Testicles Taken

Applying Castration Bands To Testicles

I awake with a jolt when several intruders invade my bedroom and pin me to my bed.

The blankets are taken off me, and my underwear is pulled down. Someone has me in a head lock, others have my arms pinned, and yet more have my spread legs securely immobilized.

My ball bag is squeezed by a merciless hand and yanked violently down toward my thighs. I feel as though my testicles will be pulled right off my body because my scrotum cannot be stretched any more. My balls instinctively attempt to find refuge in my lower abdomen but they are held captive by the intruders.

All I can see are the shadowed forms of my assailants in the soft glow of a nightlight plugged into the wall near my bed. I count at least a half-dozen of them.

I feel the cold sharpness of a knife blade press against my scrotum and I discern a sawing motion there as my nut sack yields to the blade without resistance. And suddenly I realize that I am about to be castrated right there in my bed! I squirm and attempt to wrestle free, but I am held firm. I cannot stop what is about to happen. I surrender to the inevitable: I am going to be emasculated!

The one at my head hisses fiendishly, “You know what this is about, don’t you?”

Of course I knew. I had been warned that if I ever went public with the details of my brief same-sex affair with a male celebrity, I would be compelled to surrender my balls as payment for my disclosure. I knew the eventuality of this, but I never actually dreamed it would really happen!

But here I was, legs spread, naked, my genitals exposed, vulnerable and unprotected, and my balls about to be excised from my crotch. It was really going to happen! I was really going to lose my balls! My testicles were actually going to be taken!

As I contemplate my impending castration, my mind frantically mulls over the events leading up to this moment…

***

I met Armando “Marty” Martinez (his stage name) when I, as a cable repairman, was summoned to his home to run a diagnostic check on all his cable junction boxes.

It was the last service call of the day. Marty answered the door in his bathrobe and explained that he was about to take a shower when I knocked.

When it was obvious to Marty by the look on my face that I was trying to place his familiarity in my mind, he grinned and said calmly, “I know, you think you’ve met me before. I was on that TV show back in the 90s. You’probably seen me on TV.”

Of course! That’s why he looked so familiar. Truth be known, I had a crush on Marty when I watched that show. I’m sure that I, along with many a female teeny-bopper, fantasized about being with him naked.

He showed me where the junction boxes were; living room, dining area, and bedroom, and then hit the shower.

I quickly ruled out any problems in the two junctions boxes in the front rooms, and so focused on the one in Marty’s bedroom.

Once there, however, I gaped shamelessly at Marty’s beautiful nakedness in that shower! He had not bothered to close the bathroom door, and was on full lustful display in my line of sight where I worked on the junction box. It’s as though Marty wanted to be seen.

I chose to pursue this career because it seemed the macho thing to do. You see, I am a closeted queer scared to death that my homosexuality will become known to others, and I pump iron, keep in shape, and talk about my exploits with women so that no one will know my secret sexual identity or compulsions. But when afforded the opportunity to look at men or check out the guys, I can’t help myself. I give in to my lusts and unrestrained fantasies every time.

I am also attracted to women, but my most powerful urges and desires are for men. And so when I caught furtive glances at Marty’s nakedness, I was captivated in a way difficult to describe! Not only was he a great looking guy, he was famous!

I surveyed his olive-toned skin. I lusted over his genital region remarkable for its thick black pubic hair, uncircumcised penis and dangling nut sack. When Marty turned toward the shower head to rinse off, his backside was in full erotic display for me. I became fixated on his butt, the sensuality of his crack, his strong leg muscles and his chiseled back muscles. He kept in shape; beautiful statuesque shape!

I fumbled with my tools as I shot glances at him in that shower.I don’t recall now if I even fixed the problem with the cable I was so obsessed and distracted by his nakedness.

Occasionally, we made eye contact, and Marty smiled. Even though I was embarrassed to be caught looking at him, I was drawn to him and that smile I’d seen a dozen times on that TV show.

After his shower, he wrapped a towel around his loins and offered me a drink. I declined, telling him I was on call and couldn’t risk a DUI. He then offered me a soft drink, which I accepted.

As we talked in the dining area where the bar was, he kept fidgeting with that towel. Occasionally it slipped down a little and I caught a glimpse of a cheek, or a small bit of pubic hair. He even once pulled it all the way off and re-wrapped himself with it, giving me a full view of his beautiful naked body.

He told me that after the show was canceled he cut a few albums, and did bit roles in some movies, and was lately highlighting a midnight show in Las Vegas. He was 38-years-old, two years my senior.

I have to admit that I enjoyed being in the presence of this famous guy and didn’t really want to leave. He seemed interested in knowing about me, and asked questions about my job, my family, and future plans.

After about 45 minutes, he looked me square in the eyes and asked, “Did you like what you saw in the shower?”

I was floored! Damn straight I liked it! But I sheepishly looked down and barely muttered, “Yes.”

He stood up and let the towel fall to the floor. He sat next to me on the sofa and began unzipping my pants. Within seconds I was as naked as he was! Even though I was reveling in what was happening, heady that this was a famous celebrity, and eager for what was going to happen next, I was aware that I had worked all day, and that I didn’t smell very good. I mentioned it to him.

“Not at all,” Marty responded. “I sometimes enjoy the male scent of a working man: his musky under arm aroma, the faint fragrance of his sweat, and the unabashed smell of his crotch.”

So there it was: I was being hit on by a famous celebrity! And I was enjoying it to the hilt!

We soon ended up in Marty’s bed where he was brutal and aggressive in his seduction. While I enjoyed sucking his penis and caressing his masculine features, Marty seemed more interested in using me as a sexual plaything. He pounded his erect cock into my anus, stabbed my butt hole with his finger, and forced his aroused penis into my mouth so far I thought the back of my throat would be pierced by it. While he penetrated my eager anus, I feared his thrusting would rupture my rectum and my prostate. I attempted a time or two to resist, but Marty became more aggressive.

So I relented and allowed this man to have his way with me. While I was alarmed and shocked a few times at his muscular mastery over me, I also wanted him in the worst way. Not only was I being fucked by a famous man whom I had lusted over a decade and a half ago, this was my first same sex encounter!

Yet when we tangled in those bed sheets and worked up a sex-saturated sweat, Marty seemed to be performing to an unseen audience, and some of the things he said were not directed toward me as much as to an anonymous personality not there in the room with us. It occurred to me then that he had put something in his drink to enhance his libido and his energy.

When I was able to be dominant, I wanted to discover his anus. Common folks like me are always curious about the rich and famous: do they have pee holes and butt holes? Do they piss and shit? Do they react like normal, regular folks?

I had him on his belly sprawled out on the bed. I gently parted his to-die-for cheeks, and exposed his secret little puckered anal slit. Its circular shaped was brownish in color. I was overcome with lust and slid my finger in. He groaned in pleasure so I removed my finger and stimulated his famous anus with my tongue. Marty groaned again, more appreciatively.

I then wanted to satisfy another curiosity: I wanted to have this famous man’s aroused penis in my mouth again. I wanted to suck his nuts dry. I wanted to comb his pubes with my teeth. Marty climaxed powerfully in my mouth without warning. He pumped spurt after spurt of sperm into my mouth and onto my tongue. While my mouth eagerly accepted his cum, I was somewhat repulsed by the salty, slippery texture of his sperm. Even while the taste and warm feel was objectionable, I tried to savor it and then I swallowed it because I wanted to see what a famous person’s cum tasted and felt like. It burned my throat as it slid down into my belly. I resisted the compulsion to spit due to the after taste of his sperm because he was famous and I wanted to experience every aspect of this.

Finally, Marty was ready for my climax. But instead of masturbating me, or offering me his anus, his grabbed my nut sack and squeezed it tight, telling me, “You’d better enjoy your last cum because once you’re through squirting, I’m going to cut your balls off!”

He had me get on my hands and knees again, and yanked my balls back so far I knew he’d be able to stuff them up my asshole. So there I was, my butt facing Marty, my balls pulled tight in his hands, facelessly being compelled to cum so that he could cut my balls off! And yet, there was a thrill and excitement to this moment I have a hard time describing. My balls were at his mercy. He was threatening to castrate me once I climaxed. I was naked, my butt hole was exposed before him, and my hard cock was dangling between my legs. I looked up and saw our reflection in the mirror. What a rush! He was kneeling behind me taking possession of my testicles, threatening me with their removal, warning me to enjoy it because it was my last, and I did not want to stop it, full well knowing what he was threatening to do!

“If you don’t cum now, you never will,” he said warningly. I reached down and took firm hold of my penis. I began stroking it. At that moment, Marty slid his finger into my anus and began poking my prostate. Between the pleasurable sensations on my penis, the violating naughtiness of my anus being penetrated, and the menacing finality of Marty’s strong grasp on my squeezed testicles, I shot a powerful and prolonged stream of sperm all over Marty’s bed sheets. I pumped and pumped and pumped while Marty encouraged me with, “That’s right, give it all to me. Empty yourself. Pump your nuts dry. I have your balls in my hand and while you are having a climax right now, I hold in my hand all your future orgasms.”

I shot until I was sure I was dry, and then collapsed on the bed. Marty turned lose of my balls and slowly removed his finger from my anus. I shot another spurt or two of cum as he did.

I showered before I left that evening. But Marty had me sign some form he said protected him from “kiss and tell” lovers who exploited him and then made money on revealing details of his private life. I signed the form without reading it because I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell anyone I had a queer encounter with an actor! Not even my parents knew I was a gay man.

Thus began an affair that lasted for several weeks. During our sex times, Marty became more and more verbal about castrating me, a threat I found curiously exciting and exhilarating. I can’t explain it, but when Marty yanked my balls as far away from my body as my scrotum would allow, and then announced passionately that my balls were his and were free for the taking, I became powerfully aroused and desirous of the extreme nakedness and exposure these utterances invoked in me!

I harbored a deep desire for Marty to take my testicles and keep them. The thought of being castrated at the height of an orgasm was powerfully arousing! Losing them at the precise moment of my most prolific ejaculations make me feel so naked and exposed, I dripped precum from my pee hole even when Marty wasn’t around.

As our sex play evolved, Marty revealed to me his own castration compulsions. He demanded that I bite his balls as hard as I could prior to his orgasm. He ordered me to suck his nuts right out of his sack! He said he would slice my nuts off if I didn’t bite his off! Such talk was so erotic and abruptly sensual, I just couldn’t get naked enough to satisfy my lusts. I enjoyed such encounters immensely. But yet, when we were sexing together, Marty just seemed to use me for his jollies and I never felt that my affection for him was requited. I had feelings for him that I didn’t think were mutual. It just seemed that I was a boy toy for him. Yet I couldn’t stop my descent.

I asked him once what he’d do with my testicles if he ever took them.

“I’d mount them on a plaque and openly display them as a warning to future lovers who are tempted to ‘kiss and tell,'” he said.

He insisted that I stay at his house full-time. He wanted me to remain completely naked 24/7, and be ready and available for his sexual needs at a moment’s notice.

Before long, I was beginning to see why famous people were so much different than us regular folks: they didn’t have to punch a time card and occupy their waking hours with the duties of keeping body and soul together. Marty’s demands on my life, my time, my anus and my mouth, began to interfere with my job.

I was soon fired for calling off so many times, and as my bills piled up and my rent was overdue, I became desperate.

My desperation was only met with more aloofness from Marty, who took a “wham-bam-thank-you-man” stance with me. When it became clear that I could not keep up with his sexual compulsions, Marty kicked me out of his house and told me not to return. I was barely able to get some clothes on my back before being shown the door.

Unemployed, hungry, pissed off, and resentful that I had been used and abused, I decided I was going to retaliate. But how? Then I remembered Marty’s “kiss and tell” fear. I called a tabloid newspaper and negotiated an exclusive story that netted me several thousand dollars. In the story I related how Marty had seduced me, was a flaming homo, enjoyed castration play, and was into some BDSM as well.

Yet, Marty’s career potential only escalated from that point on. He was a guest on talk shows, nailed down another recording contract, and was cast for an upcoming new movie that was sure to be a box office success. And in the days subsequent to the tabloid’s appearance in the supermarkets, I was struck with the fact that scandal only seemed to enhance a famous person’s career! That’s another way celebrities are different than the rest of us. Things that would normally obliterate us were the very things that elevated the famous into stellar heights!

I finally had to take a job as a waiter in a nice restaurant, and tried to put my experiences with Armando “Marty” Martinez (stage name) behind me.

Several more weeks passed before the midnight visitation by armed assailants.

***

As the blade begins its brief journey through my scrotum I relive all these events and come to understand that that form I signed in Marty’s house gave my consent to my castration. I realize that Marty is really going to take possession of my testicles and be the owner of all my future orgasms as my masculine orbs are removed from my crotch.

Sweat breaks out on my forehead as my breathing becomes labored. I mumble through my attackers’ hands to please halt. He removes his hand from my mouth. Knowing there was no persuading these intruders to abort their mission of castrating me and delivering my balls to Marty, I say in manic desperation,

“As long as you’re going to cut my balls off, would you please allow me to cum one last time?”

In the darkness of my room, I discern that the intruders are looking at each other and wordlessly considering my request.

“What harm would it do?” Says one. I see in the soft darkness another one nod his head. They still keep my legs pinned to the bed, but one of them frees my right arm.

“Okay, you’ve got five minutes, but we’re going to keep the knife at your balls and if you don’t cum within that deadline, we’re just going to slice them off and you’ll be denied your last cum!”

I frantically and feverishly begin working my soft penis over. It doesn’t respond. In my fear and panic, I worry that I’ll be denied my final orgasm out of the shear horror of my impending emasculation.

I hear the impatient sighs and breathing of my captors. Two minutes pass and I’m not even hard yet!

“Could you help me?” I ask plaintively.

“What?” says one of them.

“Could you insert your finger into my anus and stimulate my prostate? I think I might be able to get this over with quicker if you do.”

One of them jokes, “Can you believe this guy? He’s about to be nutted and he begs us to help him get off one last time!”

I am so desperate and desirous of one last cum that I am reduced to begging my cutters to help me cum before they nut me! I am driven by not only a compulsion to shoot my final load, but to request that my castrators help me with my final shoot! And I am perfectly willing to wank right in front of them and have my sperm eruption be a public event!

Yet even in my disbelief, I am enormously aroused when one of them pushes his finger into my anal hole all the way to the knuckle. My penis leaps a little. I envision that the finger is Marty’s aroused cock seeking a rectal orgasm and my penis grows again. My assailant probes my butt hole and pumps my prostate. My anal ring tightens around his finger and I’m able to wrap my hand around my hardening penis.

I wank for all I’m worth as the clock ticks towards my impending castration. I relive some of the sex encounters with Marty, and his castration play and threats. I recollect his beautiful nakedness, his pulsating penis and spurting sperm. I savor the memory of his lovely puckered, wrinkled anus and the taste, aroma and feel of his butt hole as I tongue him out. I feverishly stroke my fully-hard penis now as I reflect on Marty’s threats to deball me as he yanks my balls as far from my crotch as my stretched scrotum will allow. My butt cheeks are exposed and have been invaded by my assailants. I am as naked now as I’ve ever been. I am strangely enjoying this ordeal having accepted its inevitability.

Just as I’m about to erupt in a seismic orgasm, I feel the knife begin to work again, its sharpness slicing through my soft scrotum, my-soon-to-be-excised testicles at the mercy of the blade. My anus compresses around the finger of my nutter tighter than its ever been. My mind becomes blurred with orgasmic, hypnotic ecstasy. The knife continues my emasculation. My hand works my penis more feverishly now. Deep in my bowels I sense the combination of anal penetration and prostate pounding as my sperm convulsively makes its way from deep within me to my throbbing cock.

I feel the blade about half way through my ball bag as my first spurt of sperm shoots out about a foot in the air and lands on my belly. My cutter pulls on my scrotum harder and I feel as though my balls will be pulled off before they’re cut off. A second and then third voluminous sea of sperm erupts from my penis. My senses are heightened. My breathing sporadic. My eyes become glazed over as the inevitability of my orgasm gushes forth with a torrential flow of cum, simultaneously aware that my balls are being cut from my body at that precise moment!

The severing is complete.

I am all climaxed out now. My balls are held up by my cutter and I see my nut sack and its precious masculine contents in the soft glow of the nightlight. I have been rendered nutless. I am not the man I used to be. I am a eunuch now!

As I contemplate my emasculation, I fully relax my body in an after-orgasm let down. The man’s finger is slowly removed from my butt and the sensations of anal violation prompt me to squirt another small drop of cum. It dribbles from the tip of my softening penis, and streams down my fist which is still wrapped around my male member. The sperm on my belly begins to cool.

Now that I’m unmanned, I’m not a threat to my assailants. They turn loose of me and I sink down deeply in my bed, my hand still holding my penis.

A towel is placed at my crotch to staunch the flow of blood. I am still breathing heavily as I watch my assailants place my severed testicles in a sandwich bag.

“The boss will want to see them,” one of them mutters.

They all exit my room as I lay panting on my bed. I look down at my chest and belly and in the soft glow of the nightlight, I see the glistening globs of my final orgasm pooled there. I have no balls any more, hence I’ll have no more sperm, no more sexual urges, and no more obsessions. But then, it was my obsessions that got me into this predicament, I realize.

Nutless and naked, I contemplate whether getting my rocks off with a celebrity was worth getting my rocks cut off. I conclude that it wasn’t. But the ride I was on that ultimately resulted in my testicles being taken was such a rush, I know I’ll relive the pleasures, the pain, the erotica, and the recollections of it for the rest of my life!

Now that my testicles have been taken, memories are all I’ll have left!

I rise gently from my bed, and dial 9-1-1, remembering what Marty said he’d do with my testicles if he had to take them: mount them on a plaque in his home to display for future lovers who may be tempted to “kiss and tell.”

Plumbed In

Piss Slave Ready To Serve As Human Urinal

Al opened his blurry eyes feeling groggy and heavy, lifting a meaty, inked arm as much as scratch his in a while cropped head within the dimly lit room.

“Fuck.” He whispered underneath his breath as he discovered simply how a lot his head was once throbbing. He was once rock laborious as he all the time was once within the however rattling that headache. His mouth was once as dry as sand too and his jaw was once aching.
His female friend had informed him to move for an evening out with the lads after running each day for a month, being a self hired plumber supposed simply taking the entire hours he may just get. He didn’t thoughts, it were given him a really perfect salary, fueling his tattoo dependancy and affording him a very popular feminine PT on the fitness center who had whipped him into form. Certain it was once fascinated about vainness however he appreciated the eye, when he may just take a weekend off with the lads he cherished to rip up the city and birthday celebration, his female friend was once as a lot of a flirt as he was once so he may just even escape with chatting up the skill and having a dance with out entering bother. She’d simply left on per week lengthy chicken do along with her best possible pals to Ibiza so he knew complete smartly she’d be off and flaunting herself at the seashores. They each knew they have been sizzling and cheeky and cherished it.

Al swung for the sunshine at the stand subsequent to him most effective to smack the wall. The non-existent lamp informed him he wasn’t in his personal mattress, once more. He temporarily rolled over to test he hadn’t long gone again with some woman, however his hand met the wall once more, he was once in somewhat unmarried bunk. Sighing with reduction he swung his muscular legs over the aspect of the mattress and rubbed his eyes. Focusing within the gloom, he spotted the room was once tiny, possibly simply thrice the dimensions of the bunk, there was once not anything else within the room, only a small frosted window and a steel door with a hatch at eye stage and any other at the ground.
“A hatch?” He concept to himself “What the fuck have you ever carried out?”

He discovered he was once in a mobile!

Nonetheless dazed, he stumbled to the door the adrenaline starting to sober him up temporarily. He couldn’t bear in mind what had came about. He reached right down to scratch his nonetheless stiff dick to be met via a heat, pliable subject material. He was once dressed in rubber shorts with a unmarried yellow stripe down the entrance! Having a look down previous those unknown shorts he spotted the and yellow socks, like common military however shifting his toes they too felt rubbery.

He set free a worried chuckle. This needed to had been his buddies’ doing. They’ll have had too many beers and photographs and definitely he’s have misplaced some sport of pool or a dare and been hazed. They have been all the time seeking to out humiliate every different. Bastards.
He banged at the door and referred to as out however couldn’t listen any factor however some far-off rumbling, possibly some song.
He stood there for a minute seeking to recall the rest.

He and the lads have been on the native dive bar, beer flowing, a jukebox within the nook with some rock and oldschool hip-hop. You all the time had bikers swinging via, and muscled, inked lads taking part in playing cards, darts, pool and all that. It was once most commonly males or their trophy ladies to present some excellent good fortune on their five-card stud. In spite of its tough glance, it was once only a no nonsense, pleasant pub. The one bother you’d get is when a bunch of pals were given into consuming video games however that was once it. However Al couldn’t suppose what had came about, he simply imagined it as every other night time. Poker, beer, one of the most more recent locals Brent and he had presented him a tablet…

He referred to as out once more and banged the door tougher.

“Good day can somebody let me know what’s happening? I’m loss of life of thirst right here!”

.The sound of footsteps were given nearer and stopped outdoor. The hatch at the ground opened and a pitcher of water was once driven inside of.

“Excuse me officer,” shouted Al “Thanks, however can I talk to somebody?” however the toes have been already strolling away.

He grabbed the pint glass and went to sip it. The glass was once heat however he was once thirsty. He for sure wasn’t going to bitch about some lukewarm water at the moment.

As he started to down the drink it for sure wasn’t the most up to date water, tasted a little funky however the rush of the drink quenching his thirst made him gasp. He spotted his different hand grasp his nonetheless laborious bulge in the course of the rubber shorts. Rattling, he was once thankful for that. His thirst wasn’t quenched but it surely was once a get started.

He sat down seeking to rack his mind for any main points. He vaguely remembered doing a shot or two and chatting to Brent after he’d became down the tablet. That’s it, he’d simply been studying about every different, as they have been extra simply pals of pals, Al speaking about his plumbing, Brett joking, announcing was once it like some unhealthy porn. Then the photographs had kicked in speedy. Brett presented him the tablet once more, however he mentioned no. Al didn’t in reality ever take the rest, however one of the vital lads did within the bar only for amusing, simply E every now and then. However that’s all he may just in reality bear in mind for now.

The nice and cozy water had long gone via him speedy, and as he concept it about how a lot he wanted a piss, he discovered he middle beat was once in reality thumping and his dick felt love it was once swelling. Rattling, had he in fact taken the tablet in a drunken state? Used to be he having a prime and feeling became on in a police mobile? Rattling he didn’t in reality care at the moment, he roughly felt excellent, he spotted how snugly the shorts have compatibility and sat slightly under his abs. His cock appeared large in them, like some form of city, punk gladiator. Rattling he in reality had to piss despite the fact that and having a look round he noticed there was once no pan in any respect.

“What sort of a silly police station doesn’t have a rest room?”

He appeared down and simply determined to piss within the pint glass so he didn’t make a puddle.

He lay backtrack at the mattress and the sentiments have been expanding, the shorts felt like they have been sliding and sucking all over the place his dick and balls, they felt so excellent. His hand naturally started to rub over the rubber bulge. Rattling he didn’t know what he’d were given himself up for however he couldn’t even suppose at the moment. He started to pull tougher and tougher, his pulse dashing up, he was once on the subject of cumming. Abruptly the face stage hatch opened at the door with a bang. Al jumped up cursing underneath his breath seeking to muster all of his sense and make his laborious on pass down. A couple of eyes simply glared at him up and down.
“There’s any other drink down there for you.” Gestured the stranger along with his eyes.

Al appeared down to peer the decrease hatch opened with a pint glass there once more.
“Thanks officer, am I in a position to talk to somebody now?”
“Drink up,” got here the answer.
His thirst was once again however his pulse was once nonetheless going. He had to glance as sober as imaginable if he was once about to peer a policeman so he grabbed the pint glass. Once he touched it he spotted the warmth, this water smelt even funkier than the final lot. His eye darted to the ground, his pint wasn’t there that he’d used ahead of.

“Sorry officer I don’t suppose this…”
“Are you going to start out inflicting a fuss already?” bring to an end the face within the hatch.
“Down that now or I’ll come again in 5 hours and spot how sober you’re then.”
Al in a pretty panic simply downed the glass and because the yellow fluid crammed his mouth his fears have been showed, it wasn’t a brand new drink however his personal piss from ahead of. However oddly, in his adrenaline crammed state he didn’t spit it out, he knew if he spat it out by accident over the fellows face he’d be screwed so he simply took it like a person.

“Thanks.” gasped Al, wiping the piss his mouth along with his tattooed wrist noticing the blurred stamp of an evening membership. In seconds he felt any other sizzling rush, as though the depth of the instant has spiked his horniness. He didn’t even notice he’d grabbed his rubbered balls.

“Oh fuck.” he whimpered with utter embarrassment, realizing we was once simply at the fringe of capturing his load.

“Fucking pervert” spat the voice at the back of the door because the hatch slammed close and the bolts of the door swung open revealing an similarly muscular policeman wearing a complete black uniform made solely of black rubber, from his boots identical to those Al was once dressed in, up previous his rubber combats and software belt previous a rubber stab vest and tight black quick rubber blouse to his flat police hat made from rubber too.

The surprise made Al stumble backwards.

“What the hell is occurring?” he shouted, surges of horniness, humiliation, and anger all clashing into one complicated head-trip.
With out announcing a phrase the cop was once already spinning Al spherical and had his hands cuffed at the back of his again ahead of he knew what hit him.

“We don’t need you cumming now will we pig?” smirked the officer via his darkish purple beard.
“Please” begged Al “I do not know what I’m in for or what I’ve carried out”.

“Ah all of them say that” laughed the policeman “I see how laborious you’re in the ones shorts, consuming your individual piss. You signed up for this so that you’re going to peer it via. Everybody panics once they know it’s in reality taking place however I love it once they be apologetic about it the entire extra.”

Al have been dragged via what he now noticed was once a pretend police station, grimy tough concrete partitions and rusty bars and girders all over the place. Possibly it have been an actual station as soon as, however this fucking bastard and his pals have been right here now. He was once cuffed to the chair in an interview room sat reverse two officials of their silly rubber uniforms.

“So now then, let’s get a couple of issues directly” began a brand new impostor sat subsequent to the man that dragged him from the mobile. He wasn’t as muscular as Al however had a wonderfully groomed, black beard appearing underneath his hat and a powerful, sq. jawline.
“I’m now not going to cooperate” spat Al “That is unlawful; you’ll’t stay me right here or impersonate cops on your kinky faggot costumes!”

“Haha!” laughed the purple bearded one “Wealthy, coming from the boy that was once introduced in his little go-go shorts and boots. Unfortunately you’ll be surprised to determine we’re now not impersonating in any respect.”

He grabbed a warrant badge from his rubber stab vest pocket.

Al’s middle sank, it appeared authentic sufficient, however in his at a loss for words state, blood nonetheless pumping spherical his cock, it simply pissed off him the entire extra.

This doesn’t make any sense, why are you dressed like that then should you’re actual, and why am I right here?” mumbled Al.

“Smartly pig, there’s 11,000 officials at the power within the metropolitan house, speculating two thirds are males, and one in 4 of them is homosexual, then possibly a 5th of them are a little adventurous, then you definately’ve were given a excellent few officials with a perverted aspect, so let’s simply say we love to have a little of amusing ourselves. I spend maximum of my time coping with drunks and scum and it’s now not all as heroic and glamorous as I imagined once I first signed up. We’re noticed because the unhealthy buys no matter we accomplish that a couple of people concept, with the ability we hang and the information of the regulation we’ve got, fuck it, why now not have a little of amusing ourselves? Get one thing again.”
“You’re fucking twisted, I’ll kill you you c**t!” growled Al.

“Now now, we nonetheless have the regulation on our aspect, don’t be insulting a police officer!” barked the darkish cop.
Al didn’t know what to make of it, and with out realizing how he’d come to be right here, he didn’t need to make issues worse so simply began on the pair for some time. Rattling he was once thirsty, and now was once now not the time to really feel attractive both, fuck.

“Earlier than we begin I might identical to to be transparent, are you on medication sir?” persevered the ginger officer.
“NO!” shouted Al defensively pulling towards the cuffs. He did really feel humorous, and this thirst and irrelevant horniness made no sense however he couldn’t bear in mind if he’d taken what Brent had presented or now not. However he didn’t need to have drug fees on his document.
“Are you fairly positive sir? I should remind you the rest you do say is also used towards you. You might be being recorded.
“No,” trembled Al “I by no means take medication!”
“By no means?” requested the darkish officer “So the entirety you assert is the entire reality and mentioned with complete sense of right and wrong?”
“Sure.” mentioned Al matter-of-factly.
“Superb. Then you’re going to now not deny any of this then,” spoke back the darkish officer leaning over to press play on a computer at the aspect of the desk.

A video popped up of a few CCTV photos. It was once obviously of Al and Brent in some form of stone walled room. Al was once being overly on the subject of Brent feeling him up towards a wall.
“I don’t suppose you’re considering obviously” laughed Brent.
“Yeah I’m, I’m simply fucking attractive.” Al spoke back.
“What is going to your female friend suppose?” spoke back Brent smirking.“I don’t care, I wanna check out it; you made it sound so sizzling.”

They each shifted at the wall turning extra in opposition to the digital camera. Brent’s chest was once in view, his blouse was once open and beneath was once a rubber vest. Al unbuckled Brent’s trousers to peer rubber shorts poking out in the course of the fly. Al grabbed it, laborious. The sound of rubber squeaking crammed the air.

Brent moaned. “You want to get yours on too.” He pointed on the rucksack beside them. Al set free a pissed off attractive growl and dived over to the bag. Throwing his cotton off he discovered the rubber shorts rubber boots and yellow socks he was once nonetheless dressed in. He began pulling all of it on more or less.

“Adequate,” carried on Brent, checking round, virtually having a look like he sought after to be in view of the CCTV “so after we get to this position the safety is lovely tight, they’re gonna ask should you’ve taken the rest. You haven’t have you ever?” Al was once too busy sliding the rubber up his legs at the ground and was once simply nodding alongside.

“Al! I want to listen you assert it out loud, you haven’t have you ever?” pressed Brent.

“No no, no matter you assert.” He brushed aside. Al may just inform gazing the video that he was once mendacity, he knew his personal voice, however he’d simply mentioned it on digital camera.

“Just right,” laughed Brent “as a result of numerous guys need to again out after they get there, even supposing you’ll have essentially the most excitement you’ve ever felt. So if you signal the disclaimer it’s important to undergo with it no matter, till you . And it’ll be the most productive orgasm ever.”

“Fuck yeah” spoke back the obviously hazed Al within the video as he laced up the boots “no matter, I simply want extra of it”.

Al jumped up and driven Brent towards the wall and started to kiss him deeply, the rubber pulling towards every different, their rubber crotches squeaking and snapping.

Al appeared up from the computer to the 2 officials, each having a look aroused,

“What the fuck is that this?” puzzled Al “That is obviously now not me speaking in that video, what’s Brent speaking about? What did I need to check out, why did I need extra of?”

“Vintage Brent” laughed the purple haired officer “He all the time selections the curious directly boys that then attempt to get out of it. You’ve mentioned on tape you’ve now not taken the rest and also you’re of sound thoughts and right here we even have transparent video photos of you agreeing to it too.

“Agreeing to what!?” Al screamed pulling towards the cuffs.

The darkish haired officer driven a work of paper in opposition to him along with his unmistakable signature on the backside underneath the paragraphs of textual content.

“This established order you’re in is an underground and really profitable fetish membership. Brent introduced you in to us, you have been begging to enjoy the most productive sexual prime you’d ever felt, you have been like an insatiable animal. In fact legally and on paper we couldn’t induct a brand new member who wasn’t declaring his true emotions, so this disclaimer you signed, the CCTV and voice clip of you announcing you by no means take medication is the entire proof we want.

“I used to be obviously drugged! I’m now not homosexual” spat Al “I don’t bear in mind any of this!”

“Smartly that’s too past due now, and I’m now not recording any further” chuckled the darkish officer revealing the Dictaphone hidden via his arms.

“You’re tricked me!” shouted Al.

“No longer in line with your individual statements,” mentioned the ginger officer evenly “The proof is obviously towards you, you’ve mentioned you’re fascinated about it. Until in fact you’re announcing you have got been taking unlawful components, have pressured your self on a person on CCTV, have cheated for your female friend and feature been mendacity to and insulted officials of the regulation?”

That they had him. Fuck he was once thirsty. And that rattling boner wasn’t happening. He didn’t know what to do; the entirety was once nonetheless hazy. He’d mentioned at the video it’d be over when he got here. Possibly he’d gotten himself into this dilemma and he simply needed to get it over with as speedy as imaginable.

After a minute of considering and licking his lips, Al hung his head.

“What do I’ve to do?”

The purple officer’s eyes narrowed evilly.

“Just right boy. I will see you’re thirsty, let’s kind that and we’ll let you know what you signed up for.”

The cop pressed a buzzer. A 3rd officer got here into the room, dressed the similar in a complete, black rubber uniform, have been all of them this constructed? He carried a pint glass over, appearing off his tribal tattoo overlaying his bicep and maintaining it a couple of inches from Al’s mouth. Al stared him sq. within the eyes, he was once smiling; the in poor health bastard was once playing this. He sought after to stay what little dignity he had so simply leaned ahead to take it.

“Let’s simply get this carried out and over with” he concept to himself “this should be unlawful, it’s entrapment, do what they are saying, play alongside and we’ll screw them all over the place when that is all taken care of.”

He leaned ahead, suffering towards {the handcuffs}, the officer pulled it away a couple of extra inches.

“Rattling, he in reality does need it doesn’t he?” laughed the officer having a look on the different two.

“Get on with it guy,” mentioned the darkish one to the tattooed one “I need to get him out of right here.”

The ones phrases crammed Al with a unexpected reduction no less than they sought after him out of right here too. Because the pint glass was once slowly tipped he wasn’t shocked to seek out the water was once heat too, this tasted much more funky that the primary pint he’d had or even that terrible 2d pint of his personal piss he’d drank. It was once most effective as he gulped the second one that it was once simply the similar as his personal piss, or even that first pint he’d had. Fuck, that first pint and this have been ALL piss! This was once the most powerful of the lot, it had some metal style, he didn’t be expecting piss to have tasted like this in any respect. He spluttered for a second because the police officers laughed. He closed his eyes and informed himself it was once only a “grimy pint” as the men on the bar did on birthdays, they’d all throw a couple of quid in and make a hideous cocktail that needed to be downed in a single pass that ceaselessly led to guys chundering all over the place. It was once simple to consider the extra he interested by it; there have been lads giggling and he was once consuming a pint he didn’t need whilst feeling groggy, that wasn’t too dissimilar. With every gulp he even discovered that in comparison to a vomit inducing pints of sour, baileys, vodka, whiskey and gin, this was once in fact simple!

“It’s simply heat, salty water, that’s all it’s.” He repeated in his thoughts and with one final tip of the pint glass from the officer it was once all long gone. Imagining his buddies all cheering and chanting he opened his eyes with a smile, forgetting the place he was once for a 2d.

“He likes the robust ones then” mentioned the inked policeman “he quickly got here spherical.”

It most effective took seconds for it to hit, and no quicker had Al discovered there should had been one thing within the piss that it felt like he was once floating, gazing via his personal eyes from afar. An amazing surge of insatiable horniness flushed over him and his already laborious cock felt love it was once going to rip in the course of the now sweaty rubber shorts. He slightly remembered someplace in his cloudy thoughts that he simply needed to cum and it’d all be over. Fuck he felt wonderful. He attempted to grasp his cock forgetting his cuffed arms. His thirst was once already again inside seconds and he had to drink extra, and cum, he had to cum.

“Fuck, please boss” he begged having a look between the 3 officials who had already amassed round him, the rubber in their uniforms, shining within the mild appeared as excellent as his shorts and boots felt, we puzzled what they should really feel like on as he set free a carnal grunt.

“That’s proper pig,” mentioned the ginger officer, maintaining his wrists because the darkish officer uncuffed him and were given him up off the chair ahead of cuffing him once more “now time to get you correctly dressed, this was once only a taster.”

Al felt an excessively chilly sensation on his cock and balls. He opened his eyes with a deep piggy oink. He’d had reminiscence loss once more, he was once in a brand new room, hands cuffed to the steel bars of 2 prison cells all sides of him. Two of the officials have been giggling, rubbing ice cubes round his crotch whilst the tattooed one was once setting out his boots and shorts. Had he been there mins or hours?

“What’s happening?” slurred Al

“We defined all of it whilst you arrived and signed the disclaimer. You’re about to grow to be a human urinal till you cum.”
Al part laughed and part growled, fuck he was once so attractive it’d take seconds to cum and he was once so hazed and attractive at the moment it simply felt like his buddies have been simply being silly. This wasn’t so unhealthy.

“Deliver it on.” he slurred.

You heard him boys, he’s gagging for it now. Pass get Brent.”

Brent? I do know him!” laughed Al, writhing towards the cuffs, his freezing cock shrinking regardless of his insane horniness, fucking the air.

Al was once most effective part shocked to peer Brent input in a an identical complete rubber cop uniform wearing an empty pint glass and a steel contraption.

“Ello pig.” he grinned with the sexiest, evil smile. If he was once into guys, he’d certainly see why guys would opt for him, any of the officials in reality.

“Oink!” spoke back Al in settlement intoxicated with rubber lust.

“Able for the most productive bit now pig? You sought after the most productive sexual prime ever. You mentioned you’d be my rubber urinal and I’d get dressed you on the other hand I sought after till you got here.”

“I will’t bear in mind, however sure please I want it.” writhed Al.

Brett passed the steel factor to the ginger one. “Smartly the extra of our tainted piss you drink the extra intense this may get, the extra of a slutty rubber piss pig you’ll grow to be, all main as much as essentially the most universe shattering orgasm you’ll ever really feel. Then you definitely’re loose to move.”

“Mmmmmmm I will’t stay up for that” grunted Al.

“Oh you’ll have to attend” chuckled Brett opening his rubber combats pulling his laborious throbbing cock out and starting to piss into the pint glass “you in a position for extra?”

“Fuck yeah I need yours essentially the most!” he mentioned licking his lips.”

“Oh you’ve had lots already. Remember the fact that tablet we shared on the bar? You began blabbing about being a plumber then temporarily feeling attractive, I’d mentioned it’d make a sizzling porn for the plumber to grow to be a part of the plumbing, you’d agreed and part an hour later you have been consuming my piss out of a pint glass proper in entrance of your pals, they’d no clue however the recycled tablet in my piss made you wish to have extra and were given you hornier. I informed you concerning the membership I used to be a part of, and should you stored piss recycling that I’d take you and also you’d have the horniest enjoy you’d ever enjoy once more.”

“Oh yeah!” agreed deficient Al, both starting to keep in mind or simply filling within the blanks along with his creativeness.

“You really liked the sensation of the rubber whilst you’d found out I used to be dressed in it underneath my equipment so I took you off to the alley and also you sought after to be lined in it. So we’re gonna fit you up utterly, you’ll have that tremendous feeling all over the place each inch of your pores and skin.” Stated Brent lifting the pint of piss as much as Al’s mouth. He didn’t even hesitate this time, he gulped it down like the overall piss pig he was once becoming.

The sensations took seconds to hit him like a wall once more, he set free one almighty scream of delight. If he was once attractive ahead of then this was once one thing else, his pores and skin was once on fireplace and he in fact loved the style of the new salty yellow piss in his mouth and throat, it wanted filling the entire extra! His pores and skin begged to be lined in rubber and piss.
“Please please duvet me up boss!” Al cried.

“One minute,” winked the tattooed cop, maintaining up a mass of black rubber and smacking Al’s cock to make the semi laborious cock pass backtrack.

“We’re simply going to try this first,” lower in Brent maintaining up the steel factor for Al to peer.

“We’re going to however this unhealthy boy on you.”
It resembled a steel jock strap, with some roughly hole tube, and a strap for between the ass with a steel object connected.
“Fuck, what’s that?” requested Al, sounding apprehensive.
“It’s a NeoSteel. A chastity belt. Your cock is going in right here to give protection to it from stimulation and this factor is a , it’ll pass up and can also be remotely stimulated so your ass will obtain the entire excitement as an alternative of your cock.”
“However how will I cum?” happy Al.
The 4 officials appeared to one another with a realizing smirk.
“Just right query. You’ll be able to’t in reality.” Spoke back the darkish bearded one.
“Smartly then how do I am getting out, the deal was once I do that ‘til I cum.” mentioned Al, seeking to muster all of his sense.
“That also is the deal!” laughed Brett, “You’ll be able to take the rubber off as soon as you are taking the belt off and the belt comes off if you cum.”

“However you simply mentioned I will’t cum! That’s backwar-” Al’s mouth was once lined via Brent’s rubbered gloved hand.

“Oops.” He whispered quietly as he slipped 3 arms down his throat, fucking Al’s mouth. Al’s mouth welcomed it regardless of his thoughts announcing no, his cock started to pump with blood once more, a surge of fantastic horniness flush over him once more.

Al attempted to scream in the course of the glove as he felt a chilly liquid being squirted over his cock, balls and over his ass. Then with out caution a chilly steel intruder was once rammed into his ass. He part screamed out in terror and and part absolute filthy excitement, gagging on Brent’s hand.

Al then felt his destiny being sealed as a central belt was once fixed round his sweating waist. He whimpered because the tube slid up his shaft swallowing his cock entire and keeping apart his balls, shoving them to the aspect A steel protect was once positioned over the tube hiding his balls and attaching to the cock tube. Then a strap was once slotted into the belt at the rear above his ass crack, maintaining the plug firmly in position and coming underneath the frame previous the separated balls, clipping along with the entrance protect and tube ahead of in any case assembly with the locking put up at the entrance of the belt.
“Able for the padlock pig?” growled Brent.

Al shook his head, seeking to plead with him.

chicken with a noisy ultimate click on Brent launched his hand from Al’s mouth because the ginger pervert locked the large padlock in position handing the important thing to Brent.

Al set free an almighty guttural scream of frustration which was once simply met via laughter from his captors.

“Please I’m so on the subject of cu-” begged Al ahead of he was once silenced via extra piss being poured down his throat via the darkish cop. He attempted to spit it out however needed to swallow some to forestall himself from chocking. The frenzy was once again, his cock throbbed in it’s jail as his middle threatened to overcome it’s means out of his cheat and the cloud of primal lust clouded his mind. Al set free a hysterical chuckle.

“Fuck you’re going to ship me insane with horniness you bastards!”

“We all know!” shrugged the inked officer as he started to power Al’s toes into the socks of the rubber swimsuit. His ft felt just like the have been orgasming as the sensation unfold up his meaty thighs and lined his knees with the tight black rubber.
“No no no no mmm yeah no.” whimpered Al pathetically as he noticed the swimsuit being pulled up over his chastity, making the polished steel jock vanish in to a sea of slippery, glossy black rubber.

“Oh prevent it feels too excellent. Simply let me cum please.” he cried fruitlessly because the rubber was once massaged up his chest via two of the officials. His arms have been grabbed firmly via Brent as one of the most others unlocked the cuffs permitting the others to tug his arms down into the hands which pressured his arms into the form of fists, and sucked right into a mitt, rendering his arms pointless. Once had he discovered that he couldn’t transfer his arms, Al felt them jerked at the back of him and cuffed at the back of his again over again because the swimsuit was once pulled over his shoulders and up his neck, resting around the again of his head. He discovered it was once all one piece of rubber leaving just a hollow for his face. Brent seemed in entrance of him gazing his face longingly, with a virtually sorrowful glance on his face. He pulled him in for the private passionate snog, shoving his tongue down Al’s throat, who was once powerless to withstand as any other wave of delight carried him away with the robust tough kiss.

After what appeared an age Brent pulled away and mentioned “it’s a disgrace to peer that pass” as be stepped again revealing the ginger officer maintaining what appeared like a with a head strap. Because the cop lifted it to his mouth he discovered it was once the dimensions of an enormous eight-inch however was once hole within the heart making a centimeter tube in the course of the period of it. Al’s eyes widened in terror as he attempted to scream, the darkish place of work grabbing his mouth and forcing it open as Al attempted to power his mouth close.
It was once too past due.

This mouth was once being forcibly full of the black rubber monster, raping his throat as he screamed and gagged, ‘til it burned it’s means down additional and additional ‘til no noise got here out, only a faint hum that was once as soon as his scream. His eyes streaming in ache, noticed the mouth finish of the tube had straps because the have been pulled at the back of his head and locked into position forcing his mouth into an everlasting scream, the dildo tube inflicting him to gag and swallow repeatedly as he attempted to breath via his nostril. Then with out even a second to realism what the tube was once for, a hood was once pulled over all of it, overlaying his good-looking, terrified face, blinding him to the sector round him. He felt the zip pulled down at the back of him ultimate the hood as a collar was once added locking all of it in position with any other click on of what should had been a padlock.

One thing else was once added to the mouth, possibly any other tube, possibly a funnel however no matter it was once there was once no selection as he felt piss already filling his throat, he didn’t even need to swallow. The style of robust, yellow, doped piss took him over in an instant quenching his timeless thirst and in an instant sending him sky rocking on a prime of lust, he couldn’t see or make a legitimate however his rubber pores and skin felt as despite the fact that each inch of him was once being fucked via rubber. Handiest then did he really feel the butt plug come to existence, throbbing with a sluggish deep pulsing that higher with each pulse, if most effective he may just contact his cock he would explode into an orgasm that might tear him in two. He was once proper at the edge, however may just simply now not tip over. He heard the jingling of keys and heard muffled voices, of what he concept was once Brent, ordering the others to hold him to the membership.

He’d blacked out with excitement once more. His respiring was once again to standard and his thoughts felt cognitive once more. It took him a second to keep in mind what he was once feeling, the pulsing in his aching ass at a minimal, the metal round his cock fighting any sensation, his throat crammed and fucked via the monstrous urinal pipe and his arms caught at the back of him, the load underneath him made him mindful he should had been sat on his ass along with his again to a wall. All throughout the swimsuit felt heat and rainy, he should had been pissing inside of his personal swimsuit. Throughout him he may just listen shuffling of toes and chatter drowned out via the sound of thudding song. He attempted to combat and transfer however he may just really feel a tugging at his mouth. The tube was once connected to one thing; pull as laborious as he may just along with his frame weight he couldn’t in reality transfer. His pals should be questioning the place he was once via now, how lengthy had it been?

With out caution, piss seemed in his throat as he heard giggling above him. This piss wasn’t doped, it was once simply common sizzling piss, he sought after to sob however with out his mouth he simply made abnormal buzzing sounds. He had to piss and was once nonetheless so thirsty. He heard a muffled voice, say, “No the urinal likes this sort of piss best possible, watch this.”

He couldn’t inform if it was once one of the most officials however he was once guzzling down extra piss seconds later simply as he felt his personal bladder pass, feeling as despite the fact that piss was once pouring in a single finish and out via his pointless cock, filling his swimsuit which spill out onto the ground, making him not more than simply plumbing in a device of urinals.

The wave of doped piss hit him once more simply because the electro in his ass started to pulse in his hollow once more as he was once carried again to the very fringe of orgasm, each considered one of his senses intoxicated via rubber, piss and denial. He gurgled in excitement as his personal ideas left him, he couldn’t bear in mind his identify simply that he cherished being a urinal.

“Extra piss!” he sought after to cry out into his tube because the nameless man completed, most effective to get replaced via the sound of a number of extra pairs of toes as they started to piss into the urinal. Someplace within the far-off recesses of his thoughts he so sought after to be loose, however the ecstatic euphoria the piss introduced him was once such a lot more potent than any will he had felt. He stopped suffering and gulped and gulped. He would simply have to simply accept his tight, inescapable, rubbery piss jail till he may just cum, possibly he simply had to drink sufficient piss.

Possibly the following piss prime will be the one to tip him over the brink of orgasm.

There was once just one technique to to find out.

A Cute Boy Learns Total Surrender

Slave Being Teased By Master

The room is about 12 feet on a side and 10 feet high, the walls faced with roughly dressed light-gray stone. The floor is covered with thick black rubber and slopes gently toward a drain in one corner. On the ceiling there’s gray acoustical tile.

Light is provided by glowing tubes all around the top of the walls, just below the ceiling, that are controlled from outside the room. They dim for part of each day to allow sleep and are on full the rest of the time. There are ventilation grilles low on two walls and in the ceiling, and the temperature is kept at a constant mid-70s. At least, it never seems too cold or too warm despite my always being naked.

There are no windows. The door is a steel slab with a small spy hole set into it. It has no handle on the inside; this, too, is controlled from without. There’s a video camera in each corner, up near the ceiling, as well as several microphones. I never know if anyone is watching or listening, or which camera is live, but I have to assume that anything I do or say can be seen or heard.

Toward one side but still away from the wall is a slab of dense foam as wide as a twin-size bed. It’s covered in black canvas, with a zipper at the end to remove the cover for cleaning. The only furniture besides my exercise equipment is an antique-style wooden armchair, intricately carved, against the wall next to the door. Its seat cushion is covered in a rich, red velvet, the only spot of color in the whole chamber, and the wood is stained dark brown. It looks like it came from the Doge’s palace in 15th-century Venice.

The chair is not for me, of course. The chain padlocked to my leg irons and bolted into the opposite wall isn’t long enough for me to sit there if I wanted to, reaching only far enough for me to kneel in front of the chair and service the Master when he sits there, licking his boots or sucking his cock.

Thick, 2-inch-wide metal cuffs are fastened onto my ankles and wrists, and a collar in the same style is around my neck. The edges of the steel bands are smoothly rounded, and the welded connecting chains are long enough for me to wash myself or exercise, but they can be shortened with clips or locks whenever the Master wishes. Every move I make is accompanied by the loud jangle of chains, almost the only sound in this place. At first it was exciting, and then I thought it would drive me mad, but by now I hardly notice it.

Near the floor drain is a seatless metal toilet, and a pipe set into the wall next to it has a long hose connected. The hose is usually terminated in a nonadjustable shower head, but that can be replaced by a douche tube if required. There are no faucets inside the cell to control the water temperature or flow, nor is there a flush handle for the toilet. All that is regulated outside. But the Master is not cruel, or thoughtless, and he has the toilet flushed several times a day so that there is sufficient clean water for me to drink.

All of the hair on my head and everywhere else is clipped as short as possible once a week, and then my head, pubes, and ass crack are shaved smooth. The Master seems to enjoy doing it himself rather than having me do it. I enjoy his doing it, too. He also seems to enjoy seeing the growing fuzz on my face and body between clippings, knowing that it always makes me itch. There is no mirror in the cell, so I can’t see how I look, only feel the smoothness or fuzz.

A padlock joins the thick PA in my circumcised dick with a guiche ring further back. I can manipulate my cock to some extent, but I learned early on that it wasn’t worth it. I can’t come without being erect, and if I start to get erect the pain soon deflates me. I can’t even have a wet dream, because the pain wakes me up. The Master has hinted that he will allow me to come eventually, but I have no idea when, nor if there is anything I can do to hasten the release. The horniness tormented me at first, but after nearly two months, I don’t think about it much one way or another — not more than 20 or 30 times a day.

Of course, I also don’t know exactly how long I’ve been here. At first the Master deliberately manipulated the light and his own comings and goings to confuse me and destroy my grasp on mundane time. Even now that he has settled me into a routine, I have no way of being certain if it’s daytime outside when it’s light in the cell, or nighttime when it’s dim in here. As the Master works out of his home and thus can visit me whenever he pleases and spend as much time with me as he wants, I also have no way of telling weekdays from weekends. But I do keep track of my sleeps, and as near as I can tell it’s been between 50 and 60 days. Otherwise, the only way I can gauge the passage of time is by my own pulse, which is slow and steady except when I’m exercising.

i don’t know how long I’ll be here, either. The Master certainly has the resources to keep me here for the rest of his life, if not mine, but somehow I don’t think the experiment will last quite that long. Probably less than a year, though that’s just a feeling. The arrangement is open-ended.

The routine I currently follow is quite simple in its outlines. In the “morning,” or what I assume is morning, the light tubes brighten, and I rise from my pallet. I take a drink from the toilet, release my piss, and go through an extensive exercise routine, first stretching, then calisthenics, free weights, and finally a half hour on the treadmill. The black-finished steel and rubber treadmill is the largest object in the cell. It’s programmed by the Master to tell me when to speed up, slow down, and stop. The time readout has no hour indicator, just elapsed minutes and seconds, and it goes back to zero whenever I step off.

After exercise I kneel by the shower pipe. Eventually the water will start pouring through, and I will cleanse myself. There is no towel or washcloth, just a squeeze bottle of liquid soap. I wash quickly so as not to be soapy when the water stops. The moisture level of the air is low enough that I tend to dry quickly.

When I’m clean I kneel in front of the Master’s chair and wait for him to come in. During this time I am required to repeat aloud, again and again, a short “slave’s creed”:

 

I am a slave. I live to serve and obey the Master. I own nothing. I have a right to nothing. I control nothing. Everything comes from the Master and by his will. What makes me happy is to obey. What fulfills me is to be used for his and other men’s pleasure.

 

These are the only words I am permitted to speak when I am alone in the cell. I do not rebel against this or the other rules, nor provoke punishment to enforce them. This is the life I asked for, and I do my best to follow the program.

Generally the Master makes me wait a while, but eventually he will enter and set a dog bowl with my food down beside the chair. It is always the same, a dry formulation that he will moisten with his piss so I don’t chip my teeth on the hard pellets, which also serve in lieu of a toothbrush. He has assured me it contains all the nutrients I need.

In the “mornings” I am not allowed to eat immediately, however, even though by then I am always very hungry. First I must recite my creed once more, this time addressed directly to the Master, and when that is done I am allowed to lick his boots. If he is in the mood, he may also allow me to service his cock and balls, or to lick his ass. This is no hardship: the Master keeps himself fit, and he is still an attractive man. Besides, he’s well hung. I also have no worry about catching any disease from him — no one is more scrupulously careful, and I know that he would never put me at risk. But at 64 his libido isn’t what it was, and some days he doesn’t bother to use me.

He has another slave, Stephen, who’s been with him for five years or so, as well as several part-time slaves he trains off and on, so perhaps he saves himself for them. Stephen is certainly young and handsome enough to be worth focusing on. The intimacies the Master grants me are more a reward, or encouragement, than a service to him, I suspect.

The Master says little to me at these times, indicating by a nod or a gesture, or a single word, what he requires. And, of course, after my creed is repeated, I have no call to speak to him nor to look at him — my eyes stay fixed on the floor between his legs unless I am servicing some part of his body. His morning attire is usually casual, just slacks or jeans and a shirt, maybe a vest — plus boots, of course. He favors lace-up logger boots or cowboy boots for the daytime, motorcop or engineer’s boots at night. Even before my confinement, I’d never seen him without boots on. I suppose he takes them off for sleep, but the only times I ever slept in the same room with him, I was hooded or blindfolded.

 

After I worship his boots, and then render any sexual service he requires, the Master flogs me. A selection of flogging implements, a muzzle and gag, a hood, and other pieces of gear he likes to use on me are stored in a small, locked case set against the wall behind his chair. Usually he makes me stand against the wall and clips my wrist and ankle cuffs to rings set there for that purpose, my arms above my head and my feet stretched as far apart as the leg chain permits. Sometimes he has me lie down on my belly on the sleeping pallet and clips my arms and legs to the rings set in the floor at either end, or he’ll restrain me to the bench I use for weightlifting. It seems to make no difference in the severity of the flogging how I am restrained, just a whim of the Master, though I imagine the vertical position is easier for him than bending over me.

In either case, he always straps the muzzle over my face and inserts the thick leather plug gag inside my mouth. I am allowed to scream as much as I need to during the flogging, but it does not please him to have his ears assaulted by my noise, and it makes no difference anyway in how many strokes I must take. The number varies according to some formula known only to him. It’s always at least 50 and usually much more. I’m grateful to be gagged and not required to count them out. I can sink into the rhythm of the ever-changing now and stop thinking. My back is heavily calloused, of course, yet I still feel the impact of his blows. They’re about as painful as a deep-tissue massage, which can be very painful.

After my flogging, the Master will release me from the wall or floor, take off the muzzle and gag, and allow me once again to bathe his boots in my saliva and tears. I always thank him profusely for the discipline, which he has made very clear has nothing to do with punishment. It’s not even because he enjoys flogging me, though he clearly does most of the time. Even if I’ve sucked him off before the flogging, he’ll usually be erect again by the time he stops. Sometimes he even fucks my ass before releasing me from the wall or bench. No, these daily floggings are a matter of basic discipline.

“A slave needs to be flogged regularly,” he’ll say in his brusque, no-nonsense voice, “and that’s all there is to it. It’s like taking a dog out for a walk or rubbing down a horse after a run, something an owner simply has to do.” Before leaving, he wets down my breakfast, pats my head, and gives me my journal pages. I am free to eat once the door shuts behind him.

It is when the Master comes back late in the “evening” with my second and last meal of the day that he talks to me and listens to anything I wish to tell him. He usually wears either a police uniform or full leather, but once or twice a month he appears in a tailored suit or even tuxedo and black tie, with black dress boots, having come back from a formal dinner or cultural outing. He allows my eyes and tongue much freer reign at these times, seeming to enjoy my admiring glances, my nuzzling, and my compliments on his appearance. He lets me curl up between his legs and rub my face against the cloth or lick the leather covering his thighs. It’s not exactly passion between us, but comfort with each other and with our respective roles.

After I eat, we talk. The conversations we have as I sit at his feet are wide-ranging — we are both well-educated men with many interests. The Master will tell me what he wishes me to know about the state of the world outside, which is generally little, as he has gone to considerable expense and effort to allow me to focus inward, on my own body, mind, and spirit.

That is why I am here. It was my idea, actually, but it was his gift to enable me to realize my obsessive fantasy of nonstop bondage, solitary confinement, and total control. It’s designed as a test of whether such a narrowly circumscribed life, free of the usual distractions of earning a living or interacting with the non-Master/slave world, can move me further along my destined path. I know that I was born to serve and obey a Master, but all too often, out in the world, I lost sight of that clear goal and became caught up in other commitments or concerns.

We’ve been friends for a long time, the Master and I, much long–er than I’ve been a slave, let alone his slave. It often goes the other way: two men come together first as Master and slave, and over time their growing intimacy and affection make the roles too awkward to continue. The Master is too experienced for that trap. He won’t even allow a boy to call him “Sir” until they’ve known each other for a couple of months, sexually and otherwise, and he’s never taken a live-in slave after less than a year’s probation.

As for me . . . I’ve experienced enough to know what I want, what I need. After several Master/slave relationships that ended sooner than I wanted, I have few illusions left, about slavery or about myself. But I do have resistances, self-doubts, and, above all, habits of self-regard that make it hard for me to go deeper. Thus this experiment in deprivation and regimentation. For the Master to move me into his house as a servant would prove nothing — been there, done that (though not with him). Call this experience boot camp for the soul.

The truth is that I chose all of it, every detail. The Master and I discussed the arrangements exhaustively for more than a year. After all, orchestrating a long-term confinement as rigorous as mine is not a matter for negotiation over drinks in a bar or a few online chats. Everything had to be planned, all the contingencies allowed for, the appointed space constructed and equipped. I had to quit my job, vacate my apartment, dispose of or store my possessions, and notify my friends. One half of my savings went to the Master to defray the expenses of my upkeep, and the other half was safely invested. I had to be absolutely sure that once I entered this cell, I wouldn’t need to leave it again until the Master decided I was ready. And I had to be sure that he wouldn’t soften if I lost my nerve, or exceed his mandate, or allow the experiment to end prematurely because of the cost of keeping me here, submissive but idle.

The daily floggings, and any other torments I suffer, are intended to purify my submission and to wean me from my ego. For the same reason, though the Master permits me to use the first person in my journal and when I talk with him, he never uses my old name, or any name. I am just “slave” to him and anyone else I come in contact with, even his other slave. But he tempered my initial enthusiasm for a much harsher regimen, with far less space to move around in. i’d had in mind something like an oubliette, a small underground hole where he’d throw food down to me, piss on me, periodically hose me off, and otherwise leave me alone.

“And what would I get out of that?” he asked, laughing. “I wouldn’t even have your warm mouth to piss in, or your conversation to while away the evenings. What a supremely selfish idea! If you expect me to give you room, board, and bondage for an extended period, you’re going to have to be available for my use — and that of selected friends, too. You’ll spend plenty of time alone, don’t worry, but you’ll also earn your keep, sexually and otherwise.”

The logic was inescapable, of course, even more so than this cell I inhabit. The Master convinced me that the kind of confinement I’d fantasized about wouldn’t prove anything more or achieve any quicker results, just bore him and ruin my health and mental balance, reducing my value as a slave.

As time passes, it is obvious that he was right. A greater harshness would have activated my defenses, delaying my acceptance of his control, or else pushed me into that apathetic passivity many mistakenly equate with submission. The way I live now is certainly harsh enough, restrictive enough, and barren enough compared with my former professional-class lifestyle, and yet it clearly suits me. In terms of health and fitness, I’m in better shape than I’ve been in years, and my mood is farther from depression or despair than when I had the whole world to move around in.

Within these gray walls, I have no worries or fears. I am well taken care of. I fall asleep easily, sleep soundly, and wake without regret. Naturally, I miss music and art, and daylight and colors and trees and animals, but I have a well-stocked memory of these things. I miss books — oh, what I would give for a single box of those I put in storage! — but I don’t miss TV or newspapers or most people. An hour of the Master’s company is worth days of useless chatter with others.

All in all, I’m more content here than I ever was outside. Oh, that’s not to say I’m never bored or never chafe at my restrictions. Of course I do, who wouldn’t? But such feelings pass quickly, more quickly than when I had a whole city’s worth of amusements to choose from. If all else fails, I kneel in front of the Master’s chair, at the limit of my chain, and repeat my slave’s creed. The peace that descends as I repeat the familiar words assures me of their truth, and I gratefully embrace the strict conditions of my confinement once again.

The fact is, I would miss my daily flogging if I didn’t receive it, and I’d probably gag on a conventional meal if offered one. I never liked wearing clothes, and my collar and chains are as much a comfort to me as a constraint. They make me feel wanted, valued, secure. If I were suddenly placed in a crowd of people, I would run to the nearest small room and lock myself in.

Servicing the Master day after day, with no release for myself, I’ve come to displace my sexual response onto him, so that when he cries out in orgasmic joy, my own body spasms and relaxes. I still remember my name, I’m pretty sure I do, but would I even respond if someone called me by it? If he held open the door to this cell, and I weren’t chained, would I make a move toward it?

 

For most of each day I am usually left alone, to pass the time however I can. At first it seemed to stretch endlessly ahead of me, and I wondered how I could make it to the Master’s next visit without screaming and smashing my head against the wall. But I soon learned that my sense of duration is very flexible, and I can control it by my attitude. Once I stopped always looking forward to “what’s next,” anticipating, and learned to live in each moment, five hours came to seem much the same as five minutes. I have all the time I need, all the time there is, no more nor less. I suspect all long-term solitary prisoners learn this — at least those who survive.

Much of the day, of course, I spend in meditation — classic Zen sitting or walking (once I became able to tune out the rattle of chain), and I also think things through in more conventional fashion, patiently testing and rehearsing my ideas in my head before writing anything down. I receive five blank sheets of paper a day, no more, and each evening the Master takes with him whatever pages I’ve filled as well as any left blank. The next morning, along with my breakfast, he returns to me Xeroxes, on bright yellow paper, of the finished pages, keeping the originals. So I have my completed work for reference, if I need it, but there is no way I can alter my words retroactively.

The Master gave me a wooden lap desk to write on and a good ballpoint pen, a far cry from the elaborate computer setup I used to write with but sufficient to my needs. Because I cannot erase anything, and I am reluctant to disfigure my manuscripts with cross outs, I think much more than I write, and I write very slowly, pausing before almost every word to be sure it is the right one to express my meaning. While my physical world has been pared down close to a minimum, my mental world is unlimited. I find that my memory is much better than it used to be, strengthened by hard use and the absence of electronic crutches, and my powers of concentration are greater.

What do I write? Musings, recollections, how I am feeling, debates with myself or the Master, little essays about slavery and its discontents — or its joys. The writing has no goal, no overall structure. It’s a snapshot of my mind at a given time. And yet I always come back to one point: the persistence of choice in even the most inescapable captivity. No matter how much is taken away from me, I always have choices to make, if only where to direct my eyes or focus my hearing. Even naked and chained in a solitary cell, I am learning just how much I still have left to surrender.

The Master jokes that in its disconnected way my journal amounts to a “critique of pure submission,” like Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason. He says that when it is done — when I am done with this confinement, when he decides that I have no more to learn from it — I should edit it down and publish it. “Tell them all the truth for once,” he says. “There’s too much nonsense about slavery going around, with folks trying to re-enact the Old South or Ancient Rome or some such silliness. They miss the point and waste everyone’s time.”

 

For the first month or so of my captivity, I never saw anyone but the Master, and then usually just twice a day. From time to time, though, he’d look in on me unexpectedly, and he might demand my service, if only as a urinal, or amuse himself by putting me into some more stringent bondage, installing a butt plug or catheter, or placing clamps and clips on my body. Anything to reinforce that I am not in control of my bodily functions or sensations, only how I react to them. Now that my routine is well established, he sometimes sends his house slave instead to check on me and carry out whatever he’s planned but doesn’t care to do himself — I assume he watches on the video to be sure all is done to his standards.

Sometimes he sends in visiting friends of his, other Masters or Topmen, to amuse themselves with my body or to make use of my holes. He insists they use condoms with me, even for oral sex, and a latex barrier for rimming. There’s a container of rubbers and oral shields next to the cell door, kept full by the house slave. There are probably also some other limits he’s set to keep me safe, but it’s out of my hands — I have no safeword, no way to draw a line. The Master’s good will and good sense are my only protection.

It is absolutely forbidden me to speak to these visiting Tops, or to the house slave, not one word, and this is enforced if necessary by gagging me. The only choice I have is to cooperate and endure whatever they wish to do with me, or to resist and have to endure it anyway in the end. Because of my love and respect for the Master, I would never resist his use of me, however painful, but I’ll still balk at times if someone else interrupts my meditation or writing for a fuck or a piss stop. It never does any good, of course. The chains put me at their mercy.

The rule of silence was very hard on me at first. Some are men I would have been drawn to in any case (others, alas, not), and I yearned to communicate with them, to convey my respect and my appreciation for their blows, their piss, their hard cocks filling my holes. But at the first word, even “Sir, thank you, Sir,” they stick in the big plug gag, filling my mouth, and tightly strap it around my head, or else the ring gag that stretches my jaws wide to receive their offerings. Only my eyes remain able to express my feelings, except when these, too, are covered.

Some men — a surprising number — find it unnerving to look into the eyes of a bound slave they are using and need the depersonalization afforded by a mask or hood, or at least a blindfold, while others look back at me with a fierce joy and a clear conscience, sure of their right to dominate. For me, the feelings are ambivalent. While it is good to be hooded and used as a nameless slave, just a body with convenient holes and parts available for torture, it is also thrilling to be in the hands of a man who really seems to want me — me in particular — and to take pleasure in my helplessness to resist him.

 

Although I had become used to occasional visits from Stephen, the Master’s trusted house slave, either to check on me while I was in stringent bondage or to release me from it, I almost balked the first time he came in to initiate a session of immobility. Oh, shit, not now, I said silently to myself as he entered the cell carrying several large hanks of rope. I was in the middle of writing a very closely argued paragraph and didn’t want to stop.

But as he came toward me — the thick, man-size cock bouncing between his lean, muscled legs, an eager grin on his boyish face — I lost all desire to resist. It would be, I think, like smacking a puppy for being friendly. So I smiled back at him, put my writing materials aside, and got onto my knees, resting my manacled hands on my thighs.

Although I had been introduced to Stephen before my confinement, and he knew my name, once I was locked up here his demeanor changed. Instead of a fellow slave’s sympathy, what I sense from him now is a Topman’s relish for my vulnerability. Despite his nudity and the padlocked chain around his neck, he carries himself less like a slave than like a young Master. Maybe it seems that way because the Master leaves his chest, pubes, arms, and legs unshaved.

In his late 20s, more years younger than me than I like to admit, and a few inches taller, Stephen has a dark complexion, short black hair, a small goatee, and bright black eyes. At the front his hair is longer and trained in a stylish upward flare. Like me, he has thick silver rings in both his nipples and the head of his cock, which is uncut, but on him they seem decorative, not marks of possession. Since his earliest visits he hasn’t been completely nude but now wears heavy black lineman’s boots laced to his knees. And on this occasion he’d added studded leather armbands and tight black leather gloves.

While my chains prevent some rope-bondage positions, such as a classic hogtie, Stephen worked with them and methodically immobilized me. He roped my upper arms and elbows tightly behind my back, pulling my manacled wrists to my sides and pushing out my chest, which he crisscrossed with more rope until my whole torso was rigid. My cock tried in vain to become erect as his gloved hands moved over me with rough efficiency. I said nothing, of course, just looked at him as he bound my legs at the thighs, knees, and ankles, and then roped my feet back up to my arms. His usual eager expression had changed into a fierce concentration. I felt like a wild hare transfixed by a snake or bird of prey.

When he set me back upright on my knees, tightly bound from shoulders to feet, I could barely hold my balance without his hands on my shoulders. I stared into his sparkling eyes.

“Fuckface” he whispered to me, as soft as a lover’s sigh. “Such a good fuckface.” And then he clamped my head between his hands and did just that, fuck my face with his dick.

I was shocked — what would the Master think? — but Stephen seemed to have no compunctions about using me for his pleasure. “Trust me” was all he said when my eyes widened in alarm at his failure to put on a condom, and, confident that the Master would not own an untrustworthy slave, I did.

He came quickly, gushing out his cum after only a few strokes once his fat, uncut cock was lodged in my throat. Then he pulled back a little and smiled as he filled my mouth with his piss. After I’d swallowed his whole bladder load, he astonished me again by kneeling and kissing me deeply, passionately, and for a long time. He could probably still taste his urine on my tongue — I certainly could! Finally, he stroked my eyes closed and wound more rope around my head to form a blindfold and gag. He laid me down on my side, rubbed my shaved head between the ropes, and left the cell.

At least, I think he left — for all I knew, he could have stayed and watched me for the hour or two I lay in bondage. But there wasn’t the slightest indication I wasn’t alone. The only sound was my own breathing, an occasional slight clink from my chains as I shifted position, or tried to, and a periodic whoosh from the ventilation ducts. I think I’d have lain there for a long time even if I hadn’t been bound so tightly, overcome by what had just happened to me. More than merely being used by this young man, I’d been possessed by him.

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 toilet, 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.

 

I think Stephen is following his own inspirations in binding or torturing me, not just carrying out the Master’s orders. He brings whatever he needs with him, sometimes more than he needs. He’ll lay out a whole repertoire of implements on the floor before choosing what to use. But there is none of the tentativeness in his handling of me that novice Tops often show, because they can’t quite believe they can actually do such things to another person.

Stephen knows he can do whatever he wants with me, though of course he’d be answerable to the Master if he injured his charge. Perhaps the Master is training him as a Top — he already has an amazing degree of skill for someone his age, as well as the inner fire. I like to think that Stephen is inspired by my increasingly deep submission, my total vulnerability. Unlike that first time, I go to my knees immediately when he enters now, bowing my head in respect as I do for the Master. He seems to expect no less.

More and more often Stephen comes in with the Master in the morning, and it is his piss that moistens my breakfast and his hand that gives me my regular flogging while the Master watches — or even leaves to go about his business. Also, it’s usually Stephen who clips and shaves me once a week now, rather than the Master. He never sits in the Master’s chair, however, always remaining standing or crouching, unless he lies down with me. He is obedient and deferential to the Master but does not kneel to him in my presence.

Stephen does make mistakes at times and has to back up a move or two, particularly when he’s trying out a new technique, but he usually works on me with a sureness almost equal to the Master’s, as if everything he does had been practiced to perfection in advance. But on whom? Himself?

The only hesitation I’ve noted, on occasions when he’s left my eyes uncovered, is that when he has me stretched out, tied into a bundle, or strung up to the wall, he’ll step back and just look at me for a while. His eyes sparkle and a half grin plays on his lips, as if he’s wondering which torment would be the most fun to inflict. Will it be needles this time? Or electricity? Things that pinch, or things that sting?

Why do I stand for this? Why don’t I complain to the Master? I’m no pain pig, and our experiment never envisioned regular torture, just a simple daily flogging. Is it his eyes? His smile? Surely it’s not simply lust for his cock! I’m not really a dick pig either, just a man who needs to obey and serve.

That must be the key: I am serving Stephen in his coming out as a Top. Thanks to me, and to the situation created by my need that makes me so available to him, he’ll gain as much experience in a few weeks or months as most new Tops acquire in years of cruising and tricking. Are his kisses and gentle strokes anything more than gestures of appreciation for my service to him? Why is that important to me? Does it still matter so much whom I serve, as long as I serve well?

Except for screams and involuntary cries, I honor the Master’s rule not to speak to Stephen, but he talks freely, vocalizing a running commentary on his use of me. Early on, I almost laughed, because his name-calling was so reminiscent of bad porn. Since then I’ve grown accustomed to his growling, muttering, boyish sex talk.

He calls me “dickhead,” “fuckwad,” and “pissdump,” or worse, but there’s no edge of malice in it, no contempt, more a kind of roughhewn affection. It’s as if I’m his pet and he’s encouraging me with words I can’t really understand. Perhaps he just needs to underscore the difference in our status, since he, too, wears a slave collar. For how much longer, though?

Much of the tenderness he shows me could be chalked up to a Top’s empathy, not the deeper affection of a lover or owner. He may gently stroke my face before he starts slapping me, or lightly kiss my ass cheeks before laying into them with a belt or paddle. But there are hints of something more.

Recently, for instance, after he kissed me on the mouth — hungrily, demandingly — he allowed me to lick his face before pushing my mouth into his armpits, and thence to his crotch. And though my tongue has been inside his ass crack and hole more often than in the Master’s (he especially likes to have me lick along the taint between his balls and asshole), his has been in mine almost as often, gently opening me up to be fucked. I often daydream about his taste and smell, so sweet and rank at the same time, and wonder if he thinks about mine.

I find it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything else but his visits. One day my journal pages contained nothing but the words “Stephen’s slave” repeated over and over again. Five pages of it. The Master couldn’t help noticing what I’d done when I wordlessly handed the papers to him as he was leaving that night, though he usually leaves reading my journal for morning. He scanned the pages, his eyebrows dancing, and then sat down again.

“Is there something you need to tell me, slave? Or ask me?”

“Master,” I said, on my knees before him, “are you planning to give me to Stephen?”

“Maybe. How would you feel about it if I did?”

“Master, I’m not sure. He can wrap me around his finger, Sir . . . ,” I said and stopped, confused.

“And? What’s troubling you, slave?”

“Master, is it any more than sex? Would I trust him, Sir, if he weren’t your slave, Sir?”

“I’d say that’s a pretty good reason to trust him.”

“Yes, Sir, of course, but I don’t really know him, Sir, not the way a slave should know the Master he gives himself to — not the way I know you, for instance, Sir. But if you think it would be good for me, Sir, to serve him, I will follow your lead, Sir.”

“That’s a hopeful sign, slave, your trusting me in that. Maybe this experiment you cooked up is working!”

“Sir, thank you, Sir.”

“Nevertheless, I won’t make that decision for you. When the time comes, it must be your own free choice.” He sighed heavily before continuing.

“I never planned what’s been happening between you and Stephen, slave, and it’s damned inconvenient for me! It’s an accident that our experiment coincided with his blossoming as a Top. Or maybe not — maybe you’re bringing it out in him.”

“Sir, it’s nothing I’ve done intentionally, Sir.”

“I know that, slave. I’ve known for more than two years that Stephen would turn Top eventually — before he knew it himself. It’s just that I thought the process would be slower, giving me plenty of time to replace him as my house slave and business assistant.”

He stopped and sighed again, shifting in his seat.

“Stephen certainly didn’t show any eagerness to switch before. I let him watch me train other slaves, or do scenes with experienced bottoms, and I explained a lot of the techniques I used. He would assist me in the dungeon whenever I needed him, but he hung back from doing anything solo, even when I offered him opportunities.

“Then you came, and he begged me to let him help take care of you. Now he’s spending most of his free time in here with you, or planning what he’ll do to you next. He’s driving me crazy with his questions!”

He paused in thought, then continued.

“By now he’s gone through every piece of gear I own, asking how to use it, what dangers he should be aware of, how heavy it’s safe to get with it. I’ve looked at the tapes from his sessions with you, and it’s remarkable how good he is already. But you should be able to tell if he has real feelings for you or is just using you like a practice dummy.”

“Master, most of the time he acts like he cares for me, but then occasionally he’ll be cold and distant. So I don’t know what he really feels, Sir.”

“Well, you’re a captive slave, not really anyone’s property, and he’s a Top in training feeling his oats. I’m not surprised if he enjoys keeping you guessing. But I think he does care for you. He’s never seemed happier than since he started having regular sessions with you. He glows with the energy you feed him.”

“Master, thank you for telling me that. Sir, Stephen makes me happy, too, even when he gives me terrible pain. Sir, I endure it for his sake, because he wants it so much.”

“That’s good, because he was a heavy masochist as a bottom, and he’s turning into an extremely sadistic Top. But also a good one, a careful one — one you can trust, slave.

“And more than just a Top: he’s aiming at Mastery. I can tell by the questions he’s asked about you. He wanted to be sure your food was really adequate and healthy, for instance, and he’s the one who makes sure your toilet gets flushed without fail half a dozen times a day. He’s made suggestions to me about your exercise regimen, and he wanted to know all about the terms of our agreement.

“No, he’s not just a Top interested in unconnected scenes. He’s learned that owning is better than renting — if you can handle the upkeep.”

“Master, do you think he can? Sir, how much could he know of life from being your slave?”

“Don’t sell him short, slave!” he said almost angrily. “Somehow you talked me into setting up this experiment in long-term confinement, but my other slaves do real work — they’re not just toys to play with. Stephen has had as much experience dealing with the real world as most men his age, if not more.”

“Yes, Master. Begging your pardon, Sir.”

“That’s okay,” he said, looking kindly at me again. “Why do you think I can afford to stay home so much of the time? It’s because I send him out to represent me, sparing me the trouble. And his experience being a slave can only be an asset for a Master. It’s more than I had, more than most Masters have. He’ll make mistakes, sure, but he won’t have to guess what it feels like on the other end of the leash, or the whip. He’ll know, and you won’t be able to put anything over on him. He’s bright and he’s sensible, and with the right slave he’ll learn from his mistakes rather than becoming spoiled or giving up in despair. Can you handle being his slave?”

“Master, I don’t know. But if he wants me, and if we have your blessing and counsel, I’ll do my best, Sir.”

“We’ll see, slave.”

 

Part 6

 

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 tonguebathe 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.

 

Part 7

 

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.

When he’s done all he can with his boots short of causing me internal injuries, he lowers the rarely used hoist from the ceiling, hooks my manacles onto it, and pulls me up to my feet. Then he starts using me as a punching bag!

Ungagged, I scream bloody murder, but Stephen never wavers, not even after I break my discipline and start sobbing out clear pleas to stop.

“Please, Sir, no more! Please stop, Sir! Please, Sir!”

Instead, he grabs my skull and starts slapping my face, hard.

“You don’t really mean that, fuckface! You don’t want me to stop before I’m damned well good and ready, do you, shithead slave? Do you? Answer me, asshole!”

“Sir, it hurts so much! Please, Sir!”

He slaps me some more before answering.

“It’s supposed to hurt, slaveboy. I enjoy hurting you. Haven’t you got that through your thick skull yet?”

“Sir, yes, Sir. As you please, Sir,” I force past my bruised lips.

“Damned right, dickhead. As I please, not you.”

At least he moves away from my face after that, and in my agony I realize that his heavier blows are all aimed at well-padded spots on my body. Although I hurt everywhere on the surface, and down into the large muscles, inside I’m okay, just shaken up and pumping out adrenaline and, finally, enough endorphins to turn the pain into ecstasy. I cross over into a masochist’s nirvana on a wave of natural opiates, my brain’s response to the stress of the beating.

Finally, when I’m too blissed out to care, he lets me down and half drags, half carries me over to my pallet, where he lays me out and fucks me royally. There is no more pain — I’m flying.

Before he comes inside my bruised ass, he bends over and says right into my ear, “I want you, slave. I never knew it could be this good. I want to own you and keep you for myself. I don’t want to share you anymore. And I want you to want me, too. I’d let you come now if I could, but the Master hasn’t allowed me the key to that lock. He will, though. He will.”

After he comes with a triumphant shout, he lies on top of me, his dick still inside my ass. We both doze for a while, but when I swim back to consciousness, he’s talking again.

“You want me, too, I know you do. I can see it in your eyes when you look at me. You know who you belong with. You know it’s time you started serving for real instead of in this zoo. I’ll take care of you all right, but you’ll cook for me, and clean my home, and wash my clothes and oil my leathers. You think I don’t have any of those things, and it’s true, I don’t have much — not yet, just the things I’m wearing now, the boots and armbands and gloves. I bought these for you, so you’d respect me even though I still wear a collar. “

He caresses me gently and kisses the back of my neck before continuing.

“It’s been years since I’ve had any clothes of my own, anything besides what the Master gives me so I can run errands and do business for him. And the only home I know is this one, the only space of my own the one room he lets me use. But I have plenty of money — he’s been saving it for me since I’ve been in his service, and he showed me the total — and I have marketable skills.

“All I need to make it worthwhile is a slave to come home to. I’ll be able to support you, dickhead, don’t worry about that, and maybe you can even earn a little on the side. The Master said he would free me if I mastered you, and when he sees you tonight, covered with bruises I gave you, and you kneel at my feet and kiss my boots in front of him, he’ll know that I have.”

He licks my ears and the back of my fuzzy head. I’m sure I look like road kill, yet in my heart I feel at ease. What needed to be said has finally been said. I don’t have to speculate anymore about Stephen’s intentions — or my future.

Relaxed and obviously feeling good about his conquest, Stephen lies half on me, half on the floor, and lightly strokes my shoulders and arms. It tickles and I shiver. He thinks something’s wrong and immediately reassures me.

“It’s okay, boy, you’ll be all right. It’s over now, and you did fine.”

Turning my head, I flash him a grin. He laughs.

“Guess you are okay, asshole!”

He lays his head on my shoulder again and rests for a while, but he can’t keep quiet for long — there’s so much he wants to say to me.

“I’ll bet you think he made it too easy for me, pissface, because here you are, all chained up and available, with no way to resist me. But I know you, slave. I’ve read your journals, too. You could have resisted me in your head if you’d wanted to. I could have been no more to you than some jerk who interrupted your precious meditation. But no, you bent your neck to me the first time I reached out my hand. You knew I would take you, and you wanted me to.”

He’s right, of course. He reads me perfectly.

“And you egged me on by the way you responded,” he continues. “I don’t think you even realized what you were doing. You could have laughed at my inexperience, or my presumption. But you loved it, dickwipe, you loved my using you, fucking you, beating you. You love it now, don’t you? You’re aching in every limb, and you wish I’d never take my cock out of your ass, don’t you?”

If he never took it out of my ass, he couldn’t put it in my mouth. I grunt ambiguously, and he laughs again.

“Yeah, I know you can’t talk to me, can’t tell me you agree — or that you don’t! That’s okay, cocksucker: you’ve talked too much in your life anyway. Now I’ll talk for both of us, and you can listen. Your body language is telling me all I need to know.

“I own you already, asswipe. I just have to make sure that the Master accepts it and lets us both go. I know you’re older than me, and better educated. That’s good; you can help me avoid mistakes. But I don’t think you’re smarter than me, not about anything real, and I’ll always have the balls to keep you in line when I have to. I don’t think I’ll have to punish you much, though. You’re well trained, give the Master credit for that, and you’ll obey me because you know it’s what makes you happy.

“Get your head around it, slave. I’m going to leave here soon, and you’re coming with me.”

The pain in my cock as it tries, and fails, to become erect is all the testimony I need from that quarter. Despite all the pain Stephen gives me, he wants me, he wants me badly, and that’s always been my chief aphrodisiac. The Master clearly doesn’t want me the way Stephen does, or need me. Confining me was a gift from him, because the experiment intrigued him and he enjoys our talks. But it was my obsession, not his, and he’ll probably be relieved to end it. This cell will get plenty of use from his tricks and other trainees.

Stephen pulls out finally, his cock still half hard, and goes to his gear bag for the ointment he applies to my welts. Lying there as he gently rubs the cooling salve into every inch of my bruised skin, I find my mind drifting. It feels so good just to let him take care of me. His spate of talk seems to have run out, and he is as silent as me. We communicate only by looks and touch, the eternal languages of love.

Nonetheless, sometimes I shiver when Stephen strokes me gently, almost preferring his slaps and kicks to the confused emotions his tenderness arouses. His rough but confident handling feels so right. Why should I have any doubts? I do want to please him. I can easily see myself cooking and cleaning for him, helping him off with his boots, polishing them, running his bath, turning down his bed, sleeping on the floor at his feet. I’m a slave, after all — more of a slave now than ever before — and serving a dominant man is what I need to do.

And he’s right that I need to serve him in real life, not in this arti-ficial environment the Master created for me. This isn’t the essence of slavery at all, but a parody of it! I can see it clearly now: my fantasy of open-ended confinement, of being nothing but a sextoy and urinal, is actually extremely selfish. Here I am, serving both my Masters sexually, taking their piss, absorbing their blows, but unable to work for them. I’m not carrying any of their burdens. Time to be real again!

Stephen fucks me once more, very gently, before he leaves, and then lets me clean him with my mouth until he empties his bladder down my throat. He says not another word, just kisses me deeply and rubs my scalp fuzz. After the door closes behind him, I lie back on my pallet and — exhausted, happy, hurting, confused, hopeful — soon fall asleep.

 

Part 8

 

When the Master comes to me that evening, I’m not surprised to see Stephen with him. It’s Stephen who carries my food bowl and crouches over it to moisten the gritty meal with his piss so I can eat it. The Master sighs and watches, saying nothing until I finish. When I thank him, still on my knees, he tells me to stand up and slowly turn around. I do so, barely suppressing a groan — I ache everywhere! The Master checks the bruises left by Stephen’s beating.

“Down, slave,” he says at last. “You may speak freely. Stephen did this to you?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Did you want him to?”

“No, Master. It was all his idea, Sir.”

“But you enjoyed it?”

“No, Master, not exactly. But he enjoyed it, and that made it okay.”

“I see. Do you feel that he went too far, exceeded your limits?”

“No, Master . . . .”

“Go on, slave.”

“Thank you, Master. It was the worst beating anyone’s ever given me, Sir. But as you can see, Sir, I survived in one piece.”

“I see. What did Stephen say to you, exactly, about why he did this?”

“Master, he said that you told him that he’d be freed if he mastered me.”

“And do you feel that he has? A beating alone is not Mastery.”

Now my eyes move over to Stephen standing beside the Master’s chair. His bare arms are crossed behind his back, his booted legs spread, his cock half erect, to all appearances a perfect slave. He raises his bowed head just enough to hold my eyes and pull them down to his boots. I know exactly what he wants from me, needs from me. His fate is now in my hands. I could say one word, “No,” and he’d remain a slave, and probably be barred from my cell so I would have nothing to fear from him. He’d be just another slaveboy who got above himself and was slapped down again.

No way can I do that to him. I might not be totally sure yet that he’s the right Master for me, but what do I have to lose by trying? A few more months of solitude in my cell? I’m suddenly eager to move on and try real slavery again.

A second or two was enough for these thoughts. The Master sees only the barest hesitation as I shuffle on my knees toward his slaveboy and bend my head to kiss his boots. As soon as I do so, Stephen reaches down and hooks a finger through one of the rings on my collar, pulling me upright between his legs. I kiss his cock, too, now proudly erect.

“Let it be so,” the Master says, and I swear he sounds pleased. “Stephen, come here.”

Quickly, my new Master releases my collar and steps around me to stand in front of his Master.

“Kneel, boy, for the last time.” The Master pulls out his key ring and unlocks Stephen’s collar chain, then rises from his chair and they embrace, hugging each other with every evidence of considerable affection. I see all this over my shoulder, as I don’t dare move without permission.

The Master kisses Stephen and holds him at arm’s length, looking him up and down as if for the first time before speaking again.

“You’ve grown so much in the past year. I never intended this outcome when I agreed to this slave’s proposal. I’m going to miss your smooth running of this house and all your help in my business. But it feels right. I think it’s what you both need.

“This slave’s greater age and experience will help you mature and develop into a fine Master, as long as you never lose his respect. You may not stay together long, or you might be a match for the ages — there’s no telling yet. But right now I think you’ll do very well together.”

“Sir,” Stephen replies, still giving the Master the respect he deserves, “unless you wish us to leave immediately, I’d be happy to continue here for another month or so, while I make other arrangements. My slave can do my chores, under my direction, and I can help you find and train a new assistant for the business.”

“Stay as long as you like,” the Master says. “But won’t you find your room too cramped now?”

“It’ll be good for the slave to get used to it, Sir,” my new Master says, grinning as he steps over to me and turns me around with a touch on my shoulder. “You’ve been too easy on him, Sir, letting him have all this space to himself. At least he won’t need any of my closet — I’m going to be filling it with my new clothes.”

“Very good. Take this key and unlock his leg chain from the wall. Do you want to take off his collar and cuffs, too?”

“Thank you, Sir, but I’d like to keep them on, with your leave, for as long as we stay in your house. I’ll give him a new collar when we move to my own home. Meanwhile, your chains suit him well, I think. Don’t they, fuckface?”

So ingrained was the rule against speaking to anyone but the Master that I hesitate to reply.

“You can answer me, slave,” Stephen says. “I am your Master now.”

“Sir, yes, Sir, thank you, Sir!” I say in a rush, and bend to kiss his boots again.

“Silly slaveboy!” he says, grinning down at me. “It’s going to be fun training you all over again.”

He squats down to disconnect me from the wall chain, then pulls me to my feet and into his arms. I wince as he hugs me, because of my bruises, but there’s nowhere else I want to be.

“Looks like our experiment is finished,” the Master says, “but given such a wild card as Stephen here proved to be, I’d have to call the results inconclusive. What do you think, slave?”

Glancing at my new Master for permission, I answer firmly,

“Sir, it was a wonderful experience, and I am deeply grateful to you for it, but it’s time I faced my responsibilities. Sir, I’m ready to be a slave in the real world again, Sir.”

“Good boy!” the Master says.

“Woof!” Stephen says, and kisses me hard. “C’mon, dickface,” he says at last, grinning widely, “and I’ll show you where the real slaves around here live.”

“Yes, Master.”

 

THE

Craigslist Slave

“Master Seeks Slave,” the headline read. It seemed simple enough, and I was curious and bored, so I clicked to see the description. I trolled around craigslist occasionally to see what sort of things people were into. It was so much better than looking at classifieds in the newspaper because sometimes people were able to give very long descriptions, and just occasionally they became fantasies for me. It occurred to me, though, that no woman who was posting on craigslist could possibly be as beautiful as she described herself, and I thought that if I responded I would be talking to some pathetic loser who couldn’t get a date outside the internet. The irony of my thinking they were losers for posting, when I would be the one responding, never occurred to me. This one ad, though, caught my eye – and I was already reading it before I realized that it was from a man.
MASTER SEEKS SLAVE I am looking for a boy to come and relocate to Louisville, KY, where he will be my live- in slave. This is not a sexual relationship. In fact, you and I will never have sex, and you will wear a chastity belt for the duration of your contract. You will, however, be completely under my control. I am 25, white, 6’1, 170 lbs, and straight. Your age, race, or orientation is immaterial; your commitment to being a complete slave, however, must be unquestionable. Once I have you under my control, you can expect to suffer torture, bondage, and humiliation. I will use you to relieve my aggression, so you can expect regularly to be flogged, shocked, gagged, hooded, and kept in tight, inescapable bondage for the duration of your contract. You will perform housework and obey my every instruction without question. Please be serious about this. Send me an email explaining why you would want to be a slave, why you would make a good slave, and how long of a contract you are looking for.
I was embarrassed with myself for being aroused by this listing. I have always had a deep, abiding love for bondage, but I was straight – the idea of being enslaved by a man seemed uncomfortable to me. But he had made it clear that this wasn’t about sex, and that he was straight himself, so … what, really, did I have to lose by emailing him? I made up a fake email before I sent my reply.
Dear Sir, I was very intrigued by your listing and was hoping that you would consider me as a candidate to be your slave. I have a deep, abiding love of bondage and control, but most of my life I have had no one with whom I could engage in this passion. I am straight, but no girl I have ever dated has had any interest in the type of total control that you described. I realize that no sane person would truly consider your proposal as a realistic option, because it seems like you have everything to gain and nothing to lose, while I would be giving up my freedom with no reward. I think though, Sir, that I find myself responding because you have described for me my biggest fantasy. I love being in chains – I feel safe in them, like I’m protected. I love the feel of cold metal against my wrists, of a leather collar buckled about my neck. I’ve tied myself up for hours this way, but I have to keep the keys nearby and I’ve never truly lost control. This is also ruined for me by achieving an orgasm while masturbating, because after I cum I never feel like being in the bondage anymore. The idea of being prevented from masturbating is terrifying but intriguing at the same time. I want to lose control. I want my freedom to be beyond my power to regain. I want the knowledge that I am truly and utterly OWNED, and that no amount of begging or pleading will get the chains from my wrists. I am 29, 5’10”, 180 lbs. White, straight, dark long hair. I live in Washington, DC, but am willing to relocate. I am including a face picture of myself for your reference. I hope that I hear back from you soon. -Brian
Several days passed before I heard back. I was nervous and excited the entire time. I checked this fake email every hour, sometimes twice or three times an hour, hoping that this guy would respond back. I wasn’t sure why I was so excited. I knew in my heart that I was just playing a game, that I was never going to submit completely to a complete stranger, and I was not going to move to Kentucky to do it! Still, three days later, when I finally got the response, I stared at the email with nervous anticipation while I dared myself to open it. The subject said simply, “Hello boy.”
Boy, You neglected to mention what length of contract you wanted to arrange, but I can overlook that. You seem like a serious candidate for what I am looking for, and you have all the right reasons. Maybe we can work this out. If you are really serious about this, I say we meet up and talk. I know that Washington DC is a nine hour drive from here, but we can meet halfway – maybe next weekend? Please don’t waste my time with this. If you aren’t really interested, please let me know now so I don’t drive for five hours just to find you missing. We will need to come up with a way for us to prove that you are really serious about this, or at least to make sure that you actually meet with me. Let me know what you think. -David
He included a picture of himself. I don’t know what I was expecting, but he wasn’t it. Maybe I was expecting a kinky bondage master wearing leather chaps and a thick handle-bar moustache. Instead, David looked perfectly ordinary. He was wearing a black track jacket with white stripes, and his black hair was just barely in his eyes. He wore gauged plugs in his ears, just big enough to stick a straw through. His blue eyes looked friendly and inviting. He was built – he certainly looked like he could kick my ass – but nothing about him looked like a dominant bondage master. My reply was immediate.
Sir, I would like to meet. There is a travel center in Beckley, West Virginia, that is halfway between us. As far as how I can guarantee that I will come – I have an idea for that. If you have one, you could send me a chastity device without the key. I will take a video of myself putting on the device, and you will mark the device and the lock so you know for sure that it’s yours. You will bring the key with you to our meeting, and if I don’t show up, I won’t be able to get out.
We exchanged more details through email – exact time, date, etc. – but in my mind this was all still a game. This wasn’t really going to happen – this was just a fantasy that I was acting out in the real world. I thought this when I sent him my address, and I thought this when I gave him my phone number. The fantasy came crashing down to reality, though, a week later, when my chastity device arrived in the mail.   It looked like a simple enough device – rings of metal, a cage, some metal teeth that looked really intimidating. This was obviously an expensive device, and I was both flattered and alarmed that David had sent me something this elaborate. If I was still thinking of this as a game, he obviously was not. There wasn’t a padlock like I had been expecting. There was, however, a keyhole, and it looked like once I had it on everything would snap right into place. I would have to spend hours with a hacksaw if I wanted to get this thing off, and the idea of putting a hacksaw that close to my balls was terrifying. I tried it on almost immediately. I was careful not to lock it – I didn’t want that to happen just yet! – but I enjoyed the feel of the cool metal against my penis. The cage was tight, and I felt myself growing hard inside of it, and in that moment I wanted to jerk off so badly that it was all I could do to get the thing off and pleasure myself. After I came, I thought, this is all stupid. I can’t believe I’m really considering this! But it kept getting more and more serious, and it came to a climax the day David called me. He sounded as ordinary as his picture had looked. He wasn’t harsh or cruel; he didn’t have a deep baritone voice, or a lisp, or even the hick accent I was expecting from a Kentuckian. “Hello?” “Yes?” “Hey, is this Brian?” “Yes, this is he.” “Hey, it’s David.” “Oh, hello Sir.” He laughed. “We don’t need to do that ‘Sir’ stuff just yet … not unless we decide to do this. So you got the package, right?” “Yeah, I did. I’m holding it now.” “Good. I want you go ahead and put it on. I don’t need you to record it – just take a picture afterwards and email it to me. It’s a pretty unique device – I had it special-made a few years ago.” I was curious. “Really? For who?” “You won’t believe this – but that device was for me. I wore that thing for about four months straight. Drove me nuts the whole time, but I loved it.” “Why’d you take it off, then?” He thought for a moment. “I wanted to see what the other side was like. It seemed like everyone who topped me sucked at it, and I kept thinking, ‘I’d be great at this,’ so I figured I’d try it out. I admit, you’d be my first long-term slave, if this works out. But we are going to meet, then, right?” I heard the anxiousness in his voice – he wanted this just as much as I did. “Yeah … yeah, I think we are.” “Then go ahead and put it on, and take a picture. I’ll see you on Saturday at noon.” He hung up, and I was left with the device in my hands. It was only Tuesday – I could have waited until Thursday to put it on and take the picture. I could have masturbated right then and there, and I probably would have forgotten about the whole sordid business and been happier for it. Instead, though, I went to the bathroom, rubbed Vaseline on my dick, and slowly worked my cock into the metal tube. I wanted to masturbate so badly. I felt a hard knot in the bottom of my stomach, the type of terror that results from making a decision on which there is no going back. Closing my eyes, and all the while cursing myself for eight kinds of stupid, I pushed all the pieces in place, and I gasped in wonderment and despair as I heard that terrible, final click. There was no help for it, now. I had no choice but to meet him. The days between the locking and the meeting were a mixture of a nightmare and a fantasy. I really, honestly could not get my dick out of the thing, and the spikes around the side of it made it too uncomfortable for me to try to get off while in the device – every time my dick got really hard, the spiked drove mercilessly into my soft flesh, causing me a type of agony that wasn’t remotely fun or arousing. I spent the days at work worried whether or not anyone would notice the slight bulge in my pants, but no one seemed to, and if anyone had noticed, no one said anything. The drive to Bickley was especially horrible, though. It was uncomfortable to sit so long while wearing the device, and after a couple of hours my balls felt thoroughly bruised. It was a relief, then, when the Travel Plaza finally came into view. I found David just where he said he would be, sitting at a table in the corner. He smiled when he saw me, and he stood up, offering me his hand to shake. “Hey, I’m glad you came,” he said. “I … I am too,” I admitted, “but I guess I didn’t have much choice with this thing on.” He chuckled. “First things first, then … do you want the key? We can let you out and then talk if you want.” I had been wanting the key all morning – all week, really. If I asked for it, he would give it to me, and then I would be so horny that I would jerk off right there in the bathroom of the Travel Plaza, and then once I’d jerked off I wouldn’t want to be a slave, and … “No,” I said reluctantly. “Let’s just sit for now.” David looked exactly the way his picture had promised he would. He looked younger than 25, but I took him at his word. He wore a black t-shirt and faded blue jeans, a black studded belt and a brown distressed leather racing jacket. A three-foot chain connected his wallet to his belt, and he wore Chucks, just like I did. We both noticed this about each other at the same time, and we joked about how arch support was for the weak. A half hour of awkward smalltalk ensued before we really got down to business. “So I’m kind of surprised,” he said, “that someone like you was tempted by … my offer. Now that you’ve met me, what do you think? Is this something you want to do?” This was the moment when I should have backed out. I should have thanked him politely for his consideration and gone on with my life. That was what I had planned on doing, after all, the entire time I had driven to Beckly, the entire time we had made the awkward smalltalk, and up until the exact moment I opened my mouth to say “No.” But if I had said “no,” there wouldn’t be a story to tell, would there? “Yes.” The word hung there between us for a moment. I was stunned, and I think he was too. “I want to do this. My lease is running out in a month, and I hate my job anyway. I can come to Louisville and find a job. I want … I …” I whispered, since we were in public – “I want to be your slave.” He grinned then, and a malicious look of triumph filled his eyes. “Oh, you won’t need to find a job. I have … a lot of money. You won’t be leaving the house for the length of the contract – which, by the way, we still have not established.” “A year.” Again the words were out of my mouth before I could take them back, but I was relieved as soon as I said it. Oh, I was filled with a certain kind of despair, too, the realization that my life was about to fall completely out of my control and that I was going down a path from which there was no return, but there was another feeling, too, a sense that one of my deepest desires was being fulfilled. I couldn’t wait. I wanted this to start now, and the idea of waiting another month was beyond me. Another month to worry, question, and rethink what I was doing? No, no! “I want to start now,” I said. “I want to start today.” If I was expecting an argument from David, it never came. Instead, he nodded thoughtfully. “You probably need to get some things in order – square your apartment away, put all your things in storage, drop a forwarding address in the mail, stuff like that. I’ve never been to DC myself, so maybe I’ll take in the sights for a couple of days and take you back with me. How does that sound?” “That sounds great,” I said resolutely. And, much to my own surprise, I meant it. I was done being shocked by my decision. I had a lot to accomplish in a very short amount of time – I wanted to be completely ready to go by Tuesday at the latest. Quitting my job was the easiest part. I left a message on my boss’s voicemail. I would lose a week’s pay, but what was I going to do with money anyway? The harder part was deciding what to do with all my stuff. I was a packrat, and I had an entire apartment full of odds and ends – clothes, furniture, pots, pans, everything that I had collected over eight years of living on my own. David solved this problem neatly by hiring a moving company and renting a massive storage unit in Alexandria. He told me to keep a few changes of clothes and a black leather jacket he especially liked, but otherwise I was to put everything in storage. He told the proprietor of the U-Store facility that I was moving to India for a year to work on a government project. My entire life – including my car – was packed away by Monday night. Tuesday morning I took the Metro into the city. I wandered around Washington for a couple of hours, taking it all in. I had lived there for fifteen years, and I had never really appreciated it as a tourist. I found some irony in going to the Lincoln memorial, considering what I had in store for myself, but I could not help but smile all day as I wandered from monument to monument. I really considered going into some of the Smithsonians, but I thought better of it – after all, the metal contraption on my dick would hardly go unnoticed by the metal detectors. I was back at my apartment by noon. David arrived shortly thereafter, and he smiled at me as I threw my bookbag into the trunk of his car. “You’re really sure about this, right, buddy?” he asked me again. “I think so.” “All right. I’m going to ask you this one more time when we get home, and you’ll answer by putting on my collar, which you’re not taking off for the next year. Until then, you can consider yourself my prisoner.” He pulled from the glove box of his car a pair of hinged handcuffs and a set of leg irons. “I thought about having you wear a gag, too, but not only would that make for a pretty boring ride back, but I’m not sure how we could avoid notice that way.” I was a little self-conscious about putting on the handcuffs in the parking lot where anyone could see, but David took me roughly by the arm and threw me against his car, twisting my wrists so the palms faced away from each other behind my back. With a ratcheting noise I heard the cuffs lock into place, and I felt the cool metal dig slightly into my wrists. “Too tight?” “I don’t think so.” “Good damn thing, ’cause I wasn’t loosening them.” He kicked my legs apart and gave my ankles the same attention, and I found that I could now neither run nor do anything to defend myself. I had well and truly placed myself under his control. He helped me get into the car. He let me sit in the front seat, and he helped me fasten the seatbelt as we departed. I knew that what I faced next was going to be a long, awkward journey back to Louisville. I didn’t dare ask him how, cuffed as I was, I was going to go to the bathroom along the way. I found out all sorts of things about David as we drove. We had nothing to do but talk, really, and actually learn more about each other. He was in a rock band, and he had a lot of money because he had inherited it from his rich father who, though a deadbeat dad his whole life, had nonetheless in death provided an ample sum of money for the son whom he barely knew. When we got to Louisville, it was dark. My arms ached from the discomfort of the position in which they had been held most of the day, and I really wanted nothing more than to lay down and take a nap. I knew, though, that I wasn’t going to have a chance to relax. I got my first and only view of the outside of the house when we arrived. It was an old Victorian mansion in what looked like an older part of the city. It looked creepy, and I was a little apprehensive when we walked inside. David brought me inside and invited me to sit on the couch. I was almost comfortable, except for my restraints and the constant throbbing of my dick inside its cage. He came back into the room with two glasses of water and a traditional pair of handcuffs. He cuffed me in the front this time so I could get somewhat comfortable, but I didn’t bother to ask if I could sit without wearing the restraints at all. He sat in the chair across from me and pulled it close. “Alright, this is the really serious part,” he said. “I hope we can be friends, but I want you to know that if you agree to this again, I am going to hold you to this one year. There will be nothing you can do or say to me that will make me release you. I am going to keep you in chains, gag you all night, flog you when the mood takes me, spit and piss on you when you’ve pissed me off – I am going to be a complete dick to you, and there won’t be a damn thing you can do to stop me. You will be my slave for a year and a day, starting today, and you will always call me ‘Sir’ or ‘Master,’ and you will never say ‘I’ or ‘me’ when talking about yourself. Most importantly, you will never cum, no matter how much you want to. “I will milk you, of course, to make sure everything’s okay, and I’ll take you to the doctor when we need to, and I’ll feed you and water you enough that you’ll never be malnourished. I’ll make sure – trust me on this – that you get enough exercise. I will never do anything to you that will harm you in the long term – at least not physically. “Now,” he finished, “this is your last chance to set any terms. Do you have any more conditions before we proceed?” I thought for a moment. I couldn’t think of much, but I had been a fan of bondage long enough to know that people did some weird things. “You already said there won’t be sex,” I said. “I assume that goes both ways. So neither of us will engage in sexual contact with the other one, ever. Agreed?” “Agreed,” he said. “And I won’t eat or drink anything … foul, like shit or cum or anything else that comes from someone’s body. Agreed?” “Agreed,” he snickered. “And … you won’t tattoo anything on me.” He laughed out loud this time. “I won’t what!” “People do it!” I protested. “You won’t tattoo anything on me, or burn me, or do anything else to make permanent marks.” “Of course not,” he said. “And finally …” I felt really silly on this one, but I had to be sure … “… you won’t, um, sell me to someone else, or rent me, or anything else like that.” “Naturally not,” he agreed. “Those are all my conditions, then.” “All right … go downstairs, and you’ll find a black isolation hood and some cuffs chained to the ceiling. Think about this really hard – if you put on that hood and lock on those cuffs, you’re mine for a year. You can leave at any point up until you do that. I am going to go upstairs and get cleaned up – I hope you’re still here when I get back.” He uncuffed me then, handcuffs and leg irons, and I gingerly rubbed my wrists as he placed a small key – I assumed it was to the chastity device – on the coffee table. He then disappeared up the stairs. I took the chastity key with me to the dungeon below. I decided that I would jerk off one more time before I made this choice – I knew how dangerous that was, but something warned me that I had to want this even after cumming, or I was in for a year of hell. The dungeon was everything I could have ever hoped for, all in one place – and all, I realized suddenly, for me, if I wanted it. It was unfinished, of course, so it had a cement floor and ductwork, but the instruments of bondage and torture were staggering in their cruelty. In one corner I saw a rack, just waiting to stretch a helpless victim. In another corner there was a St Andrew’s cross, and in the wall between those things were all sorts of pegs that held chains, manacles, collars, blindfolds, gags, handcuffs … I looked in the closet, and I saw a leather straightjacket and a bright orange prisoner uniform. The most sinister object of all, near the stairs, was an electric chair, painted black with leather straps to hold the feet, hands, and neck in place. And then there was the center of the room. Just as David had promised, the middle of the room held the chains that would seal our contract. There was a stool there, but it was clearly there only so I could easily find the hood and the five padlocks. The hood had a hole in the front through which I would be able to breathe, but the laces up the back and the collar in the back would ascertain that I would not be able to get the thing off without a strong pair of scissors. The manacles reached from the ceiling and hung in the middle of the room. I touched them gingerly – I would be pretty uncomfortable while wearing these. There were ankle cuffs, too, fastened to the floor, but the chains on those were pretty short, maybe six inches. I immediately took off my clothes and looked at my poor dick in its metal cage. Being down here in this room, by myself, and finally holding the key to my release, I watched with amusement as my dick sprang to attention as soon as the device was off. I wanted to masturbate so very badly. I wanted to take my dick into my hands and jerk until I came, and given my present state of arousal, that wouldn’t take long at all. But I knew that if I jerked off, I wouldn’t put the chains on, I wouldn’t hood myself – I would walk out the door, and, though it would be incredibly awkward to get my job back, and find a way back to Washington … With resign, I slowly put the chastity device back on, locking it in place, still so horny that I could barely stand it. I approached the chains, and I placed my ankles inside the shackles, and I heard the padlocks click into place. Even if I didn’t finish doing this, I was still firmly and inescapably trapped in this basement. The isolation hood looked intimidating, but I wanted this over with. The hood – I had never felt anything so intense as putting on the hood for the first time. It was thick, black leather, and as I lowered the hood over my head, all light and sound were blocked out. It took me a while to lace the hood, and then to buckle it into place … I started to panic a little. This was a little much, but it was far too late for second thoughts. I buckled the collar in place and firmly clicked the padlock around the collar. Feeling for the last two locks, I reached above myself, standing on the tips of my toes, and found the manacles, which took only a moment to lock into place. I had accepted being David’s chastity slave. What did I have in store now?  

Originally posted on https://statdig.com

A Fantasy Realized… (Part 1)

It had always been his fantasy to be used by Men, specifically Black Men. Matt was reasonably popular and well liked at the Prep School he attended. He played soccer and tennis for the school team. He was not outwardly effeminate, but neither did he have a steady girlfriend. Matt was still very much a virgin in so many things. Matt was also a typical boy. Now in his senior year and having turned 18 last month he was just a couple weeks away from graduation and acceptance at the University for the next term was a given. Matt was also a typical teenage raging hormone. Matt like to surf the local chat sites, but was always to afraid to approach anyone. But his ever growing urges were getting the best of him… so much so that his fantasy was turning to an obsession. Then he saw a post that really caught his attention!
FOUR BLACK MEN We are four black tops that are seeking a white bottom for once a month weekend play.  We all were in the joint together some time ago, and at that time had a white bottom in our cell that we immensely enjoyed.   We all have straight lives now, and discretion on your part is essential.   You must be white and into 100% service.  Younger the better, but will consider all.   Also, you need to have a high pain threshold, as we will play very very rough with you.   We may have several bitches that you will need to co-serve with.   Our cocks are:  2 – 9″,  1 – 10″, 1- 11″  All thick.   Be ready to rim, suck, be fisted and fucked.   Full toilet servitude may be a requirement (piss is for sure)  send your resume to me for review.  If you are a potential, we will provide you with instructions for service.  Must be able to travel for once a month play.   You should be OK with bruises and scars.  When you are used up, you will be discarded for another bitch.   Our call when we are done with your ass.
Matt was absolutely possessed by the personal ad from the moment he first read the words… and probably reread the message at least 30 times before he mustered the courage and sent a reply along with his picture. It was a few days since Matt had sent his message. He had heard nothing and thought it was probably just as well… not likely real anyway. He was already focused and studying for finals anyway, so that took most of his time. Matt was having trouble this time; study was never a difficult thing for him, but he was having trouble concentrating. Unable to shake the words of the ad from his mind, he struggled and read and reread passages from his books trying to grasp the knowledge he needed to pass his finals. Then suddenly Matt’s computer chimed with a new message. Matt didn’t think much of it… one of his friends, he thought, probably wants to play a game or go out somewhere and hang out. He needed a break anyway… he had his head in those books for hours already. But when Matt looked at the computer, he went limp, there it was, the message he had both wanted and dreaded. A message from the FOUR BLACK MEN and subject was simple and direct… “REPORT DATE” Matt opened the message and read. “Your petition has been reviewed and you have been selected to begin your service on Saturday 1 month from today. You are required to CLEAR YOUR SCHEDULE of ANY other commitments you have made previously and report freshly scrubbed and showered. You will wear only a sleeveless shirt, athletic pants and sneakers. NO OTHER CLOTHING IS PERMITTED – MAKE SURE YOU ADHERE TO THESE REQUIREMENTS.” “Your service is NOT optional. A background investigation has been done and we have noted your personal information, your parents background and places of employment, and of your future plans for University. Should you FAIL TO REPORT AS ORDERED then this information will be used and your parents will learn about you as well as their employers and friends. We are sure you can understand and agree that your COMPLIANCE TO THIS DIRECTIVE IS MANDATORY!” “GOOD LUCK WITH YOUR FINALS NEXT WEEK!” Matt was in absolute shock. He could no longer concentrate or focus on his studies. Matt was having a mild panic attack about the whole situation. Had he put his whole family in some danger? How did they get this information? Matt’s mind was racing… and he found himself pacing in his bedroom back and forth. Then he noticed his reflection in the mirrored closet door… he had noticeably stained the pants he was wearing… he was leaking pre-cum uncontrollably and then all of sudden Matt realized he was actually getting a massive hard on. Matt realized that he had actually found what he had always fantasized about. He quickly jumped on his bed and pushed off his pants and shorts and started to jack off in order to dispatch the erection before anyone else in the house noticed it. When he was done taking care of the immediate problem… Matt quickly took a shower and tried to get the stain out of his pants before his Mom would see it when she did the laundry. Matt thought about the email constantly… it was evident to him that he had gotten himself into this situation and he would have to take care of it himself as well… his parents could absolutely not ever know of his most intimate desire and fetish. Matt continued to struggle with his studies for the rest of the weekend. Monday was the start of Finals Week… it was make or break for him and college… he knew he had to do well. His grades were essential to going to school next term. Finals Week did NOT go well for Matt. Try as he might he struggled with the tests his teachers presented. Where did THIS come from? He thought he was thorough in his preparations… and yet, everything seemed about stuff he did not review. Matt also could not shake the words of the FOUR BLACK MEN “Your service is NOT optional…” These men had a plan for him… and then Matt would realize his cock would start getting hard again… OMG, this cannot be happening now Matt thought to himself. The following week Matt’s worst fears came true. His test scores were posted and Matt did poorly in every class. He could not believe what he saw… he was screwed… he would have to take Summer School just to graduate now… and college, forget the University… they would not take him now… not with these grades. Matt faced his parents with the news. Their faces were drawn and completely aghast at what their son was telling them. His dad was absolutely pissed. “How could you be so be absolutely fucking irresponsible?” And his mom was just beside herself, muttering how she would not be able to face the other women at the club when they found out… she walked toward the kitchen and started to pull stuff out of the cabinets to bake something… whenever Matt’s mom lost control over her emotions she would start cooking things and it could go on for days. Matt realized he had really screwed up bad. The next few days were bad for Matt. His father would not speak to him. The few comments he did make to Matt usually started off with “You’ll probably just fuck this up as well…” and then he cornered Matt one morning just before he got in his car to leave for work and said “You had better start making a plan for the future boy. I suggest you start looking for some kind of a job. Your mom and I are very disappointed in you and I am not going to continue to support a fuck up.” He turned and started to walk away from Matt… Matt was in shock at what his dad had just said to him. Then his dad stopped in his tracks all of sudden and turned back and looked directly at his son “Oh, and Matt, you are no longer welcome to live in this house. So pack up your shit and find somewhere else to live, you have 2 weeks!” Matt’s world suddenly collapsed in on itself. Everything he once thought he had was gone. He knew his dad was serious and his mom would never go against her husband once he had made a decision. Matt’s whole support system was destroyed. The weight of the announcement from his dad, the sudden realization of what had just happened, Matt just fell back against the wall and his knees went weak and could no longer support the weight of his body and he just slowly slid down the wall until his knees were at shoulder level and he put his head between his legs and just starting to bawl and cry uncontrollably for the next half hour. It has been 1 month since Matt’s perfect world was destroyed. In that time he has learned what happens to boys who don’t meet expectations. Abandoned by his own family when his own father cast him out of the only home he had ever known, Matt was completely devastated and lost. The first day he was packing up his belongings as he had been told to do when his father walked in and looked over what was going in the boxes. He reached into the box and pulled the laptop out and asked “What the hell boy? Fuck you, you are not taking this computer, the same is true for that fancy smartphone and tablet either! You can get your own now, the free ride you had is over. Make sure you clean your stuff out of those devices and just leave them here when you go.” Matt was stunned once again. He had never realized what an asshole his dad could be. Anger started to build in young Matt as he thought of all the things he could wreck and damage before he left his fathers fucked up little estate. But Matt didn’t have it in him… he wasn’t a fighter. He sat down to start cleaning up the computer and then came across the email from the FOUR BLACK MEN – REPORT DATE. “Your petition has been reviewed and you have been selected to begin your service on Saturday 1 month from today. You are required to CLEAR YOUR SCHEDULE of ANY other commitments you have made previously and report freshly scrubbed and showered.“ He read the message again a couple of times and printed it out and then deleted the email as part of the clean up. His report date was tomorrow. Matt thought to himself, Why Not? At least, his body was his own, he could do what he wanted now and he had no other commitments anymore. Again, Matt just then realized his cock was getting hard and he was leaking precum. Matt was more then a little nervous when he showed up at the appointed place at the assigned time. He went to the door but before he could even ring the bell the door suddenly swung open. “Yeh? Whadda want? We ain’t buying nothin!” Startled Matt stammered out “uh? No! I’m Matt” The tall lean black man at the door grinned and then stepped to one side and directed Matt inside and yelled back into the house. “Da bitch is here!“ Matt walked into the house, a modest 2 story house in the older part of town. Matt had never been in this neighborhood before as it was outside of his previously normal life. An older black gentlemen stood up when Matt walked into what was a large open living room, with a big screen television and requisite sporting event playing. The older gentlemen spoke and said “Hello Matt, I am glad you are here. Just stand there for now as we are going to have a short little chat first. Do you know why you are here?” Matt again had to force words out his mouth “Ye, Yea, Yes Sir! You want a white boy to play with.” The man replied “That is essentially right Matt, but it goes farther then that. ”… you are here to SERVE US. When you came through that door you became OURS to use as we see fit until you are no longer needed. Is that clear to you Matt?“ Matt was very nervous now, but he responded “Yes Sir.” “Good boy! Now Matt, you will follow my instructions to the letter from now on. Be a good boy and strip off those clothes and give me a good look at the body you have for me and my crew to use and enjoy.” Matt quickly obeyed and took off the clothes he had worn. There was not much to remove as the instructions had been equally clear a tank top shirt, gym trousers and his favorite tennis shoes. Matt stood there naked in front of the two black men in the room. Matt felt very inadequate in front of these men. They were both much larger and far more muscular than he was. The younger man that met Matt at the door had just stayed quiet and stood to side of this older man. The older man spoke again “Very nice, you will do quite nicely Matt, not bad for a stupid white boy.” Matt was surprised by the comment, it was suddenly out of character. Just then the man said to his friend “James, please explain it to the stupid white boy!” Suddenly and with astounding speed the young black man sprung into action with a karate like high kick that went straight to Matt’s face and sent his head back and then a moment later a second kick straight up between Matt’s naked legs and smashing his ball sack against Matt’s body. The reaction was instantaneous. Matt went crashing to the floor gasping for air  trying to scream in agony but not able for a lack of oxygen to even fill his lungs. Matts hands had instinctively gone to his crushed balls, but they were grabbed and dragged back behind his body and Matt heard the ratchets click behind him as hands and arms were cuffed behind his back. Matt just laid there. His bloodied face half smashed into the carpet, unable to move and also realizing that he was in serious trouble now. He then heard these words spoken to him by the older man “Yes, a very stupid white boy. Not only have you let your guard down to be used by a black man but you boy have done so with four black men who have all been in prison as well. Your little white ass belongs to us now boy!” With that the older black man undid the leather belt on his pants and pulled it off his waist and looped it around Matt’s neck like a noose. Matt heard the man tell the younger black man “Take this little faggot downstairs and start prepping him, the others will be here soon.” The young man was not at all gentle. He took the end of the leather belt from the other man and just start to drag Matt by the neck across the floor instantly choking him. Matt could not even try to stand because he was being hauled around by the leather belt with this hands cuffed behind him. The door to a stairway was open and Matt was simply dragged head first down the staircase being scraped and scratched all the way down. When Matt finally hit the floor of the empty basement the young sadist lifted him up by the leather belt to his face and hocked a huge load of spit directly into Matt’s face. Matt was then literally thrown down on a table smashing his wrist into the small of his back and cinching the cuffs even more around his wrists. Matt felt a chain then go around his neck and leather belt was stripped away violently causing a slight burn against his skin. Then his ankles were secured to the table as well by chains. Matt was now utterly and completely powerless to do anything about this situation. The young man completely shaved Matts head leaving only his eyebrows and eyelashes. He then wiped the blood from Matts face but a nasty bruise had already developed from the crushing blow to his nose. After about 40 minutes of this the young man was done. Matt heard some footsteps on the stairs coming down and then he heard the older man say to James. “Get him up” The young man undid the chains and the cuffs from Matt’s body and helped him off the table, but then pushed him down into a crouched position in front of a mirror. Then the older black man knelt down beside Matt and looked at Matt reflection in the mirror and pointed to him. He spoke calmly and softly to Matt. “Now listen to me boy as I am only going to tell you this one time.” “The life you had once upon a time is over. It ended the moment you stepped through that door upstairs. There is no going back to that life now. You are now just a faggot. You do not have any more choices to make in life. Over the next several months you are going to be USED. I will tell you now, that you will eventually be used up. In the meantime, you will SERVE me and my crew. When you are NOT doing that you will used by anyone else willing to pay us for you. We are going to make some serious coin with you boy. When you are not being used in some way then you will be left chained here alone until you are needed again. When you can no longer meet the demands this requires of you then you will be discarded for another bitch and sold. There is no escaping this boy… this is your life now.” Just then Matt heard the sounds of the other two black men arriving and coming down the stairs and Matt realized that the nightmare his life had become was about to begin. The older man acknowledged his buddies arrival with a quick wave which also meant to them ‘Shut the fuck up’. The new arrivals realized that the boss man was talking at the naked white boy on his knees and they instantly went quiet in order to hear what he was going to say to their new fuck toy. “Matt, this is going to get rough for you… VERY ROUGH. I already know that you flunked your finals, and that it pretty much screwed any chance you had to attend that university you were planning on. You were just supposed to be a once a month weekend boy, but now you have presented us an opportunity, because nobody is going to care much about what happened to some white boy who could not get out of high school. In short boy, you FUCKED UP… and now you are FUCKED!” “in a moment, I am going to leave you here again with James…” just then Matt began to panic, a look of terror in his eyes was plainly evident at the prospect of James being in complete control of him again. The older man did NOT appreciate Matt’s sudden mood change and just as suddenly reached around Matt’s ass and between his legs and grabbed his balls and with one quick pull both backward and up, he lifted Matt’s knees briefly off the concrete and took his other hand to the back Matt’s head and smashed his face hard into the concrete floor and then released Matt’s balls and let the rest of his body weight fall as well. He screamed at Matt “I DON’T CARE THAT YOU ARE SCARED! THIS IS GOING TO HAPPEN MATT AND THERE IS NOT A DAMN THING YOU CAN DO TO STOP IT!” With that the older man stood and then kicked Matt in hard in ribs again knocking the wind out of Matt and then turned and walked away from the beaten boy writhing in pain on the floor. The older man started back up the stairs with the new arrivals and then paused and said to James “Make sure that boy understands what life for him is all about now… I don’t care how you do it. Bust him up and break him James… I want it to be compliant and docile. So enjoy yourself and make sure that boy never forgets today.” He turned and took another step up the stairs and then stopped again “Oh, and James, this young white boy is probably still a virgin. So take that weapon you have between YOUR legs and RAPE HIS ASS for his first time, open that boy up and MAKE IT HURT James, let him realize that is now OWNED by FOUR BLACK MEN” He then ascended the stairs, chuckled to his friends “Stupid fuckin’ white boy…” James wasted no time in getting down to the tasks assigned him. He walked over to lump of flesh that was Matt a few moments ago and grabbed it by the ankle and dragged to another part of the basement. The basement was very well equipped. It had been prepared to used to break and train a captive. When Matt arrived at this new spot in the dungeon he again felt the cuffs go back on his wrists, again behind his back which was very uncomfortable for Matt, but he realized that no one cared about what he felt or thought anymore. Next came the ankle restraints and then this time a chain went around his neck and a padlock was used to secure it tightly around Matt’s neck. Just then Matt heard to click clack of a relay for the motor of an overhead hoist. Matt was still disoriented from his earlier beatings, but with the tugging of the chain around his neck and then sound of the motor overhead he snapped to the reality of what was happening and tried to scramble to his knees and then to his feet. Within 20 seconds of all this Matt was vertical with his heels lifted just off the floor so that Matt had to stand on the balls of his feet to keep from choking. “Oh boy, ya really pissed off da Boss Man, he don’t like that. Right now I don think he like you dat much” James said. “Dats why you gotta go thru this now boy. He wants ya broken, so that is what I gotta do to ya now. So you best just keep ya mouth shut and save your strength boy, cause this is gonna hurt a bunch” James went out of Matt’s sight and left him hanging there  by the neck for about 10 minutes. Matt struggled to stay on the balls of his feet but his legs could not handle the constant stress he was under so he had to relax. Matt found that he could actually be flat footed on the floor but his airway was constricted and he found it difficult, but not impossible to breathe. Matt now began to realize how desperate his situation was and he felt the tears begin to run over his bloodied face. When James returned he was carrying a four foot long bullwhip. He looked at Matt’s face and said “Tears ain’t gonna help you now boy and your momma don’t know where you are anymore. We are gonna do this HARD and FAST bitch…” Without any warm up James took a full force swing and landed the whips lash directly across Matt’s upper back and shoulders. Again, Matts reaction was instantaneous and he let loose a blood curdling scream of pain. The skin where the whip landed immediately went deep red and before Matt’s scream had even dissipated James swung the whip around for a second strike with equal force directly across Matt’s chest. Again Matt screamed as the pain was more then he has ever felt before in his life. The third, fourth and fifths strikes showed no mercy as they switched back and forth across the backside and frontside of Matt’s body with alternating strokes. James was ruthless in his punishment of the white boys naked flesh. The whipping continued in this manner for another 15 strokes. Towards the end of this part of his initial training Matt could no longer make a sound as his screaming had strained his voice to nothing most than a raspy wailing. The whole whipping has taken less than a minute, but James had been very efficient, as there was not a place on Matt’s body that did not feel like it was on fire. James put his nose directly up to Matt’s gnarled and purplish face and asked “Do you understand NOW?” Matt willing to agree to anything now just nodded as best he could and whimpered “yes sir” and then everything when numb and dark as Matt passed out. When Matt came to a moment or two later he found himself on the floor again. Thankful that he could breathe again not being hung up by his neck. Then his body let him know what has just happened as all of his nerves again started to fire. His body showed the evidence of what James had done to him. The first blows were now an angry deep purple with pronounced welts. Without any warning, Matt felt the sudden jolt of a cattle prod applied directly to his ass. “On yer knees bitch!” Matt reacted to the shock with “Ow! Fuck! Stop that!” As soon as Matt said that he realized he had made a huge mistake and just as quickly Matt again felt James foot crash into his balls. Matt was right back in hell again and motor overhead start up again and hoisted Matt by the neck off the floor to a kneeling position. “Wrong Answer, bitch!” and James applied the cattle prod directly to Matt’s cock head which caused Matt to suddenly stand and try to leap forward at James but the young agile black man was ready for the younger white captive and just punched Matt directly in the face and rag dolled him backward where Matt again lost his footing and began to fall backwards until the chain around his neck caught him mid fall and instantly choked him again where Matt’s body again went limp and he passed out for the second time. Matt woke up again much like the first time face down on the floor and again able to breathe. “On your knees, bitch!” This time Matt stayed silent and reacted slowly and with painful effort manage to get to his knees. James again put his face in Matt’s and asked “What have you learned, bitch?” Matt looked up at James with the look of a whipped puppy and replied “That you OWN me, Sir” “Never, Ever, forget that bitch” James snarled back at Matt. Matt now knew there was absolutely no hope. His dad kicked him out, His mom did nothing to stop it, No one knew he was even here… he had even deleted the email from the computer. He had come to this house to be used by the Four Black Men and now that had come true. The older man was right, no one was going to care about another white boy who could not graduate high school. He was a lost cause and now he was truly lost. Chained, beaten, his spirit now broken, his once pretty smooth body was now a mass of welts and angry bruises. Matt’s previous life was now part of his history and even Matt realized he would never be allowed to go back to that life again.  

Originally posted on https://statdig.com