me around for longer than I thought you would. I don’t understand why, and I won’t even try to ask you because I doubt you’d be able to explain it any more than I can."

"But I have to assume it’s because you want me to surrender to him just like you have," said Tempest. "And you know what? It’s tempting."

"We are a good jockboy," said Corey. "Good jockboys naturally need a master to own them," he said.

"He’s not as bad as I thought he would be. You know we’ve heard the stories. Seen the destruction that he’s wrought at Seaside City. He’s a bad guy. But I don’t know if I’d call him a bad guy, considering everything that I’ve seen through you," said Tempest.

"Huh?" said Corey. Seaside City? Destruction? Master wasn’t a villain. Master was Marcus. Tempest was making no sense.

"You… You do know that Master is Imperious, don’t you?" said Tempest. Corey stared blankly at him. "Right. Good jockboys leave the thinking to their master. Of course you wouldn’t know."

"Alright. You win. I’m tired of fighting, anyway. Now that you’re not listening to me. Now that you can’t listen to me. What’s the point? I’d be much happier just giving in, wouldn’t I? Letting go of honor. Of dignity. Letting Master control every aspect of my life and identity."

Corey nodded. "Good jockboys love being good jockboys. Good jockboys want to be good jockboys. Good jockboys enjoy being good jockboys. Good jockboys live to be good jockboys for their masters," he said, with a grin.

Tempest rolled his eyes as the light around him shone brighter and brighter. The gold lines on his costume caught the light, gleaming in the darkness. The light got so intense, so bright that it washed out the image of Tempest and Corey had to avert his gaze.

When the light dimmed again Tempest was still there, but he was different. His costume was gone. Well, for the most part. Tempest was wearing a sleek jockstrap, made of some glossy material that hugged his form, his strong legs. His torso was bare but for the leather harness strapped across his chest.

Around Tempest’s neck was a leather collar, in the same midnight blue as his old costume. A golden thunderbolt dangled from the D-ring in front, right under the chain-link leash clipped to it.

Tempest wore wrist bands of gold and azure blue, matching the color of his eyes and the golden circlet that rested against his brow. His feet were clad in sneakers. They were midnight blue like his old costume, with gold accents like his wristbands.

Tempest turned around. His thick, muscular ass was framed perfectly by the straps of the jockstrap, and the tattoo on his ass was stark against his smooth, soft skin. Corey could also see the jeweled buttplug peeking out from between Tempest’s ass cheeks.

"It’s done," said Tempest. "There’s no turning back now. We belong to him. Body and soul. Now and always. We are Master’s good jockboy. Nothing more. Nothing less. No more heroics. No more honor. No more dignity. Just obedience."

Corey groaned at the tingle of pleasure that shot up his spine, waking him from his sleep and the strange dream that he had just had. He felt warm and tingly all over, cozily swaddled in the thick blankets of Master’s bed. But the sensation was concentrated somewhere. His sleep-addled mind took a moment to realize that it was coming from his hole.

Someone was lapping at Corey’s twitching pucker. It felt good. So good. He couldn’t help but squirm as he felt that tongue swirling around his hole, playfully flicking at his entrance as he tried to blink the sleep from his eyes.

Clutching the bed sheets in his fingers, Corey rolled his hips backward and bit his lower lip. He wanted more. Needed more. It felt so good. He was used to waking up with his jeweled buttplug pulsing insistently with heat inside of him. While that felt good, this was so much better.

Corey suspected that Castor had been sent into Master’s room to wake him up. Some days he wished that he would wake up and Master was still in bed so that he could wake Master up with a blowjob, but Master was something of an early riser. Master was always up before Corey, seemingly no matter how early Corey tried to wake up.

But Corey couldn’t spend too much time wondering. It wasn’t a good jockboy’s place to wonder, after all. Better if he just gave in to the sensations and moaned like the good little sex slave that he had become.

Corey’s cock strained in its cage. If not for the filigreed metal trap around his shaft, he would have been hard as a rock. As it was, there was little he could do but helplessly flex his cock and leak onto the bed.

Another quiet moan was ripped from Corey’s throat as the tongue delightfully teasing his hole stabbed at the center of his pucker. He whimpered as the tip flicked at his quivering entrance, teasing him open, working spit inside of him to loosen him up. He buried his face in his pillow as he bucked his hips backward, more than eager to get more of that tongue inside of him.

It didn’t take long before the tongue was wriggling past Corey’s entrance. It was hot. Wet. Slick and slippery. He couldn’t help but shiver with pleasure as he felt it swipe at his insides, swirling around to taste every inch of his ass.

"P-Please… More…" Corey murmured, desperately pushing backward with his legs to get the tongue deeper inside of him. But then he felt a pair of hands on his hips, working his ass cheeks further apart, but also keeping him in place.

Helplessly, Corey moaned into the pillow as the probing tongue explored deeper into him. It felt good. So good. Every slurp, every swirl inside of him sent waves of pleasure washing over his body, making his cock twitch and strain between his legs.

But before the pleasure of the tonguing could really get him anywhere near the edge, it stopped. Corey whimpered, but knew better than to complain. He felt fingers brush over the curve of his ass. His ass cheeks were caught in a possessive grip that he couldn’t possibly mistake for anyone else. Apparently Master had decided to wake him up with a tonguing. "Such a sweet thing for breakfast," said Master. "If I get diabetes, I am blaming you, my little thundercloud."

Corey blushed as Master rubbed a thumb up and down the cleft of his ass. He moaned as it popped inside of him, fucking in and out of his hole gently.

"M-Master," Corey stammered, "I should be the one waking you up by making you feel good…"

"Hmm?" said Master, tracing his fingers down the curve of Corey’s arched back. His feather-light touch left trails of tingling heat on Corey’s sensitive skin, making his face flush even more with arousal. "Nonsense," said Master.

Master’s fingers brushed up over the blade of Corey’s sinewed shoulder, playing at the muscles there. "You did such a good job last night, my pet. You deserve a bit of a reward for being such a good little jockboy for me."

Corey blushed at the praise, feeling a warm and wholesome sense of pride blossom in his chest. "Really, Master?" he whispered.

"Really, my little thundercloud," murmured Master. "Though should you really be asking that question, my pet?" If Corey could see Master’s face he was sure that there would be a small smirk on it. He could almost see it in Master’s tone.

"No, master," said Corey, dejectedly. "Good jockboys don’t ask questions. Good jockboys obey," he repeated, the words moving straight from his subconscious to his tongue. Because good jockboys don’t think. Good jockboys let their master do the thinking for them.

"Good boy," said Master, brushing his fingers through Corey’s hair. In that moment, Corey felt Master’s thick, hard cock pressed up against the cleft of his ass. It was so big. So hot. He wanted it inside of him. Needed it inside of him.

Not because it felt good. Well, not only because it felt good, because it did, but first and foremost because Corey knew that Master would feel really good once Master’s cock was buried deep inside of him.

Corey rolled his hips, bucking his ass backward, rubbing his muscular ass cheeks up and down Master’s throbbing cock. He felt like a slut, begging to be fucked using his body. But he felt no shame because of that. He was proud to be a slut. Proud to be a little sex slave for his Master. Because he knew that his Master loved seeing him like this, all horned up and desperate to please. Because he loved seeing the sparkle in Master’s eye whenever he acted like a shameless little whore.

"Please, Master…" Corey murmured. "Please use me as you wish. Take your pleasure. Use my hole. Fuck your big cock inside me until you fill me up with your cum, Master."

"God, who could have thought that Corey Cooper, star quarterback and honors candidate would have such a filthy, degenerate, slutty mouth?" said Master, his voice low and husky, filled with the kind of lust that sent a shiver up Corey’s spine. It was the kind of tone that that carried a promise. A promise that made Corey’s cock strain and twitch in its cage.

"Only you, Master," Corey said, keeping his low voice and needy. "Because you’ve always known what I really was inside, Master. A good jockboy needing a real man to take care of me."

"That’s right. Just a good jockboy. My good jockboy," said Master, leaning in to let his teeth graze the tender flesh of Corey’s shoulder. It was moments like these, when Master was acting incredibly possessive and protective, that Corey’s heart skipped a beat in his chest.

"Would you like me to remind you who you belong to, my little thundercloud?" said Master, pressing tender kisses to the side of Corey’s neck. "Would you like me to remind you who conquered you? Who collared you? Who leashed you and made you his?"

"Yessss Master," Corey hissed, his eyes widening as he felt the blunt head of Master’s cock line up with his hole. The pressure built for a moment, but only for a moment. Then he opened up, eager to accept his Master, his Lord, his World inside of him.

And as Master’s cock slid home into Corey’s ass, he cried out loud from the sheer pleasure of being completed. His brain short-circuited, his thoughts dissolving into pleasant fuzz before they could even begin to form.

Corey felt full. So full. So hot and warm inside. Master’s cock was so hot and hard in his ass. It filled him up. Made him complete.

And Master wasted no time with tenderness. Master grabbed Corey by the hips. Master pulled Corey’s hips back, shoving his cock as far up Corey’s tight little jockpussy as it could go. And then he pulled all the way out, his cock slipping past the entrance with an audibly wet pop.

Corey whined, but the sound was strangled by Master slamming his cock back home in one smooth, brutal stroke that made Corey’s back arch and his toes curl. His fingers scrabbled at the sheets, desperately gripping them as the near-overwhelming pleasure washed over him, sending shockwaves through his brain, obliterating his thoughts, his mind, everything.

Master fucked him in earnest after that. In and out. In and out. Harder and faster with every thrust, changing his angle only to pummel Corey’s prostate and make him even more incapable of doing anything but moan and whimper.

It was raw. Primal. Something ferocious and instinctive. Corey bucked his hips to meet Master’s every thrust, or at least he did until his legs gave way, turning to jelly under the merciless jackhammering that his hole was receiving. It was good. So good. In those few moments, it was the only good thing in the world.

The pleasure was rapturous. The sensation, impossible to describe. Not that Corey was in possession of the faculties necessary to even begin to describe how it felt. His cock strained. His mind melted. His jaw hung open as he moaned into the pillow, smearing it with the drool that trickled from the corner of his lips.

Harder and faster. The fuck was vicious. Unrestrained. Master gave Corey no quarter. Corey wanted no mercy. He wanted Master to use him as he was meant to be used. He wanted Master to take pleasure in his body.

And as the last few ragged thrusts pumped into his hole, Corey moaned into the pillow as his hole spasmed and clenched around Master’s cock. Burst after burst of cum splattered against his insides, filling him with voluminous cum that made his guts tingle and his stomach flutter like it was filled with a million butterflies.

The sheer pleasure of knowing that he had brought Master to completion whited out Corey’s mind. He couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even process his surroundings, just the sensation of Master’s deflating cock and hot cum inside of him.

Master rolled over onto the bed beside Corey and pulled him into a spoon. Master held him there for a few minutes until their breaths evened out. "Did you like your reward, my little thundercloud?" murmured Master.

Corey smiled, even though Master couldn’t see him. "Yes, master," he whispered. "I loved it."

"Well, why don’t we put this in to keep it inside you for as long as possible?" said Master, as Corey felt the familiar pressure of his plug pressing at his hole. Corey took a breath and let out a little moan as it popped past his ring and settled into the cleft of his ass.

"Well, as much as I would love to stay here with you, my pet, I have business to attend to," said Master, pulling his arm off of Corey’s midriff. Master rolled over to the other side of the bed and swung his legs off the edge.

"Let me help you clean up, Master," said Corey, sitting up to follow in Master’s footsteps.

But Master just shook his head. He grabbed his blue-and-gold robe from nearby and slipped into it. "No need, my little thundercloud," said Master. "I can take care of myself. You stay there and rest. You deserve it."

A small smile tugged on the corners of Master’s lips as he made his way to the door. "If you get bored, go and find Castor. I gave him his reward before I woke you. I’m sure he’d love to tell you all about it."

Corey blushed. Master was so kind. Sure, he was firm and strict most of the time, but it was times like these when his gentler, more tender side really came out. And each time, without fail, it made Corey feel slightly lightheaded, like his heart was beating out of rhythm.

Not really thinking too much about where Master was going, or what Master was doing, Corey sank back down into the bed and pulled the blankets over him. He reached behind him and tapped his fingers on the base of the plug. His hole tingled with warmth, and he could still feel Master’s cum inside of him.

Corey sighed. He felt happy. Satisfied. He let his head rest on his pillow and closed his eyes. He was warm. Safe. Taken care of. Owned. And there was absolutely nothing that he wanted to change about his situation. Except maybe to give himself more of a chance to be of use to Master.

For what it was worth, Marcus felt a strange kind of affection for Corey. The boy was one of his pieces in the game. More of a bishop or a queen than a pawn. The lynchpin of the plan.

Marcus had not expected to get attached, much less to feel something for the boy. But it wasn’t exactly unwelcome. He couldn’t remember the last time that he felt genuine affection for anyone and felt it reflected back at him. And for good reason. His talents left lots of space for doubt as to whether the affection was sincere or fabricated as a result of his control.

And yet when he looked into Corey’s eyes, there was no doubt in Marcus’ mind that the boy felt something for him. An echo of what he felt in his own chest. It was strange, but it was exciting, too. It gave him hope for the future.

But for now, unfortunately, there was work to be done. The great game was afoot, and it wouldn’t be long before the final confrontation was forced.

Imperious was by no means a hero. He was the furthest from it. He didn’t care about honor, about doing things the right way. He ascribed to Machiavelli’s argument. The ends justified the means. He liked to think that he was just a guy, doing bad things for a good reason. Though he would be lying if he didn’t admit controlling people sent a thrill straight through his cock.

Sparks leapt between Imperious’ fingers as he felt the telltale signature of another living being’s approach. He looked over his shoulder and watched as a tall, thin, blond man seemed to melt right out of the shadows. "My, grandmother, what sensitive electroreception you have!" said the Stranger.

"Yeah," said Marcus, cracking a small grin. "All the better to feel you with, my dear."

"I see that you’ve put my gift to you to good use," said the Stranger. "Are you sure you don’t want more than just that little fragment? You know I can give you all of my gifts with little harm to me. Especially now that we have Magnus in our ranks."

Marcus rolled his eyes. "And who in their right mind would want to be responsible for that much power?" he said. "No," he said, as he looked at his hands and watched the sparks leap from one finger to the next. "I appreciate the offer, Psyphon, but I’m not interested in absolute power."

Psyphon laughed. "You and every last one of our little council," he muttered.

Marcus clenched his fingers into a fist and quelled the lightning coursing through his veins. It was intoxicating. Had he been a weaker man, he would have wanted more. He could only imagine what the pure, unfettered lightning thrumming through Corey at the height of his power would be like. But he didn’t want that. He didn’t need it.

"I only need enough so that I can teach him what he needs to do when the time is right," said Marcus. "No more, no less. This gift is his, not mine. And your gift is yours, not mine."

"As you wish," said Psyphon, with a gracious dip of his head. "I assume you’re going to conference with the others?" Marcus nodded. "Great. Sorry I can’t make it. Keep me apprised, would you, darling?"

"Of course, Psyphon. Take care," said Marcus, as he pushed open the secret stairwell to his secret chambers.

Marcus walked past the study, the draft from his movement causing some of the delicate scrolls on his desk to shift dangerously across the treated wood. That gave him pause. But only briefly.

Past the meditation chamber and down the secret stairway beside the server room, Marcus went. He pushed open a door made of a strange, sleek black stone with golden etchings and stepped inside, into a smal circular room with a single chair.

Directly opposite the chair was a large mirror. Its golden, jewel-encrusted frame lay in pieces behind it. The mirror itself hovered in mid-air, suspended by some mystical force that also kept its broken pieces hovering approximately where they should have been had the mirror still been whole.

The mirror was flanked by two large screens, and mounted on the wall just behind the mirror was a camera pointed directly at Marcus on his seat.

Marcus didn’t have to wait for long before the shattered pieces at the edges of the mirror glowed red hot. They pieces melted together, forming a ring of molten glas that slowly spun around the central mass of the elliptical mirror. The temperature in the room rose appreciably as the crystal-clear image of a wind-swept, barren wasteland came into view.

Seated opposite Marcus, reclining on his throne with a faint look of amusement on his face, was the demon lord Melthazadaan. "Lord Thaz, how do you fare this fine… whatever time of day it is in your realm, if that is even a concept that makes sense in your little corner of the world."

Lord Thaz broke into a broad grin and laughed. "Bored of the affairs of Hell as I always am, Imperious," he said. "But you, my friend, seem to be radiant. Tell me, you got attached didn’t you?"

Marcus rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the faint hint of heat that crept into his cheeks. "What did I tell you? It would be hard not to get attached," said Lord Thaz, idly stroking one of his erect cocks. "The boy is sweet. Even sweeter now that I have tasted his flesh for myself. It is no wonder you are so taken by his charm."

Marcus composed himself. "What’s between Corey and me doesn’t matter," he said. "I will still do my part. I will do whatever is necessary."

"Oh, I’m certain of it," said Lord Thaz. "I never questioned your resolve. I too, will do my part. I have been gathering power. When the day comes, the boys will have at their fingertips what they need to make the final play."

At that moment, the screen on the left crackled to life. "My treasure, I command you this once to stop it. Unhh… I. AM. IN. A. MEETING. YOU WILL LISTEN TO YOUR KING! hnnnggh…" The man on the other end of the line, who was leaning forward more than he usually was during these meetings, had eyes like burning embers. Those eyes were wilder than they usually were.

"Apologies, gentlemen," said the man, as he struggled to maintain his composure. "My partner is feeling a bit testy this fine day," he said, through gritted teeth.

Lord Thaz laughed, the deep baritone of his voice booming through the entire chamber. "Hardly anything to be sorry about, your majesty," said Lord Thaz. "Not even the most effective of your human emperors could keep their closest subjects in check at all times. Less so when said subjects are lovers only too eager to please them."

Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus saw the screen on the right of the mirror turn on. "Gentlemen," he said, turning his attention toward the other screen, "It appears we are all here. Shall we begin this meeting? Time is of the essence. It won’t be long now until the enemy signals the beginning of the end and we must be prepared for whatever happens."

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