The Interview | APPRENTICE DUCATI | Chapter 1

I’ve come to realize that I’m a little different from the other masters here. I’ve been described as an eccentric, a loner, a radical. I’m aware that I speak English with an accent. In my head, of course, I think I sound like everyone around me, but as soon as I open my mouth to someone new, I’m asked about my accent. I’ve always wanted to respond with: “Knowledge is power and I am a man of mystery.”

My task is to interview potential new recruits. In the process of assessing them, I’m expected to put each of them through their paces. I know from the moment they walk into the chamber if they have what it takes to become an apprentice, and my instinct has not yet been proven wrong. My methods are unique. I do not remove my clothes. I never spill my own seed. I derive great pleasure from my actions but mental stimulation, for me, is far more powerful than anything physical.

Many of the boys are on edge when they arrive. They have no idea what to expect, either from the interview or from the apprenticeship; it is my task to initiate them into the ways of The Order. They must demonstrate malleability, submissiveness, openness, willingness, tenacity; but, more than anything else, their bodies must desire the touch of a dominant man.

Apprentice Ducati was a young man that I instantly understood. I knew immediately that his interview would be successful and that I would be recommending him without hesitation. He was polite, very open, very handsome, somewhat innocent and nervous—but there was a steeliness about him which I found intriguing.

I took him through the standard questions. We tend not to deviate from them. It enables us to judge all potential recruits on an even keel and the questions are specially written to provide all the information we require. They are of a sexual nature and are designed to make the boys feel uncomfortable. We ask them if they like the company of men, if they touch themselves, if they’ve looked at pornography and so forth.

I was intrigued by Ducati’s answer to the question of whether he’d ever masturbated. Most boys, predictably, say no. Probably because they think they should; but, most of them are lying. Ducati, interestingly, told me that he “didn’t think” he’d masturbated which was definitely not the response of someone who was attempting to obfuscate.

I asked Apprentice Ducati if he’d ever been attracted to older men and unsurprisingly, he said he hadn’t. I asked if he was willing to prove this and he agreed without hesitation.

I told him to stand and undress. His face fell. I don’t know what he was expecting me to say, but it probably wasn’t that. He thought for a moment, looking carefully into my eyes, I suspect to see if I was serious. I was impressed, however, when he dutifully stood and began to undo his tie. He was plainly nervous, very nervous, but he did not cower and he did not falter. He was determined, and I liked that.

He removed his shirt. He was in good shape. He plainly works out and keeps himself fit. He stood, looking a little ashamed, holding his hand defensively in front of his crotch. I took it gently and pushed it to his side before taking the buckle of his belt and very slowly undoing it. I could see that he was shaking, but he made no attempt to stop me. I pulled the belt from his slacks. I love the feeling of leather in my hands. I love the power that comes from just holding a belt. A belt is many things. It exists to make a man look smart and masculine. When held, a belt becomes a powerful plaything.

It was silent in the room. Every squeak and rustle of clothing seemed amplified beyond all reckoning. I casually dropped his belt and reached for the fastening of his slacks. His body instantly tensed up. He knew, I knew he was hard. He’d been hard from the moment he stood up. I pushed his pants down a little way, just enough to expose the exceptionally impressive bulge in his garments. He looked anxious—and why wouldn’t he? I’d just exposed him as a liar or discovered a secret about him which he may not even have known himself. The stakes were high.

From that moment on, my task was simply to make him desperate for my touch. Ducati was clearly attracted to me, or at least turned on by my actions, but it was also clear that he had never experienced anything like this before.

I told him to sit and he sank into his chair looking utterly dejected. Again, and now somewhat unsuccessfully, he attempted to hold his hands over his giant bulge. I began to touch his legs and he shivered. Identifying a young man’s erogenous zones is the speediest way to break down his barriers. The poor boy was trying desperately to regulate his breathing, but it was all too much for him. There are times when I look at an apprentice and feel a deep emotional connection with him and this was one of those times. This boy was special and his induction needed to be a tender one.

He made no objection to my tying his hands behind the chair. Once incapacitated, a young man is often more readily opened up to eroticism. He no longer needs to think that he would be able to prevent what is happening by batting someone’s hand aside or simply walking away. His only barrier now is his mind.

I touched him all over until he was trembling uncontrollably. Goose bumps forming on his arms and thighs, his big dick like a rod of iron in his stark white garments. I pulled his member out and applied saliva to its tip. He groaned deeply. I ran my hand up and down his shaft. He began to gasp. I looked at him. He smiled weakly. He was mine.

Saliva turned into oils which I allowed to drip down the length of his cock until my giant hands were able to glide up and down its shaft with zero friction. He bit his lip, then closed his eyes and threw his head back, still terrified that he was not permitted to feel such levels of arousal.

I spread his legs wide and pulled him to the front of the chair so that his ass was exposed. I then pushed an oily finger into his hole. He was tight, but he clearly found this new sensation to his liking. I pulled out my dildo and ran it over his body. He knew that it was destined for his ass, but I wanted to see his hole twitching before I gave him what he so clearly wanted. I pushed it into his mouth and he took it, without choking. I told him to spit on it, to make it nice and wet, and he obeyed.

Then I pushed the dildo slowly into his hole. He resisted for a while. The thought was exciting but frightening. Nothing had ever been pushed up there before. But then he yielded to me, gritting his teeth bravely, trying to breathe deeply as the dildo slowly inched its way into him. Once he’d got over the shock, I was able to toy with him, tapping the dildo with my signet ring and sending electric shocks of pure delight through his body.

It was a pleasure to watch his face—to watch him attempting to comprehend what was happening—that feeling of his body engulfing his mind, his penis taking control. The moaning and groaning intensified. They grew louder and louder as the semen began to rise in his balls. And then, just like that, he exploded, all over my hand and his belly, clearly not understanding that his entire life had just turned a huge corner. This boy will make every single one of the masters here incredibly happy and he is destined to become a remarkable apprentice.