Master and Slave 2

Twink Cuts Off Own Balls

The night after castrating and sending my former slave off to his fate, I slept well, knowing that I had done the right thing. Now, however, I was without a slave. Good slaves, the kind one keeps, are difficult to find. I resolved to select very carefully this time.

My search began on the ‘Net. Using my access to the highly secure “Masters Only” website, I posted a “Slave Wanted” notice. After a few weeks of no replies, I decided to check the usual haunts in the city – a none too enticing prospect. However, to my good fortune, I was greeted with the sight of a slight young Asian man moving into my building. He looked to be perfect slave material. He was in his early twenties, slender and very feminine in his movements and gestures. His attitude suggested a wealthy upbringing. Often, wealthy Asian families “exile” their gay offspring to New York City, where they fit into the culture readily. At home, they would be an embarrassment, causing loss of face and scandal. This young man was just moving in. It was mildly amusing watching him order the moving company personnel around with his effeminate gestures and high-pitched voice.

Later, I asked the doorman which apartment he had taken. I was told “11C,” in a tone that indicated displeasure, probably over an insufficient gratuity, certainly not over his sexual orientation.

I let my candidate settle in for a few days, and then prepared a note which read “If you want a good master, be in the lobby on Friday at noon wearing a red kerchief around your neck.” This, I slipped under his door after I had seen him leave the building with his dog. I waited the few days until Friday, then went down to the lobby at noon. He was there, a blazing red scarf wrapped around his slim neck. I walked over, smiling. His face lit up. “I was hoping it would be you,” he said. “Come with me. Now,” I told him firmly. Obediently, he followed me into the elevator and, after the ride up, into the foyer of my apartment. I explained the necessity of a blood test before he was initiated. This he understood and agreed to. I tied off his right arm, painted the inside of his elbow with antiseptic, punctured one of his veins and withdrew several tubes of blood for testing. He let me do all this without resistance. I packaged the tubes, called the lab for pickup, then had the doorman come fetch the package from outside my apartment. The results, which I hoped would be negative, would be phoned to me tomorrow morning. That out of the way, I began to explain what was expected of him. Absolute obedience without any discussion was the first requirement. No matter how unpleasant the task seemed, he was to undertake it immediately and without argument. As my slave, he would be well cared for but his unwavering devotion was expected at all times. Displeasing me would result in long, painful punishments the like of which he couldn’t even imagine. I explained to him what I had done with my previous slave. He understood. I also explained that I would be removing his balls as soon as the test results came back. At first, a little fear blossomed in his eyes, but that was soon swept away by a look of complete submission.

Ordered to strip, he did so quickly. He pirouetted, spread his butt cheeks for my examination. His balls were medium sized, hung in a small sac just below his uncut penis, which was none too large in length or diameter. His body was slender and firm, his skin was healthy. His hair was a bit too long for my taste. The overall impression was one of a restrained urge to please in any way possible. I approved. If the tests worked out, he would make an excellent slave.

To my question about how he had come to move into my building, he answered that one afternoon his father had caught him in the throes of passionate lovemaking with a boy from his school. He and the other boy had been beaten unmercifully. Because his partner was of the lower classes, his punishment had been less severe. To avoid embarrassment to his wealthy family, he had been taught English by a female tutor and had not been allowed in the presence of any other male, except his Father, while he was being educated for his exile to our country. He told me that he had missed his friend, but that he realized that there was no way for him to have any such relationship in his country. His family had set up a trust fund to cover his needs, purchased an apartment for him to live in and told him never to try to get in touch with them again. His father was looking forward to being notified of his death from AIDS. He went on to say that he had long dreamed of being subjected to the will of a strong male and that he hated his testicles and wanted them removed. In all, he seemed the perfect slave candidate.

I explained to him that he was always to address me as “master” and that I would always address him as “slave,” since I would have only one slave at a time. He accepted this with a “Yes, Master.” We retired to separate rooms for the night.

The lab called the following day to let me know that he was negative for HIV and other venereals tested for. It was time to get to work.

Several years ago, I had had a soundproof room constructed in my apartment for the purpose of disciplining slaves without disturbing my neighbors. The room had an adjustable restraining table, a small surgical sterilizing facility, a video camera, TV and VCR for recording, a microwave and other equipment, such as ceiling and wall hooks. The room had its own plumbing. It was painted in white enamel and all the hardware was of stainless steel. Clean and efficient. Over time, I had castrated a number of other masters’ slaves as well as two of my own.

In preparation for harvesting his glands, I had my slave bathe in hot water to soften and loosen his scrotal skin. Using antiseptic soap, I washed off his entire body and carefully depilated his scrotum. He enjoyed this prepping and became fully erect as I escorted him into my special room. Forbidden to speak, he had given several gasps of pleasure while bathing and being cleaned. At the sight of the table, he let his towel fall to the floor and turned to me with a questioning look. Without a word, I turned him around to face the table, adjusted it to his height, inserted his erection into the hole provided and strapped his legs down firmly, spread apart so that his sac hung down and was easily accessible.

Because I like to operate in silence, there was an inflatable heavy rubber gag supplied by a hose near the table. This I took and placed into my slave’s mouth, on top of his tongue, then turned a stopcock to allow compressed air to inflate the gag. The valve allowed air to flow into the gag. Deflating it was accomplished by unscrewing another valve in the gag. Shortly, the gag filled his mouth. He couldn’t cry out and could breathe only through his nose. I applied the arm and head restraints. I moved the TV in front of the table and opened up the eye slot so that he could see the screen. Next, I positioned the video camera so that an image of his hanging balls appeared on the screen. Completely gagged and tightly restrained, he could watch his own castration.

From the way he was suggestively moving his butt, I could tell that he wanted me to fuck him. I decided to fuck him until he came, holding my own orgasm until he was fully my slave. Using jojoba oil as a lubricant, I inserted myself into his tight butt hole, slowly working my way in. It felt good. It took a lot of pressure to make his sphincter give way, and the slave gave a muffled cry as I suddenly advanced my full length up into him. With willpower, I held myself back, using my prod to massage his prostate until I felt it pulse repeatedly against my cockhead. Although I couldn’t see, I knew that his dick had jetted his last sperm-bearing load out onto the floor under the table. Pulling out immediately, I washed off my cock with antiseptic solution, then painted his dangling sac with antiseptic all the way up and back to his butt hole. Now he was ready. A hair dryer set at maximum heat provided the stream of hot air that loosened his sac and made his balls dangle far from his body. I made a small cut parallel to where his scrotum joined his body. With a small pair of surgical scissors, I snipped carefully around the sac where it joined his body, being careful to cut only the sac skin. When the circle was complete, I tugged his scrotum free, leaving his small balls dangling by their cords from his body. They looked like pinkish-gray cherries hanging there, waiting to be picked. Using my electrocautery needle, I sealed up the bleeders in the circular sac wound. To simplify his nutting, I twirled his balls around each other until the cords formed a single braid. This I sutured off as close to his body as possible. “Are you ready to give up your balls, slave?” He nodded his head. With a single swipe of the scalpel, I harvested his manhood. Working quickly, I cauterized the ends of the cords, then ran a suture in and out of the skin all the way around the open cut where his sac had been. With one finger, I pushed the cords back up into his body, then drew the suture very tight, closing the sac wound like a purse. I tied off the suture and spent a few minutes cauterizing any spots that looked as if they might bleed. When the wound healed, my slave would have a small roseate scar just below the base of his penis instead of a sac containing balls. A big improvement for a slave, believe me. I painted the area with antiseptic again. Now it was my turn. First, I loosened the straps that were immobilizing his legs. After painting my sac with antiseptic to avoid spreading infection, I inserted myself into his backside again and took my pleasure as the first man to have this eunuch slave. My pleasure was enhanced by his rapid movements, and, after a few minutes I emptied my balls up his ass with a great cry of release. A fully satisfying orgasm, one I would not soon forget.

I deflated his gag and freed him from the restraints. He stood up and looked at me expectantly. “Clean up the room. When you are finished, bring me your severed parts,” I ordered. After about twenty minutes, he presented me with his severed balls in a small stainless steel bowl.. My inspection revealed that he had done an excellent job cleaning up. Everything was sterilized and back where it belonged. An excellent job. This slave would serve me well. I picked up his dead balls. “Open your mouth, slave!” I placed his balls into his open mouth and closed it. “Now, chew and swallow.” He did so. So began his life as my eunuch slave.

Afternoon Castration

Placing Castration Bands with Elastrator

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Cute Boy Learns Total Surrender

Slave Being Teased By Master

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bondage eventually became painful, of course, and then I went mostly numb and stopped feeling it. All I could think about was Stephen’s taste in my mouth. His cum, piss, and spit, I’d had them all in one go. The only things left to taste were his sweat, tears, blood, and shit. I felt that I’d as soon pass on the last two, but I fantasized giving him a tonguebath after he’d worked up a good sweat flogging me. As for tears, I couldn’t imagine what might cause him to cry in my presence, and I didn’t want to find out, either.

When he returned (assuming he’d left) and released me from the ropes, rubbing my arms and legs with his gloved hands to restore full circulation, I just kept looking at him, marveling at his youth, his confidence, his deftness in handling me. The deference I accorded the Master did not seem to apply to him, a fellow slave, and yet his use of me had placed him far above me. Even without my rule of silence, what could I say to him? My feelings were still too new, too confused to articulate.

Stephen was in no such confusion. He held my head and kissed me again, then smiled and pressed my face down onto his boots.

“All right, slave. Show me how you lick boot leather.”

It was as if he’d thrown a switch, releasing me to show the feelings I couldn’t speak. I slobbered all over his tall boots, covering them with my spit and happy tears, rattling my chains until he finally put a stop to it, saying, “That’s enough, bootdog, enough for now. You’ll have plenty more chances to worship my boots. I’m nowhere near through with you.”

That was a turning point between us, especially after I reported the incident to the Master in my journal and he made no comment. Stephen was clearly acting within his limits, so in serving Stephen I was also serving the Master. That’s all I needed to quiet any misgivings about being a slave’s slave.

Stephen visits me now almost every day, and he always uses me before he leaves. It isn’t always oral service, either. A few weeks ago, after gleefully tormenting my nipples for an hour or more, he turned me over and fucked my ass for even longer, again with no condom, just like the Master.

He’s also training me to take larger and larger toys up my chute, and now when he leaves he usually installs a butt plug, which I wear until after my evening session with the Master. I am allowed to remove it when the light dims for me to sleep. After I take a last drink from the toilet, I wash the plug there, along with my hands. Stephen (at least I assume it is him) always flushes the toilet again before my morning drink.

He isn’t always affectionate, though; sometimes he seems cold and almost brutal. I hate those times, and when he leaves I vow to stop responding so eagerly to him, to make him work harder for my submission. But then the next day he’ll saunter in, smiling devilishly, and kiss or stroke me before he starts, and I’ll melt all over again.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And? What’s troubling you, slave?”

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

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

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

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

“Sir, thank you, Sir.”

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

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

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

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

He stopped and sighed again, shifting in his seat.

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

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

He paused in thought, then continued.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ll see, slave.”

 

Part 6

 

If I expected anything dramatic to come of my talk with the Master, I was disappointed. Weeks have turned into months, and things are still much the same as before. Little changes happen, though, such as when Stephen — it’s always him in the morning now, not the Master — shows me a new exercise or resets the treadmill program to push me harder. One day he brought a tape measure and took a complete set of measurements of my body, with no explanation. He’s also taken urine and blood samples and sent them off for analysis.

“You’re healthy as a horse,” he told me after the results came back. “A strong draft horse. It’ll be a lot of years before you’re ready for a rest home.”

Within the framework of my relatively fixed, but slowly evolving, routine at the beginning and end of each day, the middle varies at Stephen’s whim, or perhaps according to changes in what the Master needs from him. Some days he might come in for no more than a quick blow job or piss break, followed by a kiss or a pat on the head. Other days he’ll spend hours with me, orchestrating elaborate bondage or torture scenes, culminating with a long fuck and then cuddling until I come down from whatever cloud he’s put me on.

More often now he’ll simply lie on my pallet and talk while I massage him or tonguebathe him, or sit on the bench while I lick his boots or nurse at his cock. He pours out his dreams and hopes — the kind of house he wants, the kind of work he wants to do, the additional education he needs for it, what he wants to accomplish in five years or ten. He says little about becoming a Master, just occasional references to “my slave and I” and the life he expects they’ll build together. His self-confidence is breathtaking, and very seductive.

Under my vow of silence, I make a good listener, and he usually keeps my mouth busy anyway. Even lying down, his hands are always in motion as he talks, and they’re never out of contact with me for long, always stroking or teasing or pinching some piece of my flesh. He doesn’t say, “I love you” or “I want you,” but he makes me feel it many times a day.

It’s been a long time since I gave up the idea of coming, and my body has found a way to give me wet dreams without erections. The dreams are always about Stephen. In real life, he has the oddest look on his face when he fondles my locked-down genitals, and I shiver, wondering what he plans for them. He has no guiche piercing, so apparently the Master never harnessed his sex the way he did mine.

 

Part 7

 

Today Stephen arrives full of even more energy than usual.

“Hello, slaveshit,” he says. “I call you that because today I’m going to beat the shit out of you, and since you’re a slave, you’re going to take it and thank me afterwards. Isn’t that right?”

Staring at him, open-mouthed, I automatically nod assent. I’m way past being able to deny him anything.

He uses no additional bondage for this session, just the chains I already wear and his gloved hands moving me into position and holding me there. He begins, in fact, by sitting on my pallet and laying me across his knees. Using his hands, a paddle, and a folded belt, he turns my flesh flaming red from my neck to the soles of my feet. When my backside is “done,” he turns me over and does the front the same way. I am whimpering long before he finishes, but he is unmoved.

Finally he dumps me onto the floor and stands up. I have a brief hope that he’s finished, but no: now that I’m “tenderized,” as he puts it, he starts in on me all over again using his boots. He kicks me, stomps on me, rolls me this way and that. The excruciating pain is eased only slightly by the knowledge that I am being pulverized by the same boots I’ve worshipped so often.

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir, it hurts so much! Please, Sir!”

He slaps me some more before answering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guess you are okay, asshole!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Part 8

 

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

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

“Yes, Master.”

“Did you want him to?”

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

“But you enjoyed it?”

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

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

“No, Master . . . .”

“Go on, slave.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good boy!” the Master says.

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

“Yes, Master.”

 

THE

You Are Now My Property – Part 32

Ted turned to Roy and said that he had planned on stopping the session there, but that he wanted to punish the boy for his resistance while the lawyer had fucked his mouth. Roy said that Eric needed to learn his lesson, and encouraged Ted to continue.

Ted set up his TENS machine, taking his time, enjoying the look of terror in the captive boy’s eyes and the whimpering sounds he was reduced to. He made all the necessary attachments, stretching and spreading Eric’s balls to hook up each one separately, then removing the rubber butt plug and inserting a metal egg up the boy’s ass to stimulate his prostate. He had Bob remove the catheter, eliciting two more screams from Eric when the clamp was removed and then again when the catheter itself was removed. As soon as it was out, Bob replaced it with a metal rod that was then attached to the machine. Eric was now fully-wired. Ted reminded the boy that this added torture was punishment for his disobedience.

The machine was a very sophisticated one with many options and speeds, and Ted, who had minored in engineering in college, had altered it to further its capabilities. He set all the dials to the desired settings, and switched the machine on. The metal egg in Eric’s ass was set to emit a charge that would send maximum pleasure to the boy’s prostate for 5 solid seconds, followed by 250 pulses in one second at a level that would cause great pain. The wires attached to the boy’s cock and balls were set to emit shocks randomly in spurts of one second. Sometimes they’d go to only one place, sometimes to two, and occasionally to his cock and each ball simultaneously. There was never any pattern, and never any way for Eric to anticipate or try to prepare for the next jolt of pain. When the simultaneous shock coincided with the pain shock up his ass, Eric let out a shriek that would’ve rattled the windows, if there were any in the sound-proofed room. Ted turned off the machine and the boy slumped against the bars.

Ted then made some adjustments and turned the machine back on. Eric’s balls and prostate were given a steady, low charge that was immensely pleasurable, and he got an immediate erection. Ted just let the machine continue stimulating the boy, and soon Eric was moaning with lust. The grinning lawyer flipped a switch, and suddenly Eric’s prostate was being hit with a rapid succession of pulses that sent waves of pleasure through his groin. Eric closed his eyes, his moaning became louder, and he started humping the air in time to the pulses up his ass. After a few minutes of this, the boy was nearly out of his mind with lust and he started begging.

“Please, Ohhhhhhhh Pleeeeeeeeeease! Fuck me master! PLEASE FUCK ME MASTER!” Ted grinned from ear to ear; he had been wanting to do that since before he started this little show. He smiled and turned off the machine.

All four masters were sporting enormous hard-ons.

Ted detached the wires from the machine, but left them attached to the boy. He needed to fuck that ass NOW; the wires could come off later. Eric was untied from the cell bars and carried over to a padded table. He was bent over the end of it, and his wrists and ankles were bound to the legs. Ted stepped up behind the boy, yanked the metal egg out of his ass, and rammed his cock all the way home with one thrust. Eric just moaned in ecstasy. Ted fucked the boy with all his might, and each of the other masters followed with equal ferocity; Eric just moaned and occasionally whimpered “Please fuck me master!”

When the four men were finished, they went upstairs for some beers and to give the kid a chance to recover before his training continued. Eric was left strapped to the table. He cried softly in the silent basement. He wasn’t crying because of the pain that racked every fiber of his being; he was crying because his masters had stopped fucking him before he could come

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

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Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

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

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

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

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

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

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

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

Preston Pissing With The Boys

Preston Pissing With The Boys

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

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.  

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