Be Careful What You Dream For

 

I never thought I would write story for Eunuch Archive, let alone a mostly true story (characters and events have been condensed). It all happened so fast. I was a middle aged divorced male, white, 5’8’, 165 lbs. I have two wonderful children. I raised them alone after my wife left because she decided she didn’t want to be married. Before I was married I had many girlfriends and a few after I was divorced. I though being gay was repulsive.

That suddenly changed within the last eighteen months. It started with the Internet, as many things do today. I was always a fan of porn and the Internet made it readily available. Never went to any web pages that you had to pay for though. I loved to look at pictures but especially loved to read the stories. Cannibalism stories fascinated me, and I read as many as I could find. Somewhere along that time I found the Eunuch Archive. These stories truly turned me on. I fantasized about being a eunuch or nullo. In one bulletin entry I found a reference to the Extreme Genital Modification Page. This was great. I was becoming more and more turned on by looking at men. I was also becoming obsessed with always being naked while at home. I began completely shaving my body except head hair.

I then became so bold as to put pictures of my body on the Extreme web page with a profile that I wished to be a nullo or castrated. Then it started to get serious. I found myself thinking about what it would be like to be screwed my another man, what it would be like to suck another man’s dick and swallow. When I jacked off I often ate my own come. I decided I wasn’t ready to be castrated and became interested in the large balls and dicks the pumpers had modified. I sent messages to several and one responded. This was the beginning.

We switched to meeting online privately. He showed me how to use a web cam and for the first time I was showing my naked body to another man in live action. This led to him leading me through ordering pumping supplies and starting to pump my dick and balls. I was now obsessed with having huge balls and a huge dick and was getting there. My balls were large and I loved it. Something else was happening at this time, he asked me to jack-off for him and I did. I kept jacking off whenever he asked me. He led me to the pumper’s page, where the chat room has a live cam feed. Now I was showing my package to a chat room of total strangers. It was fantastic; I had never felt so turned on.

The conversation started to be more about gay sex. I found my self-asking to be fucked. I wanted my balls to be pumped large and then I wanted to be fucked. I could just feel those big dicks fucking me. He invited me to his town. He said we could pump and he would help with saline injections, which would make my balls really huge. I wanted this and I wanted to put pictures on the web page so others could see me. I was following a path that would change me forever.

My new friend showed me dildo’s he had on hand. He said we could try these. One was shaped like a large dogs dick. This I found very interesting. I looked up bestiality stories on the net and became turned on by the idea. My friend mentioned slave master relationship and having read many stories in the Archives I was turned on with the though of being a slave. Things were escalating. I dreamed of being in a dog collar and leash and nothing else. I dreamed of being fucked and sucking dick. And really strange I dreamed of being held by a large dog and fucked by a dog. These dreams were closer than I could imagine.

My friend invited me to his city and amazingly I accepted. Me the straight stud who never even thought about gay things until the last year. I made arrangements for a suite and took some vacation time. I brought my pumping equipment and lots of rubbers. I was finally going to get fucked. How much and by how many I could not have guessed.

I arrived and we met at a restaurant. We had dinner then we went to his condo. He had a partner who was not home at the time. After some conversation we got down to the nitty gritty. We both had seen each other naked many times on the web cam but this was up close and personal. He was hairy but not too much as compared to my totally smooth look. After we were naked we immediately set our pump session. I was totally hard and could barely fit in the pumping tube. We pumped for a few hours till we were pretty large. It was great to have someone besides myself massage my balls during the breaks.

I was harder than I have ever been. At one point we were very close, as need be, when he leaned over and kissed me. A man had never kissed me before it was frightening but I began to love it. For the first time in my life I was the passive party, I was the bitch. Our tongues intertwined, it was wonderful. The next thing I knew he was pushing me gently down his chest, I licked and sucked his nipples, he groaned as I moved on down. Then it was there, my first dick up close. I licked it, the taste was not gross. I took it in my mouth; it was so smooth and silky. I liked the pre-come and tasted it on my tongue. Finally I sucked it; I took as much as I could in my mouth. I did the things I know I like. I licked the under side right behind the head. Slowly I sucked and licked until, again for the first time, another man came in my mouth. I swallowed it all, it tasted great. I felt this was right for me.

I stood up and we kissed more. His hairy body against mine felt wonderful. We went back to pumping until we were both huge. The rest of the evening we relaxed and talked. He said tomorrow things would get serious. I arrived early the next day. He took me to the living room and said take off all your clothes, which I love to do anyway. After I was naked he walked behind me and placed leather studded dog collar around my neck. This would be all I would wear that day and many other days. A leash was hooked and I was led to the bedroom where we pumped up for the day to come.

It was that afternoon, after we pumped, he hugged and kissed me again and gently led me to the bed. On the nightstand was plenty of lube. He laid me on my back on the bed. He lifted my legs and lubed my ass. I had never had anyone’s fingers up my ass before, it felt good. He placed my legs on his shoulders and his dick at my ass hole. Ever so slowly he entered my ass. It was a little painful at first but it felt so good I quickly became adjusted. Slowly he pumped me, I came on my stomach without being touched. I know this was right for me. He picked up speed as I became more comfortable. We both were moaning as I began to feel his cock swell, when I realized he hadn’t put on a condom. I didn’t care at this point. Then he moaned loudly, thrust hard and he came in me. I was amazed I could feel him coming in me. He stayed in me and held me for a while. I loved the feel of his hairy body on mine.

His partner was coming home that evening and I was in for more new experiences. I was naked all day except for my collar and leash. My friend helped me shave my body, reaching places I could never get to, my back and ass hole. It was a great feeling, I was hard constantly. My huge balls hanging out bouncing against my thighs was so great. I found it very erotic that my friend was dressed while I stayed naked. His partner came home to find me naked and leashed. While he wasn’t as interested in me as my friend, he was very nice. After dinner we went on-line to the Pumpers page with the live cams.

There we showed ourselves and pumped along with others. Many liked my smooth look and when during a pump break some noticed I was semi hard asked me to jerk off. I was too shy but my friend took charge and much to the delight of everyone watching he jerked me off, another first for me. I though my dick would burst it was so hard. We signed off and moved to the bed. My friend again gently pushed me downward, I took the hint and moved to his dick and began to suck. As I was doing this my ass was naturally in the air and soon I felt lube being applied as his partner slowly eased his dick into my ass hole. I was being fucked at both ends and loving it.

They both picked up speed and finally thrust into me and held me tight as they both came in me seconds apart. Again we forgot the condoms but who cared it felt so good. I could feel and taste the come. I spent the next day naked with my collar while we pumped till our dicks and balls were so big we couldn’t have fit them in any of our underwear. In one weekend I went from a heterosexual man with children and some fantasies to a naked, gay, bottom, that had been fucked from both ends and loved it. I couldn’t wait to get back the next weekend. My friend had some new things in store.

Finally the next weekend rolled around and I drove to my friend’s city. I didn’t bother with a hotel room this time. As soon as I entered the door off came my clothes and on went the collar. After dinner he said he had a big surprise for me. We were going out! Since I was naked it might be a problem. My friend had this solved. He put a graduation type gown on me. The collar and leash still showed as he led me to the car. We pulled up in front of a gay bar. My first time in a gay bar and I was basically naked and being led around on a leash. I should have said naked because as soon as we entered the gown came off. I was totally naked in a roomful of gay men. I was also totally erect, almost painful I was so hard. With my pumped up balls I was freakish. I was also very popular. Everyone was touching me as my friend, or should I now say it “Master” led me through the crowd. God I was turned on. We sat a table in the back as my Master talked quietly to many of the patrons. After a while he pulled my leash and we went to a special room in the back. It had a padded table in the middle with some towels and a bottle of lube. I was laid on the table and my Master rubbed me down then lubed my ass.

Then men started entering the room four and five at a time. I was fucked on my back flipped over and fucked on my stomach doggie style (which I liked the best). While I was being fucked dicks were stuck in my mouth and I sucked till my jaw hurt, swallowing loads of come in all flavors. Of the dicks in my ass some had condoms some did not. All I knew was come was running out all over my ass. I came several times by men jerking me off while they fucked me. I have no idea how many men fucked or I sucked that night but I was very sore. My Master, in anticipation, was thoughtful enough to have brought a diaper since I no longer could hold anything in my stretched ass hole. We went back to his house where he cleaned me in the shower gave me a big kiss and put me to bed.

The next day since my ass hole was already stretched my Master tried the dog dildo on me. It was very long but the knot just would not go in, it was too big even for my used ass hole. The length and strange shape did feel good. We pumped again, I can’t get over my huge balls, and I returned home sore but satisfied. I couldn’t wait to get back the next weekend.

The weekend started the same, enter strip, collar. After dinner the gown was put on and in the car we went. This time we drove out into the countryside. We pulled into a long drive leading to a secluded house. This was a friend of my Master, we left the robe in the car and I was led naked to the house. We entered and sat for some small talk. After a while my Master’s friend said let’s get started and I was led into a large den type room where I saw him. Him was a large dog. I don’t think he was a pure bred anything just a large dog like a Rotweiler or something. Buster was his name. I was placed over a small padded bench in the middle of the room, resting on my stomach my ass sticking out. The Master’s friend rubbed something on my balls and ass. As soon as he opened the jar the dog perked up and smelled the air. “Buster” moves to me and began to lick my balls and ass. I was rock hard at the thought of what was going to happen. My master slipped his hand between the dog and me and lubed my ass hole. It was going to happen, after all the stories I read and videos I watched on the Internet that turned me on so much I was about to fucked by a dog.

You cannot imagine how good it feels when the dog lays on your back with his very warm and furry body. It is like a living blanket. My own dick was about to explode when the dog’s owner lined the dog’s dick up with my ass. I want to tell you it is not very easy to be fucked by a dog. Their dick keeps slipping out as they hump very fast. With a little help from the dog’s owner he managed to keep the dog’s dick pumping in me pretty well. It is a fantastic feeling because the dog moves so fast and generates so much heat. My ass hole kept trying to suck the dog dick in me and keep it. Remember I could not take the canine dildo’s knot so I thought no way a real dogs knot would fit. However with the owners pushing and the knot being slightly smaller combined with plenty of lube the knot went in me.

You might not know this but after it enters the bitch it sort of turns sideways to stay in. It didn’t hurt for it to do this but there was no way it would come out without ripping me apart. Just after the knot turned and locked the dog in me, the dog began to come. It was more than I could have dreamed, it thinner that people come, and it just kept squirting. I felt so full. The dog then turned around swiveling his dick in me till we were ass to ass. I had to stay this way for about thirty minutes till the knot turned around and the dog could break lose out of my ass. The dog come then gushed out of my ass for about a minute and a half. I was so satisfied and happy. I hoped to do this again many times. It was especially great when the dog licked my dick and ass clean.

We alternated situations like these for several months, it was great. I had huge balls, was regularly fucked and I loved sucking dicks. But things were about to change and this is why this story is in the Eunuch Archive. It started a few months ago; I was living a regular life in my town and my weekends in my Masters city getting fucked and pumping. I began to feel soreness in my balls. They became very sensitive. I finally had to see an urologist. I chose to find a doctor in another city since my new lifestyle may have factored in to my problem. As luck would have it the doctor turned out to be gay and was very understanding.

The catch was my sore balls had nothing to do with my life style. It was a congenial birth defect something about my cords being tensioned. He said it was amazing that it didn’t bother me before. My balls were not getting enough circulation and constant pain would be the result. It would be like being kicked in the balls all the time. The remedies are heavy use of pain killing drugs with their side effects or double orchiectomy (take out my balls). They could put fake balls back in my sack so I would not look different and I could take testosterone to keep my masculinity. I thought about this and discussed it with my Master. Remember at the beginning of my saga reading about castration was a turn on for me. Now I had to make a choice give up the huge balls I get from pumping or constant pain. I decided to give up my balls.

Now the decision was how, when and where. The doctor was great he understood my dilemma and would help in anyway. The only way he was allowed to operate was thru the abdomen and besides that was the only way to remove my cords which were the real problem anyway. The doctor helped big time in two ways. First, he agreed to save my balls and return them to me even though it is against medical rules. He also contacted a plastic surgeon in the gay community to remove my sack and make me smooth below my dick. It helped that the urologist owned his own clinic with a surgical suite. I scheduled the surgery and took a months vacation and sick leave. Another handy thing was since it was a medical necessity to remove my balls my insurance was paying for it. The doctors agree to manage the plastic surgeons fees in the bill to insurance. My Master agreed to help me recover. My children thought it was hernia surgery.

Now I come to today, two months later. I am officially a eunuch. My stitches are gone and were my balls used to be is a fine little scar with still a little redness. My Master and I decided no hormones. My dick has already shrunk to the size of a big clit, no more fucking for me (like the look however, just a little button at the top of my groin). My hips are rounder and easier for my Master and others (including the dog) to grip. And another part I really, really like is my little breasts. They are so pretty. My nipples have gotten much bigger and I get so turned on when they are sucked. It is much easier to keep hair off my body since it has stopped growing dark and coarse. My whole body seems more sensitive. My weight has dropped to about 140 lbs. If I wear something tight I have the body of a girl.

I still live and go to work in my city. Nobody knows my secret, they think I was sick and lost weight. I wear baggy clothes to work. On the weekends I go to my masters. I am still naked and collared as soon as I enter. He still likes to fuck me and I like to suck him. We go to the gay bar about once a month, where they really like to feel me up. I don’t think as many want to fuck me as before. I must look too much like a girl now. I would like to dress like a girl but my Master pretty much keeps me naked so clothes aren’t necessary. I really love more than ever being fucked by the dog (or dogs I should say there have been more since the first). I do sometimes miss my pumped up dick. I can come rubbing my nubbin dick but it’s not the same. I don’t get that feeling when the come shoots out. But other sensations make up for it.

So that’s my story up to now. I started out being turned on by eunuch stories, moved to pumping and big balls and being fucked. Then in a round about way ended up a real gay eunuch and loving it. I want to get pictures posted on some web page soon so everyone can enjoy me.

Oh by the way, my Master brought my balls home in a jar and prepared them, then sautéed them and I ate one the he ate the other. Tasted good had the consistency of liver but was a delight anyway. I only regret I could only eat them once.

Thanks for sharing my saga.

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.

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 Are Now My Property – Part 35

Tony (that was still his name then) was 37, 5’11, and 200 pounds. He had deep brown eyes under thick eyebrows and lashes, and a full head of curly black hair. He had a mustache and beard, and was really quite handsome. Like Mike, he had a bit of a gut and love handles, but he still turned a lot of heads.

When they got home, Roy and Ted helped Mike bring his captive downstairs. They called Bob and had him come over; the doctor was just finishing removing the sutures from Jamal’s foreskin, and the youth was hanging limply from his bonds. Bob was surprised that the men had returned so soon, but excited to see what they’d brought.

Mike had blindfolded Tony when they took him out of the trunk of the car. When they got him downstairs, the men stripped him and suspended him from the ceiling by his wrists, with his ankles secured to the floor; he was pulled as tight as possible without his arms popping out of their sockets.

Mike removed the blindfold and Tony took in the scene around him. He saw the wall full of torture devices and he realized immediately what was happening. His eyes widened in fear. Mike removed the gag and Tony began to curse and yell. It was at this point that Mike found he’d gotten an extra bonus. Tony was gay, and was screaming that he was a top man! He was swearing that he didn’t suck dick and didn’t get fucked–HE did all the fucking. He threatened to kill the bastards when he got loose and said he’d stick his dick so far up their asses it would come out their throats. Mike just smiled and grabbed the Yankee asshole’s balls and squeezed. He grinned broadly as the blowhard bellowed in protest. This was going to be fun!

Mike liked his men hairy, but asked the others to help shave this one now. The removal of his body hair would strip the captive of much of his feeling of masculinity, but Mike also had something far more diabolical in mind.

Tony was covered with fur from head to toe, and this would take a while. Mike had each of the other men grab a razor, and after lathering up the captive’s body, the four masters had a shaving party. Tony kept twisting and trying to escape; the only thing he accomplished was getting his body covered with nicks and tiny cuts. Mike smiled. This would suit his purposes nicely. He picked up a spray bottle he kept filled with rubbing alcohol and sprayed a fine mist all over the captive man’s newly‑shaved body. The alcohol soaked into every little cut, making Tony’s body a mass of burning wounds, and he shrieked like he was being set on fire. Bob and Ted rubbed their hard cocks through their pants and wished their slaves had more body hair. Roy rubbed his cock and just wished he had someone to abuse.

When Tony finally quieted down, Mike picked up a heavy flogging whip. With his body freshly‑shaven, Tony’s skin would be scraped somewhat‑raw and extra‑sensitive. The flogging would be felt even more severely than usual. Tony’s back had been to Mike when the contractor had selected the whip, and he never saw the first blow coming. He screamed at the top of his lungs. Mike smiled and quickly began landing blow after blow across Tony’s pinkened body. He picked up the pace; he wanted to whip the guy’s whole body, but also couldn’t wait to fuck him. A quick look at his friends stroking themselves let him know he was not alone in that thought. Yeah, this was going to be fun!

“The bigger they are, the harder they fall.” Mike was thinking of that expression as he looked at his slave with contempt. The supposed tough‑guy had been broken in just over a week. He couldn’t take the pain, and began crying and begging for mercy almost immediately. That, of course, led to punishment and to Mike increasing the intensity of the original torture; soon the former top man was willing to do anything to avoid the pain, sucking cock and taking things up his ass like he’d been doing it all his life.

Mike had always intended to break the man entirely, leaving him a groveling shell of his former self, but the man’s pitifully rapid surrender really disgusted him. He was an insult to top men everywhere. Hell, he was an insult to men everywhere. He didn’t even deserve to call himself a man. That’s when Mike decided to turn him into a dog.

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

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

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

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

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

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

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

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

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

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

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

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

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

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

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

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

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...

Everlasting Bondage

My Grasp is a stickler for main points. The lists and schedules that now outline my lifestyles improve this, and that he's in general keep watch over of me: thoughts, frame, and spirit. From our first stumble upon there was once undoubtedly who was once in price. All over preliminary discussions, he was once very cautious to permit me sufficient leeway to establish that I used to be dedicated to the selection I used to be about to make, however the contract that I might ultimately signal could be ironclad, actually, and there could be no returning to my earlier station as soon as the report was once signed. There have been 3 conferences deliberate. The primary was once in his lounge, our preliminary face-to-face stumble upon after weeks of verbal exchange by way of email. My first sight of him put me relaxed. Even ahead of he spoke, there was once knowledge and balance in his demeanor. He presented me water, not anything else. We sat reverse every different on a big, cushy settee. We have been each wary, however each similarly certain of speech. He had many questions relating to my present scenario and the way I might be correctly taking good care of what he referred to as free ends. He sought after to be sure that I didn’t owe any cash to any individual, or have any non-public or criminal ties that might intervene with shifting me into his maintaining. Slaves will also be allowed only a few expectancies – it's the nature of slavery. However he was once keen to guarantee me that I might be saved wholesome and blank. The main points of my servitude I might be told later, however there have been 3 components that have been nonnegotiable… 1. I might successfully “disappear” completely from my present lifestyles, 2. I might be saved in bare bondage all the time, and three. The association could be everlasting! There have been no pretenses, there was once no bodily touch; we talked handiest, and I used to be allowed to mention anything else and ask any questions. After a few hours of speaking, we set the date of the following stumble upon, and I left, letting myself out. The second one assembly could be in his dungeon. I might be allowed to look my long run quarters, to view the bondage and coaching apparatus, to check the contract I might be signing and, as soon as once more, to invite questions and transparent up any doubts I had. We lived in the similar the town. I had ridden the bus to the closest forestall, a couple of blocks from his area. I didn’t need to go away. I knew he was once the only and I used to be able to start out my slavery adventure, however there was once a lot paintings and introspection to be finished. I might be told extra as time handed of his thoroughness, his warning, and his dogged consideration to never-ending main points. His perspective towards my bondage was once easy – as soon as in, by no means out. We have been each thinking about this. For years I had fantasized perpetually about that click on of the lock that might completely “bind” me to my Grasp’s dungeon flooring or wall. I even fantasized the collar or cuffs being welded or riveted into position. The bondage we have been taking into consideration was once everlasting and we should each be very certain of our dedication. And so, all over our 2d stumble upon, even supposing I used to be required to strip ahead of getting into the dungeon, there was once no bodily touch between us. The dungeon was once in his basement. Easy wood stairs led down from his kitchen. I adopted him as directed. We reached the ground stair and stepped onto a concrete flooring. The basement was once conventional searching, lengthy and slender, a laundry space off to at least one facet, a lot of shelving devices containing family provides, gear, On the different finish of the long, oblong room there was once a big padlocked wood door. Grasp stood to at least one facet and had me stand and face the door. Thus far he had no longer spoken. “This facet of the dungeon door,” he spoke softly and slowly, “is one thing that you're going to handiest see two times!” I used to be engrossed within the massiveness of the door, the iron hinges, the solidity of it, and it took a second for his phrases to sign in. I might see the door once more for the remaining time on my 3rd consult with, at my incarceration.What lay in the back of the door would transform my international, my lifestyles. Beside the door was once a small desk the place I used to be steered to depart my garments. Grasp Rick stood patiently and watched as I got rid of my blouse, trousers, undies, sneakers and socks, and positioned them well at the desk. The ground was once chilly to my naked ft. My nakedness made the door appear larger. A easy material hood was once positioned over my head however left free round my neck. I heard him free up the door. He took my arm and led me in. I used to be steered to take five brief steps, then stand nonetheless. There was once faint gentle coming from someplace. Taking a look down, I may just simply slightly see my ft from underneath the hood. The air was once hotter throughout the dungeon, the similar concrete flooring no longer as chilly. I used to be then steered to take a seat at the flooring. I sat cross-legged, my palms in moderation put on my knees, listening. The door closed in the back of me and I didn’t know if Grasp was once within the room with me or no longer. I regarded down at my dimly lit cock, which were incessantly reaching erection since I had walked in the course of the wood door. I knew instinctively to not contact. Grasp had made it transparent in our first consultation that general keep watch over of my genitals, their ache, their excitement, and all their purposes, could be an integral part of my slavery! I wasn’t chilly, however I shivered gently anyway from the solemnity of the instant! I misplaced monitor of time as one does in such eventualities. I attempted to hook up with smells and sounds as those have been quickly my handiest inputs. As opposed to the faint odor of leather-based, the air smelled blank. I become mindful of a few form of air flow device gently and quietly circulating air – no different discernible smells – no different sounds – and just a very faint gentle lightly allotted round me. The door opened and Grasp reentered – he HAD left me by myself. He walked slowly towards me, preventing beside me. He got rid of the hood from my head and I noticed for the primary time my atmosphere. I started to show my head when Grasp stated curtly, “Glance instantly forward.” The again wall of the room was once actually coated with each and every form of enforce of bondage, restraint, and correction that one may just consider, all placing from in moderation positioned hooks and organized well. Cushy spot gentle aimed downward forged a steady however eerie gentle at the assortment. There have been the anticipated steel and leather-based restraint cuffs, handcuffs, leg-irons, steel and leather-based collars, spreader bars – a number of lengths – and person who regarded adjustable; there was once a shelf of dildos, a few of steel, a few of plastic, and an impressive person who appeared like a policeman’s night time stick, I thought product of picket. There have been leather-based harnesses and straps covered up well, wiped clean and polished to a superb shine. There have been a bunch of cabinets that held plastic garage bins, the contents of which I may just no longer discern. Grasp driven me gently towards them the simpler to look. They contained an incredible choice of small clamps, connectors, locks, bits of chain and different diversified bondage paraphernalia – some I known – others I may just handiest wager at their use. Grasp became me round as he touched a transfer at the wall. The remainder of the room become slowly flooded with delicate down gentle which got here from recessed fixtures across the circumference of the another way darkish ceiling. “I will be able to go away you for some time now,” he stated. “You could stroll round, chances are you'll glance, however you won't contact anything else,” he added, and briefly left, final and locking the door. I used to be sure that he could be staring at me on a far off observe and so I used to be uneasy as to what to do with my palms. I clasped them in the back of me and left them there as I walked across the room. Afterward I knew that bondage could be hired to limit my actions, together with with the ability to contact myself, however now I might restrain myself voluntarily to exhibit that I used to be earnest on this topic. Sure, I used to be seeking to galvanize him – we each nonetheless had the choice of taking flight of the deal. The purpose of no go back for BOTH people could be on the 3rd stumble upon. The main points of the transaction could be published to me afterward, however it were made transparent to me that once I stepped in the course of the door of this room once more, if I selected to take action, it will be for the remaining time. For now, then again, we have been each nonetheless suffering with that ultimate determination. He volunteered to me that he had by no means had a long-term slave. Like me, and maximum people I suppose, his encounters to this point were brief – overnights, weekends, and a couple of week lengthy encounters. As soon as he had a slave for a summer season. My longest consultation ever were four days…all in joyful bondage. However he, like me, in his very core had at all times fantasized about an enduring scenario, a full-time slave, true possession, and TOTAL keep watch over. He, additionally like me, was once eager about the speculation of “everlasting” bondage. I had spent many hours in self-bondage through the years, dressed in leg irons, ball cuffs and the like, and pretending that somebody else possessed the keys, attractive passionately in self-stimulation, and on the similar time wishing there was once somebody in keep watch over who would no longer permit it; a Grasp who would permit me to ejaculate handiest at his whim, and in line with his time table; to be alternately “milked” mercilessly, then denied even an erection for weeks on finish; or to be required to take care of consistent erection, however NOT allowed to alleviate it; to yield general keep watch over of my ache and delight to every other! Now the possibility of my fantasies coming true led to me to shiver. It wasn’t chilly within the room, I used to be shivering from pleasure. My cock endured to harden. The room was once about 20 ft deep from the door to that again wall coated with implements and gear. It was once wider by way of 1 or 2 ft, kind of sq., with a cultured concrete flooring painted flat black. The ceiling was once top, possibly 11 or 12 ft and fully black additionally. From its heart, and from 4 extra issues similarly spaced concerning the ceiling, there hung massive steel rings, suspended on heavy lengths of chain a few foot down from the ceiling. I stared for some time at those rings. They stuck the sunshine and stood out ominously towards the opaque ceiling. They appeared like they may dangle an elephant I mused to myself, and I’m certain they’ll be keeping me in the future, I allowed myself to fantasize. The ceiling held the one lights, a chain of recessed fixtures circumvented the room and forged their gentle eerily downward, flooding the partitions, and leaving the middle of the room unlit by way of comparability. There was once yet another fixture within the heart of the ceiling which appeared like a conventional flood lamp, however it was once no longer on. I fantasized that it might be hired to focus on the middle of the room when one thing fascinating was once going down there! The whole thing I noticed spurred rampant fantasies. My thoughts was once racing. Each inch of me was once tingling with pleasure and childlike satisfaction! The opposite 3 partitions have been principally naked excluding for a lot of heavy iron rings located as more than a few heights. I imagined myself chained to those rings, my legs stretched around the room and unfold vast aside, a steel collar chained to the ceiling, fingers stretched and chained to reverse partitions! Chain and steel has at all times performed heavy in my fantasies, and I may just see simply that Grasp shared those fantasies with me. I may just no longer have designed a extra easiest dungeon to suit my bondage wants! I became my consideration now to the 4 corners of the room. Every of the 2 again corners had massive items of dungeon furnishings. In a single nook there have been two pieces; a padded punishment horse, over which a slave might be stretched for whipping or ass-work, and, leaning towards the again wall what appeared to be a transportable paintings desk or stretcher. It was once principally a desk best with out legs, and it had holes across the out of doors edge, clearly for tying down a slave! I thought that both it had attachable legs, or that it might be suspended from the ceiling when in use. The opposite again nook housed a conventional, however very elaborate leather-based sling. It was once placing from a hook top at the wall, however may just clearly be moved to any place within the room as wanted. In a single nook alongside the door finish of the room there was once a business bathe and wash space, a three×three concrete basin with 1 foot facets, and with a big drain within the heart. Overhead hung a hose with more than a few attachments, one among which I used to be certain could be used to wash out my insides. There was once a small shelf at the wall which housed what appeared like enema apparatus, cleaning soap, and different cleansing answers. The nook partitions in the back of the bathe space had further rings to which a slave might be hooked up and saved immovable. I fantasized being washed, shaved, and normally saved blank at this little nook facility. There was once no conventional rest room, and I thought that this unmarried drain would serve all my waste removing wishes. Close to the bathe space, at about crotch peak, a unmarried steel bar protruded about 18 inches instantly into the room. It was once clearly adjustable in peak, however another way inflexible. At its finish was once a heavy, chrome ring. The hoop, upon nearer exam had two halves which might be opened, however it was once tightly screwed at the side of Allen screws – clearly a tool for containing a slave’s balls and maintaining him hooked up firmly to the wall on the similar time. It seems that the slave would straddle the bar together with his again to the wall, and his balls could be encased by way of the heavy steel ring. There was once however one nook left to discover. It by myself was once NOT smartly lit. Grasp had clearly sought after me to look it remaining. As I became my consideration towards its darkness and started to pressure my eyes to look, a focus magically got here to lifestyles and shined upon a steel cage. Grasp WAS staring at me and choreographing this complete scene remotely. The cage subsidized up towards the nook, and as I tested it extra intently, I may just see that its bars have been embedded within the concrete flooring and that its two again partitions have been the partitions of the room. It was once an enduring fixture. Access into the cage appeared to be on its best facet. The entire best appeared to be on hinges, and there was once an ominous hasp and lock at the facet reverse the hinges. It regarded awesomely solid and I longed to the touch it. However I dared no longer. Afterward I may project an occasional breaking of a rule with a view to illicit the punishment I lengthy for, however for now, I’d higher no longer take any probabilities. In the end, Grasp was once staring at. The cage was once roughly 4 ft sq.. The bars, every no less than two inches thick, have been about 5 inches aside. I may just simply position my palms or ft in the course of the bars. At the rear partitions of the cage have been a lot of further steel rings. I imagined me throughout the cage, secured to the rear wall and with my ft and palms cuffed out of doors the bars. I questioned how a lot of my long run time could be spend cramped inside of this cage…wouldn't it be for infrequent punishment handiest, or wouldn't it, in truth, be my new house? Up to now, as I've discussed, Grasp handiest has spoken in generalities. “Main points come later,” he at all times added secretively. After all, now as I took in a majority of these darkish and ominous atmosphere, the ones main points allured and tantalized me. My eyes reluctantly left the cage and adopted alongside the facet wall to a curious installment. Close to the cage, about three ft from it, a unmarried steel pole, about four ft in peak, rose from the ground some six to 8 inches clear of the wall. There was once an adjustable mechanism close to its heart, and a screw becoming at its best, clearly for attachments of a few type. It was once bolted firmly to the concrete. There have been two D rings welded on all sides of it close to the ground. I actually shook, and for the primary time, my palms got here right down to my facet. I briefly put them up in the back of my neck. This was once an impaler! I had noticed those in on-line catalogs, and the pictures were a supply of never-ending fantasizing. The slave’s ft could be hooked up to the rings close to the ground. A dildo could be attached to the screw becoming on best, then adjusted upward and into the slave’s ass, impaling him and securing him immovably to the spot. Pre-cum dripped from my erect cock. I used to be mesmerized by way of this software and the fantasies it dredged up inside me. the door opened – my viewing consultation was once over. I used to be steered to take a seat at the flooring once more within the heart of the room. I used to be passed an envelope with my title revealed on it and the phrases, SLAVE CONTRACT! An overly vivid overhead gentle got here to lifestyles and I used to be steered to learn the report, taking as a lot time as I wished, and to signify that I used to be completed by way of status. I might be allowed to invite questions afterwards, however for now I used to be left by myself once more, with the envelope. As soon as once more, the door was once closed and locked! I sat bare at the flooring and slowly opened the massive brown envelope. Liberating the steel clasp, I got rid of the 3 crisp pages of the report that might outline my long run lifestyles. Thumbing via them I famous that there have been a lot of blanks to be stuffed in, and a number of other puts for each mine and Grasp’s signatures. I might be allowed as a lot time as I required to check it, however I might no longer get a duplicate to take with me as I had secretly was hoping – and I dare no longer ask for this. I started to learn…
SLAVE CONTRACT To whom it's going to worry: The slave contract described herein is entered into in this ___ day of ___, within the 12 months ___, and is entered into willingly and freely by way of the 2 events concerned. Upon signing, this contract is actually binding, and won't, underneath any instances, nor for any causes, be both revised OR revoked. To this finish, the Grasp, _____, and the slave, _____ each, with their signatures, will attest that the weather of this contract are understood and authorised. There are 3 elements to this contract, every of which should be agreed to, and signed for all of the contract to be viable. POINT ONE: The slave, ___ consents to depart his former lifestyles, severing all ties, actual or imagined, and to grant complete possession of his being, frame and thoughts, to the Grasp, ___. Possession will be outlined as follows: The Grasp can have general keep watch over and path over the slave and shall personal him outright. The slave will not have any rights or privileges rather than the ones particularly granted by way of the Grasp. The slave is not going to make choices or have reviews. The slave is not going to have possessions. The slave’s lifestyles and lifestyles will likely be utterly underneath the path of the Grasp. The slave will likely be saved blank. The slave will likely be correctly exercised, nourished and watered. Differently, the slave will haven't any promises and can exist totally on the Grasp’s disposal, and be guided and directed by way of the Grasp’s whim. With reference to POINT ONE, I, slave ___, do settle for, and keen comply. slave’s signature and date: _____ With reference to POINT ONE, POINT TWO: The slave, ___ consents that he's going to be saved totally bare endlessly; that he's going to by no means once more be allowed to the touch any a part of his frame together with his palms or ft with out the Grasp’s categorical permission and path; that absolute keep watch over will likely be maintained over his genitals, frame orifices, and ALL frame purposes; and, that more than a few bondage implements, and restraints will likely be often hired to put in force those necessities. With reference to POINT TWO, I, slave ___, do settle for, and keen comply. slave’s signature and date: _____ With reference to POINT TWO, POINT THREE: The settlement described herein, and entered into between slave, ___, and Grasp, ___, will likely be PERMANENT. It is going to no longer, and can't, ever be revoked or revised for any explanation why save the loss of life of both of the events concerned. As a security measure, two witnesses, who're mates of the Grasp, will witness and signal this report. Either one of those witnesses can have complete get entry to to the Masters area and belongings, and will have to the Grasp die, fall gravely unwell, or for every other explanation why be not able to satisfy his portion of this contract, the witnesses shall suppose joint possession of the slave herein described, and so they shall come to a decision collectively as to his destiny. He is also moved to every other place of dwelling, offered, or disposed of in any approach the witnesses in finding mutually applicable. This settlement between the Grasp and the Witnesses is additional defined and attested to in a separate report, and is alluded to herein to allay any anxieties the slave may have in regards to the long run well being of his Grasp. With reference to POINT THREE, CONCLUSION: The concerned events, having totally learn and understood this complete contract, shall beneath affix their dated signatures, as ensure of similar, and that each one events absolutely settle for the phrases defined herein:
After studying all of the report a number of instances, I put it again into the envelope and laid it beside me. My ideas have been racing! Studying the contract was once this kind of activate. However I should ensure that. I should watch out. I ran over and over again in my thoughts, would I leave out this, would I leave out that? However my core slave self constantly took over. My complete lifestyles had led me to this second. I might cross house and suppose some extra ahead of the THIRD ENCOUNTER, however I used to be certain that I used to be certain! I retrieved the envelope and stood up, and waited a number of mins for his go back. The door opened and I used to be escorted out. I dressed on the small desk beside the door. We went upstairs. I used to be presented water and requested if I had any questions or feedback. I didn’t have questions, simply an intense longing that completely fed on me. I regarded him within the eye for a while. I wished desperately for him to the touch me, to man-handle me, however that might come, in line with his plan! He appeared to perceive my wish to seek his eyes…for that's the place the soul is. Most likely his soul would mesh with mine…it for sure felt so. Most likely I used to be making the appropriate selection. 90 per-cent of me was once certain. However I should ensure that to not let my cock lead me into one thing that I might feel sorry about. I might have two weeks to strive against with the opposite 10 per-cent. In a single week I might go back for the THIRD ENCOUNTER! I might strip, be certain, and transform the everlasting belongings of my new Grasp. There was once a lot to do, and far to suppose and fantasize about. I left his area and took the bus again to my rental for the remaining time. We met, the 4 people, in Grasp’s lounge. I eyed the 2 witnesses in moderation, realizing that they have been complete contributors in no matter long run Grasp had deliberate for me, together with inheriting me if Grasp died! After temporary, perfunctory introductions, we moved to the eating desk, Grasp indicating the place every one among us will have to take a seat. At my position there was once that envelope I had noticed at the remaining consult with. My center did the primary of a number of leaps it will make over the following whilst…and so did my cock! All of them sat the similar means as though it have been deliberate (possibly it was once)…their elbows informally laid at the desk, their palms clasped ahead of them, and looking at blankly, however significantly at me. I put my reasonably trembling palms at the desk on all sides of the envelope, attempting to not glance too comfortable, and awaited directions. After a couple of moments of silence, Grasp produced a pen and laid it at the desk beside him. Taking a look me proper within the eye, he requested, “Are you ready to signal the report?” “Sure…” I attempted to mention, however it caught in my windpipe and I handiest let loose a pitiful squeak. Briefly clearing my anxious throat, I endured, “Sure Sir.” “Open it,” he stated. I fumbled it open, laid the envelope apart and unfold the contract out at the desk ahead of me. “Learn it once more,” he steered. I did… As I learn via it in moderation, for the remaining time ahead of signing, pertinent phrases leapt off the web page and despatched pangs of each concern and pleasure via my complete being: saved blank, Grasp’s whim, totally bare endlessly, absolute keep watch over over genitals, bondage implements, restraints… I made my means slowly via Level One, Level Two, Level 3, The CONCLUSION. I used to be completed studying, however I hesitated for a couple of worrying seconds, exercising my remaining little little bit of keep watch over, however simply getting rid of the inevitable. I had already determined to signal. I swallowed deeply and slowly and, in any case, regarded up at Grasp indicating that I used to be via. He right away passed me the pen. I took it in trembling palms and signed all of the puts indicated. I driven the report over towards him. He in moderation inspected all of my signatures, signed it himself, and, in flip, handed it to the 2 witnesses. Their heretofore solemn faces now sported the slightest smiles. This had clearly been a worrying second for them too! Nevertheless it was once over. The contract was once signed and witnessed and I used to be his and, in truth, theirs. “Wait right here,” Grasp stated to me, then escorted his two pals to the door. They spoke in brief and softly. I didn’t even attempt to concentrate. I used to be engrossed in my very own briskly racing ideas. What had I finished? Used to be I certain? Too past due! I may just run. I used to be nonetheless dressed. I may just “get away” out the again. However I sat and waited as commanded. When he returned his demeanor was once other. He checked out me sitting on the desk. I assumed that I will have to possibly know what he anticipated, however I didn’t. “Rise up,” he commanded, no longer harshly, however firmly. He was once taking command. That is what I had longed for. “Practice me,” he added tersely. I did. We stopped on the door to the basement. He became to stand me. I used to be following him so intently that I nearly bumped into him. Stumbling reasonably, I regained my stance simply in time, even supposing my knees had became to butter! He put his palms on my shoulder to secure me. “Calm down,” he stated, “You’re doing the appropriate factor. Now, simply believe me. Earlier than we cross downstairs,” he endured, “let me come up with some directions. Concentrate very in moderation, you'll handiest pay attention this as soon as, and there will likely be no talking for reasonably a while after this!” He paused. I regained my composure, checked out him longingly, and listened closely. I'm his slave now, I assumed. He owns me! It felt excellent already, even supposing I didn’t know absolutely as but what it intended. I might be told. “To begin with,” he defined, “your captivity will include a transition duration, with various schedules and routines. You'll lose monitor of time as you realize it now. After this you'll be settled into a normal, very detailed time table. Not anything will ever be defined to you, you'll by no means be made acutely aware of anything else rather than what to do and when to do it. You'll be told via punishment and praise simply what I really like and what I be expecting, and you probably have happy me! There are two regulations: 1. By no means talk except I let you know to!, and a pair of. Do what I say right away and with out hesitation. Do you know?” “Sure sir,” I stated, and my cock stiffened. He allowed me to proceed to gaze into his eyes. I knew in that second that he would sense all my wishes, that I might no longer wish to ask questions! I might paintings so onerous to thrill him, however I might additionally welcome punishment for no longer gratifying him. I shivered once more with satisfaction. He reduced his palms from my shoulders the place he’d saved them. He reached round me, pulled me to him and hugged me reassuringly. I cherished him. “Alright then,” he stated, “come, it's time. I adopted him down the basement stairs. On the backside of the steps there was once a five gallon plastic software bucket, unmarked and coated with a lid, and a small black satchel. Motioning to them, he stated, “Carry those alongside.” I picked them up, one in every hand, and we walked the duration of the cupboard space and as much as the massive wood door. The small desk the place I had positioned my garments were changed by way of a rubbish can with a plastic liner. At his instruction, I put down the bucket and the satchel and started to take away my garments. Getting bare was once at all times a hurry for me, particularly if somebody was once making me! This was once the remaining time I might strip. I did it slowly, savoring the frenzy, welcoming the nippiness towards my pores and skin, the chilly flooring towards my naked ft. Placing my garments and sneakers into the rubbish despatched me over the threshold. My cock was once utterly stiff now. Grasp checked out my cock, then regarded me within the eye and stated, “We’ll must get that underneath keep watch over, gained’t we?” I shivered once more. He swung open the massive door. I picked up the bucket and the satchel, and adopted him inside of. He closed the door and secured it with an enormous aggregate lock. There was once the solution to one among my questions; if I modified my thoughts and sought after to flee, even supposing I weren't another way certain, I do not have the mix to that huge lock. I used to be totally stuck now, bare and locked in his dungeon. My knees have been butter once more, I nearly fell from the load of my load. He directed me to place the bucket and the satchel down, took me underneath my fingers for give a boost to and led me over to the cleansing space. He directed me to step into the wash basin. I realized a unmarried chain placing down from over my head. He cuffed my palms with easy steel handcuffs. He then operated a mechanism at the wall beside us which reduced the ceiling chain. {The handcuffs} have been hooked up to the chain and pulled up simply over my head. “Kneel”, he stated, and, with some problem, I did. Pulling my head ahead, he rainy my hair with heat water. He sat down in entrance of me, took out a razor and started to shave my head. I used to be vulnerable with the enjoyment of it. He was once cleansing and shaving me, getting me able to be certain into his provider. It was once a scrumptious sensation to grasp that I do know longer needed to make plans or have any considerations in any respect, rather than to thrill him. I used to be now totally his! He shaved my head, after which endured down my frame, in moderation taking away all hair, right down to my ft. It was once an incredible sensation to have somebody else dealing with and touching EVERY inch of me. I were shaved ahead of in scenes, however not anything like this. He was once meticulous. The overhead chain was once attached via a mechanism which may be adjusted by way of pulling both of 2 chains placing towards the wall. Like Venetian blinds, he pulled me up or let me down, became me round, had me kneel, and altered me as important to house his cautious paintings. When he had completed shaving me all over the place, he stretched me up tall, status on my tiptoes, and stood again to recognize his paintings. I became round a number of instances, balancing on my ft. He was once viewing his handiwork, and surveying his new belongings. He reduced my palms to about chest peak and became me round, teaching me to lean towards the wall and to unfold my legs aside as vast as I may just. Sitting on a stool in the back of me, he inserted an enema nozzle into my ass. From an overhead bag he stuffed me up a number of instances, stretching my intestine find it irresistible had by no means been stretched, forcing me to carry it, then having me squat and liberate. This endured till I ran transparent. I had by no means been so blank inside of! Glad that I used to be blank, he stretched me upward once more. He then washed me all over the place with cleaning soap, rinsed me and left me placing there to dry whilst he busied himself at the back of the room. I couldn’t see what he was once doing, however the tinkling of chain and the rustling of leather-based and cord saved me onerous with anticipation. My palms drained briefly – my wrists have been hurting, however blood was once nonetheless flowing and I welcomed the slight discomfort as symbolic of my captivity. When I used to be dry he reduced my palms and launched them from the cuffs. I used to be bare and unbound in my Grasp’s dungeon, however no longer for lengthy. He re-cuffed my palms in the back of my again and, whilst I used to be nonetheless became round, he took what appeared like a caulking gun and, placing the end into my ass, stuffed me up with lubricant. It oozed out as he became me round to stand him, feeling squishy between my cheeks. He then retrieved a small leather-based software from his pocket, a harness, which have compatibility snugly round my balls, forcing them down into their sack, and isolating them with a decent leather-based strap. My cock was once left loose. It were onerous since I walked in the course of the door. Grasp made no effort to keep watch over it. I questioned what would occur to my cock. Would he tie it up too? Would he include it in an anti-erection software? Would he punish it for being onerous? It longed for liberate…to be touched, however he unnoticed it! He walked around the room and altered the lights in order that the center of the room was once flooded, the outer edge darkish. He directed me out of the wash basin and steered me to lie at the flooring with my head close to a small black heavy-looking, drum-shaped steel object. An enormous steel mallet lay close to it. He place me with the steel object in the back of me and with regards to my neck, and pulled the satchel over towards my face. I shivered uncontrollably as he got rid of a heavy iron slave collar slowly from the satchel. He put it down at the flooring at my nostril and stood again in brief, permitting me to savor the collar. “Take a look at it in moderation,” he steered. “You'll by no means see it once more!” As I stared at it and trembled reasonably, the sinisterness of what he had simply stated bore down closely upon me! I might no longer see it, however I might really feel it, ever-present, round my slave neck! The collar was once constructed from curved, forged steel bands, about two inches vast, and no less than 1 / 4 of an inch thick. It was once hinged, and met at the reverse facet with tabs that contained holes during which a lock might be positioned. At the hinged facet there was once a completely hooked up duration of heavy chain. The remainder of the chain remained throughout the satchel. Across the collar, similarly spaced, there have been 4 iron D-rings to which different chains, locks, ropes, and so forth. might be hooked up. It might be heavy, however I might undergo it. I might haven't any selection. It might additional bind me to him, a idea I relished. He lifted the collar and moved it against my neck, pulling extra of the hooked up chain from the satchel. I adopted his palms with my eyes. The chain jingled. The D-rings jingled. I lifted my head reasonably as he unceremoniously positioned the collar round my neck. It was once chilly, and right away very heavy. It clanked reasonably as he closed it and touched the tabs in combination in the back of me. He was once fumbling with one thing in the back of me that I thought was once an enormous lock. It was once no longer till he picked up the mallet and started to bang away on the small anvil in the back of me that I spotted it wouldn’t be a lock, however a steel rivet that might stay the collar in position. My balls strained of their leather-based bondage, my onerous dick bounced freely as I startled and shuddered from the loud noise. My palms pulled on the cuffs in the back of my again. He had stated “everlasting”, however little did I do know simply how everlasting he intended! He helped me to face, and as I stood up the gravity of my new PERMANENT collar hit me. It might take a lot being used to. I might by no means put out of your mind that I used to be dressed in it. It bore down on my shoulders, nonetheless chilly. It might ultimately heat as much as by way of frame temperature, however it will by no means transform lighter. The hooked up chain prolonged from the satchel as I rose, including to the load of the collar. Grasp directed me over to the wash basin, and adopted me sporting the satchel. He put the satchel down beside the plastic bucket and had me flip round. Sitting on a stool as ahead of and spreading my legs aside, he got rid of the leather-based bondage from my balls and changed it with a locking steel ball cuff hooked up to a small duration of chain. He then got rid of {the handcuffs} and directed me to take away the lid from the bucket. It was once about part full of a white powdery substance. Grasp sprayed some water into the bucket, gave me a stick and steered me to stir the mix. When the water was once totally integrated, he directed me to select up the bucket and the satchel. I adopted him to the middle of the room, striking them beside a small sq. of cardboard at the flooring. Grasp driven the card apart, revealing a spherical hollow reduce into the ground. Both the opening had no longer been there ahead of, or it were in moderation hid. In both match I had no longer spotted it. It was once about 8 inches in diameter and roughly twelve inches deep. My knees buckled underneath my load as I mentally pieced in combination his plan. Grasp took the chain hooked up to my collar and pulled it from the satchel. On the different finish of what appeared to be a few fifteen ft chain, there was once a small, iron anchor. The anchor was once kind of the scale of the opening. His intentions have been transparent. He positioned the anchor into the opening and steered me to pour the liquid cement in to hide it. I poured, shaking as I did. I stood and watched as he smoothed the cement, taking away the surplus with a trowel. He positioned a small steel body over the opening which might dangle the hooked up chain up off of the cement till it dried, and directed me to observe him. I did, swinging the quick chain from my balls, and dragging the lengthy duration of chain from my neck. We walked over to the nook which held the cage. I used to be clearly going to spend a while within the cage, a idea which despatched pulses via my throbbing dick. How a lot more adrenalized may just I transform??? We walked to the nook that held the cage. Grasp in moderation led me with the chain that was once hooked up to my collar, ensuring to not pull towards the nonetheless rainy cement. I realized once I stepped into it that the cage was once slightler greater than I had prior to now assessed it to be. There could be room for me to take a seat upright in it. The highest was once opened and quickly secured with a small hook towards the wall. Grasp became me going through the nook and had me bend over with my legs unfold aside. He squirted extra of the chilly lubricant up my ass, then informed me to take a seat within the nook with my again towards the wall. It was once then that I realized one thing that had no longer been there ahead of, a LARGE dildo, bolted into the ground, out from the nook about eight inches. It was once darkish in colour, possibly product of rubber or plastic – I couldn’t inform. Grasp was once affected person and I took my time. I knelt going through it in the beginning, getting a excellent shut have a look at it. It was once between 6 and eight inches in duration, pointed then tapered out towards the ground to a slender spot round which my asshold would tighten, necessarily attaching me to the ground by way of the ass! Now I knew why Grasp had put such a lot lubricant in me. I’m no virgin, however it took a while for me to get the object totally in me. Grasp gave me no directions excluding to “take a seat on it”, so I squatted, held onto the higher fringe of the cage and slowly reduced myself onto the dildo, step by step shifting my ft ahead as I took in increasingly more of it. I needed to carry up and take a look at once more a number of instances ahead of I may just get my asshole to chill out sufficiently. Ultimately my ass did chill out, sucked within the monster, and closed down gratefully across the slender segment close to the ground, successfully attaching me immovably to the ground. I reduced my palms and leaned again once more the nook wall. It was once very chilly to my again. I wiggled reasonably, feeling the fullness of the item inside me, and figuring out that I couldn’t transfer my torso in any path. I used to be held rapid to the ground. Earlier than I had a lot time to consider it, Grasp took my ft, unfold them aside, and positioned them into iron shares. The enforce consisted of 2 steel bands with curved sections at both finish that, when closed in combination, shaped ankle cuffs. The software screwed in combination at 3 puts, by way of every ankle, and within the heart. Every of the screws was once crowned with an eye fixed hook. Grasp then attached a brief duration of chain from every eye hook to the quick chain placing from my balls, pulling my ft again clear of the bars of the cage and forcing my knees into the air and aside! This compelled my again towards the nook. Grasp then pulled two straps from in the back of me and used them to connect my higher frame to the wall; at my waist, and at my chest. He then adjusted my collar in order that the hooked up chain was once in entrance, and the use of the D- rings on all sides of my collar, he hooked up the again of my neck to the wall. On the out of doors higher nook of the cage there was once a slender slot, simply sufficiently big to carry one hyperlink of the chain. He stretched the chain out from me till it was once instantly, then secured it into the slot. This may stay me from pulling at the chain and tense the nonetheless drying cement. Teaching me to stay my palms out of the way in which, he reached down between my legs and grabbed my cock…in any case, I assumed, he going to do one thing with my dick, however what? Protecting my dick in a single hand, he pulled a plastic sleeve onto it, securing it with a strap that went underneath my balls. He used scientific tape to tighten the software round my dick, particularly close to the pinnacle. I may just nonetheless get onerous, however no longer totally. At the finish there was once a small nipple to which Grasp hooked up an extended piece of tubing. The tubing was once lengthy sufficient to succeed in around the room and empty into the basin drain. I doubted that I might ever be cushy sufficient to piss, however in case I had to, I may just. Some other piece of tubing, reasonably greater, was once position close to my mouth and taped into position. It ended in a gallon jug of water simply out of doors the cage. I might be watered and may just piss all I had to. Grasp clearly meant for me to be right here some time! Handiest my palms had to be secured. “Carry them up and position them towards the wall,” he steered, appearing me the place to place them. He slowly reduced the highest of the cage and I may just see two reduce out spaces alongside the threshold, simply the scale of my wrists. The highest of the cage slightly grazed the highest of my head because it closed down into position, securely locking my palms towards the again partitions about eight inches clear of my neck on all sides. For one remaining contact, Grasp attached a sequence from the iron leg shares to the out of doors nook of the cage, pulling my ft ahead so far as they'd cross and reasonably stretching my balls. My knees have been loose – however no longer for lengthy – Grasp tied a bungee twine loosely round every knee and pulled them aside, securing them to the bars of the cage. I may just stretch my legs reasonably for slightly workout, however they have been at all times briefly pulled again by way of the bungee twine. He left the sunshine on within the heart of the room. I may just handiest take a seat nonetheless, impaled by way of the dildo, strapped helplessly to the interior of an iron cage, and look ahead to his go back. Grasp did one remaining test of all my bindings, checking for circulate. I might clearly be there for some time. He reached down and fiendlishly pulled at my knockers, mashing them between his palms and twirling them relentlessly. My cock strained in its plastic sheath bondage. My asshole tightened across the dildo. My balls pulled hopelessly at their iron bondage. My ft cramped, but if I wiggled them for reduction, the chains pulled at my balls. I may just handiest glance instantly forward and watch the cement dry – clearly Grasp’s plan for my following couple of hours. He left the dungeon, closed the heavy door in the back of him. I heard the huge lock click on, and faintly, his booted steps as he walked away. My ass longed to rid itself of the monster. My palms, placing helplessly started to pain. My balls have been stretched and sore. Any slight motion I made pulled at the chains attached to them. My ft and legs cramped from being held inflexible in a single place for goodbye. My complete frame went from uncomfortable, to sore, then to painful…ache that was once unendurable, and but I needed to undergo it! There have been no alternatives for me any more. Grasp would come to a decision how a lot ache I may just take, and simply what I may just and WOULD undergo! I misplaced conscientiousness a number of instances. Every time I roused from pain-induced stupor, I needed to be subconscious once more. I needed maximum of keen on Grasp to go back and to liberate me from this cage. I knew complete smartly that liberate from this present horror would handiest get replaced by way of every other horror. This was once what I had longed for all my lifestyles – general slavery – everlasting bondage. Whether or not or no longer I may just “take it” mattered no longer in the slightest degree. I might undergo it. I had signed the contract. I not had alternatives, and I needed to discover ways to hand over wishing and hoping. I might merely undergo. This was once my destiny. To even mentally query this was once futile. This monster up my butt was once there to show me about futility, about hopelessness. The iron encircling my ankles and my balls have been my new lecturers. The collar round my neck was once my guru, main me to acceptance of the truth that I used to be now the valuables of every other. My attachment to Grasp’s dungeon was once everlasting. I used to be now part of the dungeon, cemented to its flooring. I do not know how a lot time handed ahead of Grasp’s go back. The water jug was once empty. The cement was once lengthy dry. I had watched it flip colour, from darkish when rainy, to a powdery white when dry. The door opened. He paid me no consideration to start with and went to the middle of the room to test the cement, taking away the body which held the chain and pulling with all his weight towards the ground. He knew it was once dry and that the chain was once safe. This display was once for my get advantages. My dick sprang into motion and worked towards its bondage as I watched him. He walked slowly over towards me, searching at me with out emotion. After status and staring for a second, he unlocked the highest of the cage which launched my palms. I couldn’t transfer them in the beginning, then slowly, painfully, I reduced them to leisure on my knees. I dare no longer contact anything for concern of being punished – as though I weren't ALREADY in ache. He launched the iron from my ankles and disconnected the chains from the iron ball ring which he left in position. The chest and waist straps have been got rid of. “Stand up,” he stated, realizing that I may just no longer with out help. He positioned his fingers underneath mine and pulled me up off of the dildo. My ass stretched painfully because it got here previous the vast level of the monster. “Unscrew the dildo,” he added after I used to be absolutely status. I assumed I used to be rid of the monster, however it seems that anywhere I used to be going, it was once coming with me. I knelt on sore knees and unscrewed the object from the ground. I stood with Grasp’s lend a hand and stepped painfully out of the cage, questioning once I would consult with it once more. We walked over to the wash basin the place he made me stand nonetheless in order that he may just take away the penis sheath and the iron ball ring. I stood bare excluding for my collar. I leaned backward reasonably to counter the pull of the heavy chain. He motioned me into the basin, and directed me to wash the dildo, after which to put it apart on a shelf to dry. After a number of enemas, he washed me all over the place with cleaning soap and left me status to dry. I appreciated very a lot the sensation of being totally bare excluding for my collar. After I used to be most commonly dry, Grasp cuffed my palms in the back of me, then positioned the dildo in my palms. I used to be to stay it with me. I used to be then led me a small steel bowl at the flooring close to the door. I used to be it seems that going to be fed. I used to be hungry. I knelt down and ate the bland, cereal-like mush ravenously. It was once tough to stay my steadiness, suffering on sore knees and balancing the dildo in the back of me, however I controlled to consume all the mush. I then drank some water from every other bowl. Such was once breakfast, or lunch, or dinner or no matter it was once. I not had a way of time. We headed again over towards the cage. My center sank. I had had sufficient of the cage for some time. The neck chain pulled at me as I walked. Grasp lifted the chain to help me. We handed the cage and stopped on the impaler, a easy steel rod emerging from the ground. My thoughts raced with pleasure and concern! I attempted to not tremble as Grasp launched my cuffed palms. I introduced my palms and the dildo round to the entrance of me. Grasp steered me to mount the dildo onto the steel rod. There was once a screw becoming to house it! He then had me bend over and, sticking the squirt gun up my ass, stuffed me with the lubricant. I knew what was once coming. Turning me round, he subsidized me towards the wall till I used to be status over the dildo aimed toward my ass. He reached over into the cage, retrieved the iron ankle shares I had worn ahead of, and screwed them into position round my ankles. Spreading my legs aside introduced my ass downward. The dildo slightly grazed my asshole. Subsequent he put the locking ball ring again round my nonetheless aching balls. Must I bitch? Must I ask for mercy? I dared no longer talk – it will make issues worse! My task was once to conform willingly and to admire Grasp’s plan, no matter it will imply for me. After recuffing my palms in the back of me, he put the plastic pissing sheath again on my suffering dick. I loved his touching my dick and longed for extra, however Grasp had a plan for it I used to be certain! For now, I should be content material to endure bondage. He hung a gentle weight steel pail from my certain balls. There was once sufficient room between my spread-apart legs for the pail to swing back and forth. He then ran the piss tube into the bucket and taped it into position. My very own piss would fill the bucket and light-weight would flip to very heavy. He put ear plugs into my ears and onto my head he positioned a leather-based hood without a eye holes, handiest nose air flow and a hollow for the water tube to be taped into position in my mouth. The hood laced up the again of my head, and round my neck. It felt excellent. He ran his palms calmly over my fingers, checking for circulate, I assume. He cupped and fondled my balls and rechecked the penis tubing. Then there was once an extended pause. I may just no longer inform if he had walked away, or was once status close to me. After which I felt his palms on my shoulders. He gently driven me down onto the ready monster. I sat down, slowly eating its hugeness, pushing, stretching, till my asshole discovered the slender spot and I used to be caught. He then loosened the rod in order that it might be raised, and driven me up with it till I used to be slightly status on my heels. I used to be impaled, stretched upward by way of the ass. I may just handiest stand there helpless, and drink water, and piss, and fill the bucket. How lengthy would he go away me on this state? What distinction did it make? There would handiest be every other fiendish bondage scenario to observe, then every other, then every other…for the remainder of my lifestyles! Numerous days and nights went by way of. I used to be not acutely aware of time. My handiest focal point was once on my bondage which was once endless. When the piss bucket placing from my smooth balls was once complete and dripping onto the ground, splashing onto my legs, Grasp got here in, emptied it, and hung it there once more to be refilled. I don’t know the way time and again I stuffed the bucket – a number of. Then, all at once, it was once over. The bucket was once emptied and no longer changed. The impaler was once reduced and me with it. I used to be pulled up off of it, my legs, palms, head, and balls launched from their prisons, and led over to the nook wash basin. The slight stubble that had amassed all over the place me was once my handiest clue to time handed; round every week I judged. I don’t know what in me inspired me to check out to stay alongside of time. Why? There was once no time for me within the conventional sense. T his was once clearly his plan, to difficult to understand my sense of time. It was once operating. However in the meantime I might cling directly to this handiest clue – the stubble of hair. It was once a easy factor, however someway I wished the relationship with time fact. Differently I imagined that I might be insane. And possibly I already was once? In my former lifestyles I were a stickler for maintaining to the time table. I by no means neglected a closing date in my 12 years as a journalist. The time table was once, I started to appreciate now, my former Grasp. I had merely exchanged one for the opposite. The variation now was once that I had 0 enter. I might be making no choices. While ahead of I had fascinated with my ingenious output, I now was once compelled to focal point ONLY on my bondage. The chain that pulled repeatedly at my neck did that. Hoods, ball rings, manacles, leg irons, dildos, would all come and cross, however that collar and chain was once on me for excellent.  

Originally posted on https://statdig.com