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.

Some Things I Hope To Achieve

While I only truly ask that my ollar become a permanent attachment to my body, there are a few other things that you may consider doing at some point in the  future. Again, these things are optional, but are things I would truly like you to consider.

Losing Track of Time

One of the things I’m looking forward to most I think can only happen once I’m sure that you have taken control of me in a manner in which I know I will never have any hope of escape is that I will at some point stop worrying about time. Since I’ll know that I will be tied up in some fashion for the rest of my life, I will eventually not worry about whether a particular scene will last 5 more minutes or 5 more days.  I should be able to enjoy the scene and not stress about trivial things like time.

Make Me A Piss Slave

One story which has inspired me greatly, perhaps more than any other, is the story where the main character becomes a human urinal and is locked into that role for the rest of his life.

While it may be unfeasible to perfectly recreate every bit of what happens in this story, I would really like to engage in the spirit of the story. If I could ask for one ongoing activity, it would be for you to make me into a urinal, just like the character in the story. This could become a nearly full time job for me, and ultimately you would hook up a recycling tube as well. As you added more water into my system, my bladder would fill up faster, and I believe ultimately that there would be an almost steady stream of piss being forced down my throat.  I would be constantly reminded of my status as toilet.

There may even be a market for you to rent out my services to local parties and bars, which would enable me to help with household finances.

Eventually, I’d need to take a break once in a while to bring in clean water to flush my system and I might not be capable of being a urinal as a 24/7/365 arrangement due to health issues, There is no reason that,just like with the main character, the doors on the cage could not be closed forever.  The cage doors could be sealed in much the same way that the collar would be sealed around my neck. If the doors were welded closed, I would know that I was locked inside forever. With the appropriate cage, there should be no issues. In the story, the guy forced to become a lifelong urinal discovered he didn’t like it, I’m sure that I’ll experience the same thing, but even knowing that going in, I still would love to do it. I’d rather be forced to do this for the rest of my life and hate it than not have the opportunity to try it at all.

“You Will Never Cum Again”

The final issue is one which MAY be a bad idea, perhaps better left in , but it’s something I’ve fantasized about for well over 25 years.  When you make the decision to make my slavery permanent, with no possible means of escape, I would like you to consider forever taking away my ability to cum at the same time. This can be accomplished by permanently attaching a chastity belt in a way it can never be removed, or through simple castration (I have the tools required).  The first keeps me horny for the rest of my life, the second removes my sex drive. You may have other reasons for NOT fulfilling this request, but forever taking away my ability to come gives you complete control over me physically and mentally.

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

You wished for this

Chris grinned with cruel humor as he stroked my erect penis. His hand combined with the baby oil was giving my body all the welcoming and arousing sensations, sending pulse after pulse of hormone charged blood through my muscles. I lay spread eagle tied to our bed watching and hoping that my Boyfriend will allow me that feeling of release, but I know his evil side and I know the commitment I made with him. Just as my stomach tensed and my cock strained his hand pulled away for a second time leaving me panting and twitching minus the ejaculation that was sure to follow any second. To say my body was now on edge would be lying, it was definitely over the edge, it is screaming to have the balance restored with just a few more strokes of my cock.

It had been three weeks since I gave control of my cock over to Chris and the first time since then it had been outside of the CB6000. We had played with chastity allot over the time we’d been together and now I decided that I was going to take my commitment to him to a new level. Being locked in chastity has always given me an overwhelming feeling, a charge of hormones always courses through my body at the thought of wearing them and my sexual appetite always sky rockets when locked up. That feeling of horniness and the quivers it radiates throughout me has always been the best part of sex for me, ejaculation at the end is great, but the build-up is the true ride. Chastity also brings that loss of control, the sense of denial, the excitement of guessing if you’ll be allowed to cum. Even if I’m denied an orgasm the knowing that I’m to remain locked just makes me hornier. So my commitment to Chris was simple, after months of being locked for a few days here and a few days there, I wanted to remain locked, I wanted to give Chris the control over my horniness. I wanted to see how far he could take me and far I could go. Would I become a mess of unreleased sexual tension or would I become more and more submissive, accustomed to being chaste. The thought of being locked 24/7 was a fantasy that drove me wild, but in reality could it work for me.

Chris moved up the bed, he straddled my body kneeling over me. He sat his cute tight but right on top my hips whilst carefully placing my penis upward alongside his back. Right in where his bum crack begins. If only a little lower, if only he was going to begin to ride my erect penis.

“I know what you’re hoping for, But it’s not going happening” Chris’s smile turned to a serious gaze. “You gave up the right to ask for an orgasm, and believe me it’s gonna be allot longer than 3 weeks until I think about giving you one.” He was dead right but I was glad at what I was hearing. As much as I wanted to cum right now, knowing that my Cb was going right back on was turning me on so much more. Chris then leant forward over me, he planted his tongue firmly in my mouth and at the same time I felt my cock move lower into his arse crack . I could feel his balls rubbing up against the base of my penis, his erect cock drove itself up my stomach, I needed to scream but his tongue prevented all but a long moan. I was becoming so charged with hormones that I thought my dick was about to burst out of it skin, and then in a heartbeat Chris pulled back and sat up. “I can feel that cock of yours is getting a bit excited, it’s definitely time to be put away before I lose control of you.” Chris then exploited my weakness. I hated being tickled and he got to work immediately. It was a sure way to turn me off and the only way he was gonna get my cock soft enough to be locked back up again. It drove me mad and tensed every muscle in my body, I always laughed but it was a pained reaction to something that I didn’t enjoy at all and in no time my penis was soft again.

Chris replaced the ring under my balls and locked together the locking pins to fix the ring in place. Of course this alone made me horny and erect again which only instigated another round of intense tickling. Soft once again Chris swiftly slid the shaft of the Cb over my cock and fixed it to the pins, then the lock, sliding it into the hole of the locking pin, he left it poised millimetres from its locked position. My Cock swelled and engorged the cage, it was confined once more and the feeling brought over me another surge of hormones and excitement. I had just be freed and teased with to the brink of orgasm, I was still falling over that edge of imbalance. My cock pushed against the cage in a desperate attempt, one push after the other like it was pounding against a closed door. Chris reached up to my right arm and undid the lock holding my wrist. He guided my hand to my cock and rested my fingers onto the lock of my Cb.

“Seeing how you’re the one that made this commitment to me, to give me your cock, you’ll be the one each time that closes the lock. If and when I decide to play with your dick, if you’ve cum or been denied, you’ll re-lock your dick. No if’s or buts, No begging and no refusal!!”

Chris’s look was stern. He meant what he was saying and I knew if I messed about I was sure to pay in some way. My cock surged stronger, I felt like I was actually about to cum but nothing was going to spurt from my cock. It just strained and strained, physically unstimulated but packed with energy.  I gripped the lock with my fingers and pushed. The steel pin moved into the brass lock and ‘click’, my dick was locked away again. I wasn’t however disappointed at all, I was exactly where I had hoped to be, Hornier than hell and under my boyfriend’s control. With my dick now locked it was as if my focus changed, it shifted straight to Chris, how can I please him. I needed to channel all my energy onto his dick, I wasn’t going to get any release but Chris was. My free hand moved away from my cock and towards Chris’s erect dick and I began to stroke it much to my boyfriend’s delight.

Chris once again moved over and straddled my body, once again sitting over my hips but this time it was my caged cock that nestled in between his arse crack. I continued to stroke his cock with my free hand as his right hand came down and grasped his own balls tightly. His left hand slid around his back where he clasped the end of my Cb, pressing his finger into the piss slit to rub the tip of my penis. We both began to moan in sync as I felt the tension build in Chris’s body. His eyes clenched and his upper teeth eloquently peered out from his mouth to bite down onto his bottom lip.  We continued like this for some time as i knew exactly how to hold Chris on edge, plus I was enjoying this almost as much as when my penis was unlocked a few moments before.

“You love pleasuring me don’t you! You love it more having your cock locked up, knowing I won’t let you cum.” Chris was dead right again, I whimpered yes in response. “This last 3 weeks have been amazing, having you locked in this way, you’ve been so horny I love it!” another whimper came from my mouth, yes sir. “You won’t be cumming at all anytime soon I hope you know. And only if you don’t complain about it will I edge you like I just did.” Another surge of energy rushed through me, I wasn’t totally expecting to unleash Chris’s dominant side like this but it was exactly what I wished for.

Without another word Chris grabbed my hand from his cock and placed it off to his side. He leant forward toward my left arm and unlocked my wrist from its restraint. With both my arms free Chris shuffled upwards placing his body over my chest, knowing what was coming now I reached around grabbing his arse with both my hands. I pulled his arse toward my face as he grabbed the back of my head forcing his cock into my mouth, I relaxed my grip on his arse and moved my hands down onto his thighs as he began to push and pull my head into his groin. He thrust his hips at the same time as I took his cock in my mouth, that pre cum taste testing my gag reflex just that little bit. I closed my eyes as I could feel Chris clearly enjoying making me feel like the little bitch. At this point I didn’t think i was going to get any hornier, already energized to the max and now truly feeling helpless in chastity I braced to receive what was surely going to be a huge load out of Chris. He wasn’t however done with me yet. He stopped being as forceful and slowed down, easing his cock into my mouth as opposed to thrusting forcefully. I soon felt him pull out and I opened my eyes, my mouth still wide open, he began to shuffle backwards off my chest toward my legs. He shuffled over my hips and knelt between my still restrained legs.

“I didn’t want to cum in your mouth Boy as I haven’t finished using you yet!” he said this as he grabbed the ring of my Cb. “I absolutely love seeing you so helpless and so turned on, I just want you to know that. I wasn’t sure about this to start with as I love pleasuring you allot to, but, I can see this is by far pleasing you more. That cock straining inside its Cb doesn’t lie.” I didn’t know what I could say, the rush of hormones were starting to make me delirious. ‘yes sir its true sir’ was all I could manage. That grin of cruel humor returned to Chris’s face as he shuffled off the end of the bed and undid the restraints on my legs. “Now roll over onto your stomach bitch.”

I did as I was told realizing the grand finale that was to cum. I lay back down, positioned my now uncomfortably erect caged cock away from my stomach and as rearward toward my arse as was comfortable. In no time my legs and arms were once again secure in a spread eagle position, my bum exposed. I felt Chris straddle my back this time and soon thereafter a blind fold forced over my face followed by a ball gag shoved into my mouth to complete the feeling of helplessness. I let out a slight whimper before I even registered that I had done so. It was quickly followed by a slap to my arse, “Save those whimpers boy for when you really need ‘em”. I felt Chris hop off me at that point and then soon I felt nothing at all, heard nothing and obviously saw nothing. A good few minutes passed without any movement in the room, not Chris climbing over me and nothing touching my arse. The anticipation was building inside me I was wanting to have Chris fuck me, if nothing else to feel his cock on my prostate, to have some of this cum oozed out of me in some way. I let out a moan, a beg for attention. It felt like 10min had passed by now and yet my erection was by far nowhere being quelled.

“You relax” was the response I received. “You’ll get attention when I choose from now on. I will fuck you when I want to and not when you want it.” I was helpless, unable to respond to a statement that I had led myself into. I was aroused again beyond belief. Chris had totally taken on this dominant persona and he was clearly enjoying the role. I wasn’t sure when I made the agreement how I was going to feel if this persona came out, if I would be scared by it or welcoming. I was welcoming it big time. Chris was taking control of every aspect of my sex drive, making sure that I firmly knew where I stood and what I had asked for. I knew now I wasn’t going to get out of this easily and I could tell Chris was going to make me earn any relief I was going to get from now on.

The noise of myself breathing and the occasional clink of my restraints was the only thing I heard close by for quite some time. I could hear Chris moving about in the house every now and then, occasionally I thought I’d heard him come to the door of the room but I could not be sure. I wondered how it was that he wasn’t gaging to cum himself, surely he was ready to come and finish himself off, but I did know Chris. I remember his evil side and it’s in full swing, I released it, and god why is it still turning me on so much.

Finally I hear a footstep and the bed moves, I feel Chris’s knees up against the inside of my thighs as he positions himself kneeling over my bum. “I bet you can’t wait to have my cock slide into your arse. Do you want me to fuck you?” I manage a muffled uhha. “You asked to be my boy, you said here’s my cock you can lock it away. You said your cock was mine and it was up to me to decide when you were allowed to cum.” My cock was starting to hurt now, pressed against the bed and confined it its cage I was starting to wish Chris would stop talking, how much hornier can a boy get. “Your my boy now, your cocks mine and your arse is mine!”  I felt Chris lean over me toward the side dresser. I heard it open and close. My arse then felt that familiar cold sensation of the lube being drizzled into it. My cock strained some more, I was gagging to be fucked but the next sensation I felt concerned me. I didn’t feel Chris’s warm body lay down onto my back or his thick warm cock touch the rim of my anus, instead a cold hard object began penetrating me. I could feel it thicken and stretch my anus as it was forced in slowly. Chris was inserting a butt plug into me. He wasn’t going to fuck me, instead just tease me. The base of the plug forced its way inside me as I held my breath attempting not to tense as my arse stretched to accommodate its width. This was one of my favourite plugs, large and filling, you always knew you had it inside you but it wasn’t big enough to make you feel to uncomfortable. Once it was in though it certainly wasn’t going anywhere either.  It slid into place as my anus closed around it and it wasn’t gonna come out again without some help.

“There you go. I would say every bit of you is chastised now. No mouth to blow, no butt to fuck and no dick to touch.” I was fucked, but more in the literal sense as I wasn’t getting any relief now. I loved this plug because it always sat just next to my prostate, always making me hornier, which is exactly what it was doing. But it never really massaged the prostate either, just stopped anything else from touching it, just made me horny.

I let out a slight whimper again moving my hips up and down on the bed in an attempt to make the plug feel like it could stimulate me. It did nothing but confirm that it was solidly inside me. “I told you you’d need those whimpers bitch. I hope to be forcing many more out of that mouth of yours.” Chris now lay down on top me, his warm body pinning my hips to the bed. I could feel his cock pressing up against the top of my arse, pressing onto the plug and forcing it further into me. I felt his chin caress the side of my neck and his arms push into my ribs on both sides. I whimpered again.

Chris sat up once more back to where he had been, kneeling between my spread legs. I felt his hand grab the end of my Cb and once more his finger entered the piss slit and begin to rub the tip of my caged cock. I felt the bed begin to rock steadily and the sound of lube being squelched between fingers. Chris’s body moved up and down on his knees as he began to bring himself to climax with his other hand, his legs and feet pushing into mine. All I could do was lie there as nothing more than an object restrained on the bed. I felt as horny as I could ever be, overwhelmed and almost sick to the stomach by a primitive need to expel my semen. Yet I was removed from the sexual act that was taking place on top of me. I wasn’t able to take part, I was no longer a sexual partner at this point in time, just a chastised object belonging to Chris and his sexual desire. I was amazed this was happening, that I had been taken here by my boyfriend and that I was being used in this way. Now what’s next. What happens when you open Pandora’s box.

In only a few minutes I felt Chris’s warm semen spray all over my back and arse. A long moan from him signaled a release of monumental energy that he had clearly been building up over the last few hours. The same energy that was locked inside of me with nowhere to go. Chris eventually stood up off the bed, “Oh my Boy, that was amazing. You look so fucking hot right now. See what your missing out on from now on.” That was true and now really hit home as to what I had committed myself to, but at the same time it excited me more than I thought it really would. Although ready to crawl the walls with sexual energy and frustration, the feeling was amazing.

Chris left the room leaving me tied, blindfolded and completely chastised on the bed. My body was beginning to ache now from the restraints but I felt relaxed, exhausted yet comfortable in being left alone to ponder in my mind the change the relationship had just taken. Up until this point I hadn’t thought Chris was going to take my request for chastity as seriously. I thought he’d give in and let me cum often at least, but now I knew I was definitely chastised, definitely under my boyfriend’s control and fuck, what a feeling.  Chris soon returned to undo my restraints, gag and blindfold for which I was grateful. There was a slim chance he’d leave me like that a lot longer.

“So was that everything you were hoping for?” Chris smirked as he sat on the bed beside me.

“Yeah it was. You have no idea how horny this, it feels amazing.” I sat up next to Chris still fully erect in my CB6000 and still plugged. “I wasn’t sure you were actually as into this as much.”

“I wanted to string you along for a little bit. I thought you’d be begging after a week to be let out. So after 3 weeks I assumed you were ready to learn the truth.”

“What, that you love having me locked up.” I responded cheekily.

“Well yes, and I’ve wanted it that way for a long time.” I felt a little shocked but excited by Chris’s statement. “You still think that I’m going let you cum every now and then. Like I said, you won’t be. Your my Boi now, I’m still your Boyfriend but I own your cock and arse. You will get used to that plug to because it will be in you whenever I want to use you to get my rocks off. Is that clear?”

What the fuck have I got myself into here. Why the fuck is my dick still so erect at hearing this. Oh wait, its exactly what I wanted. But I wasn’t expecting it to happen so quick. “Yes Sir.”

“Your dick never lies, Boi.” Chris grabbed my hand and led me into our bathroom. He opened the shower screen door and began to run a shower for the both of us. We had a massive shower cubicle in this house of ours and it was a godsend on mornings when we both had to leave the house at the same time to be able to shower together. Chris entered first before me gesturing me to follow him. We took turns in lathering soap over each other and the warm water began to distract me from my chastity and the plug still firmly rooted in my arse. We kissed and laughed at the situation I had put myself in and Chris told me once more how he thought I’d loved to cum too much to be in this state. But as he finished saying that remark and as a smile brushed along my face, he looked at me sternly. “Well you have no choice now. Your opportunity to change this is over!” And with that he placed his hands on top of my head and forced me onto my knees. His penis thrusts its self toward me and without a chance to object it was forced down my throat.

Once more I was reduced to Chris’s sexual object, and still I loved what was happening. My never ending erection again thumped away inside its cage. My anus clenched at the plug hoping for some kind of stimulus. This was how it was going to be from now on. He knew that when I was like this I was vulnerable, horny and willing to do what he desired and he was going to make me pay for asking to be this way. It was now a matter of how long I could last being his chaste Boi. Would I continue to beg for more and more, or how long before I would crumble.

Preston Pissing With The Boys

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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...

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Preston Pissing With The Boys

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Preston Pissing With The Boys

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Preston Pissing With The Boys

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Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

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You Are Now My Property – Part 1

Eric was feeling good. Good and horny. He hadn’t been laid in two days, since he’d left his home in Connecticut. As he sped down the highway in the vintage Mustang convertible he’d gotten for his high school graduation, he lit up a joint and turned on the radio, but nothing was coming in clearly. He was driving through rural Florida on his way to his freshmen year at the University of Miami, and he was anxious to get there and start his new life.

He hit the “scan” button on the radio; it went through the whole dial twice before stopping on a local station. Britney Spears was moaning something about how she did it again. Eric hated her music with a passion, but wouldn’t have minded bangin’ her until she was moaning about something else entirely. Chances are Britney wouldn’t have minded too much, either… Eric had been the best-looking guy in his senior class, and had become something of a legend among his peers. The guys were awe-struck by the number of girls he’d bedded, and word circulated among the girls that his technique was even better than his looks… and that was saying a lot. Eric was 5’11, with a tight swimmer’s build, and a 6-pack of abs you could grate cheese on. Throw in a handsome face, blond hair that fell into piercing blue eyes, a great smile, and a big dick he liked to showcase in tight pants and shorts, and you had a stud who was used to getting a LOT of action.

Yes, ol’ Britney would’ve been on her knees in a second if she’d met Eric. He started fantasizing about her blowing him, and unconsciously reached down and started rubbing his crotch. He was wearing just a thin pair of running shorts with tight white jockeys underneath. Nothing else. He’d even kicked off his sneakers and thrown them in the back seat. The sun was beating down on his tanned, muscled body, the joint was kicking in, and he was imagining Britney deep-throating his full 8 inches. Soon a large wet spot appeared on the front of his shorts. Eric was feeling really good.

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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

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Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

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Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

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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...