If I expected anything dramatic to come of my talk with the Master, I was disappointed. Weeks have turned into months, and things are still much the same as before. Little changes happen, though, such as when Stephen — it’s always him in the morning now, not the Master — shows me a new exercise or resets the treadmill program to push me harder. One day he brought a tape measure and took a complete set of measurements of my body, with no explanation. He’s also taken urine and blood samples and sent them off for analysis.
“You’re healthy as a horse,” he told me after the results came back. “A strong draft horse. It’ll be a lot of years before you’re ready for a rest home.”
Within the framework of my relatively fixed, but slowly evolving, routine at the beginning and end of each day, the middle varies at Stephen’s whim, or perhaps according to changes in what the Master needs from him. Some days he might come in for no more than a quick blow job or piss break, followed by a kiss or a pat on the head. Other days he’ll spend hours with me, orchestrating elaborate bondage or torture scenes, culminating with a long fuck and then cuddling until I come down from whatever cloud he’s put me on.
More often now he’ll simply lie on my pallet and talk while I massage him or tongue bathe him, or sit on the bench while I lick his boots or nurse at his cock. He pours out his dreams and hopes — the kind of house he wants, the kind of work he wants to do, the additional education he needs for it, what he wants to accomplish in five years or ten. He says little about becoming a Master, just occasional references to “my slave and I” and the life he expects they’ll build together. His self-confidence is breathtaking, and very seductive.
Under my vow of silence, I make a good listener, and he usually keeps my mouth busy anyway. Even lying down, his hands are always in motion as he talks, and they’re never out of contact with me for long, always stroking or teasing or pinching some piece of my flesh. He doesn’t say, “I love you” or “I want you,” but he makes me feel it many times a day.
It’s been a long time since I gave up the idea of coming, and my body has found a way to give me wet dreams without erections. The dreams are always about Stephen. In real life, he has the oddest look on his face when he fondles my locked-down genitals, and I shiver, wondering what he plans for them. He has no guiche piercing, so apparently the Master never harnessed his sex the way he did mine.
Today Stephen arrives full of even more energy than usual.
“Hello, slaveshit,” he says. “I call you that because today I’m going to beat the shit out of you, and since you’re a slave, you’re going to take it and thank me afterwards. Isn’t that right?”
Staring at him, open-mouthed, I automatically nod assent. I’m way past being able to deny him anything.
He uses no additional bondage for this session, just the chains I already wear and his gloved hands moving me into position and holding me there. He begins, in fact, by sitting on my pallet and laying me across his knees. Using his hands, a paddle, and a folded belt, he turns my flesh flaming red from my neck to the soles of my feet. When my backside is “done,” he turns me over and does the front the same way. I am whimpering long before he finishes, but he is unmoved.
Finally he dumps me onto the floor and stands up. I have a brief hope that he’s finished, but no: now that I’m “tenderized,” as he puts it, he starts in on me all over again using his boots. He kicks me, stomps on me, rolls me this way and that. The excruciating pain is eased only slightly by the knowledge that I am being pulverized by the same boots I’ve worshipped so often.
I followed Alan down the steps into the dungeon. We both wore jeans and t-shirts and I began to feel nervous as I saw the various rubber suits and restraints hanging from the walls, and the cage and sling and rubber bed in the semi-darkness of the room. “This is where...
The whole dynamic of the relationship between you and James has drastically changed since that night. For starters James kept the chastity cage on you constantly and he started wearing the key, your key, on his necklace like a fashion accessory or a mark of dominance...
Al opened his blurry eyes feeling groggy and heavy, lifting a meaty, inked arm up to scratch his shortly cropped head in the dimly lit room. “Fuck.” He whispered under his breath as he realized just how much his head was throbbing. He was rock hard as he always was in...
It has been, a frustrating week to say the least. When James suggested that he should try chastity play with you it was initially enjoyable. A few hours in it and being on edge during that entire time was a new experience and having James there to be there and provide constant company and light teasing.
There were a number of small gifts from my boyfriend, but when I opened the athletic cup, I was a little confused. It seemed like an odd gift. He had smiled, and said it was for a “chastity game” he wanted to play with me.
“I had no idea what I was getting myself into.” Yes, that may seem like a strange way to start but let me try and explain to you what I mean. I am (or perhaps was) a normal 19-year-old just graduating high school and trying to decide where to go with my life.
I already knew today was going to be a rough day, but FUCK i had no idea. I got to the hotel yesterday before the big event weekend kicked off. I like to take a little downtime before the chaos starts so that I can settle in, unpack, get my bearings, and ease myself...
My past has been wiped out and there is only the present. The future is something i never think about - it is enough that i am alive in the here and now. And that present has a purity and a simplicity that my past never had. i am a slave. i do what i am told. i accept...
This would truly be a long-term undertaking: I only did one full-on test run all the way through and it basically took 8 years to complete! And it winds down in a fairly steady way. My test run went like this: Orgasms in year 1: 46 (18 full) Orgasms in year 2: 10 (7...