Becoming An Unwilling Piss Slave

 

From high school wrestling star to pathetic piss-bitch, it’s been quite a rapid descent for Card Stevens. In less than a year, he’s gone from big man on campus to a human urinal who spends his weekends in the bathrooms of a gay bar, sitting naked in his own piss while downing load after load of stinking bladder wastes from dudes he used to scorn as disgusting perverts. And even though he’s already swallowed enough pee in the last six months to float a battleship, he still blushes like a little girl every time a dude he knew in high school steps up, unzips, and unloads his stinking urine down Card’s frantically gulping throat. He’s an honest-to-God piss-bitch now but that sure as hell wasn’t the future he saw laid out in front of him when he first ran into his Master, when he first met Jackson Anders.

He didn’t know that the dude sticking his hand out and introducing himself as his new roommate was going to be his Master. No, Card didn’t have a clue what the larger boy had in store for him. He took Jackson Anders for what he purported to be, a fellow wrestler, another scholarship student destined to help out State’s fabled wrestling team win another National championship. Little did he realize that behind the placid demeanor Anders presented to the world lurked a brutal sadist who took particular pleasure in sexually abusing and degrading other jocks, turning them into cowering, pathetic fuck-toys who would submit to any sick perversion Anders’ mind could devise. But Card’s epiphany was not long in coming.

They’d only been roommates two weeks before Anders made his move. The two of them had gone out after classes were over on Friday for a few brews. Card was surprised at what seemed to Anders unlimited capacity, but he tried to keep up with the bigger boy. By the time they called it quits, Card was finding it difficult to focus and he never would have made it back to the dorm if Anders hadn’t been there to help him.

And Anders continued to help him once they got back to their room, helping Card doff his clothes, though at times it seemed that his lands lingered a little too long on the smaller wrestler’s body. However, it wasn’t until Card was completely naked that the true nature of his roommate’s interest in Card’s body became apparent. Card felt Anders’ fingers running up and down the cleft of his ass. “Dude,” Card asked, trying to shake Anders’ hand off his butt, “what are you doing?”

But instead of removing his hand, Anders fingers stopped at Card’s puckered sphincter and began pressing a rigid digit against it. A second later, Card was shocked to hear Anders ask, “You cherry, Card? You ever been fucked?”

“What the fuck you talking about, dude?” Card exclaimed, trying to move away from his roommate. In just seconds, the two of them were grappling with each other, tumbling onto Card’s bed. Even sober, Card was no real match for his larger roommate but in his inebriated state, the fight was over in less than two minutes. Card was still struggling underneath his roommate when Anders ripped off his own briefs and jammed them into Card’s mouth, muffling the smaller boy’s screams and protests. And there, on Card’s own bed, Anders raped his smaller teammate, destroying the boy’s asshole, turning it into his own personal fuck-cunt.

Anders kept fucking him the whole night. Or at least it seemed that way to Card, who passed out around three in the morning while Anders was plowing away at his hole for the third time only to wake up hours later just as his roommate’s creamed the boy’s aching pussy-hole yet again. By the time Anders finally yanked his cock out of the ruins of Card’s sodden asshole, it felt to the smaller boy like his roommate had fucked him with a blowtorch, his ass burned and hurt so much.

Card was lying on the bed utterly exhausted by the ordeal he’d just gone through. But even though he’d spent the better part of the night coring out Card’s no-longer-virgin boycunt, Anders didn’t seem tired in the least. Instead, he reached down and grabbed a shock of Card’s hair and yanked the boy to his feet. “Come with me, bitch,” he said imperiously, “we need to get you cleaned up.” The next thing Card knew, he was being pulled out of his dorm room and led, by his hair, into the dorm-suite’s showers. And there, as two of his suite-mates watched in stunned disbelief, Anders proceeded to shave Card’s ass, his pubes, and his pit-hair, explaining to the other two boys that, “I like my bitches nice and smooth where it matters.”

In retrospect, Card realized that then was the time he should have protested, should have told his suite-mates that Anders had forcibly raped him, that Card wasn’t a willing party to what was happening. But whether it was the shock of having been violently and repeatedly raped the night before or the sheer humiliation that overwhelmed him as his pubes and other body hair were publicly shaved off, Card failed to make any objection. It was therefore not surprising that when Anders, having finished shaving Card’s most private parts, proceeded to violently fuck the boy again, right in front of his two suite-mates, neither of them made any attempt to intervene even when Card began squealing and shrieking in pain. And when, after he had finished fucking Card, loudly screaming as he shot a fresh load of Man-cum up the teenager’s aching shitter, Anders pulled the boy by his hair back to their shared bedroom, it took less that five minutes for the rest of Card’s suite-mates to learn that Card was a faggot who was serving as his roommate’s fuck-bitch.

Anders kept Card naked, in their bedroom, for the rest of that first weekend. And when he wasn’t brutally fucking the boy’s ‘cunt,’ he was training the boy in his new role as the bigger boy’s fuck-whore. “The rules are simple, bitch,” Anders told him, “you do whatever I tell you to do and you do it without any hesitation or any backtalk. And understand, failure to do so will result in immediate and severe punishment. Do you understand, bitch?”

Card was kneeling before his roommate, a fresh load of Man-scuzz dripping out of his battered boy-bung. “Yes…yes, sir,” he replied, now terrified of his roommate, not wanting to do or say anything that might set him off. But all his meek acquiescence gained him was a sharp slap to his face. “You will address me as ‘Master Jackson,’ bitch, because that’s what I am – your Master.”

“Yes, Master,” Card quickly amended, his face flaring both from the slap and the profound humiliation he felt at his abject submission to the bigger boy. But even his immediate submission did not serve to keep Master Jackson from roughly hauling the boy over his lap and administering a brutal ass-spanking that left Card’s ass-cheeks a fiery red and left him sobbing just like any little boy who’d recently been punished for his misdeeds. And it was merely the first of many ass-thrashings that Card had to endure that first weekend.

And it wasn’t only Card’s ass that was the focal point for Master Jackson’s discipline. Card’s balls and cock – his boyvaries and boy-clit as he was instructed to call them – were squeezed, twisted, and pummeled so much that Card began to view them as merely a source of pain and agony rather than one of pleasure. But even the way Card’s boy-junk was manhandled paled when compared to the mistreatment his poor nipples – his boy-tits – suffered.

Card’s little nips had always been particularly sensitive and, sitting the way they did on Card’s well-developed pectorals, it wasn’t long that weekend before they came in for their own abuse at Master Jackson’s hands. And once his new Master discovered how sensitive they were to pain, they became his favorite way to inflict pain on his bitch, something he seemed to enjoy even more than fucking the boy. Master Jackson squeezed and twisted and pinched Card’s boy-tits mercilessly, bit them voraciously, adorned them with weighted alligator clips until Card was shrieking in agony. And when Card, almost insensate from the pain shooting throughout his body from his tortured boy-tits, was reduced to begging and pleading with his Master for mercy, Master Jackson would laugh at him and add more weights to the tit-clamps. And those hated tit-clamps were all Card was allowed to wear when, on Sunday afternoon, at his Master’s direction, the boy went door to door in his suite, telling his suite-mates to please feel free to fuck his ‘faggot cunt’ whenever they got the urge. Two did, right then and there, and it didn’t take more than a week later before all of his suite-mates had come round to routinely fucking Card’s pussy whenever they got the urge.

But if Master Jackson was definitely aroused by the pain he could inflict on his new bitch, he was even more excited by humiliating the boy, particularly when he could do so in public. Master Jackson forced Card to dress in the most revealing clothes for his classes – cut-off tank-tops that barely covered his perky and swollen boy-tits, shorts so tight they looked they had been sprayed on. And Card was never permitted to leave the apartment without wearing a stainless-steel chastity cage complete with a multi-balled butt-plug that forced him to groan in discomfort every time he sat down.

Master Jackson even made Card wear his chastity cage to wrestling practices, forcing Card to out himself as a pathetic fuck-bitch in front of all of his fellow-jocks. Card’s entire body was blushing a brilliant scarlet that first day as he lowered his shorts in the crowded locker room to reveal the metal cage encasing his boyhood and then, as he’d been instructed, go over to Master Jackson and ask his Master to ‘please remove my clit-cage so that I can put on my wrestling singlet.’ The initial round of shocked gasps from the other wrestlers soon gave way to derisive jeers and insults as Master Jackson unlocked the cage and removed it to expose not only Card’s pubeless groin but the large butt-plug that had been wedged up the boy’s fuck-twat. And when, a few seconds later, a large effusion of Master Jackson’s ball-scuzz began trickling past the boy’s swollen cunt-lips, absolute bedlam ensued. “Get that faggot out of here,” one teammate shouted while another, calling Card a ‘disgusting piece of homo-shit,’ literally spit on the boy’s face.

Card thought he’d die of shame the way they ragged on him, throwing one obscene epithet after another at him, and it wasn’t until two of the coaches came into the locker room that some semblance of order was restored. The coaches looked at Card with undisguised contempt, shaking their heads. Finally, Rock Stranger, the head wrestling coach, spoke up. “Get dressed, boy,” he roughly ordered Card, “we got a practice we need to get to. I’ll deal with you, later.”

It was a practice unlike any Card had ever experienced before. None of his opponents held back in the slightest and while most of them seemed to go out of their way to squeeze and molest his junk in ways that would never be permitted in an actual match, the coaches never called any of them on it. It wasn’t surprising, considering the constant mauling it was undergoing, that Card’s boy-clit was totally boned up during the entire practice, actually dribbling pre-cum that was staining the front of his singlet, which, of course, generated no end of slurs and caustic comments from his fellow-wrestlers. Card was sure the was going to be cut from the team and, by the time the practice ended, even he thought that might be the best resolution possible.

During the practice session, Card had noticed that Master Jackson in frequent conversation with Coach Stranger. He had no idea what was going on, though things became perfectly clear once the practice ended and they all trooped back into the locker room. Once they were all inside, Coach Stranger told the wrestlers to gather around him. When they did, the coach turned to Master Jackson and said, “go ahead, Anders, tell them what you’ve already told me.”

Master Jackson look around for a moment and then stared directly at Card. “Okay, bitch,” he ordered with a smirk, “strip.” His whole body once again flushing a bright red, Card did as directed, having already learned what failure to do exactly what his Master told him would result in. Card couldn’t believe how humiliating it was, stripping while everyone else snickered at him. And it didn’t help matters that his boy-clit was still fully erect. Once he was totally naked, he looked at Master Jackson and waited for his Master to continue forcing himself not to try to cover up his embarrassing erection, knowing that Master Jackson would be furious if he did so.

Master Jackson was grinning as he took in his bitch’s obvious embarrassment. Then, he turned to speak to his fellow wrestlers. “As most of you already know, I discovered this weekend that my roommate, Card Stevens, was a pathetic little faggot fuck-whore. I’d had practice dealing with fags before, so I knew exactly what to do – I fucked the living crap out of his faggot-pussy and started training him up to be a respectful faggot-bitch for Real Men to use and enjoy.”

At this point, Jackson Anders paused and looked around the room. “Now I know a lot of you have never fucked fag-pussy and some of you may be put off by the idea of it. But let me assure you that once you try it – and please feel free to fuck the bitch’s pussy whenever you want – you will enjoy it. As they say, a pussy is a pussy. And the thing about fag-pussy is that you don’t have to worry about the fag. You can fuck his pussy as hard as you want. And, if it hurts him, so what? He’s a fucking fag. Who gives a shit? I sure don’t. And you shouldn’t either. So please, all you guys, feel free to fuck my new bitch after every practice. Just like I’m gonna do right now.”

And with that, Master Jackson began shrugging off his singlet and in just seconds his big cock was buried balls-deep in Card’s still-sore boy-cunt, as Card squealed in renewed pain as the bigger boy began jackhammering his tender hole. By the time his Master had once again creamed his tortured cunt, a line of horny wrestlers had formed up behind him.

Over half his teammates fucked his pussy that first afternoon, and by the third practice session every one of Card’s teammate had tried out his ass-cunt at least once. They all pretty much still treated him like shit when they weren’t fucking him, which wasn’t surprising since that’s exactly how they treated him while they were fucking him. He wasn’t their teammate anymore – he was the team’s faggot fuck-bitch. And Card, who before had always looked forward to these practice sessions where he got to pit himself against his fellow wrestlers quickly learned to dread them.

But as bad as being bitched out to all of his teammates was, it wasn’t the worst thing Master Jackson did to Card. Not even close. Because as Master Jackson had discovered early on in his training of his fag-bitch, the one thing that Card hated the most was being forced to drink his Master’s pungent urine. At least when he was being used as the team’s cum-dump, Card could appreciate the sexual pleasure his teammates were experiencing as they pounded away at his boycunt. It was incredibly demeaning lying there as one dude after another jammed his cock up Card’s back-hole and used his pussy to get a nut, but Card could at least understand the pleasure they felt when they used him that way. But to serve as another dude’s urinal, his piss-hole, seemed to have no purpose other than to humiliate Card, to degrade him, to emphasize how far away from being a Real Man Card really was. The pleasure a man felt in pissing down Card;s throat didn’t come from his own sexual release but in Card’s total degradation and humiliation. There was nothing else that Master Jackson did to him that disgusted and embarrassed him nearly as much, nothing that Card hated more. And, unfortunately for Card, Master Jackson understood this. And so, sadist that he was, Master Jackson determined to turn Card into a groveling piss-bitch.

Twice every day, Card was required to crawl naked, as he always was kept in the suite, from room to room and beg his suite-mates to be allowed to drink their pee. The looks of shock and contempt that greeted this request the first time he was forced to make it made Card literally shake with humiliation, but that was nothing compared to the shame that overwhelmed him when one of his suite-mates took him up on the offer and peed down his throat, literally snorting his disdain as he did so. As the days passed, one by one, his suite-mates took him up on his offer and, in less than two weeks, he had become the urinal of choice for all of his suite-mates.

It wasn’t long after that that Master Jackson made Card drink his pee in front of all his fellow-wrestlers, laughingly telling them that he hadn’t used the porcelain urinal in his dorm suite in three weeks. “Why bother?” he asked rhetorically, “when I’ve got a human piss-hole right at hand to take care of it whenever I want? And all you guys,” he added as he zipped up, “should feel free to use the little whore the same way whenever you need to take a leak.” Within days, the wasn’t a single teammate who wasn’t routinely using Card’s mouth whenever he needed to take a piss during practice and, by the time any practice ended, Card’s belly would be visibly bulging out his singlet with all his teammates’ bladder-wastes.

But the worst of it all started a couple months later. Card knew something was up the moment Master Jackson returned from the post office carrying a large cardboard box. He recognized the gleam in his Master’s eye as something that always presaged some new humiliation that was about to be inflicted on him. And the moment his Master began removing items from the box, beginning with the large metallic funnel, Card understood what it would be used for.

Card knelt in front of Master Jackson, blushing furiously, as his Master affixed the metal contraption to Card’s head. It had been cunningly designed to keep his head in an upright position that forced Card to look straight up at the funnel that led directly down to his mouth. And as Card watched in humiliated horror, no sooner had Master Jackson fitted the gag firmly over his mouth than he unzipped his pants and proceeded to aim a torrent of his rancid pee into the funnel and down into Card;s frantically gulping throat. The disgusting taste of his Master’s piss was still permeating his mouth when Master Jackson ordered Card to make the rounds of their suite so that their suite-mates might have their own opportunity to try out Card’s new piss-gag.

Card had been serving as his dorm suite’s piss-hole for a couple of months now, but even though he couldn’t even estimate how many gallons of his suite-mates’ piss he’d downed during that time, he still found it repulsively demeaning every time he did it. And his new piss-gag seemed to make it somehow even worse. It made Card feel not merely that he was serving as a urinal but that he actually WAS a urinal, that being their human piss-hole now defined him even more than being their faggot cum-dump. Before, as a practical matter, Card had served each of his suite-mates as a piss-pit individually, kneeling before each boy as he emptied his bladder into him. It was disgusting and demeaning to be sure, but there was still an element of a personal relationship to the act. But the funnel at the top of his piss-gag allowed multiple boys to simultaneously pee into it. And that’s exactly what they did – two or three boys standing up and pissing together into the funnel, laughing with each other, enjoying the bonding experience of mingling their piss into the same hole, while Card just knelt there almost ignored, desperately swallowing as fast as he could, watching his fellow suite-mates enjoy an experience that seemed to exclude him even though he was literally at the center of it. It made serving as their collective piss-hole more dehumanizing than it had ever been before.

But it wasn’t until that weekend that Master Jackson truly unveiled the full depths of the degradation he had planned for the boy. Card knew something special was up when Master Jackson fitted his thighs and calves with multiple metal straps and then affixed his ornate metal cock-cage/butt plug onto his boy-clit and up his pussy. From past experience, this only happened when Master Jackson was taking him to a wrestling team party, where he would serve as the group’s entertainment. When Master Jackson ordered him to bring the box containing the piss-gag with him, Card’s heart sank since he was sure that this meant that all of his fellow wrestlers would be using him as a urinal the same way his suite-mates now did – with the piss-gag fixed firmly on his head and in his mouth.

But it wasn’t a party Master Jackson was taking him to, it was The Last Stop, the most notorious gay leather bar in town. Just walking into that bar was an agony of embarrassment for Card, dressed the way he was. Heads turned, wolf-whistles and catcalls greeted him as he followed his Master into the back bar, barefoot and naked except for his metal cock-cage and the metal straps around his thighs and calves. Master Jackson walked right up to another man who was standing behind the bar.

“This is the bitch I told you about,” he said.

The dude looked Card over and then just shook his head. “I never would have figured a boy like him would be a piss-queen, but I guess it takes all types. Okay, get him set up in the bathroom. Just remember, he cleans up any mess that he’s made at the end of the night.”

“No problem,” Master Jackson replied. Then, turning to Card, he said, “C’mon, bitch. Let’s get you ready to show all these Real Men what you’re really good for,” and then headed off towards the bathroom, leaving Card to follow behind.

Once inside the bathroom, Master Jackson directed Card to kneel between the two urinals. Then he took the box from the boy and began fastening the piss-gag onto the boy’s head. “Oh, please, Master, please,” Card started begging. “Don’t make me do this. Don’t make me do this. Please, Master, I’m begging you.” But Master Jackson just ignored Card’s plaintive pleas and they were soon cut off as the gag was jammed into his mouth. Once the gag was properly in place, Master Jackson ordered Card to sit his naked ass down on the floor and to spread his legs apart, blocking access to the other two urinals. That way, bar patrons would have no choice but to use his funnel when they needed to relieve their bladders.

“You’re here for the duration, bitch,” Master Jackson advised as he unzipped his pants and began whizzing into Card’s piss-funnel. “And remember, any mess you make, you’re gonna be cleaning up.” Card was still gulping down his Master’s accumulated piss when the Man zipped up and headed towards the door. “Have fun, bitch,” Master Jackson sarcastically added, as walked out.

Master Jackson hadn’t been gone thirty seconds before the door banged open and in walked a biker wanting to take a piss. “Holy Fuck!” he exclaimed when he saw Card on the floor with the funnel from the piss-gag sticking into the air. He looked around for a few seconds, uncertain as to how to proceed, but finally just shrugged his shoulders and walked up to Card, pulled his cock out and started pissing. “Drink up, faggot,” he sneered, as Card began swallowing convulsively. The biker hadn’t even finished washing his hands before he was joined by another patron.

“Motherfuck!” the new man exclaimed as he took in the sight of Card, naked except for his cock-cage, on the floor. “What the fuck’s going on?”

The biker at the sink, chuckled loudly. ‘Looks like we got ourselves a human piss-hole for the night.”

“God,” the second dude replied, “that’s disgusting. What type of sick pervert would want to spend the night downing other dudes’ stinking pee?”

“One sick motherfucker, you can count on that, bro,” the biker opined. “But, I figured, if that’s what floats his boat, that’s his problem. There’s a lot of really twisted pervs in this world. He’s a good looking dude, but who knows what else he’s into. Probably eats shit, too, sick motherfucker. But I figured. when you gotta piss, you gotta piss so I gave the little bitch just what he wanted – a hot load of my bladder juice.”

“Well, he’s welcome to mine, too,” the second dude said, walking forward and unzipping. “I gotta piss something fierce.” And with that he started whizzing away into the funnel leaving Card with no choice but to swallow as fast as he could. And even before he’d flicked off the last few drops into the funnel, yet another dude came into the room wanting to take a piss. “What the fuck,” the new dude muttered as the guy who had just finished peeing down Card’s throat turned to explain things to him.

And so it went for the first couple hours as Card sat there naked on the bathroom floor. Dude after dude would come through the door, express his surprise, and then his contempt, and then use Card for the obvious purpose that he was there – as a human urinal. For Card, it was an unending nightmare of abject humiliation as he had to listen to all their exclamations of surprise, contempt, and disgust and then still had to swallow their stinking pee, thereby seemingly validating every vile thing they’d said about him.

And, as time went on, things only got worse. It was bad enough when he looked up and realized that a dude was peeing into his mouth for a second and then a third and fourth time, but what was even more embarrassing was when, as happened on a number of occasions, Card recognized the dude pissing into him from one of his classes – and the dude recognized him, too. Knowing the way the news spread on twitter and other sites, Card realized that virtually all of his classmates would have heard about the disgusting display Card had put on in the bathroom of The Last Stop before he even made it out of the bar.

Roughly two hours after Card had started serving as the bar’s urinal, he reached the point that he’d been fearing from the very beginning. His belly was bulging, the multiple loads of piss that he’d down obscuring his abs, his stomach extending so far forward that it protruded well beyond his pecs, the need for him to piss almost unbearable. The breaking point came when three dudes joined in filling his piss-funnel to the very top. Card’s control over his own bladder finally gave way and he began pissing himself on the floor, to their raucous amusement and his own excruciating humiliation. Card pissed himself a good five minutes and, by the time he finished, he was not only guzzling down other dudes’ pee, he was sitting in his own.

From that point on, Card pretty much lost all control over his own bladder and he was pissing himself constantly throughout the rest of the night. By the time the bar closed at 3:00 a.m., nearly half of the bathroom floor was covered with Card’s recycled piss. When Master Jackson finally came in to collect him, Card knew he stank exactly like you’d expect a urinal to.

“You have fun, bitch?” Master Jackson asked contemptuously as he finally took off the piss-gag that Card had been wearing for the last six hours.

Card just stared at his Master, all the accumulated humiliations of his long evening forcing tears to his eyes. But when Master Jackson raised an eyebrow in a way that Card had learned to fear, Card knew what he had to do. “Yes, Master Jackson,” he replied. “Thank you, Master.” Just saying those words, thanking his Master for inflicting upon him the worst night of his entire life, crushed any last remnant of manhood that Card had somehow managed to retain through all the other degradations he had endured.

A huge smile lit up Master Jackson’s face. “I’m glad to hear that, bitch, cause you were a real hit tonight – everybody was talking about the piss-bitch in the bathroom. So much so that they’ve asked us to come back tomorrow night. And,” Master Jackson continued, the raw humor making his voice almost cackle, “assuming things go as well, you’re gonna be a permanent weekend fixture here from now on. Isn’t that great, bitch? Isn’t that great?”

Card didn’t want to cry in front of Master Jackson – he knew how much his Master enjoyed making his bitch cry like a little boy. But Card couldn’t help himself and the tears just started cascading down his face. Yet even as he was audibly sobbing Card forced himself to respond, “Yes, Master. That’s great, Master.”

His triumph now total, Master Jackson’s grin grew even bigger. “Okay, bitch. Now you need to get his place clean. And you know exactly how a bitch cleans up a mess he’s made – with his tongue. So get slurping, bitch. Get slurping right now.”

And as Card knelt down and began slurping his own recycled bladder wastes from the bathroom floor of a seedy bar, the tears kept flowing uncontrollably. He was a piss-bitch now. A human urinal. That was the life that now awaited him. And even with everything else that had already happened to him, Card couldn’t imagine a worse fate.

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.

Afternoon Castration

Placing Castration Bands with Elastrator

Castrated. Damn…hard to believe, but it happened, sure as shit it did, and I’ll never forget that slice of the knife as long as I live. Nope, that is imbedded in my brain like it was yesterday.

It all started over a girl, like a lot of things I suppose. My girl. The boy’s name was Dakota Jennings, and he went after my girl and she fell for the bastard and I don’t know why. But after she dumped me, I was mad as hell, and when you are mad and a horny teenager and missing the senor prom because some jerkwad has stolen your girl then sometimes you do what has to be done.

Now, I wasn’t stupid. I knew enough for example not to try to capture the bastard by myself, because he was one hell of a strong kid and I sure as hell knew enough to know that. He was a swimmer, with that perfect body of a developing adolescent and the real truth was that I envied him. He was a jock, plain and simple, while I was a lanky 130 pound 18 year old with a pencil dick. I had acne too; not too extreme I suppose but still there non-the-less, and I grew my hair long and it covered my ears. Dakota on the other hand had that clean cut short hair all American look that pissed me off, and which the girls seemed to craze. He had perfect blue eyes and a perfect orthodontic smile and a set of six-pac abs, and along with all that he had perfect grades, and I hated him.

He and I had shared a senior gym class, where the jock ruled and I was the laughing stock, and while I hated every minute he seemed to relish it. One thing I knew from that class was that he was hung too, at least in the balls department, and I had seen him in gym enough times to know the kid had a big set of bullocks. Huge would be a better description! God, when he pulled off his jock after sweating through class they literally swung between his legs, like two big plumbs ripe for the picking! I think it was the fact he was so proud of them, and also because of the way they seemed to emphasize his manliness, that I decided to take them. I knew enough to know that once he’d lost is balls his interest in Linda would dry up in a hurry, and from my way of thinking, she’d come back to me once I turned her new boyfriend into a eunuch.

I knew why she had taken a liking to him. Hell, all the girls liked him. And next to Dakota I looked like a boy. For one thing, I was rail thin, and I didn’t have much in the way of the muscle department. I tried to compensate by going over to the EMO look, with my jet black hair and deep brown eyes. I had a tongue piercing, and two earrings in one ear, and I was looking at tats and hoping to get one in the near future. I had been in trouble a few times with the law, did some drugs and got caught at it, and also had ripped off a few homes that only Linda knew about. So, I guess I was a kid going nowhere, while he on the other hand was heading for college and an oh-so-perfect future upper-class life.

It was all so unfair! And, it even went so far as sexual development. At 18 I had two little patches of black hair under each armpit, and another small little patch above my five inch dick, but other than that I was as smooth as a ten year old. My legs were for the most part devoid of hair as well, and there wasn’t even a thin line between my navel and my dick. My chest was totally smooth, and my flat stomach didn’t have a sign of muscle. Shit—to be a senior in high school with a little boy look was embarrassing as hell, and I was certainly humiliated by the way my body was turning out. It didn’t help my balls were small, at least they were next to most of the guys in gym class, and of course I got laughed at regularly. Dakota was a jock, a man in every since of the word, with a big cock and a massive set of nuts and that oh-so-perfect body all guys wish they had. Then, he took my girl, and after that at night I would jerk off my thin cock to the thought of castrating Dakota, and I’d shoot my watery load onto my chest to the fantasy of stealing his nuts. It slowly became an obsession, and I worked out the details, and I was living for the day when I would cut off his nuts and make him envy my balls, as unimpressive as they were.

My plan wasn’t very sophisticated, but from my perspective it didn’t have to be, and I put it in place shortly after the school year had ended. I knew Dakota worked at a burger joint after school, trying to earn money for college, and it didn’t take much to figure out when he worked and more importantly when he got off. I set it up for a Saturday afternoon, as his shift ended, and paid off three guys to get him tied down for me. I didn’t tell them I was gonna castrate the fuckwad, no, I didn’t tell them that. I just told them I wanted to teach him a lesson, to whip his ass with a belt, and I needed him tied down and helpless so I could do it to him. I knew the kids from a YMCA camp my parents had made me go to the previous summer, which had been attended by a few inner city kids that I had gotten to know. They thought it was funny as hell, and for $20 each they grabbed him after he left work and dragged his ass out to the edge of town, at a place we all just called “the pit.” It was next to a catfish pond, and there was a junkyard of sorts there, which included a number of worn out washers, dryers, and even a couple of old refrigerators. The place was abandoned, except on occasion a guy would take his girl there to park, or to smoke some weed. But for the most part nobody went there, and I knew on a Saturday afternoon it would almost certainly be unattended.

After they had kidnapped him, they drove back into town and gave me a call, and I left immediately and drove right out to the spot where they had left him planning to do the deed. When I arrived they had tied the nineteen year old jock over an oven that somebody had tossed in the dump, so his two ankles were tied to the front legs and he was bent over it, his arms tied to the oven door handle on the other side. He was already naked when I got there, his big bullocks, heated by the sun, hanging down towards his knees and swinging as he struggled. To me, they were just hanging there waiting, waiting for me and the knife. I had brought my Gerber just for the purpose, and it was razor sharp and I knew his balls would be no match for the steel. I wore a stocking cap I had, with holes for the eyes, nose, and mouth, and I knew that with it on he would not be able to identify me. As I walked up to him, and he tuned and saw me, initially he started to beg me to untie him. But then he took in the mask I was wearing, and at that point he was smart enough to know that letting him go wasn’t in the plan. I saw his eyes go really wide then and that’s when he went crazy and jerked against every rope that held him.

I looked at his pile of clothes, and decided to go through his pockets. For one thing, taking his cash I figured would perhaps make the authorities think a robbery had been the main intention, but as luck would have it there was less than twenty bucks in his billfold. There was a nice picture of Linda thought, and in his right side pocket of his jeans was a lubricated rubber, and on the package it said: “Ribbed for Her Pleasure.” Right then that’s when I got the idea to fuck him. I had never fucked a guy in my entire life, never wanted to for that matter, but as I saw him bent over and his legs spread, his hole seemed to wink at me. I hadn’t fucked anything but my five-fingered friend for more than two months, ever since my girlfriend had dumped me for the jock now tied before me, and suddenly his hole looked inviting in a way I can’t really describe. I know for certain my dick went rock hard, and I figured it wouldn’t take that long and I’d enjoy nutting him a lot more after I had fucked his hole and shot my wad as I emptied my balls.

I took out the rubber, and when he saw it in my hand he went crazy then, and was jerking and straining so hard every muscle in his perfect body was pulling against the ropes that were spreading him wide and forcing him to open his hole as if he was begging for it. He started screaming for help, and I knew right then it was well past time to shut him up.

I picked up one of his socks, which was in the pile next to his jeans, and stuffed it into his mouth, and then took some duck tape I had brought and finished the gag. While I didn’t mind him grunting, and I actually enjoyed listening to him, I just didn’t’ seem to think that letting him yell out was all that good of an idea, even though I knew that nobody was around that could hear him. Still, once he was gagged, I was a lot happier. After I had him so he couldn’t yell, that’s when I pulled down my own pants to my knees, and then rolled the ribbed condom over my rock hard dick that was jutting up at the sky. I didn’t really need the condom, but I didn’t think it was too wise to leave a load of sperm in his ass that some enterprising police office might trace to me. Anyway, as soon as I had rolled the rubber on my dick, I moved up against him and prepared to mount him like a whore.

He went even more ballistic, and started thrashing back and forth, and I could see his powerful thighs tense up as he struggled to pinch close his hole and to protect the entrance to his bowels. The condom was lubed, but even so I spit on my latex covered dick to add some more, and then I pushed my dick up against his hole, and then, as I felt the lips of his ass accommodate the head of my teenage dick, I pushed forward and leaned into him. With a slight bit of pressure, I went all the way in then, with a single thrust, until my erection was buried to the hilt and my small bag of nuts were up against his ass.

He tossed his head back and grunted in shame, and that’s when I smiled and started to fuck him. Each thrust slammed into his prostate, and that made him grunt, and the ribbed condom really stimulated his hole and I could tell he didn’t like it. I hadn’t said anything to him, nothing at all, and he had no idea who was fucking him, or even why. Still, I fucked him, and I savored every single second I was pounding his hole. He grunted and struggled and jerked and tried to twist, but no matter what he did it made no difference. I loved feeling his struggles, and that only made me increase my thrusting, and soon I was slamming my cock in and out of his ass, and I wanted to laugh as he took it like a woman. His hole was tight, very tight, and his body temperature warmed my pole almost exactly like a woman’s pussy. He was a hot fuck, yes he was, and I fucked him like he was my girlfriend, fast and deep, and soon my balls were churning and I knew I was going to shoot my wad.

I would have loved to fuck him for a long time, but I didn’t want to put off his castration any longer than necessary, and I wasn’t trying to make him feel good either. That said, I did slow down though, just before I shot, long enough to take out my Gerber so he could see what I was gonna use to nut him. I laid the open knife right on top of the oven he was tied over, so he could see it there. As he took in the knife, and the razor sharp blade, I started to thrust my cock deep into him again, slamming into him hard enough to rock the oven he was tied to. He was grunting again, right away, and so was I, and then as my balls started to churn again and I prepared to shoot my wad, I whispered into his ear, working hard to disguise my voice as I did so.

As he stared at my knife I said: “You feel my cock? I’m gonna fill you with my sperm, and then I’m gonna use the knife and castrate you. Get ready, cause you can kiss your big balls goodbye. Here comes my wad, right NOW!”

As I said those words I was probably less than a second from ejaculating, and that’s when the oven door came off.

I never saw it coming. One second I was fucking him and about to cum, and he was struggling and grunting as my cock slammed in and out of his hole, and the next he had literally jerked the old oven door completely off of its frame, tearing out the rusted hinges with the power of his desperation. I suppose that the combination of fear of being castrated, along with the humiliation of being fucked, just joined together to give him the strength necessary to tear that oven door off of those hinges.

What I know for certain was that he jerked that oven door straight up, over his head, and since his wrists were still tied to its handle it was almost like it was an extension of his arms. He tossed the big thing right over his head, and it came down and slammed right into the back of my head, hitting me so hard I almost passed out. I staggered, and fell back and as I did my cock popped out of him, and I landed on my ass on the ground. I had no idea what really had happened. I started to get up, and was up on one knee and about to stand when he swung his torso, slamming the entire oven door sideways this time, so that the big steel door struck me right across the left cheek. There was this blinding pain that shot through my jaw, and I hit the ground, hard, the entire sky spinning as I crumpled from the intensity of the blow.

I do not know exactly what happened next, not precisely anyway, but I remember everything was blurred. He managed to get to the knife that was still laying where I had laid it out, right in front of him, and soon he had cut himself free from the ropes that had tied him. I know I saw him doing that, from a somewhat dazed point of view, and I know that I rolled over on my stomach and tried to crawl away from him. I was bleeding out of my mouth, and I noticed when I spit that a couple of teeth had been knocked out of me. The left side of my face was numb, and it was pretty clear that the oven door had done a number on my face. I was desperate to get away, but he picked up that oven door one more time then and slammed it into me, hitting me with it flat on my back right about where my shoulders were. I crumpled like a rag doll then. Still, I never passed out, but I sure as hell was stunned, and as far as being able to fight him that was never in the cards. From the first hit of the oven door, I was at his mercy.

He jumped on my back then, and pulled my two wrists back, behind me, and then he tied them together, so damn tight I thought he was gonna cut the circulation off. Then, after he had done that, he rolled me over, so I was on my back and looking right up at the sky. My jeans and underpants were still at my knees, where I had pulled them down to fuck him, and my cock was still covered with his condom, although my erection had for the most part disappeared at that point. He sat right on top of me, on my thighs, straddling me, and that’s when he ripped off his gag and spit out the socks I had forced in his mouth. Then, he reached down and pulled my hooded stocking cap off of my face.

As he took in who I was he said “FUCK! FUCK ME! YOU! OH FUCK MAN, YOU ARE DEAD MEAT! DEAD! YOU HERE ME! YOU ARE A FUCKING DEAD MAN TANNER! YOU FUCKED ME! YOU FUCKED ME! GOD DAMN! YOU WERE GONNA CASTRATE ME TOO!!! OH MAN…TANNER, FUCK. FUCK YOU! WELL TANNER—ILL TELL YOU ONE THING. YOUR FUCKING BALLS ARE HISTORY! HISTORY!”

I tried to beg him, to tell him I was sorry, but my mouth wasn’t working and as it turned out later my jaw had been broken. I could taste the blood in my mouth, and as I stared at him and he looked at me he suddenly jerked my pants down, and off, and then he pulled my legs apart and lifted me up, by my thighs, so that he was under me, he on his knees and my legs straddling him. I looked down and saw his cock then, and it was up and eager and juttig. A few seconds later I felt it, as he pulled me down onto it. I tried to beg, and tired to move, but the reality was there wasn’t much I could do and I was still in so much shock from getting hit with that oven door that I was definitely not at my best form. The next thing I knew his dick was in me. I had never seen him with a boner before, and his cock was big, really big, and I did not think it was possible to slide his massive erection it into me. But I was wrong. But when he shoved his fat cock into my hole it literally brought tears to my eyes and I felt like it was splitting open my hole. Fuck it hurt! No! Suddenly, the roles had been reversed, and the fuckee was now the fucker, and I was the whore! NO!

There was nothing I could do at that point, nothing at all, but grunt and stare into his eyes as he fucked me. We faced each other, and I felt him impaling me, ramming his huge cock in and out of my ultra tight virgin hole with a vengeance. He used no lube at all, and it hurt like hell, but even so after a while I felt this strange feeling, the way his cock was ramming into my prostate, and my dick went rock hard and was soon jutting, even as he slammed his own cock in and out of my hole. When I got hard he reached down to my dick and pulled off the rubber, so my cock was jutting up at the sky, the big purple end of it round and full, the single eye dripping with precum. My hands were tied tight beneath me, and all I could do was stare at him and my stiff cock as he fucked me like a girl. At some point as hard as it is to believe my nuts started to churn, and I don’t know why, and then a few minutes later I started to shoot my cream and it all came out in white ropes of sperm, squirting in lines up my stomach and onto my flat chest. The first shot of my sperm hit my chin. I came and came and came, and in hindsight it was probably the biggest load of my life. All total, I think I shot about 5 lines of cream, emptying my balls as his cock forced it from me. At some point while I was cumming he too ejaculated, his entire wad of hot seed jetting into my hole, splashing up against my prostate and filling me with his load of seed. I could feel his hot load shooting into me, and it was my worst nightmare, and as I lived through the feeling it was so humiliating it cannot be described.

It was then, after he had cum, and my own wad was splashed on my stomach, that he reached up with my knife in his right hand, and grabbed my balls with his left. He was still rock hard, still imbedded in my hole, and he had a grin on his face then like a schoolboy. I managed to get out a “NO!” as he laid the steel blade up against my own small scrotum, and then for a second he hesitated, and time seemed to stand still. Then, he laughed, and I tried to beg him, but I couldn’t really talk and it didn’t matter anyway. He jerked outward with his left hand, pulling my nuts out from my body and stretching them. At the same time he started to move his right wrist then, moving my knife back and forth, and as he did this tremendous pain shot through my groin and after that for the next few seconds I just lived through my own castration. He sawed my balls off with my own knife, and as it was being done I felt so weak, so humiliated, so ‘bested’ and so beaten it cannot be described. He unmanned me, literally, and it was clear when I had been done and it was over that I was nothing compared to him. The truth at that point was that he owned my girl, and my balls.

As soon as he had nutted me, he laughed, and then he started to thrust his cock in and out of my hole all over again, fucking me with a renewed intensity, almost as if the act of castrating me had reinvigorated him. He was rock hard, and his big rod impaled me, and I cold feel the head of his cock sliding in and out of my hole, each thrust deep and made with a vengeance. He was into it, really enjoying fucking me, and I could see the way he looked at me that he owned me. What was even more surprising I think was that he ejaculated all over again in less that a couple of minutes. The message was clear. He was a real man, a stud, and I was a nothing. Almost to emphasize that point, my own cock shriveled to a worm as he fucked me, and by the time he shot his wad and squirted his seed into me my own pole was small and unimpressive. Limp and nut-less, I felt his DNA shooting into me one more time, and at that point I was beaten and there was nothing left to fight for. As soon as he had squirted his second load of cream and deposited it deep within my ass, he picked up my severed balls and held them right up to my face, making sure I could see what I no longer owned.

That’s when he said: “Pretty small set of balls if you asked me. Well, too bad for you Tanner. You don’t deserve them. I know it. Linda knows it. And so do you.“

Then, with a toss, he threw them over the bank, so that they landed in the catfish pond. I heard them splash, and there was no doubt that my nuts were fish food at that point. That’s when he leaned down to me, his big cock still buried inside of me, and then he said: “You kidnapped me, tied me up, fucked me, and tried to castrate me. Just remember, the police can’t give you your balls back, no matter what. But if you tell the police who did this to you, everyone’s gonna know everything. I swear. Including what Linda has told me about your antics, and those houses you broke into earlier in the summer. So, I suggest you just live with it. You know what you did, and unfortunately for you, it didn’t quite go the way you had planned. Now, you better deal with it—you only have yourself to blame for getting yourself castrated.”

Then he pulled his still hard cock out with a slurping sound, and laughed. He slid on his underpants, and stuffed his big rod inside, and then pulled on his jeans after that. After he put on his shirt he rolled me over and cut the ropes off of my wrists, and then he slid his middle finger up my hole one last time. As he did he said: “Your hole was tight. Almost as tight as a virgin pussy. And one more thing. If you get horny and need a fuck, bring your hole over anytime and I’ll fuck it raw. You’re nothing but a bitch now, so get used to it.”

I wanted to cry. He pulled his finger out with a pop, and then he pocketed my Gerber, as a souvenir I suppose, and then he left me. A few minutes later I heard my truck start up, and after that he was gone. I was in pretty bad shape, but got to the highway and eventually a guy stopped and picked me up and I caught a ride home, and then from there I went to the hospital. My truck was already there, almost as if he knew I’d be going there. Still, for some reason, I didn’t feel like driving it for a while anyway.

Of the things he had said, he was right of course, and so I had to stick to the story that I had no idea who had nutted me. The doctors fixed my jaw, but they couldn’t do much to fix my missing scrotum, and while they could stitch up the cut they didn’t have a magic set of nuts to replace what I had lost. I thought about my options, and in the end I didn’t tell them I had been raped, or what had happened, or what I knew. Consequently, they never took any DNA swaps from my ass, and since I didn’t tell them all that much they didn’t look very hard for who had attacked me. They knew I knew more than I was telling them, but with my prior record and EMO look, I don’t think they really cared.

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

Becoming Real – Part 6

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?

 

 

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Preston Pissing With The Boys

Handsome young Preston has a real thirst for hardcore pissing fun with the boys Horny Preston loves gay pissing porn, he watches a lot of it and when he had the chance to appear in some videos he jumped right in. He's been having a lot of fun too, showing off his...

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Handsome young Preston has a real thirst for hardcore pissing fun with the boys Horny Preston loves gay pissing porn, he watches a lot of it and when he had the chance to appear in some videos he jumped right in. He's been having a lot of fun too, showing off his...

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Handsome young Preston has a real thirst for hardcore pissing fun with the boys Horny Preston loves gay pissing porn, he watches a lot of it and when he had the chance to appear in some videos he jumped right in. He's been having a lot of fun too, showing off his...

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Handsome young Preston has a real thirst for hardcore pissing fun with the boys Horny Preston loves gay pissing porn, he watches a lot of it and when he had the chance to appear in some videos he jumped right in. He's been having a lot of fun too, showing off his...

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Handsome young Preston has a real thirst for hardcore pissing fun with the boys Horny Preston loves gay pissing porn, he watches a lot of it and when he had the chance to appear in some videos he jumped right in. He's been having a lot of fun too, showing off his...

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Handsome young Preston has a real thirst for hardcore pissing fun with the boys Horny Preston loves gay pissing porn, he watches a lot of it and when he had the chance to appear in some videos he jumped right in. He's been having a lot of fun too, showing off his...

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Handsome young Preston has a real thirst for hardcore pissing fun with the boys Horny Preston loves gay pissing porn, he watches a lot of it and when he had the chance to appear in some videos he jumped right in. He's been having a lot of fun too, showing off his...

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Handsome young Preston has a real thirst for hardcore pissing fun with the boys Horny Preston loves gay pissing porn, he watches a lot of it and when he had the chance to appear in some videos he jumped right in. He's been having a lot of fun too, showing off his...

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Handsome young Preston has a real thirst for hardcore pissing fun with the boys Horny Preston loves gay pissing porn, he watches a lot of it and when he had the chance to appear in some videos he jumped right in. He's been having a lot of fun too, showing off his...