My Lord said he was coming to use his property today. I was thankful my parents were still at their vacation home and that it was Gina’s day off. I was nervous for what he had in store but desperate for some action, having been locked for a couple days already and used to relieving myself once or twice a day.
Around ten minutes to noon, I unlocked my front door and assumed the position my Lord had prescribed: nude, kneeling with knees spread as far as they could go, and arms folded high behind my back and as high as they would go.
The clock in the den chimed noon, when he said I was to be waiting. Yet I found myself waiting even longer. I started to feel like a bit of an idiot. Here I was, naked in my own house, wasting time for some guy to come use me. I felt my face going red. Finally, at a quarter after, the door opened. I saw black, spiked, leather-suede Louboutins hit the floor. If was I honest to myself, I was surprised he could afford them. He also had a large plastic shopping bag of unknown contents. I took a deep breath. For all our interactions over text, it dawned on me I had only been in his presence for a few fleeting moments and I still had to get to know him.
I was starting to doubt my memory of his face. Lord Alex had told me to keep my gaze on his crotch or lower and never to make eye contact unless given permission, so that’s what I did. My eyes kept floating between what looked like a significant trouser snake and a silver chain wallet attached to his belt loop. Focusing on the bulge, so much more intimidating and manly than the embarrassing outline of my cage, humbled me to my core. It reminded my why I was not allowed to look up. It'd be disrespectful to do so without permission. I was eternally hopeful Lord Alex would show me the cock behind the stretched fabric. That I would be allowed to look at him again.
“Put your clit between your thighs and close them,” he said. Fuck, he likes to treat me like a girl, I thought as I obeyed. He gave off straight, dark and slightly chaotic vibes both on SMS and in person. I had started to hypothesize that he operated on the margins of society and sensed his upbringing had not been quite as blessed as mine. I could just tell. I wondered if he dealt drugs. Maybe that’s how he afforded the shoes. Then another realization came: maybe he came into possession of my package through more nefarious needs than a mistaken delivery.
To my surprise, he draped a short chain around my neck with a circumference that left barely any slack and secured it with a padlock. He did not seem like someone who would know such BDSM protocol, but there it was. He attached a metal leash to the chain and started walking me up my own stairs.
“Crawl,” he said. I hadn’t imagined doing anything else as I followed his luxurious sneakers, noticing little flaws and specks of dust on the wooden stairs that I had never noticed before. Was Gina slacking on the vacuuming? Lord Alex intuited where my bedroom was and I found myself sitting in front of my dresser. “Get out all of your underwear,” he said.
I complied and laid out my collection of boxer briefs. He grabbed the few Versace pairs for himself and produced a pair of scissors from his plastic bag. “Cut the rest. You don’t need them anymore.”
This was unexpected. I don’t know what I had expected. I guess just to suck his dick or get fucked. I took the scissors and cut the first pair of generic brand briefs. My stomach lurched. Destroying my own property was hard. It felt like a bridge too far. But I had crossed it. Some of these briefs were old. I could replace them.
Still, I could not help but look at the fabric scraps in dismay and shame. I couldn’t look Lord Alex in the eyes, even if I hadn't been under orders. “Do you know why I made you do that?” he asked.
“No, my Lord,” I said, voice quaking.
“Because male underwear is for men. And you’re not a man. You’re a faggot,” he said as if citing textbook. “These are your replacements.” Lord Alex dumped multiple pairs of lace and satin thongs, all in light pastel colors like pink, teal, and purple, on the floor before me. Some seemed translucent.
“Put on your favorite and put the rest away,” he said. I selected the teal and crouched to put them on. The thong held the cage closer to my body and teased my ass in the back, providing a twinge of stimulation with every movement. “Good faggot. Now for the rest of your wardrobe.”
Lord Alex perused my closet. He produced a crop top tank with deep armholes that I sometimes wore to the gym. "I want all your shirts to look like this. And all of your bottoms to look like short-shorts. You know why?”
“Only men wear pants, my Lord?,” I offered. My heart sunk as he nodded. It was too extreme. “Please, my Lord. I need some pants. For work.” He remained silent and I thought maybe I would try to look him in the eye to convey my limits. But I wanted to keep obeying so I thought I would plea. “Please, my Lord, I beg you for mercy. Please let me keep pants, my Lord.”
This seemed to move him as I tried to see his considered face through my peripheral vision. “Okay, slut,” he said. “You can keep one pair of work pants and one pair of jeans. The rest need to be cut.”
So, for the next hour I snipped and snipped at my wardrobe. Lord Alex made me collect all the scraps and stuff them in his plastic bag. While I was already considering how I’d replace them after he left, I contemplated what he wanted. He wanted me to look like a himbo. He wanted everyone to see my body as much as they could without violating indecency laws. He wanted them to see how slutty I was. I imagined myself walking down the street in one of the flimsy shirt and jorts, thong riding up my crack and poking out of the top of the denim. Caged of course. With the tight chain affixed around my neck. Unless I rummaged through my overweight father’s closet for some ridiculously large replacements or wore one of my mom's dresses, I couldn’t even go in public to buy replacements without dressing like a flamer.
As if to put a fine point on my theory, Lord Alex grabbed a pink baseball cap from his bag and placed it backward on my head. “Wear it like this whenever you go out,” he said.
“Yes, my Lord.” Next, he produced a black, 6-inch cone-shaped butt plug. I wondered if he had gotten it from a box he ordered himself or from some other sap’s doorstep.
“Get it wet with your mouth and put it in your hole,” he said as he handed it to me. I grabbed it and felt my cage strain as I placed it in my mouth. A fake cock was making me horny and desperate for the real thing -- the one I kept fixating on, the one that was swinging inside the pants before, swinging even more than the hypnotic wallet chain right next to it. I put the spit-drenched plug back in my hand and stretched my hand back behind my thong. I took a deep breath as I carefully inserted the cone. It had been a while since I took a toy. I moaned and felt a little wetness drip from my caged nub as the plug broke my barrier the base settled on my cheeks. I let the thong slap back on the plug.
“Good bitch. Do you know why I want you plugged?”
I shook my head as I imagined what I must look like from his point of view: a muscle jock in a teal thong and a backward pink cap. Caged and plugged. “Because... I’m a faggot Sir.”
“Well, that part’s obvious. But yeah. Because your clit is useless and you need to be reminded that you’re nothing but a bottom. Guys hate the idea of something in their ass. It's fucking gross. But not you, huh?”
“No, Sir” I said.
“You should be plugged a lot. It’s just like a girl wearing her tampon,” he added. I had never considered this logic and was starting to recognize the peculiarities of his own specific kinks. It was very important to him that I be emasculated even as I retained my definite masculinity.
“Say you’re just a dumb bottom boy.”
“I’m just a dumb bottom boy, Lord,” I said.
“Louder. Say it like you mean it.”
“I’m just a dumb bottom boy, Lord,” I said louder and more resolutely. He smiled at that like a shark. He looked almost crazed. Like he wanted to break out in laughter and jump me at the same time, and all he could muster was a concentrated grimace.
Falling deep into my thoughts, I was surprised when he grabbed my wallet, which I had stupidly left atop my dresser, and stuffed it in my mouth as he again picked up the leash.
“Keep that in there and crawl,” he said as he led me out the door and down the hallway to my home office. There was my plush desk chair, sports medals, prized mementos, and books all around. It was a space the man of the house might occupy. He sat down at my desk.
“You work from home?” he asked, almost casually and breaking character as he appraised the space.
“Yesh, my Lord,” I replied, teeth still clenched around my wallet, trying to stay calm and keep my gaze where had told me it should remain as he manspread and his bulge took center frame.
“Are you supposed to be working right now?” he chuckled with amusement.
“Yesh, my Lord,” I said with a shameful nod.
“You don’t have a real job, though, do you?” Fuck. He must have researched me.
“No, my Lowrd,” I admitted. It wasn’t quite true. But true enough to hit home.
“Fucking spoiled brat. What if daddy saw you now?” That comment stung and sent hot tears and sweat down my face, drenching my wallet and falling down to my chest. This made Lord Alex get surprisingly tender as he rubbed my head through my backward pink cap.
“It’s okay, faggot. I’m your daddy now,” he said. “You can call me Lord Alex. Or Daddy.”
“Yesh, daddy,” I said, teeth still embarrassingly dug into my leather wallet and my worry about what he would do with it seeping in.
“You’re probably wanting your master's cock, aren’t you?” I nodded in desperation. I had been staring at his bulge for over an hour. I needed to see it. Needed it inside me in some fashion.
“Well, I’ll give it to you. But first you gotta get out your license and hold it up for me.” I shook my head slowly. Why was he doing that? Wasn't I being good?
“Please, I can’t–” I said. “Really, please. No,” I said, dropping the honorifics in hopes he’d understand my thresholds.
“If you want my cock, you do it. Otherwise, I leave,” he said. I weighed my options. Is this where he turned out to not be safe or sane? I was naked before him. Thonged. Caged. Plugged. He already knew my identity and had my full nudes. He sat on my usual throne in my palatial home.
"He just wants it to be official," I thought. So, I took the wallet out of my mouth, opened it, and fished out my drivers’ license.
“Good boy,” he said. “Hold it up.” I set the wallet aside and held it up. Lord Alex raised his phone lens and I felt a wave of nausea. “Back up,” he said. I shimmied my knees to back up on the floor, but ensured they were as wide as they were when he first entered.
“Flex your other arm.” I held up the opposite arm and squeezed.
“Tell me your name, who you’re the faggot property of, and that your faggot tax has been set to $50 a week.”
I was trembling. It didn’t even feel like me who was doing it. “My name is Zack Taylor. I’m the faggot property of Lord Alex. My faggot tax has been set to $50 a week.”
“Good faggot. Now give me that $50 in your wallet.” I was already in so deep that picking up my wallet, grabbing the $50, and handing it over to him felt like nothing. But in a moment of weakness I let my eyes wander to Lord Alex’s face and phone lens, which landed me a slap in the face.
“You know better than to look at your master without permission,” he said.
“Yes, my Lord,” I said, quickly looking back toward his bouncing bulge.
“Kiss my feet. Left to right.” I was so dazed. The adrenaline from giving him the cash and letting myself be recorded was carrying me through the motions with intensity. I barely registered my tongues on the spikes of his luxurious sneakers. The sound of his pants’ button and zipper reverberated in my ears. I think he said, “Suck my cock now, bitch,” and I know he said, “You may only look me in the eye when my cock is down your throat,” because that was the view I soon had: his satisfied, concentrated sneer over his dark features as I fit his truly large and thick dick down my throat. There were slaps. There was spit. There were kicks to my balls and cage. Murmurs of “Slut. Faggot. Whore.” My throat, like my hole, hadn't been used in a while. It was stretching in new ways as I retched and choked.
"I want you to fucking glug," he said, a tone louder than usual. I glugged and glugged like the porns I had seen and began to feel like a fleshlight. I was bigger than this guy. But he was manlier than me. I saw the veins in his skinny but tatted and toned arms pop. I could sense his indifference to my plight. How my degradation made it even better for him and how the only way to earn his cum was to sink lower.
So, I made sure to be on all fours and spread my knees so that he could see my ass and the plug. So he could see what he had reduced me to and that I acknowledged his greatness.
Soon, I had a ruined orgasm and felt wetness in my thong. There was cum all over my face and eyes. Lord Alex pulled me to my bathroom.
“You fucking came,” he exclaimed with laugh. I could see from his smile that it was novel to him and that it truly amused him. “Jesus.” He produced the scissors I had used to cut my clothes and he cut the plastic airlock from my cage. “Get in the shower,” he said as he removed my hat. I crawled into the tub and cleaned off the cum from my face and groin. My cock hardened. It was so nice of him to care for me in this way.
“Ugh!” I said as he suddenly kicked my balls.
“Don’t get fucking hard. You’re locking back up after you’re done washing,” he said with similarly authentic rage. "You don't get fucking hard."
“Yes, my Lord,” I said and sure enough he threaded and secured another airlock on the cage as soon as I had softened. I sat in the tub, quite exhausted. I heard the tell-tale pants zipper again as I saw him grab his cock. Soon enough, piss was streaming all over me. On my face, on my chest, and dripping down on to my cage. He had only cleaned me up so he could keep me caged and degrade me even more. The surprise really got to me and I moaned with anguish.
“We’ll be in touch, dumb bottom boy,” he said.
“Yes, my Lord.”
He left me alone and defeated in the tub. Drenched in pissed that marked me as his. I heard the clock ding again from downstairs and remembered I had plans with my bros that night.
I wondered what I would wear.
