The bondage eventually became painful, of course, and then I went mostly numb and stopped feeling it. All I could think about was Stephen’s taste in my mouth. His cum, piss, and spit, I’d had them all in one go. The only things left to taste were his sweat, tears, blood, and shit. I felt that I’d as soon pass on the last two, but I fantasized giving him a tonguebath after he’d worked up a good sweat flogging me. As for tears, I couldn’t imagine what might cause him to cry in my presence, and I didn’t want to find out, either.

When he returned (assuming he’d left) and released me from the ropes, rubbing my arms and legs with his gloved hands to restore full circulation, I just kept looking at him, marveling at his youth, his confidence, his deftness in handling me. The deference I accorded the Master did not seem to apply to him, a fellow slave, and yet his use of me had placed him far above me. Even without my rule of silence, what could I say to him? My feelings were still too new, too confused to articulate.

Stephen was in no such confusion. He held my head and kissed me again, then smiled and pressed my face down onto his boots.

“All right, slave. Show me how you lick boot leather.”

It was as if he’d thrown a switch, releasing me to show the feelings I couldn’t speak. I slobbered all over his tall boots, covering them with my spit and happy tears, rattling my chains until he finally put a stop to it, saying, “That’s enough, bootdog, enough for now. You’ll have plenty more chances to worship my boots. I’m nowhere near through with you.”

That was a turning point between us, especially after I reported the incident to the Master in my journal and he made no comment. Stephen was clearly acting within his limits, so in serving Stephen I was also serving the Master. That’s all I needed to quiet any misgivings about being a slave’s slave.

Stephen visits me now almost every day, and he always uses me before he leaves. It isn’t always oral service, either. A few weeks ago, after gleefully tormenting my nipples for an hour or more, he turned me over and fucked my ass for even longer, again with no condom, just like the Master.

He’s also training me to take larger and larger toys up my chute, and now when he leaves he usually installs a butt plug, which I wear until after my evening session with the Master. I am allowed to remove it when the light dims for me to sleep. After I take a last drink from the , I wash the plug there, along with my hands. Stephen (at least I assume it is him) always flushes the toilet again before my morning drink.

He isn’t always affectionate, though; sometimes he seems cold and almost brutal. I hate those times, and when he leaves I vow to stop responding so eagerly to him, to make him work harder for my submission. But then the next day he’ll saunter in, smiling devilishly, and kiss or stroke me before he starts, and I’ll melt all over again.

 

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