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Grandmaster Figata and Apprentice Monroe
September 15, 2022 | Full Length Video : 27min 10sec
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The Order is a secret society, one that is woven within the margins of our world history. Members are the only ones who know the true nature of the organization, and of the needs of the men who drift towards it.

When the Order calls for an apprentice, they don't do it with language. He might hear words, but meaning is conveyed in other ways, and by other senses.

In the quiet, ...[Read more]

In the quiet, air conditioned hiss of his office, Master Figata asked Apprentice Monroe whether or not he was attracted to men. It wasn't the first time Maxx had been asked such a question—Master Kamp had also posed this inquiry to the boy in his initial interview with The Order.

Regardless of language, and regardless of his choice of words, the magnetism of his body towards Figata's grip was as clear a response as any. The boy's lips parted in thankful release as the master stripped him of his belt, pants, and worries.

Apprentice Monroe found fondness in being stripped by men… undeniable fondness. He dreamed of being touched, stroked, kissed... and not just by any man, but by a man of power, and reverence. A man exactly like Master Figata. Chiseled on the master's face was the legacy and knowledge of the Order, and with it carried the kind of heat that Monroe melted, and wanted to melt, under.

Master Figata's gentle but firm hands pushed his all-but-willing apprentice across the office table. He gripped Apprentice Monroe's rear in his palms. The boy moaned as his pale cheeks were spread apart. Figata's tongue darted in and out of his ass, and weakened him.

He tasted the truth there; a quivering hole cannot lie. He replaced his tongue with a digit, and tested the boy's entrance for willingness, and flexibility. Monroe moaned incomprehensibly, wordless gasps that meant nothing in English, and everything to the Order.

A single, authoritative slap to the rear instructed the boy far more than a direct order ever could have. It told him where to go, and what to do. On the floor, to his knees he fell.

His lips, by instinct, found and lapped at the holy instrument of his master. His head bobbed up and down, cradled in the master's palm. His throat worked tirelessly. The boy's tongue was slick, and his mouth wet, and eager. Eager to taste the flesh of a man at the top of the Order, eager for just a drop of the wisdom and strength that comes from up high.

The nervous, self-conscious boy that came to his first interview was, in the hands of masters, achieving an understanding of his place within the Order. He was changing, slowly. And it was good—as good as the taste in his mouth.

And when the Master pulled out and away, the boy was left breathless, panting, yearning. His body and mind were unable to process the fact that he had just given a blow job to a man—and the honor, with it, of that man being the grizzled mountain Master Figata. He processed little at all, in fact, beyond his place, and beyond the need to serve more.

The Grandmaster, pleased that his apprentice's mouth had learned that its use was not to speak but to worship, then brought the boy back to his desk. He splayed him onto his stomach and guided his rod of flesh towards the boy's cheeks. He tested to see what else the apprentice had learned from his Calling.

Monroe whimpered softly at first. Then the master pushed more, and more, and the further he went in, the louder his moans grew.

The world changed. Everything became the rhythm of the older man’s fucking his tiny gay bottom. Nothing else existed—not the office lights, not the worries of the world, not even himself. All that remained was Master Figata's growls of pleasure, and the pulse of his thrusts. They had merged in pleasure, and found themselves completed by the rituals of The Order.

Monroe found himself so complete, in fact, that when Master Figata stopped crashing his big cock into his tiny hole and threw him off the table, that, too, was heaven. The grip, the grunt of command, the obedience... those were pleasures. To be called—to have the Calling—those, too, were pleasures.

When Master Figata laid himself upon the table and ordered the boy to sit on his face, the desire to obey swelled in the boy's body, and filled his throat with awkward, cute immediacy.

He immediately found himself sitting upon the elder's face without question or hesitance. He was not on top, but a toy, a beautiful plaything for the Order to fiddle with. And Figata did fiddle so, along the boy's taint and ravaged hole, again and again…

Photos
Apprentice Monroe series cover
Chapters
1. The Interview 25mn
Maxx has been summoned to one of the ceremonial rooms for his first interview. He’s smartly dressed in shirt and tie, his mouse brown hair neatly cropped and styled. The powerful and intimidating Master Kamp ushers Maxx to a seat. Maxx feels nervous and self-conscious. Everything in the room is almost glaringly white, from the carpet and walls to the fabric curtains which billow in the soft, summer breeze. Kamp, dressed in a white suit, sits down next to Maxx and studies the boy’s face. The silence makes Maxx increasingly uncomfortable. Kamp finally speaks. His voice is soft but authoritative. He has a strong German accent. He reads a signed declaration, reminding Maxx of the promise he made to serve his superiors at all times during his apprenticeship. But before Maxx can meet his obligations, Kamp has a list of probing questions which he needs to ask him. It’s important to find out more about the boy and Kamp insists on absolute honesty. The master’s initial line of questioning focuses on the boy’s sexuality. The quest for pleasure is central to Masonic philosophy and it’s vital to know what makes a boy tick. Knowledge is power, after all. When asked, Maxx flatly denies being attracted to men. That is a typical response. A boy will often require gentle persuasion to accept his true nature… and Kamp is the master of persuasion. The Master reminds Maxx of his promise to serve his superiors before casually ordering the boy to take off all of his clothes. Maxx is utterly dumbfounded and, for a moment, freezes, as he tries to process Kamp’s demand. A moment later, he dutifully stands, takes a deep breath, and begins to undress. He takes off his tie and shirt, desperate to appear calm while his hands shake uncontrollably. Kamp watches approvingly as Maxx tentatively unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his well-fitting pants, letting them fall to the ground. In just his underwear, Maxx feels vulnerable. And Kamp likes what he sees. Kamp pulls his chair nearer to Maxx, who instantly begins to blush. The close proximity of the master is somewhat disarming. Kamp wears a highly expensive scent which instantly envelops the boy in a cloud of sensuality. The blood in Maxx’s body starts to rush to his dick. Kamp asks if Maxx is prepared to prove he’s not attracted to men. And when Maxx nods nervously, Kamp stands and promptly ties the boy’s hands behind his back. Maxx’s heart starts to pound. He’s terrified and unsure of what comes next, knowing that it’s all a test he’s determined to pass. Kamp starts to seductively run his large hands over the boy’s thigh and then up to his chest. A shiver runs through Maxx’s body and his dick stiffens noticeably. Kamp is soon touching every part of the boy’s body, activating his erogenous zones and making him tremble with a mixture of terror and unparalleled pleasure. The smartly-clothed master pulls down the boy’s underpants so that he’s entirely naked. Kamp then pushes one of his thick fingers into Maxx’s tight, virgin hole. The boy winces and gasps and enters a lust-fuelled trance. His huge, curved, rock-hard dick now points towards the ceiling as Kamp jerks it slowly. The boy’s eyes widen as Kamp pulls out a smooth, perspex dildo. Maxx instinctively knows that it’s going to be used to penetrate him and tenses as it approaches his ass. Kamp attempts to push it into him. Maxx resists for some time, but Kamp persists and the dildo eventually disappears entirely into his quivering hole. Kamp pushes Maxx’s legs wide apart so the boy has no place to hide what is happening to him. Maxx looks down, seeing the object sticking out from his hole. And when he looks up at Kamp, the stoic German simply proceeds without waver or excitement. He studies Maxx closely, curious how far he can take him, knowing that Maxx is likely to take whatever he gives. Maxx closes his eyes and pants and moans while Kamp continues to jerk his swollen dick. Wave-after-wave of profound sexual energy crash through Maxx’s shaking body. He had no idea his body could ever be made to experience such intense feelings. Maxx starts to jerk his own dick while Kamp uses one hand to twist and flick the boy’s nipples, using the other to drive the dildo in and out of his throbbing hole. It’s suddenly way too much and Maxx explodes. Semen gushes out of his dick like water from a hose. He can’t quite believe what’s happening. And as Kamp gently wipes the sticky cum from his belly, Maxx wonders what else can be heading his way during the rest of his apprenticeship.
2. The Calling 28mn
The Order is a secret society, one that is woven within the margins of our world history. Members are the only ones who know the true nature of the organization, and of the needs of the men who drift towards it. When the Order calls for an apprentice, they don't do it with language. He might hear words, but meaning is conveyed in other ways, and by other senses. In the quiet, air conditioned hiss of his office, Master Figata asked Apprentice Monroe whether or not he was attracted to men. It wasn't the first time Maxx had been asked such a question—Master Kamp had also posed this inquiry to the boy in his initial interview with The Order. Regardless of language, and regardless of his choice of words, the magnetism of his body towards Figata's grip was as clear a response as any. The boy's lips parted in thankful release as the master stripped him of his belt, pants, and worries. Apprentice Monroe found fondness in being stripped by men… undeniable fondness. He dreamed of being touched, stroked, kissed... and not just by any man, but by a man of power, and reverence. A man exactly like Master Figata. Chiseled on the master's face was the legacy and knowledge of the Order, and with it carried the kind of heat that Monroe melted, and wanted to melt, under. Master Figata's gentle but firm hands pushed his all-but-willing apprentice across the office table. He gripped Apprentice Monroe's rear in his palms. The boy moaned as his pale cheeks were spread apart. Figata's tongue darted in and out of his ass, and weakened him. He tasted the truth there; a quivering hole cannot lie. He replaced his tongue with a digit, and tested the boy's entrance for willingness, and flexibility. Monroe moaned incomprehensibly, wordless gasps that meant nothing in English, and everything to the Order. A single, authoritative slap to the rear instructed the boy far more than a direct order ever could have. It told him where to go, and what to do. On the floor, to his knees he fell. His lips, by instinct, found and lapped at the holy instrument of his master. His head bobbed up and down, cradled in the master's palm. His throat worked tirelessly. The boy's tongue was slick, and his mouth wet, and eager. Eager to taste the flesh of a man at the top of the Order, eager for just a drop of the wisdom and strength that comes from up high. The nervous, self-conscious boy that came to his first interview was, in the hands of masters, achieving an understanding of his place within the Order. He was changing, slowly. And it was good—as good as the taste in his mouth. And when the Master pulled out and away, the boy was left breathless, panting, yearning. His body and mind were unable to process the fact that he had just given a blow job to a man—and the honor, with it, of that man being the grizzled mountain Master Figata. He processed little at all, in fact, beyond his place, and beyond the need to serve more. The Grandmaster, pleased that his apprentice's mouth had learned that its use was not to speak but to worship, then brought the boy back to his desk. He splayed him onto his stomach and guided his rod of flesh towards the boy's cheeks. He tested to see what else the apprentice had learned from his Calling. Monroe whimpered softly at first. Then the master pushed more, and more, and the further he went in, the louder his moans grew. The world changed. Everything became the rhythm of the older man’s fucking his tiny gay bottom. Nothing else existed—not the office lights, not the worries of the world, not even himself. All that remained was Master Figata's growls of pleasure, and the pulse of his thrusts. They had merged in pleasure, and found themselves completed by the rituals of The Order. Monroe found himself so complete, in fact, that when Master Figata stopped crashing his big cock into his tiny hole and threw him off the table, that, too, was heaven. The grip, the grunt of command, the obedience... those were pleasures. To be called—to have the Calling—those, too, were pleasures. When Master Figata laid himself upon the table and ordered the boy to sit on his face, the desire to obey swelled in the boy's body, and filled his throat with awkward, cute immediacy. He immediately found himself sitting upon the elder's face without question or hesitance. He was not on top, but a toy, a beautiful plaything for the Order to fiddle with. And Figata did fiddle so, along the boy's taint and ravaged hole, again and again…
3. Disciplinary Action 30mn
Discipline is both a noun and a verb. It is the act of training someone physically or mentally, either someone else or yourself. The term can also be used to describe the action of punishment. In the case of The Brotherhood, discipline is the vehicle to help young men who arrive at better versions of themselves. It is beyond grammatical rules — it is the concept of purpose, directly administered. In the case of young Apprentice Monroe, the time for his discipline had come. He had already been with, and vetted by, Masters Figata and Kamp. He had learned much about the pleasure of men, and his expected role in providing it. What he had not learned yet, but will, is that pain can be a pleasure, too. It can lead to something larger, something grander than oneself. And a grander and larger presence than any Apprentice Monroe had met before waited for him in a darkened room. He felt a chill run through him at the sight of this imposing figure. This powerful man, carved by time and strength, with the eyes of a hawk and the kind of smile that made one feel small, was Grandmaster Legrand. Sitting on a red chair that framed him in stark contrast to the rest of the room, Legrand studied the young apprentice as he entered. The Grandmaster’s fingers traced the edge of the wooden board; its dark surface polished to a slight sheen. Monroe shivered at the sight of the Master's hand on it. He had not seen such a structure before, but as it was pronged with rods of increasing girth and shaped with domes at the top, its purpose needed little imagination to figure out. Grandmaster Legrand instructed the apprentice to strip himself of his clothes one piece at a time. Tie, dress shirt, belt, slacks — all offered as sacrifice to the Grandmaster. When Apprentice Monroe was down to nothing but his sacred garments the Master beckoned the boy to come next to him. The apprentice swallowed hard as the Master's hands roamed across his body. They explored every inch of his skin, leaving trails of heat everywhere they went. It was an experience so intense the boy could only stand there frozen like a statue, unable to move unless his Master ordered him. When Legrand reached down and stroked the young apprentice's dick through the cloth it brought weak, whimpering sounds of ecstasy out of the boy. Ecstasy that grew in volume as Legrand tweaked his young nipples, and thumbed the head of his boy-cock. Satisfied with the cry of pleasure from Apprentice Monroe, Legrand fished Maxx's meat from the cloth and held it between two fingers. Then he leaned forward and drew the cockhead into his lips. He swallowed it in long, sensual gulps, teased and tasted it with his tongue, and made it pop from suction when he removed it from his mouth. The Master could tell from taste alone that Maxx was ready. He had him remove the last of his garments, then guided the boy with a slight wave of his massive hand towards the far end of the wooden board. With a silver container of sacred oils, Apprentice Monroe coated the first, and smallest, of the prongs. Once slick, he straddled the bench and, with great care, lowered himself onto the first prong. As he did so, Legrand locked onto his gaze. The Master granted him a slight, steely nod and, after a long exhale, the Apprentice lowered himself down further still until the prong pushed inside his rectum. Thanks to both the lubricant of the sacred oils and the lessons from his previous masters, the boy conquered this first prong with ease. He moved up and down it, allowing the warm oil-coated shaft to stretch him. It wouldn't be discipline if the task was easy, though. Recognizing the boy's accomplishment, Legrand ordered him forward towards the next one. It was a little bigger than the first and a little longer. The sacred oil helped again as he eased himself down onto it. He took a deep breath before sliding himself up and down the rod. Then, on order from his master, the boy looked over the battlefield in front of him. The third one Apprentice Monroe conquered was wider and longer; but not yet the biggest. That honor didn't belong to the fourth one, either, which stretched him beyond what he thought he could handle, leaving him a shaking, weakened wreck. Which is why when he came to the final prong, the one closest to his Master, the boy couldn't quite take it in without losing control. It wasn't just the length, but the incredible girth! Only the most experienced of sphincters could even hope to approach this one. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing, his sweating body sliding as far as it could down the oil-slicked plug. His Master watched intently. When the boy opened his eyes again, his quivering lips admitted defeat. And that's fine, the Grandmaster thought. Life is full of hurdles to struggle against. Masters is the Brotherhood recognize that in situations like these the boys are looking for guidance from their elders. Grandmaster Legrand ordered the apprentice off the prong. The boy nodded obediently and lifted his trembling frame. His eyes glued to his Master's form. The way this DILF was sitting he was distinguished masculinity personified — and Legrand knew the effect it would have on his apprentice. A quivering erection stood upright from between the boy's legs, the head of which glistened with pre-cum from its journey down the board of prongs. The Grandmaster ordered him to get onto all fours on the bench and, with great eagerness, the boy complied. Legrand smiled as he noticed how the muscles of the boy’s ass clenched in anticipation of what was coming next. The Grandmaster had already put many of his young charges through this and was happy to have another chance to enjoy this pleasure. He thoroughly tested the cave of the boy's stretched rectum with his manly fingers. Satisfied, he rolled up his sleeves, unzipped his pants and positioned himself behind his charge. As the giant man slid himself into the tiny twink's bottom, the Apprentice gasped loudly into the boards below. Legrand thrust hard into the boy’s sweating, riled body. He withdrew before slamming back inside once more, and pumped his body again and again with carnal thrusts. The giant Master fucked the twink like this until all that boy could see was stars, and all that he could hear was the creaking of the board supporting his body. When Legrand finally came, he bred the boy with a rush of primal force. His piston caused the apprentice's eyes to roll back into his head and a shout to escape from the boy’s ragged throat. The Grandmaster eventually pulled out and, once they both recovered, the tall Master tenderly helped the trembling bottom to stand. He dressed the boy back in his original clothes, brushing out the suggestion of wrinkles with his strong palm. Legrand cuffed his own sleeves, leaned into the boy's ear, and whispered praise for the apprentice’s performance, gave advice on how he could improve for The Brotherhood, and preparations he'd need to make for his future ordination. Apprentice Monroe, still sweating and gasping, listened, nodded, and obeyed...
4. Ordination 26mn
It had not been that long since Apprentice Monroe's disciplinary rituals at the hands of Grandmaster Wolf. The Apprentice had been stretched and abused beyond measure, but not with cruelty. There had been a great hollowing out of him, yes, but that which was removed from him was doubt, and worry. In its place, directly administered into his body through The Order's orgasmic rituals, Apprentice Monroe had found his calling. He found a purpose. Which brought him to that evening's invitation. Master Figata, wearing a white suit with a crisp white button down and tie, led the boy with his large, stony hands into a room for what was pronounced as his "ordination." The room was white, bright, pristine with otherworldly energy, as if it had been plucked from a distant, previous century. There was a temple daybed, sparse furniture, and a couch. Master Figata sat down, and brought the boy with. The Master stared at the boy with a hard gaze, eyes glinting with confidence. "You know why you're here, right?" It had been sometime since this Apprentice had last seen Master Figata. The Master was the one who called him into the quiet, air conditioned hiss of the office. There, Master Figata had grilled the young apprentice as to whether or not he was attracted to men. It felt foolish to have denied the question then—doubly so now, here in the room of ordination, where he gave a very different answer. "Yes," Monroe was happy to sit on the couch, weak in the knees by being just in the presence of one of The Order’s masters. Master Figata could sense the difference in the boy's energy, the difference in his awareness of what his purpose was—both within The Order and outside it. He stripped the boy of his tie, then shirt, then trousers. Slowly, with the sanctity it deserves, Master Figata undressed the apprentice down to just a shred of garment. The boy's hardening bulge was soon free of all constraints. Free to serve its Master. Monroe had not been with many men, only those within The Order, really, but each of those moments was special to him, and charged with revelation. Since The Order had reached out, this was the first time he got to revisit a Master from his previous stage of calling, a time so long ago now that he was sure he had become a different person. Electrified he was by this, when Master Figata did strip down to his own undergarments, the boy could barely keep himself from burying his face into his Master's nether regions. There was no need to rush—Master Figata's strong grip slowed the boy, and brought his nuzzles to an obedient pace. At first, the taste of the Master was sweet, and not entirely unfamiliar. A taste he could place as one of desire, of love, of yearning. But as the Master's scent penetrated the boy's nostrils that sweet taste transformed into something far more arousing. He sucked and gagged on Master's gigantic cock, a mixture of drool and precum dribbling down his chin, until Figata was satisfied with his boy's finesse. Master Figata guided Apprentice Monroe to lie across the couch. Securing the boy's hips in his iron grip, the Master drove his tongue deep inside that young ass. He licked him hard and fast, then pulled back for a moment to look the boy in the eyes, with an expression of triumph in his face. The Apprentice was yielding, like butter, and had come so far along in his journey. With the same tool that stretched Monroe's jaw to its limit, Master Figata brought his cockhead to the boy's entrance. With one firm stroke, he was buried to the root inside the boy's tight ass. Master began thrusting slowly, the feeling of his thick tool pounding in and out of the boy's hole making them both moan in unison. His balls slapped against the young man’s ass cheeks each time the Master fully slammed inside. The pace quickened, orchestrated as much by their own passions as by the will of The Order watching over them. The spirit of The Brotherhood welled up within them both. They were a blur of thrusts, Apprentice and Master completely in sync with each other. Their bodies twisted round the leather couch until they ended up, hardon-to-hardon, frotting wildly against each other, their tongues lost in combat. Eventually, Master Figata spilled his seed, first on his stomach, and then onto the couch beneath them. When they had caught their breath, they shared a kiss. When Master Figata first took Apprentice Monroe under his wing, he had not been sure how long the boy would last—either physically, or mentally. This experienced Master wanted all that The Order had to offer this worthy apprentice. He ordained the boy's forehead and hole with the drops of his exalted Master’s seed—he knew, now more than ever, that the boy had what it takes.