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“No” shesaid. “Then what’s wrong?” “Nothing.” She was acting verystrangely. Finally, I left… more than a little peeved.On Monday when we drove in to work, she apologized and seemedembarrassed about it. “Larry *was* there wasn’t he? How come youcouldn’t tell me?” “No, he wasn’t.” “Then what was going on?”“Well”, she said, “Larry and me play this game.” “But you said hewasn’t there!” “He wasn’t.” “What’s going on?” I was gettingfrustrated. “I’m sorry”, said Cindy, “I’ll explain. Larry and I play thisgame where …” she paused and seemed unwilling to go on. “Well, Iam… I pretend to be his slave.”I sat there in silence with my mouth hanging open. “It’s only a game”she said nervously. “He *makes* you do. I was subjected to constant pushing, shoving, and smothering by him. I was always up against a wall or on the ground being completely swamped by his huge body.Morgan was a big guy, and by the time he was seventeen already stood six foot three inches tall, weighing two hundred and twenty pounds. My small one hundred and thirty pound body was no match for him. What made matters worse, was that his personal hygiene was not exactly exemplary. He was always smelly and sweaty, with his smoker’s breath constantly in my face as his huge grubby hands relentlessly tormented my head.I was frequently aware of his stiff cock rubbing against me during my torture sessions, and felt sure that he derived some or other sexual pleasure from his supremacy over me. He always referred to me as ‘Slave-Boy,’ during these encounters. Morgan was quite sexy, but his severe acne condition was a major turn-off for me. Graduating from high school was therefore a relief, as I was finally rid of my persecutor.Over.
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