The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The continuation of The Milk Bar—Chapter 16

Master Burt led Greg back down the hall and down the stairs. He’d had to crawl up the stairs on his hands and knees when he’d been brought up for his “debut” milking, but fortunately, Master Burt permitted him to walk down the stairs upright. As soon as they got to the bottom though, Master barked “Down!” and Greg dropped back to all fours. His head hung as he crawled and he got his direction from the tugs on the leash, for he was too exhausted from his session with Master Steve to even look to see where he was going. He knew that Master Burt would be taking him back to his stall and, like a tired draft horse, all he longed for was food, water and sleep.

His breakdown during the session came flooding back to him. How could he have behaved that way? Would he be punished for his lapse? Master Steve had assured him that he wouldn’t be, but he couldn’t be sure that Delaney would observe Master Steve’s wishes, or that he hadn’t just told him that while intending to lodge a complaint with Delaney. Only time would tell, and right now, he was too tired to worry about it.

Master Burt led him back to his stall where, as was expected, he begged for his enhancers, which were, by now demonstrating the desired effects: his cock was always erect. That made the begging more difficult because he had to be careful to place his hard dick so that it pointed up his Master’s leg, otherwise, it would have been a painful encounter. After he’d swallowed his enhancers (dry, as usual) he was fed and watered and he lay down on the clean straw to sleep. But he couldn’t sleep. He kept think about how Master Steve had spoken to him and what he’d said. He was so gentle and understanding, observing that Greg had been coddling his internalized homophobia for a long time and that it was bound to have repercussions once he’d accepted that he was gay. Greg realized that he’d never considered that before. All his life, he’d been taught that gay men were worse than scum. And every time he’d thought about anything “gay”, he’d felt a physical pang in his chest. Now he understood why; because he’d been taught to hate himself and what he was but was never able to admit. All those years of anger and self-hatred had come rushing to the surface in that scene where he’d acted out his own hostility toward his own kind. No wonder he’d broken down! As he lay there on the straw he whispered “I’m gay and I’m proud of it. I like myself,” and tears of relief filled his closing eyes. At last, he slept.

He was awakened by a booted toe at his groin. “Up slave. It’s time to get up. There are things to do and places to go. Get up!” Master Burt was pressing on his balls with his foot. Quickly, he roused himself and knelt up for his Master. After begging for his enhancers and wolfing down his food and water, Master Burt leashed him and led him to the bathing room. He climbed up on the seatless toilet and relieved himself. When he was finished, he placed his hands on his shins and raised his ass off the rim so that Master could wipe him clean. When he felt the stinging slap to his butt, he knew he was ready and dropped back down to the floor. Since he’d been prepared for his “coming out” the day before, he wasn’t in need of shaving, his pubes and ass being completely smooth, Master Burt had also shaved his armpits, not wanting to remove the considerable forest of fur coating his chest, since many of the Milk Bar’s customers liked to suck in man teats surrounded by fur. Besides, if the highest bidder had wanted his man-cow shaved, he’d probably enjoy doing it himself or watching it being done. There was almost nothing so humiliating for a man with a hairy chest as losing that proud sign of his manhood. And humiliation was certainly an integral part of any milking scene.

Master Burt removed his collar and instructed him to climb into the shower and bathe. “Don’t touch your dick though. I will wash that.” “Yes Sir. Thank you Sir.” Dutifully, Greg climbed into the shower and washed. He shampooed his hair and then soaped his body, all except for his cock and balls. He relished the thrill running up and down his spine as his hands slipped over his erect nipples. When he was covered with soap, he turned to his Master. “Sir, please. I’m ready.” Master Burt, who was seated nearby, came over and took some of the soap from the dispenser. “Present!” he ordered. Greg stood at parade rest, his hands behind his back, his now always-erect cock sticking straight out in front of him. Master Burt grabbed hold of his cock and soaped him down. Greg’s knees nearly buckled at the touch of his Master’s hand. “Don’t come, boy!” Master Burt ordered as he slid his hand up and down Greg’s slick rod. “N-n-no Sir,” Greg shivered out, closing his eyes and groaning while his Master massaged his cock clean. Then, Burt took his heavy balls in his other hand and rolled them around, ostensibly to clean them as well. “P-p-please S-s-sir. Pleeeeez. Don’t do anymore Sir. Pleeeez.” Greg’s cock was throbbing; he tried to focus on anything else and concentrated on locking his sphincter shut to avoid spilling his milk. At the moment he thought he’d lose it, Master Burt released him and slapped his ass cheek with a soapy hand. “OK boy. You’re done. Now rinse off and get dried.” Gratefully, Greg turned to face the stream of water. He grabbed the tap for the hot water and turned it all the way off. As the warm stream suddenly turned frigid, he sucked in his breath and his need subsided.

Lt. Barber climbed out of the shower and toweled dry. “Present,” Master Burt ordered and Greg assumed the submissive position, hands clasped behind his back, feet apart, exposing his genitals, head bowed. “Follow me!” For a moment, Greg was thrown off by the order. He’d come to expect being leashed and made to follow his Master on all fours. But Master hadn’t ordered him down, nor had he leashed him. He stood there stunned. “Follow boy!” Burt barked and Greg hurried to catch up to him, walking naked behind him down the hall. They turned into a room Greg hadn’t been in before. It was basically a locker room with metal lockers lining the walls. “This is the man-cow locker room. This is where your clothing will be kept while you’re serving at the Milk Bar. You’re number thirty nine. You’ll notice it’s that last locker here. That’s because you’re the most junior slave. As you advance and others are added to the herd, you may move up. I’m number one. That’s never changed and probably never will, as long as I’m able to serve here.” “Yes Sir. Thank you Sir.” “Now open your locker and get out your clothes. Place them on the bench and then present again.” Greg quickly obeyed. Inside the locker, he found a new set of clothes, all just his size. He laid them on the bench and then turned to present himself to his Master.

Master Burt walked up to the naked cop-slave and wrapped a chain collar around his neck, locking it in place with a small padlock. “You will wear this at all times,” Burt said a-matter-of-factly. “Yes Sir,” Greg murmured. Then Burt pulled on his right tit and inserted the three-quarter ring that Master Steve had given to him the previous night. “This is a gift to you from your first customer. He wanted you to wear it as a mark of his being the first to take you.” Greg stared down at the gold ring. “Thank you Sir,” he said, “and please thank Master Steve for me.” Next, Master Burt buckled a belt around Greg’s waist. There was a snap in front and one in back. Master Burt brought out another belt with a large hole near one end and snapped it to the front snap. “Bend,” he barked and Greg complied, bending and grabbing his ass cheeks, knowing that was expected. As he thought, Master Burt inserted a lubricated butt plug into his hole. Then he reached between the cop’s legs, pulled the belt back, fitting his cock and balls through the hole and snapped it in place in back. “You are permitted to remove this to shit, to wash and while working out at the gym. Otherwise, you’re expected to wear it at all times. Understood?” “Yes Sir. I’m to wear this at all times. Thank you Sir.” “Good boy,” Burt said and landed a palm on his bare butt. Finally, Burt fitted him with a chrome ball-weight ring. It weighed a pound and stretched his already low-hangers even farther down his thigh. “Now you can get dressed,” Burt said and left the room.

Greg looked at his reflection in the full-length mirror fixed to wall. The ring in his tit glinted from amidst the coating of dark brown fur on his chest. The belt encircling his waist accentuated his nakedness while the one running between his legs emphasized his enlarged endowments, framing them in black leather. The heavy ring around his balls proclaimed his servitude and his complete lack of ownership over his own body. His cock throbbed at the thought and he almost reached out to touch it. But he remembered that it wasn’t his to touch and after fingering his nipple ring and twisting his left tit, he turned to get dressed.

He then realized that there was no undershirt in his locker. He figured that they didn’t want him covering his assets too well. This way, his erect nipples would always show through his shirt. As he buttoned the shirt, he realized that it was made of a fabric that was more sheer than he was accustomed to. He could actually see the outlines of his chest hair through the fabric. It hid nothing. Then he noticed that they’d given him boxers to wear. That made sense; it would allow him to wear the ball-weight more comfortably, not that they cared much about his comfort! What it really meant was that the ball-weight could do its job better, stretching his balls father down his leg He pulled on the slacks and realized that they were cut with a much fuller crotch than usual, while being tight in the seat. Once again, the Milk Bar had demonstrated its practicality. The tight seat showed off his butt, while the generous crotch permitted his balls and heavy cock adequate room. At the same time, his gifts were well-displayed, the fabric of the trousers having enough room to prevent binding, but having adequate stretch to show his clear outlines.

Lt. Barber buckled his belt and pulled on the jacket, finding his badge, identification, wallet, credit cards and gun inside. If he hadn’t known better, he might have sworn that the last two weeks had been a dream. But he knew with certainty they were not; the penetration up his ass, the ring pressing into his chest and the stretch of his ball-sack assured him that it was all very real. As did the certainty that he’d found his true nature: a gay man who was born to serve; born to be a slave, to be dominated by other men.

When he’d finished dressing, Lt. Greg Barber, City Police, opened the door to the locker room. Master Burt was waiting outside. Out of habit, Greg assumed the parade rest position, his head down, his hands clasped behind his back, his legs spread. “Follow me,” Burt ordered and strode off in the direction of Mr. Delaney’s office. Greg followed along behind him. Burt knocked on the door and entered the room. Delaney, who was seated behind his desk, rose and walked around it, meeting Greg as he approached. Once again, Greg assumed the submissive posture and waited silently.

“Well lieutenant. Your buyer is very enthusiastic about you. I probably shouldn’t tell you that, but I think you should know that you have a very happy customer who’s very much interested in making use of you again and has left some requests for additional training.” “Thank you Sir,” Greg said. “But for now,” Delaney went on, “you need some time to integrate. Your Master mentioned that we need to be more aware of the emotional impacts of bringing a more mature man out. There’s going to be a lot of baggage you bring with you and we need to give you some time to work some of that through. So we’re sending you back to work for the time being. Your superiors have been told that you had a family emergency and needed to go away suddenly. Now, the crisis has been resolved and you are returning to work. When we think you’re ready to return for further training, we’ll be in touch. Questions?” Greg thought this over for a moment, trying to anticipate whatever problems his sudden disappearance and reappearance might raise. He couldn’t think of any as long as he stuck to the story Delaney had given him and didn’t go into it too deeply. “How will you get in touch with me Sir?” “Don’t worry. We know where you are. And we know how to get you back. You’ve been programmed like a little homing pigeon to return to us when we call. And we will call. Have a good day, lieutenant.” And with that, Delaney wheeled and went back to his work. “Yes Sir. Thank you Sir,” Greg said quietly and left the room, following Master Burt.

Master Burt led him through the empty bar with the posts, stocks and pillories lining the walls and tucked away in booths. When they reached the door, Burt turned to him. “Your car is outside. Here are your keys. Let me walk you out.” Burt opened the door and the bright sunlight streamed into the dark room. Greg realized he hadn’t glimpsed the sun and sky in two weeks as he squinted in the bright light. As the door closed behind them, Burt looked at him again, a look in his eyes Greg had never seen. He handed Greg a slip of paper. “This is my cell phone. If you need me, call me. I shouldn’t be doing this, but I’m worried about you. So don’t forget; call me.” Greg took the slip of paper and put into his wallet. “Thank you Sir,” he said and started to turn away. Suddenly, Burt grabbed his arm. “Call me!” he said urgently, “Don’t forget.” And he turned and went back into the darkness of the Milk Bar, leaving Greg blinking in the sun.

The Milk Bar—Chapter 17

Greg was heading across town toward Police Headquarters and City Hall. Everything seemed so different now. His eyes were pulled toward the men walking along the streets, sizing them up as he drove. He’d definitely had a change in his reality; men were at the center of his focus now.

He approached the parking garage for Police Headquarters/City Hall and drove in, searching for a parking space a police lieutenant could use. He might have a great title in the outside world, but here, he was near the bottom of the heap. City officials, commissioners, deputy-mayors, police captains, and there were many of them, all took precedence over a police lieutenant.

As Greg wound his way up through the garage, he noticed an altercation down one of the aisles. He flipped on his flashing headlights and screamed toward the group of men scuffling at the far end of the row of parked cars. As he flew out of his car, his gun drawn, shouting “Police!", he noticed that one well-dressed man was surrounded by a group of young toughs. When they saw Greg coming, one of them turned, slugged their victim in the gut, doubling him over. Then he pulled out a knife and turned to face Greg. “Put the knife down. Don’t be stupid. I don’t want to hurt.” Suddenly the kid lunged and slashed at him with the knife. Greg spun to avoid the blade, grabbed his attacker’s arm, twisting it behind his back, forcing him to drop the knife. But the kid had a few tricks of his own. He brought his heel down on the arch of Greg’s foot and spun around to face him when Greg released his grip. He kicked Greg in the groin, making contact with his exposed, weighted balls. Greg saw stars and collapsed on his knees, clutching his assaulted testicles. Fortunately, he heard the sound of a running retreat as the gang dispersed down the stairs.

Greg holstered his gun and staggered to his feet and moved toward the victim of the mugging, who was still doubled-over and gasping for breath. Greg reached him and asked him if he was alright. The man straightened a little, still pulling for air. He had a look of desperation on his face. “Relax,” said Greg, putting an arm around his shoulders. “Just concentrate on relaxing. The breath will come. Don’t work so hard at it.” As he said this, he looked the man over, checking for any wounds. He noticed no injuries, but he did notice whom he had rescued. It was James Downing, senior deputy mayor. . He was in his mid- to late-thirties, about Greg’s height, 6′1″, well-built; well-but not overly muscled. He had strong, masculine hands with clean, well-manicured nails. His wrists had a coating of dark brown fur, indicating fur elsewhere on his body. And on his left hand was a broad wedding-band. Greg had always admired Downing whenever he’d seen him at news conferences or around City Hall. He was certainly a looker! A strong jaw with a hint of five o’clock shadow and strong features. He had dark brown, almost black eyes that bored right through a man. His hair was thick, but cut short with a hint of gray in the temples. His clothes fit him perfectly, indicating that they may have been tailored just for him. His dark blue tie was the perfect shade against the light blue, French-cuffed shirt that he wore. Straight-forward, understated shoes and gray socks finished the look.

Downing, bracing himself with his hands on his knees began to breathe again. “Thank you officer,” he husked out breathily. “I didn’t know.what they’d do. They wanted..my car. Stupid punks..Thought they could..steal an official vehicle.. God,.is this what they’re graduating.from our public schools today?” He began to breathe a little more easily and straightened to look at his rescuer. As he took Greg in, a cloud momentarily passed across his eyes. “Well, well,” he murmured and turned away to rearrange his clothes. When he turned back to Greg, he was completely composed, holding out his hand. “Jim Downing, deputy mayor. And who am I going to commend to the Police Commissioner?” “Uh, um, Greg Barber, lieutenant,” Greg stammered. What was it about this man that affected him this way? He felt a throbbing thrill in his groin. It wasn’t just that the deputy mayor was a very sexy man; there was something else; an echoing, a resonance in him that responded to the man he’d rescued. But he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

Downing was holding out his hand. Lt. Barber reached out his own and took it. “Thank you, Lt. Barber.” “My pleasure sir. All part of the service,” he said as the deputy mayor squeezed his hand. “I will be mentioning this to the Police Commissioner. I think it’s certainly worthy of note. As I said, I don’t know what they’d have done. At least a couple of them had knives. I guess I’m just lucky the guy that slugged me didn’t stab me instead.” “Well, yes sir. Maybe they had at least some smarts. They realized that with a cop on prem, they’d be real stupid to try to kill you. But I got a look at a couple of the guys, so we’ll get some patrolmen out looking for them. Don’t need that kind of shit going on in the garage. Guess we’d better step up security too.” “Count on that! I’ll see to that myself. Well, thanks again. Talk to you soon.” And with that, deputy mayor Downing turned and walked toward the elevators. Greg stood there, staring at him as he walked away. Somehow, he knew this man. He knew him better than just having seen him around City Hall. But how? Where? He just couldn’t figure it out. Downing looked back and waved as he entered the elevator.

Finally, Greg shook his head and headed for the stairs. His own office was just one flight up, so he’d walk.

Entering the outer office at Police Headquarters, friends and co-workers called out to him. “Hey Barber! How’s it going?” “Greg, how’re you doing? Everything OK?” Yes, Greg assured them, things were fine now. It had been a difficult time, but everything had worked out. If only they’d known how difficult it had been and what had happened to him over the past couple of weeks! Everyone seemed appropriately concerned, but not overly curious, which relieved him immensely. He didn’t want to talk to any prying busybodies right now. He was still a little off-balance from his time at the Milk Bar, from his self-discovery, from Burt’s parting words and his encounter with Jim Downing.

He spent the morning organizing the backed-up paperwork and answering polite queries from co-workers and fellow officers as word got around the Lt. Barber was back in the saddle. He’d always been a popular guy: easy-going, smart, articulate, a good listener and very good looking. There were a number of the single women around Headquarters who had tried to get on his radar screen. But he always had his mind on his work and none had been successful, beyond a couple of casual dates and invitations to some department social functions. He accepted an offer from a co-worker to pick up a take out lunch and ate at his desk, reviewing cases and evidence lists. Around 1:00, Capt. Smithson came out of his office. “Barber!” “Yes sir.” “The Mayor’s office just called. He wants to see you in fifteen minutes.” “Sir?” “Don’t stand there with your mouth open. Get your jacket on and get over there! You have just enough time.” “Yes sir. Right away.” Greg slipped on his jacket and hurried across the plaza to City Hall.

Greg strode into the mayoral reception area. “Lt. Barber. The Mayor has asked me to report.” Greg was mystified. Why had the Mayor asked to see him? If he was in trouble, surely, that would have been left to the Commissioner and his Captain. Rather than sitting in the seat offered him to wait in, he stood, pacing back and forth. After a few minutes that seemed hours to him, the Mayor’s assistant opened the door and called him in. Mayor Smithson, seated behind his desk, rose and proffered his hand as Greg entered the room. “Lt. Barber. Thanks for coming by. Downing was telling me about your bravery on your first day back.” Just then, Greg noticed Jim Downing standing to the side of the Mayor’s desk, smiling at Greg. Greg smiled back as Downing winked at him, then took the Mayor’s hand. “Thank you sir. As I said to Mr. Downing, it’s all part of the service.” “Yes, yes, I know. And you’re certainly one of our finest.” Dropping his voice a little, the Mayor asked “How is everything? Everything OK on the home front? We heard that there was a crisis.” “Fine Mr. Mayor. Thanks for asking.” How did the Mayor know about that? How did the Mayor even know he existed? He held the Mayor’s gaze for a moment. The Mayor was a ruggedly handsome man. Reddish-brown hair, hazel eyes set in craggy features. He was about 6 foot, two, weighing about 200 pounds. For a man in his early fifties, he looked healthy and younger than his years, in spite of the sprinkling of gray through his thick hair.

As Greg moved his attention from the Mayor, he realized that Downing was speaking. “and I can’t say enough about how well Lt. Downing performed under surprising and difficult circumstances.” As he spoke, Greg was once more reminded of the ache in his balls. Strange, it reminded him a little of the ache he’d felt at the Milk Bar, when forced to hold his load for days at a time. He looked at Downing and felt that stirring in his groin. His dick was perpetually firm, but now it turned rock-hard, pressed against his belly by his pants. “Thank you sir,” he said and, beaming, shook the hand Downing held out to him. Downing held on to his hand and pressed it tightly in his own strong grip. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am,” he said and looked deeply into Greg’s eyes. Greg knew he was looking into the eyes of a superior and dropped his gaze. “It’s all part of the service sir,” he said quietly as Downing released him from his grip.

They exchanged a few more words and Downing walked to Greg, putting his arm around his shoulder. He guided him out of the office. “You don’t have any plans for this evening do you? Let’s you and me have a drink,” Downing said as they left the Mayor’s office. It was more than an invitation. “That would make me very happy,” Greg replied, smiling. “Good. I’ll stop by for you around 6:30. See you then.” “Yes sir. Thank you sir.”

The rest of the day dragged by, filled with routine problems and obstacles. And since he didn’t have his former focus, it made it that much more difficult and tedious. All he could think about was Jim Downing. How did he know him? Why was Downing so interested in him? Could he be..?

At last, 6:30 arrived and, sure enough, there was Jim Downing at the door. “Come on Barber. Get a move on. There’s somewhere special I want to take you. Let’s go.” “Yes sir. Sorry sir.” Greg hurried to straighten his desk, pulled on his jacket and headed for the door. Downing clapped an arm around his shoulder, laughing as they exited the building. “Let’s take my car,” Downing said. I have more parking privileges that you do. No brag, just fact,” he laughed and Greg agreed, climbing into Downing’s Lincoln with official plates.

Downing drove through the crowded streets heading toward the older part of town. Greg knew that this was one of the centers of gay life in this metropolis. He pulled into a garage and they climbed out of the car. “Good evening Mr. Downing. How long will you be?” “About an hour, Jorge. Thanks.” He led Greg down the street and into a quiet bar. “Good evening Mr. Downing. Would you like your usual table?” “Please Dan. Bring us a bottle of the Veuve Cliquot.” Greg raised an eyebrow. He’d heard of the champagne, but certainly never had a bottle of it.

The host led them back to the back of the bar where there were several more-private booths. Downing indicated a seat to Greg and sat opposite him. “Mr. Downing.” “Please Greg, call me Jim.” “Jim? OK. But I’m not sure why you’re showing me all this attention. What I did was only in the line of duty. My oath is to serve and protect.” “Or is it more like ‘to serve and obey’?” Greg stared at him, his mouth open, completely stunned. “S-s-sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about? Why would you say such a thing?” Downing reached across the table and slid his hand inside Greg’s jacket, sliding the backs of his fingers up and down the right side of his chest, bumping over the ring in his right tit. “It’s not every cop that has a nipple ring in his right tit,” Downing smiled. “But sir. Jim. I thought you were married?” “What if I were? Weren’t you once? Anyway, I’m not. I wear the ring to discourage the horny women out there who want nothing more than to be hooked up with power. So as I was saying, aren’t you sworn to serve and obey?” “Yes Sir,” Greg said, dropping his eyes. He knew now; this man was a Master. He also felt he knew that Jim Downing was somehow connected to the Milk Bar, but he still couldn’t put the pieces together.

The host brought the bottle of champagne in a bucket and slowly uncorked it, taking care not to shoot the cork out as is so commonly done. He was wise enough to know that the bubbles belonged in the wine, not in the air or on the floor. He poured the magic wine into two flutes and presented them to the two men. Jim Downing raised his glass toward Greg, then tipped it back into his mouth. Greg followed suit, keeping his eyes on Downing’s face as he drank. “Sir, may I ask a question?” “Go ahead.” “What are your intentions Sir?” “I’ve been watching you a long time and admired you from a distance. When you finally discovered your true nature, I was very pleased because I think you’re a very sexy man and have marvelous potential for submissive service. Now I want to court you and teach you.” “Court me, Sir?” “A Master-slave relationship, to my way of thinking, should be one of mutual agreement. I’m not interested in coercing you, although I could. I want you to submit willingly and joyfully. I want to see if we can make a life together.” Greg was silent for a long time, studying the tablecloth, his mind racing. Finally, he spoke. “I don’t know what to say, Sir. I’m frightened and I’m flattered,” he whispered. “Not to worry. I’m not looking for an answer right now. As I said, I want to court you. There’ll be plenty of time for decisions later. I think you’ll find that this is a decision you won’t have to consciously make. You’ll see it as it happens.” Greg looked up at him, startled. He didn’t know what to make of a statement like that. But somehow, it eased and settled his mind. “Yes Sir,” he answered, dropping his eyes and picking up his wine glass.

Downing asked him to talk about his self-discovery. He reviewed his capture at the Milk Bar, how he was bound, shaved and forced to take rohypnol. There was a blank spot in his memory where he couldn’t recall what had happened to him. He remembered coming back to himself, being bound to a post and brought off by Delaney after an extended period of stimulation. He came to the realization that he was gay and realizing that, at the Milk Bar, he was accepted and welcomed. They’d taught him many things about how to give pleasure to men. Finally, he’d been auctioned off to the highest bidder who had taken him through a scene that brought him to a momentary breakdown as his internalized homophobia had surfaced with a fury. Fortunately, his buyer had been understanding and helpful. As he related these last things, Greg’s eyes were drawn to Downing’s. He knew those eyes. Was Downing his buyer? Was Downing his Master? His eyes had fluttered briedfly as Greg mentioned his breakdown, but otherwise, he showed only gentle concern. Greg wished he could remember but he couldn’t and that frustrated him.

“Thank you for sharing this with me. It shows me how far you’ve come in your journey of self-acceptance. It’s not easy, especially for a grown man in the line of work you’re in. But you have come a long ways. Accepting your need to serve is also a significant step. There’s still a lot you have to learn, but I’m willing and eager to help you. For instance.” By this time, Downing had slipped his foot out of his shoe and was pressing the sole of his foot against Greg’s trapped balls, using his toes to stroke his rigid dick. As Greg started squirming, Downing ordered him to press his body against the table. Then he reached across and took Greg’s tits in his fingers. Greg began to moan as Jim twisted and kneaded his nips. “Please Sir,” Greg moaned, “Please.” “Come on. We’re going to my place,” Downing said and, slipping his foot back into his shoe, rose from the table and walked out of the bar with Greg trailing behind him.