Becoming An Unwilling Piss Slave

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Levels of Commitment

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I’ve decided to answer several questions I’ve received through my inbox at one time.

I’m doing this for a couple of reasons:

  1. When I started this journey a little over 2 years ago, I thought I knew everything I needed to know. I quickly learned that was not the case. I became thirsty for knowledge, and I wish there was a resource which could have guided me though what to expect. One of the goals I have with this blog is to hopefully provide some answers to others who may be seeking the same knowledge I am.
  2. I receive many of the same questions, and I’ve noticed that it’s pretty handy to be able to point someone to a specific post to answer them. (OK, so I’m lazy)
  3. At some level, making my experiences public provides documentation. In my current life, I’m a web designer, so I’ve learned to think a lot like a lawyer, and having things in the public record sometimes just seems prudent.

I’m starting with what I’m calling “Levels of Commitment”. Essentially, it lays out how I’ve come to understand things. I’m sure there are those who will disagree with me, and I invite the conversation, it will help everyone.

As I mentioned, I started this journey a couple years ago, but in reality, I’ve been on a series of them my whole life. I can remember way back to my first “hard on”, when I was convinced I broke my dick. I didn’t have a father figure to talk to, and I wasn’t going to ask mom, so I just ended up figuring things out on my own. Rather quickly, I found that I really enjoyed typing myself up. At the same time, I somehow developed a “hatred” of my balls. They just kept getting in the way, Interesting to note that my entire teenage life, I never once masturbated. That didn’t happen until the spring semester of my second year in college. I grew up in a REALLY small town, and there were no gay people, so it never even crossed my mind that attraction to a guy was possible. I think that’s why I never really thought to explore the sexual parts of me, and concentrated on the bondage.

Going back in time a bit, to my first semester in college, I somehow got really bold, and asked one of my roommates to tie me up. It was the first time I’d even had someone else do it. Unfortunately, the method we used wasn’t the best. My arms were duct taped to the rafters of our garage, and I was left to “dangle” there, with my arms bearing my entire weight while my roommate went to class. I had to choice but to hang there until he returned. It was incredibly painful, and for about a year, the thought of bondage in any form no longer crossed my mind.

A trip to the local farm supply store, however, opened my eyes to the world of animal castration, and I secretly bought the supplies and kept them hidden in my room, with the idea that at some point, I would do it to myself. In the end, I never ended up using any of it, and I honestly don’t know what happened to it.

Through the years, I did little “experiments”, and often enlisted the help of some very understanding friends who helped me try everything from chastity belts to mummification. At one time, I had a buddy who stayed with me, and locked a collar around my neck, attached to a chain which was attached to the wall. He locked me that way every night, and it felt so natural.

There was one “fantasy” I never was able to try, and that was that I wanted to try being locked inside a cage for an entire week. I assumed that the experience would be so horrible that it would “cure” me of my constant thoughts of bondage. It wasn’t until I met Aaron that I got to try it. I met Aaron on his 18th birthday, when I was around 39 years old.

Even with the age difference, we hit it off right away. We met in June, and by the end of July, we had convinced each other to try the “cage thing”. He was excited to have control, and I was excited to give it up. It was the first time I had to commit to an extended session. Up to that point, I’d never been tied up more than a couple of hours. When the time came, Aaron had me crawl into a dog kennel we’d purchased at the pet store, and after locking a couple of padlocks, I was locked inside the cage, and there was nothing I could do about it. We happened to have a spot in the basement where there was nothing but sand, so I was able to relieve myself by simply pissing out the side of the cage.

When it came time to handle the other end, Aaron would lead me by a collar to the toilet to relieve myself, and while he would sometimes return me to the cage right away, he’d usually tie me up in other ways, and he explored his own fantasies, he especially liked the Cat O Nine Tails. he never used it hard, but definitely used it. I thought I’d hate it, along with the hot wax he’d poor over me as he had me shackled to the wall, but, I learned to deal with the pain well. I know that that level of pain (hot wax) is probably considered child’s pain to some, for me it was just at the threshold I could tolerate. When he was done, he’d put me back in the cage until the next time he was ready to “use me” again.

The entire goal of going through the experience was supposed to make me hate the idea of bondage, but in the end, when he came to release me for the final time, and notified me that I’d been locked up not for a week, but for two weeks that I realized that all the thoughts I’d had my whole life were because I was doing what I was supposed to, and it was such a normal thing that I somehow never noticed that he’d kept me twice as long as we’d agreed.

Through the rest of the summer, he kept a chain locked around my neck, and when we’d go out, he took great joy in leading me around on a leash and collar and showing me off to his friends, and I felt honored to be his property.Something which had originally scared me suddenly seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

We spent the summer nights, quite often all night long, sharing our hopes, dreams, and innermost secrets with each other. And I told him things I’d never shared with anyone else, including the stories of my castration fantasy.

On day he told me that when my birthday arrived (it was my 40th, so sort of a milestone) he was going to indulge the fantasy I’d had since I was 19. My 40th birthday present was that I’d lose my balls. We ordered the supplies online, and waited for the day to arrive. The day my birthday arrived, Aaron never showed. He had chickened out, and couldn’t go through with it. I started the day so excited (yet terrified) and ended it disappointed.

Somehow that was the end of our master sub play, and we just became regular friends after that. When I first me him, I wanted more than anything to have sex with him, but the bondage play was the closest we’ve ever gotten. Just because the play time had ended didn’t mean our friendship did, and for the last couple of years, we’ve been best of friends.

I never got that summer out of my head however, and the taste of giving up complete control stuck with me. I knew I wanted more, but I’ve always been a “realistic” person, and knew that fr me to get what I was looking for, I had no choice but to eventually spend the rest of my life in bondage. Since my longest experience has been just two weeks, I tried to come up with the right amount of time for me to “try” long term commitment, and to this day, i still can’t decide how much time exists between forever and 2 weeks to take the next step, but in the process, I came up with one of my coolest ideas, the dice game. I won’t go into all the details, but essentially, a simple roll of the dice determines how long I’d be locked up. My “master” would lock me up, and then roll the dice. The results of the roll would determine if I’d be locked up for as short a time as three weeks, or if I would spend the rest of my life in chains. It adds a unique twist.

I knew I had to try the next step, and spent about a year searching Recon for someone to play the game with me. At the same time, I scoured forums like the Eunuch Archive, and FetLife.com. I spent countless hours on the Nifty Archive reading erotic stories. I have met people who have never been masters, but wanted to tackle the challenges of the dice game (remember, no one knows until after we’ve both committed to let the dice decide how long it will last). I knew if I wasn’t ready for a lifetime commitment, that someone who had never even tied someone up before certainly wasn’t ready for that potential commitment.

I talked with people I’d met along the way who were actually living master slave lifestyles. I talked to possibly hundreds of potential partners, and learned pretty much every single way I could be taken advantage of. I learned how things can go wrong, and how things can go right.In the end, I learned that life doesn’t always end up as you planned, so prepare for it, and that the most important thing in actually making a master slave arrangement work are respect and chemistry. Both parties must be willing to meet the other’s needs, and both must know that the other party will respect their limits. They will grow and explore together, and push boundaries, In the end, everyone wins.

The ironic bit of a successful dom / sub relationship is in realizing that a slave (or sub) ultimately knows that what they really need to do in life is to take care of someone else, while the master (or dom) needs to be taken care of. It seems backwards on the surface, but makes a lot of sense to those who truly understand.

Ultimately, a consensus came from those actually living the lifestyle I dreamed of, and they all agreed. In order to truly know if this full time, 24/7 master slave thing is right, you must actually live it for a year. At that point, the answer will be clear.

So, I know one thing only. My next step is a one year “trial” period. In some ways, it’s difficult to do a trial that lasts that long. I’m lucky enough to have a small recurring income that’ll last for many years into the future without my input, but that income isn’t large enough to keep my current life in “stasis” for a year just in case it doesn’t work out. It doesn’t really make sense to pay rent for an apartment I would never see, as in order for me to truly know, I must commit fully. From minute one until the end of that year, I will exist only for my master.

Whichever master takes me as his property must be willing to make the same commitment. When we make the final decision to officially start (which I picture as the moment master locks a collar around my neck) we must both commit to the full term. Unless it becomes overly obvious that it’s not working for both of us, we must honor the commitment we made for the sake of the other party. So, it’s entirely possible that an hour in, I realize I’m completely miserable, As long as the situation is working for master, I have no choice but to find a way to make the best of the full year.

There are many who will say that if I’m miserable, or master is, that we should end things right then. While that makes sense on the surface, there’s two major factors in play. First, every person I’ve talked to who actually is living this lifestyle tells me it requires a year to be able to make an informed decision. I’ve learned to trust that type of wisdom, especially when repeated by several sources. I might suddenly find, 11 months in that I find joy in what used to be misery. That point might be the beginning of what becomes the most satisfying experience of my life. If I quit early, i could potentially be giving up the very thing that would make me happiest.

Almost equally as important, I must honor my commitment to my master because of his commitment to me. In order for me to spend an entire year as the property of someone else, and do it in such a way which I feel is genuine, I must make several trade offs. I’ll have to terminate my lease, quit my job, put my stuff in storage, place friendships and family relationships on hold, and spend that year serving master. As a part of the decision process to make those trade offs, I must know that master has made a similar commitment to me. There is no way I could justify doing all of that for anything less than a year’s commitment.

Most difficult for me will be leaving Aaron. We discussed the possibility of attempting to recreate the magic of that summer and simply try again for a longer time. He says he thinks he can do it, but I keep thinking back to my 40th birthday, when he couldn’t go through with the castration. While a part of me is happy it didn’t happen, a part of me is still disappointed. He says he couldn’t do it because he didn’t want to hurt me. There’s no way I can be upset with him for that, but it tells me he’s not ready to make they type of commitment needed to go the whole year if things aren’t perfect for him. Plus, he’s still young (just turned 21) and I can’t ask him to spend that time exploring my needs at a time when he should be exploring his own and figuring out who he will ultimately be.

Master does have one advantage in this arrangement. He maintains to option of passing me to another if he is unhappy. I must trust that master will choose an appropriate replacement, but by allowing master to lock that collar around my neck, I will be willing giving up the right to make choices. It will not be my decision what happens to me during that time, and so I must consider as a part of my decision to become the property of this particular master, that he would ensure that no harm would come to me.

I called this post “levels of commitment” because I’ve realized that all of these things doing magically happen overnight. There’s an idea many people have that everything is going to work out as we plan. The fantasy bits make us think it’s always going to be perfect. Life doesn’t’ work that way, but that doesn’t mean it has to be a bad thing, just something we need to be prepared for.

As we begin the process of engaging each other, and eventually (and hopefully) we meet someone who we think we share a connection with. As a sub, it’s the one I feel a desire and need to serve. The one who I feel I want to fulfill all of their needs. The one I feel will respect my limits, yet help me push those boundaries.

I mention that I desire a lifelong commitment, To get there requires a series of smaller commitments. I learned this through reading erotic stories, and there are three which have really stood out to me, and illustrate how a series of smaller commitments can lead to a larger one.

Those three, in no particular order are:

  1. Craigslist Slave

  2. Permanent Bondage

  3. Becoming a Piss Slave Forever

In each, the master and slave meet online, and at some point, a small commitment is made. Most common, master sends slave a chastity belt, which slave locks on, showing commitment to master.

While this is a big commitment, it’s a pretty simple one, and each party is essentially agreeing to meet in person, with the INTENTION of it going further. If they meet, and it doesn’t’ work, the belt is removed, and each returns to their former lives.

Next, the slave agrees to allow the master to tie him up or at the very least, both enter a “pre-decision” mode. It’s where expectations are discussed, and it’s one of the most important parts of the process. Some may choose to sign contracts, while others are less formal. For me personally, I view this phase as the last opportunity I will have to express my desires, the last chance to state my limits, and the last chance to “leave” if I feel uncomfortable.

It’s important that this stage is handled with the respect it deserves. The gentleman I’m connecting with most in my search believes in a one year trial commitment before agreeing to a lifelong one, and that makes sense with all I have learned. It’s this stage which will determine a lot about how that year will unfold.

Finally, there’s what I call the point of no return. for me, it’s the moment master locks a collar around my neck. Once that collar is secured, both parties have a commitment to uphold everything discussed in the previous stage. The one year trial arrangement seems appropriate, and what is essentially being agreed to is that all limits will be respected, and all commitments will be honored for (in my example) the coming year. In my case, I would be agreeing that when the collar is locked, that I will have given up my right to make choices for the coming year. It will no longer be about my wants, only my masters. For master, it means recognizing I have placed my previous life on hold, so it will not interfere. He agrees to honor that, and ensure that I will remain a slave the entire year. Ultimately, master should ensure that emergency contingencies are in place. You never know when a tragic accident, or a job loss could affect master’s ability or desire to continue, so it never hurts to have a “back up” master who will take the slave as his own in those situations.

For me, the final stage involves the ultimate level of commitment, it’s the moment where each party decides this is truly something they want to do. The answers should be obvious for each at that point. If we decide to move past the one year trial, I would be agreeing to make a total commitment. Master would have the sole right to make decisions in how I am treated, and I (of course) would be allowing master to take those choices from me.

Each of the stories I mention above has various interpretations of these commitment levels, but they all share the common theme. The piss slave story stands out a bit in that there is no “trial period”. Once the slave is locked into his cage, with the piss hood locked on, he has agreed upon a lifetime commitment.

That is my ultimate desire. While technically the moment where master locks the collar around my neck will involve a one year commitment, it really means that master has the right to terminate the arrangement at the end of the year. Master can choose to continue from that point, but I choose (from the beginning) to not be allowed to choose. I choose to not be given the choice to end after a year. I fully believe that if master wishes to end the arrangement because it is not working for him, that he should have no problems in finding another master willing to take me as his slave. As master’s property, I could of course be sold, given away, traded, etc. I would have chosen from day one that this possibility could unfold.

So in the end, we arrive on lifetime commitments through a series of smaller commitments.

  1. The commitment by master to send something like a chastity belt, and for slave to lock it on, ensuring each is committed enough to meet in person
  2. The commitment to try things on a temporary basis
  3. Finally, the ultimate commitment.

I am hopeful that things work as planned between either the gentleman I’m communicating with the most, or another who comes along soon.

I’m ready to get to know someone and be able to trust them enough to agree to do something like lock a chastity belt on myself while they hold the key. I hope that once we meet, that we continue to connect in a way in which I would feel comfortable allowing them complete control over my life.

I have desired this for over 30 years now, and it’s time to make it a reality.

Originally posted on https://statdig.com