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by runnerslave


Peter’s heart rate went up as he eased his car into the space before the quiet house. He looked up at the house as he shut off the engine feeling like his heart was going to race right out of his chest. Peter glanced at his reflection in the rear view mirror noting ruefully the burgeoning gray in his mustache and at his tanned temples and the age lines creeping at the corners of his mouth. He felt older than his years…not at all the rakish lover of years past…and he wondered, fleetingly, if this might be the day he would be sent away and told not to return. The thought terrified him to his very core. And the fact that he felt that way terrified…and aroused…him even more than he wanted to admit. As always when he came to this house the urge to flee came upon him as an almost palpable thing. But, as always, the need to stay…the need to make the walk up past the stately tree and ring the doorbell…more than outweighed that foolish notion. Peter glanced at his watch and a spark of panic shot through him.
He was four minutes late.
He opened the door and slipped off the smooth leather of the car’s seat. He straightened his tie, adjusted his suit coat, and walked briskly up the driveway and across the path to the front door. Peter was a man who projected great dignity and masculine grace. He was quite proud of that as a matter of fact. But he also knew, all too well, that it really didn’t matter here and now. Usually he dawdled a bit at the door but he was already late and had no time for those kinds of feints this day. A lump swelled in his throat as he pressed the doorbell, just once as he had been taught to. The seconds dragged liked hours as he waited, his breath still, for the door to open.
The door opened slowly and the man filled the open space. Peter’s heart soared but he resisted the urge to look into the man’s eyes. He didn’t have to look up, of course, because he knew the man intimately. He knew that towering bear’s face was inscrutable, his great black beard haloing the full expanse of his expressive mouth. He knew that the man’s eyes, deep and brown as the good black earth, were regarding him with a sense of casual entitlement and a bemusement that was not unkind. He knew that the breadth of the man’s massive chest was so close that he could almost feel the heat of it radiating from underneath the material of his tee shirt. He knew all this and more. Peter kept his eyes down and waited. The man took a step back and nodded almost slightly. Peter didn’t see the nod but he moved forward just the same.
The man closed the door and stood as though waiting for something to occur. Peter had been raised in an old, well-to-do, bigoted Southern family that would have dismissed the man disdainfully as a “nigra” but Peter thought of the man in whole other light. Peter, his heart pounding and his penis pulsating in his trousers, sank to his knees.
“Thank you for allowing me to serve you today, Master,” he heard himself say.
“On your feet, boy,” the man said softly. Peter again winced slightly, after all these years it still irked a part of him to be called “boy” by this black man who was 15 years his junior. But it only irked a very small part of him…in truth it always felt so very right.

The Master regarded him thoughtfully and then ran his hand across the man’s face. “Pull down your pants and bend over,” he said. Peter’s heart sank. He knew what was coming but he did as he was told. The Master moved around behind him. He felt one of the man’s powerful arms come around his body and hold him steady.
“What do you have to say, white boy?” Hot tears pushed to the edges of Peter’s eyes. “I was late, Master, I’m sorry.” There was another long pause and then he saw white as his Master’s massive hand slapped down on his naked ass. He was being spanked like an errant child…once, twice, ten times in all…and his heart soared with gratitude even as his behind screamed with pain. And then it was over. His body sighed as the Master’s hand disappeared from his body.
“Pull up your pants and go make yourself presentable,” the man said. Peter straightened up, his ass still burning red, and did as he was told. Before he could even get his pants up he could see the Master walking off towards his study.
Peter went down the hall the other way and went into the bathroom. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, quickly fixing his hair and straightening his tie. When he felt composed he took a deep breath and moved smartly back down the hall. That he went right past the front door…a door he could easily slip out of and be away…mattered to him not even a little. His Master was waiting


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