The untrained eye would look at Clayton and assume that this boy would become top of the world. But there wasn't a “top” bone in Clayton's body. And only the analytical eyes of an expert like Master Kamp could see this truth.

Master Kamp ran his hands over the wide lats of Clayton's broad back as the boy let out a slow breath through his teeth. He loved the way Clayton’s muscles moved. They were large, coiled with power, but subservient. Clayton yielded to the Master's large, probing hands like butter to the knife.

Master Kamp lifted up the boy's gray sweater and revealed two heavy, large pecs which heaved with his desperate breath. “What high quality beef,” Kamp thought with a smile. He tweaked and kneaded the boy's smooth nipples, pulling on them until they were hard and taut. He continued to undress the boy until he was completely exposed and vulnerable.

Kamp felt Clayton quiver. He could tell that the large young man was so eager to be used. He gripped the boy's head roughly and pushed him onto a pedestal in the center of the darkened room, directly underneath the looming present light source. It cast long shadows over their bodies.

The boy assumed an obedient form on all fours—Kamp was pleased to see how naturally Clayton slipped into the correct position.

He slapped the jock's ass. Clayton's mew was somewhere between ecstasy and surprise. Kamp knew that that was Clayton's true voice, and he wondered how long the football star had waited for a real man like the grizzled Master Kamp to smack that sound out of him.

Kamp rubbed oil across the boy's muscles. He noted that Clayton's strong, smooth legs were so nicely toned, meaty and powerful and ready to absorb anything dealt to them.

Master Kamp let his hands slide over the boy's firm butt cheeks. He measured their circumference with rough squeezes, then pushed his thumb towards Clayton's hole. He circled it slowly then began to probe. The boy gripped the fabric of the pedestal and accepted Master's fingering.

Kamp, his stoic face breaking into a pleased smile from behind his beard, worked another slicked-up finger in. He pressed gently against the ring of muscle. He felt the tightness around his knuckle and the warmth of the beyond.

"Good boy," Kamp muttered before delivering a reaffirming swat to Clayton's meaty rear.

With evidence that the boy's quivering hole knew how to behave, Master Kamp rolled up his sleeves and withdrew a clear glass wand.

He pushed the tapered end slowly into Clayton's rear, whose voice broke in a cry of pleasure. His body did not resist, but instead opened up to his new Master's whims. His knees slid and spread his legs further to take as much of the object as Master Kamp was interested in inserting into him.

Kamp, with a low laugh, was more than happy to give Clayton what his whole body desired. The Master drew it in-and-out a couple of times before slapping the boy's ass with enough force to make it sting. He gave one last thrust of the toy before pulling it out of the young man's ass and coating it in another layer of oil.

"On your back, boy," Kamp grunted. The blonde boy-toy flipped over immediately, nodding with happy abandon.

Kamp rolled Clayton onto his sexy shoulders, like a pinned opponent in a wrestling match, and brought the wand back to Clayton's hole. He locked eyes with his acquisition, and just the glance alone of the bear-like superior made Clayton shudder with joy and surrender.

Kamp felt like he had conquered some great beast, and tamed it merely with the grip of his hands. That strong grip pushed the boy's legs over his shoulders. With his other hand, he worked the wand in and out in slow, deep waves.

The blond boy moaned loudly with every thrust, his whole body twitching in anticipation. When Master Kamp reached back to slap him on the ass, the jock grunted with labored lust. Kamp recognized Clayton’s love of domination, especially by powerful men, will be worth so much to potential future buyers when the jock goes on the auction block.

Clayton began to stroke himself, his eyes swirling in his head from the hypnotic combination of the wand's pressure on his prostate and the spanking Kamp was giving him. Kamp kissed at the boy's thighs, calves, the soles of his feet, and even sucked the waving digits of his curled toes. Everything—every touch of this domination—broke the boy's voice and lolled his tongue. “Oh,” Kamp thought, “what a beautiful specimen I have found.”

Sensing that the boy's prostate would soon yield, Kamp knew there was but one hole left to test. He lowered the boy's legs down, allowing his jock body to drape across the podium. With one hand, the Master maintained the wand's rhythm into his rear. With the other, he shoved two strong fingers into the boy’s mouth, simulating the face-fucking he knew the boy needed and deserved. In and out, he pushed his fingers, smothering the boy's face with his own drool.

Eventually, Clayton erupted, smearing himself with a long-denied release. Kamp laughed.

As the stream of seed eventually subsided from Clayton's cock, Master Kamp pulled back, exhaled, and admired another body well-broken. He wiped the sweat off Clayton’s forehead with a towel and tossed it onto the boy’s crumpled, panting body. Clayton would have a few moments to rest after his intense orgasm, but this was merely an introduction to his new life. Kamp was sure the boy could handle more, still. And certainly, he would.