I.
On our six month anniversary, I sent HIM a card and included a letter saying what was on my mind:
“I’ve given up trying to make any sense out of what’s been happening these last few months. It’s as if my former life had come to an end the night I met YOU. I was sitting at the bar having a beer and talking to my friend Sam. When I looked into the mirror behind the bar, I could see you watching me with a mysterious smile on your face. It looked like you were pleased with me for some reason I didn’t understand. I had never met you before. I didn’t even know your name, but for some strange reason it made me happy that you approved of me.
“I wanted to meet you, so I told Sam that someone was checking me out, and walked through the crowd to get to you. I felt like you were drawing me, like I was answering some kind of a summons, like I was crossing over some unseen line into a new dimension, that my entire life was about to change.. When I looked into your eyes, it seemed you knew more about me than I knew about myself. That was six months ago, and everything has changed or “evolved,” to use the word you say so often.
“That was six months ago. Now nothing before YOU matters any longer, nothing I ever did, no goal I’d ever achieved, no accomplishment that once filled me with pride, no hopes I once had for the future. All of that has become insignificant, almost meaningless in the face of what you want for me. You’ve set new goals for me, you’ve been pushing my limits beyond what I ever thought I could handle. You’ve been teaching me new skills. You’ve been training me to be ashamed of things that seem normal for most guys my age. like acquiring self-respect, or wanting to chart my own course, to say nothing of the right to jerk off. You’ve taught me that my ordinary desire for private sexual pleasure is selfish.
“You’ve reordered my priorities, given me new ways of understanding life, new ways of understanding myself. You’ve made me face the fact that I’ve never been truly happy. You’ve helped me accept the fact that pain would heal my soul, that obedience would be my greatest form of pleasure, that punishment would be a way for me to feel loved. How was it that you knew what I was meant to become and that you would be the one to break me free from my old ways. I’m not afraid to admit it, Master: you broke me then made me unbreakable. How can I ever thank you enough?”
Yours,
kid xo
I’m really pleased with my concluding word and I know HE’ll know HE already owns me for as long as HE wants me. I put the letter in an envelope with a card I had bought for HIM and left it under HIS door.
I’ll never forget the night I first met HIM. It was unnerving. We spoke briefly, but then he said he had to leave. After he left, as I walked back to the bar, I couldn’t stop thinking that my life was going along “creeping in its petty pace.” Where did I get those words? Probably from some Shakespeare I’d memorized in high school. The toughest word was “petty.” It was accusing me, saying I’ve been settling for too little. It was all petty: all my striving, all my searching, all the things I’d been pretending mattered
so much. “Why,” it was asking. “Why all the denial, all the pretending you’re happy? Why are you climbing a ladder to get to . . . what?” Damn! Something had to change.
I shuddered. I wanted to turn my mind off the way I usually do when my thoughts get too heavy: rough sex. After HE left, I went right over to Madison, ready to beg the hot Alpha to take me where I don’t have to think. Half an hour later I was in the back room on my knees and he was slapping my face. “Watch the teeth, bitch!” He shoved himself all the way down my throat and held me there with his hand on the back of my head until I started choking. He let me back off with phlegm dripping from my mouth and down my chin. “That’s it, cocksucker. Again. All the way down. Choke on that cock!” He’d hold me then let me back off explosively. Then he’d push me down again. And again. And again, until I almost puked.
There had always been some dark chemistry between the two of us. I only went near him when I needed it that way. Dark. Masochistic black. Madison always acted like he despised me, called all the humiliating names. Maybe it was just an act, but it felt damn real to me. He could take me down the way I felt I deserved. Despite it all, I knew he would destroy anyone else who ever tried to bully me. There was only one person I had to be afraid of when Madison was around: myself.
Once he’d emptied himself down my throat, he took out a black handkerchief and cleaned the gunk off my face then had me blow my nose into it. “Keep it,” he said, shoving it in the pocket of my jeans. “I got it for you. Keep it clean. Wear it in your right black pocket from now on.”
Damn. I knew the code. Black right means “Smack me around. Use what you want on me. Push my limits.” That’ll make me vulnerable all the damn time, going around advertising my shame, the fact that there was something within me that was always crying out “enslave me.” Shit—I don’t need a hanky to advertise. Word had gotten around a long time ago about me. Too many people have seen Madison work me over or heard him curse me out. Still, Madison told me to wear it all the time, so I will. Even when it got me into trouble one night by these three guys who decided to work out a kidnapping fantasy with me as the victim. Trouble was they didn’t tell me it was just a fantasy. I believed it was true. I was terrified and exhilarated. Damn thing was that I was disappointed when they let me in on the game. That night I realized that I really would like it if someone pulled me away from my life for real.
Maybe that’s why it was so easy to let HIM take over. Maybe that’s why I just couldn’t resist, even when Sam pleaded with me to get away from him. “Come on, kid, it’s one thing to be a sub, but that’s not what this is with him. I don’t know what it is, but it really worries me.” It was too late to try to talk some sense into me. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Sorry about that.
“Kid.” That’s what they all call me here because that’s what they hear Madison call me when he’s not calling me faggot or bitch or cocksucker or worse. Only here, though, in this bar, with this crowd. The tribe here is different than the rest of gay Victorville. Different folks have different strokes.
That’s another thing that was so uncommon about that guy, the one who would take me over—not Madison, the other one I’m talking about---HE fit right in here, but something was weird: HE wasn’t dark. I experienced HIM as an overwhelming light that blinded me so all I could do was stick out my hands and let HIM lead me wherever HE wanted. Like I said before. Unsettling. Whenever HE looked at me it was like HE was probing me, digging for something I didn’t want HIM to find. Nope!
Madison left me with the black handkerchief. When I tried to get up off my knees, some guy with a white beard pulled me up by my armpits. I opened my mouth to thank him, and he tried to spit in it but
missed. Now I had spit on my chin. He chuckled. “You look good with my spit on you, boy. Let me give you some more.”
Oh well, I might as see where it takes me. I nod, keeping my eyes lowered. He takes me by the hair. pulls my head back and says to the guys who were watching, “here. Help me wash the kid’s face.” I’m 20, but here I’m still a kid. Now two guys are spitting at my face and one pulling my hair back is drooling on me until I’m soaking wet and trying to get away. Luck is with me. Somebody pulls my t-shirt off me and wipes my face with it. As soon as I can, I turn and walk back into the bar then right out the door. I had enough for one night.
II.
I end up dreaming of HIM that night. I’m at the bar but no one’s there except him sitting at a table with his hands folded in front of him. I walk over and stand there facing him. He snaps his fingers and I’m standing there stark naked, hands bound behind my back, an iron collar around my neck. He’s smiling at me the same way he was in the bar that night. I wake up bathed in sweat. I tear off my pajamas and resolve to stay naked from then on.
That’s no problem at all. I have two roommates and we’ve seen each other naked plenty. None of us are shy about that. Actually, I’ve had sex with the both of them, Eddie and Dean. They’re both Alphas while I’m just a twink. Eddie’s got the biggest cock, but I like Dean’s more because of the way the crown is shaped. I love suckling it and he always lets me do it when I walk into his room at night. Eddie isn’t as much of a slut as me and Dean. When he wants me he’s always in charge. So is Dean, and that’s why I don’t think they ever have sex together.
Eddie’s more of an Alpha than Dean, but Dean is still a Dom. I’m two thousand per cent sub and always have been. Dean will suck my cock sometimes but Eddie doesn’t even let me stroke myself when I’m with him. Tough little mother-fucker. Makes me sit on it a lot and he likes to slap my dick when he’s fucking up into me. He’s threatened to lock up my dick in a chastity cage some day. I’d probably let him but I can’t say for how long. Eddie likes to talk tough. “Gonna lock your puny dick up forever,” he says to me. “Take it permanently off line so you can concentrate on everyone else’s dicks like the faggot you are.” I almost shot my load when he said that to me. Eddie sure has a way with words. He comes to the same bar as me from time to time as well but ignores me if I’m there too. He never stays long. He always lucks out. I’m not surprised. Anyway the point of all this is just to let you know that if I start hanging out naked all the time, it won’t bother either of them at all.
So anyway, I’m doing it. They like to imagine that they were the ones keeping the sub naked all the time. One night we three had supper together. Once we were done, Dean started clearing the table but Eddie turned to him and said, “I think the sub should clean up. Serve us like a naked houseboy from now on.” So that’s what happened. I was even a little turned on by it all, being their servant. Next thing I know, I was making their beds in the morning, then doing all their laundry. One night when they were both horny, they spit-roasted me. All because I had started hanging out naked all the time. And do you know what is freaking me out? It started because me being naked in that dream about HIM. Now I have this NEED to be kept naked as a humiliation as well because I’m nothing more than a sub, Do you think there’s a connection?
By the way, I never told Eddie and Dean the dream. It was too freaky for me to talk about. But shit, my life had started changing after that. One Sunday, Eddie told me they wanted to speak to me about something, to come into the living room as soon as I was finished cleaning up after lunch. When I got in there, they were sitting close to one another on the couch. I looked around for where to sit but Dean said “I want you to kneel down before us as much as possible from now on.” Okay. That tingles. I kneel and lower my eyes while holding my hands behind my back, the same way I’d been in that dream I had, only I wasn’t on my knees in the dream.
Dean has more to say. “Eddie and I have been discussing the living arrangement and we’ve decided to make a change. From now on, Eddie and I will split the rent. You will work off your room and board by serving us the way you’ve been, in other words, you’re paying the rent with your body.”
I dare to speak. “That sounds like it’s just sex,” I say faintly.
“Damnit, you can speak, kid. Let’s not get carried away. So what the fuck did you say, boy? Speak up!”
Well, that settled that. “It seems that to say I’m paying the rent with my body is usually just about sex. It misses the other piece, the part I spend more time and energy doing.”
“Are you complaining?” Dean asks spicily.
“No, ssDean, not at all. Just saying the houseboy part is most of how I’m serving you.”
Eddie picked right up on my flub. “You can say Sir, kid. In fact, you should when we’re alone. But you’ve got a point.”
Dean kicks in. “Let’s just say live-in houseboy and leave it at that. Anyone who knows will know damn well the fucking kid is our sex slave as well.”
“Or maybe even just a slave,” thinks Eddie.
And so it was settled. I’m their slave, and that includes being their naked houseboy.
That very night I had another one of those dreams. Same scene. I’m bound and collared like last time, only this time I’m kneeling on the floor and HE’s sitting behind the table again.
“There’s something wrong with the way you look. I want you naked.”
I look puzzled and he smiles a bit. “ComPLETEly naked. Not hiding behind hair. Have you ever seen pubic hair on a slaveboy before, or a houseboy?”
Actually, I have, of course. I promise I’ll get shaved and stay that way from now on.
“Armpits too. No hair anywhere below the neck.”
And it all fades out. Monday they tell me they’ve decided to shave me now that I’m their slave. Boy slaves don’t have body hair, only men. The stand me up in the bathtub and both go to work on me. Everywhere starting with my pits while I was holding my arms up over my head stretching the pit as much as possible. They even took my three nipple hairs, (sad face). All the way down. Hardly any on my legs. Nothing in my crack or hole. They checked.
Afterwards I took a warm shower and got dried. Then they rubbed baby oil wherever they shaved me. They told me it was a “treat” because I’d been a good boy. And then, to mark the occasion, they spit-roasted me with my hands bound so I wouldn’t be able to touch my own dick while satisfying both of theirs. “That’s the way it is with common slaveboys like you.” I heard that statement a great many times over the next few days. They took a lot of face-less pictures as well.
The next step in my degradation was when Eddie informed me that half my hours were being cut so I have more time to take care of my “other duties.” He was cold-hearted and business-crisp as he explained the reason they made this decision about me. “You don’t need to pay rent any longer and as far as the rest of your salary, you have no need of money anyway. You can’t spend any of it without permission.”
And so that was that. And he made perfect sense. With all the extra work I’m forced to do now I never have time to spend money, and Dean put a block on Amazon on my laptop because from now on I need permission to spend anything. Stripped bare in yet another way.
HE was at the bar Saturday night. Next thing I know I was standing right before him and I almost naturally put my hands behind my back and I could feel the cuffs on them again and the coldness of the iron around my neck making me very uncomfortable. He makes a snicky sound with his mouth and walks away. I follow, transfixed and ready to beg HIM to own me but he doesn’t allow me to speak. He didn’t say anything. All I knew was that I just COULD NOT SPEAK, physically, actually, as I were mute.
He brings me into a room and locks the door. “Take off your shirt and raise your arms.” My hands were freed from behind my back. I also notice that somehow I got barefoot.
He inspects my armpits and smacks each of them a couple times with the back of his hand, his eyes boring into my eyes.
“Drop the pants and step out of them. Spread your legs.”
He smacks my legs on the inside of my thighs and it really stings. “Farther.”
I do my best. He nods then steps back to take a look at all of me. “That’s better. Naked.”
He comes over to me and puts his hands everywhere I’ve been saved, even around my nipple. he loves sliding his hands back and forward in my groin and back all the way through my legs. “All mine.” He puts his hands on my head. I close my eyes and find out I can’t open them again. Images come into my mind. Images of myself as a naked slave. I’m pulling a cart I’m yoked to with leather straps, spurred on by the driver’s whip. I’m licking the large hairy feet of a mafia don. I’m cornered in school by three bullies who enjoy themselves smacking me around until I’m sobbing and begging them to stop. I’m on the ground in a corner in the gym showers and five guys are standing there pissing on me. I’m bound to a whipping post and the first lash has just struck me and immediately raised a welt. My hands are bound to the wall behind me, my feet are chained far apart so my legs are spread wide. A bald man is kickboxing my balls. A hard cock is shoved down my throat and I’m choking the same way I was the night I first met HIM. A huge portrait of my naked hairless body is displayed in Times Square and it shows my face with tears running down my cheeks.
I’m being fucked and it is the most pleasurable thing I have ever experienced. Then I realize it’s really happening, that the dimensions have shifted again. I’m on a soft mattress and HE is fucking me and as HE
fucks me HE seems to grow larger. Suddenly HE stops moving and stays buried deep inside of me filling up as much as I could possible be filled. This is the fuck of the century.
He lightly nibbles on my ear and then whispers to me in a voice which sounds like liquid chocolate, the dark kind. “Those fellows you’re serving, I give you to them. They have your body but I have all the rest of you, your mind, your heart, your soul, your memories. They possess you temporarily but it feels like forever to them. I own you permanently and you will never be free of ME.” He starts fucking me again and I feel like I could drown in the pleasure. After HE finishes everything reverts to the way it is in the dream. He’s behind a table. I’m on my knees, cuffed and collared. “Look at me.”
Once again I’m trapped by those eyes. “I want more people to view you. I want you to crumble in shame. Only that for the queer boy I fuck.”
The next thing I know, I’m in my own bed, just waking up. I’m running a little late so I race into the kitchen and put the coffee on before I even go to take a piss. Dean is in the shower but we never stand on ceremony when it comes to pissing or bathroom privacy. Just as I’m flushing he gets out and starts towelling off. “Come here, boy. Finish drying me off.” There’s nothing humiliating about this. I love his body and I love touching it. It’s like I’ve taken a drug and I crave the two of the so much it’s like I’m addicted to them both. I get down on the floor to finish drying his legs and feet. “Suck me a little while you’re down there.” He’s not hard but he’s warm and scented by the soap he uses. So nice. He stops me as soon as he starts to get hard. “Get both my balls in your mouth at once then go to town on them.”
Please and thank you are never heard here. Not since they decided to enslave me all the way. We’re each on our own for breakfast but I clean up. Eddie’s sitting in the kitchen when I get there. “Fix my coffee,” orders Dean as he sits down. He speaks. “As part of a fundraiser we’re having we’ve sold what we’re calling “viewing rights” to a few of your colleagues at work. Every night this week one of them has an appointment with you. You’ll greet him clothed. He’ll watch you strip, or maybe order you how to do it, then he’ll do whatever he wants to enjoy the sight of you being shamed this way. He can touch you but not hurt you. You will cooperate in every way. None of them will fuck you. Each of them will be here at 7:30. You’re to be dressed and waiting at that time. You will answer the door. These are all men you know. That will make it extra demeaning for them to find out we can make you display yourself to them naked, that you really are subject to us, they’ll know what you are.”
And so that was that. I couldn’t get it out of my mind at work in the morning. It was worse when I got home. I jerked off twice while I was doing the laundry, wondering how much longer I’ll be allowed to do it before my dick gets locked up. I guess it’s all up to HIM to decide when that will happen. Unless I come to my sense and extricate myself from this whole scene. Probably is, I can’t extricate HIM from my dreams as well. And that’s what affects my reality the most once I wake up.
III.
Aaron is the first to come “view” me, as Dean puts it. I’m wondering if they’re coming in alphabetical order when I see who it is. I’m kind of surprised. I though he’s married, so why would he pay to watch me strip. I’m also wondering why they don’t just all come at once and have a big session with the faggot slave. Later, Eddie tells me “If we did that it would all be over in one shot. This way, you get to be humiliated four times and each time will be different. Don’t you get it, idiot? We’re pimping you out!”
Back to Aaron. They didn’t tell me these guys could use me to get off, but that’s the way it turned out. Not only did Aaron enjoy watching me strip, but he go hard doing so then made me get down and crawl over to him and suck him off. Damn, this did bite me. I work with these guys every day. Next they’ll fucking make me work naked all the time. Anyway, Aaron was totally silent while I sucked his cock and it took him a long time to cum. I bet he was imagining it was some woman blowing him. If so, it was the best blow job he ever got from a femail before! When he finally did cum, it was explosive. Almost made me gag there was so much. He wanted me off his dick right away then he pushed me back with his foot before he got up and put himself away. Not a word.
The next guy, Carl, didn’t shut up the from the minute he walked in the door. Told me how much he was looking forward to seeing me naked and how he was surprised to find out I’m a fucking faggot slaveboy when I get off work, blah, blah, blah. He told me what to take off on item at a time. He made me wiggle my goes, helicopter my dick, bend my knees and swing my balls around and bend over and spread so he could see my asshole, making comments all the way through and telling me that he’ll expect my “cooperation” whenever he has to call me into the office. I cooperated just fine on his smallish dick, which explained why he didn’t make fun of me because I’m not big either. Came quickly and it wasn’t much. This guy jerks off a lot, so at least I know THAT secret of his . . . . . .
Benson pulled my nipples and my balls, slapped me around a lot, and jerked off with one hand while squeezing my balls with the other until I was making loud noises and he kept saying “that’s right, bitch, sing for me. those fucking balls will be sore from now on, kid. I’ll be making sure of it.” The last guy was the worst of all. Just a messenger boy and I can’t say anything about it at all because he was under age. Damn, I’m surprised they took a chance like that. If word ever gets out or if that kid tells his friends, we could all end up in serious trouble. And that was the most degrading thing of all. How the fuck am I going to face these guys at work from now on?
Things were pretty much quiet except for that. I’m only at work until noon now, so Dean’s been giving me a list of extra chores to do besides keeping the apartment spotless at all times and now they’re both being complete slobs, leaving dishes in the sink, clothes all over the place, making me pick up their filthy socks and work-out clothes off the floor, so I’m working pretty hard and sometimes very resentful of it all. Like really being a slave, but I guess that’s the point. I realize that, and sometimes the thought turns me on and I’m walking around half hard and wanting to jerk off while I’m feeling that way, not just because I’m pissed off at the way my life is turning out. And then there’s the dreams and now the possibility that I’ll actually be with HIM some times, hopefully, more often.
; ; ; ; ; HE’s barefoot in my dream and has his feet are on a leather hassock. HE watches me kneel down and stare at them, so damn attractive, smooth all over, nice toes, toes that are making my mouth water the more I look at them as HE actually spreads them so I can see between them. HE only says one thing: “A new way to serve, faggot.” I don’t think I have a foot fetish, really, but I do have a humiliation fetish as you well know, so every moment fills me with a brutal sense that I’ll be doing this for any man who demands it of me for the rest of my life, and I’m sure they won’t always be as clean as HIS are this time. I make sure to lick between HIS toes—after all, HE spread them so I could. I got real dry at one point and backed off trying to manufacture some more saliva. He pointed to the ground. There was a glass bowl on the floor filled with water. Fuck. I actually put my face to the bowl and sucked up some of the water then went back to work on HIS toes.
I don’t remember when it all ended because I woke up from the dream because my mouth had gotten so dry. I got out of bed to go get something to drink but there was a bowl of water on the floor right there when I opened the bedroom door! WTF????? How can this be happening? Who the fuck, which one of those bastards put this here? FUCK THIS, I grumbled, and headed for the bathroom, but the fucking door was locked! Finally I gave in and got down and drank water from the bowl. All of a sudden there was a FLASH! Eddie had taken a picture of me with my face down over the bowl, then took off. “At least he didn’t make me kiss his feet,” I thought to myself. Went back to sleep, hoping the dream didn’t come back, but I can swear that HE got into bad with me and fucked me and it felt amazing, just like the other time, no pain at all. I woke up alone and realized that something was dripping out of my ass. WTF. I started wondering if there really is something like an anal wet dream?
Oh well, I was planning on changing the sheets today anyway. Dean set up a schedule and today was the day for mine to get changed. When I got to the kitchen there was a not up from him telling me I had to do his today as well because he had someone over last night and it got messy. At least I didn’t have a dream about that! This is all getting too fucking weird.
When I got to work a couple days later I found out everyone in my office had gotten that pic of me drinking from the bowl on the floor. Much to my surprise, no one decided to make me drink that way in the office, but I noticed that things have been shifting and even the newest staff members hired after me started speaking more sternly to me, ordering me to do things rather than asking. I might be paranoid, but I really think they were seeing me differently because of what had happened.
Maybe it was because I was no longer a full-time member of the Team. Everything was new now; I realized I was just some “kid” (I fucking hate being called that!) who comes in for a few hours each day to do whatever they tell him to do. They took my office away and I have to do my work in a room half that size and always keep the door open in case someone wants something from me. Sometimes they just send a message to my screen telling me what they want from me or to get me to service their contracts now instead of my own—or sometimes to service the men they’re doing business with.
One day the message on my screen told me to report to room 213. I knew that was in the residential area of this complete and I must confess that I was getting pissed off that they might be sending me to a client like some common whore they were using as a perk to close a deal. Little did I realize just how right I was. When I got to the door I stood still for a bit trying to collect myself, to let the negativity drain away, to sink a bit into my submissive nature. No matter what would be required of me, I must remember that my role in life is to serve free men however they want. It took a bit of time. When I finally took a deep breath and knocked on the door, it opened automatically. The room was dark and a few candles were lit. Shit! This was some kind of sexual assignation. Then I got the shock of my life:
It was HIM!!!!! Not in black this time but in white. I was so happy tears came from my eyes. I immediately started to strip naked. “Move more slowly, child,” HE said to me and I realized that it gives HIM pleasure whenever I display myself to him. (HE’s the One Who taught me to use the word “display” rather than show myself or just “get naked”. Finally, I’m naked. “Stand before ME, legs slightly spread, arms at your side, palms facing me.” I immediately get into position, well aware that my body wants to fall to the ground before HIM and grovel. It feels even more naked be standing here like this, so well aware of his gaze that I feel like HIS eyes are touching my flesh like rough fingertips, and they are marking me for HIM.
“Come into my arms, slave boy, put your mouth to mine and drink.” HIS mouth is so wet! I feel like I'm drinking from a faucet! HE speaks again: “IM giving you to the guys you work with as a commodity. From time to time they're going to give your body to one of their associates or clients or donors or benefactors, whatever it may be, so they can enjoy what it is like to be with a well-trained slave. Always room 215. When they are finished with you, you will clean the room completely and prepare it for the next person who will be using you. This will always happen on a Friday. That way you will have the weekend to make up the work you missed because you were serving as a company whore. Keep in mind that whoever you serve in this way will report back to me directly and evaluate the quality of your service. Always remember that whenever you serve a man this way you are serving ME.”
HE makes full use of me after that and HIS body seems to be a drug for me. The more I serve him the more I want to. HIS feet, HIS cock, HIS smell and taste, HIS juices that HE pours down my throat, it all drives me right out of my mind. After HE is completely satisfied HE holds me in HIS arms and speaks to me of love and servitude, and how my servitude is the way I am meant to show HIM love. “This coming Friday, you will be given to a Dom who’s an expert I'm teaching slaves like you about pain. It is time. Up until now we’ve been babying you when it comes to this. Now it's time for you to experience what it means to be my slave and what it feels like sometimes when your Master wants to get tough.”
I apologize if it seems like I’m complaining, but when I reread my copy of the letter I sent HIM on our anniversary, I can see that everything in it is, especially when I said he was getting me to understand who I am in a different way. All that stuff is true now that almost a year has gone by. Damn. New goals, new skills, limits pushed. New goals: my main goal is to serve to the best of my ability no matter what they ask me to do. My goal is to please them all, my roommates, the superiors at my job, people who come to use me sexually, all of it. New skills are mainly as a house servant and sex slave at home, Limits pushed? in all sorts of ways and now I’m going to be tortured by men who enjoy hearing a boy like me cry and sob, scream and beg.
Oh yes, sometimes they make me work naked in the office now. The bastards even put a water bowl on the floor by the water cooler, thanks to Benson’s wicked influence over the others. I asked if I would just have one in the cubicle where I work but I was told they wanted it right out in the open so they could enjoy seeing me humiliated this way. AND lately, I’ve been getting slapped around from time to time more than ever. And dammit, I like it when a couple of the guys hit me. Not all of them, though. I told Aaron I wouldn’t blow him any more if he keeps hitting me.
Sometimes I get to have have exquisite encounters with HIM in the flesh, other times when HEl comes to me in my dreams. Every time HE is with me I’m being broken in to something new. It always works that day. A couple of times a dream has morphed into reality. Once I asked HIM why it is this way and HE told me that’s not something I’m allowed to ask and that I had to learn to accept what happens without questioning it in any way.
Sometimes I dream about HIM spanking me over HIS knees and when I woke up in the morning my ass is sore as hell. The pain in the dream becomes pain in real time (that’s what I’m calling it when not dreaming) and, of course, now Eddie has let me know the next night that they’ve decided they’ll be spanking me as well. There’s always the same goal: They beat me to help me understand more about what I am. I wonder if I will ever get to the point where I can surrender to getting beaten without feeling resentment. Finally it hits me: The resentment hurts more than getting hit. I’m just doing that to myself. I
decide I’m going to try to surrender to it all like the slave they’re trying to make me be. Is that what HE wants, for me to be a common slave under anyone’s control?
Apparently I don’t mark up easily, because when Dean gets me the worst when he he thrashes me. He doesn’t let up until I’m sobbing, and he’s warned me not to fake it so I don’t dare. The first time he really went crazy on m I was sure he had wrecked my ass, that I was probably black and blue. It turns out I was good and red, but even that didn’t last for long, and there was only one spot that looked like a bruise. Actually I was relieved that the evidence of a thrashing wasn’t really there when I went to work. Didn’t want to give them any more ideas thank they already have. I get the impression that HE’s put a kabosh on the idea of my getting spanked at the office because it never happens. I get slapped across the face a lot, Benson likes to swat my ass and Carl like to rap me in the balls. The only man in the office to use me like a slut is Aaron. He makes me suck him off sometimes and that was always a work out. Damn guy takes forever to cum. He says it’s because he’s still uncomfortable getting a blow jobs from a fag, but obviously that doesn’t stop him from using me a couple times a week.
As the week goes on, a sense of dread starts taking over. There will be pain on Friday. Much more pain than I’ve ever experienced before. I keep reminding myself that HE wants this to happen to me. The worst part of it all is now knowing what will be happening and how much it will hurt. I don’t really think I’m all that much of a masochist. Even getting spanked is nothing more than an assault on my person. Not even the idea of it gets me turned on. And yet, strange as it may seen, this, too, is consensual. Maybe it means more to HIM to have my consent even though I’m not that masochistic. Maybe it means more to HIM that this will hurt all the more because of my disposition.
IV.
He's waiting for me when I get to the room. “Strip slowly, faggot. Give me a good show. Slow and sensuous and act like you’re gonna enjoy being my slut. Offer me every fucking inch of that body they’re letting me play with.”
Oh my! What is it about him that makes me want for him to own me? Even though I know what he’s going to do to me? What is it about that voice? I unbutton my shirt slowly revealing the bare flesh that is beneath it as it opens. “Yes, faggot. That’s right. Show me your bare flesh. Offer it to me so I can do whatever I want to it. Open it more. Pull it out of your pants and slowly reveal each nipple to me. You’re gonna taste some exquisite pain in those pretty little nubs, boy. I’ve been told they’re pretty virgin, so I’m gonna rape them good, faggot, get the tears started. Show me the other one. Both of them are mine tonight, faggot. Yes, just waiting for me. Begging for my hurt. Oh yes, faggot, those nipples are going to be my favorites. Now pull the shirt off and throw it on the floor, faggot. Then you fall to the floor as well and strip your feet bare.”
I do it quickly, hoping to please him but not really knowing what will please him other than my cries. “Kneel up!” He reaches with both hands, one to each nipple and gently caresses them and damn, it feels good.
“You’ve got responsive nipples, faggot. Almost like a girl’s. Bet I can make you scream like a girl, faggot. Just you wait and see.” He just keeps caressing them and I find myself wishing the pain would begin. What the fuck is happening to me to be thinking that way? Damn!
He pulls up on them a bit and I start to stand. ‘NO, NO, NO! he shouts. I will pull you up. Do not take over. I’ll use your nipples to get you back up on your feet. Slowly, faggot. Slowly.”
It’s very hard to try to stand this way and I almost fall back a couple times but he grabs me tighter and it gets me upright again and now the pain I was eager to get is starting. I’m glad when he lets go after I’m standing.
“Open the pants, faggot. Show me the bare flesh down where real men have hair. Show me how smoothly they’ve managed to shave you.” And I reveal all that to him. He runs his rough thumb over my flesh. It’s a strange sensation. “Don’t forget what I told you, faggot. Every single inch of this flesh is mine now.” He pulls the pants open more. “Turn around, faggot.” then “slowly lower those pants over the top of your ass, slowly reveal the top of your crack. Just the very top, yes, that’s a good faggot. Now take them down further. All that sweet flesh is gonna be on fire by the time I’m done with you, faggot. Your Master tells me you’re long overdue to be lashed like a true slave. All that sweet ass, boy, won’t feel so sweet by the time I let you crawl out of here tonight.”
This guy is really hot and his voice makes me tremble inside. I have to be honest with myself: he can do anything he wants to me and I’m gonna do my best to make him pleased with me. I don’t care how much it hurts. (He says, naïve as hell.)
Finally I’m naked and he’s gone over all of me with his eyes and his rough fingers. I’m still standing but it’s not all that easy at this point because I’m about to sink to the ground in a pool of submission. What happens next blows my mind:
He slaps my face several times making sure it hurts. Then he takes my face in both his hands. “Give me your eyes, faggot. Let me see them. None of this lowering your eyes shit with me. I need to see what’s going on inside you and your eyes will tell me everything I need to know about you. Now before we get started I have one more thing to tell you and you’d damn well better understand what I’m saying. I know you never met me before, kid, but I know you’ll never forget me after I’m done with you today. That doesn’t matter. What DOES matter is that your boyfriend gave you to me so I could work you over. Your boyfriend knows exactly what I’m going to do to youYour boyfriend WANTS this. He wants this for you. He wants you to get worked over by a total stranger so you know there’s nothing personal about it at all. Not between me and you, anyway. Of course, between you and HIM it is very personal because HE owns you and everything you suffer today you are suffering FOR HIM and AS A WAY TO LET HIM KNOW HOW MUCH OF A SLAVE YOU ARE, how much you want to be HIS slave. The truth is, faggot, that HE wants HIS slave to learn how to take pain.”
The only thing on my mind right now is that this guy kept referring to HIM as my boyfriend. Is that true? Boyfriend but also slave? I don’t have a chance to get too hung up on this because as soon as he finishes lecturing me he grabs me by the balls and we’re off and running. He holds them fast in one hand and starts slapping them with the other hand while looking into my eyes. And it really starts to hurt. A lot. And I guess my eyes were telling him that because all of a sudden he lets go of my balls and grabs me by both nipples again and this time he pulls me down to the ground and I cry out from how much he’s hurting them with just his fingers. What will it be like when I have to wear clamps? Damn!
Next thing I know he has a strap in his hand and he’s lashing my back and my ass and I start crawling around trying to get away and the lashes keep coming. Once I end up on my back and that’s a very big
mistake because that fucking strap lands in some very awkward places, especially after my balls are already aching. And that’s what does on for a long time, or at least what seems like a very long time to me, and that strap just keeps landing on me until finally I realize that by moving around I’m making it worse so I just get up on all fours so he’s got all the SAFE targets he wants.
He was serious. He really does intend to mark up my entire body. Finally I’m flat out on my belly sobbing and I’m one huge sore welt from my neck all the way down over my ass and even below that and I can’t figure out where it hurts the most. What does it matter when I’m practically choking on my own snot.
All of a sudden a bright light goes on and, OMG, HE walks in and I guess HE’s just looking me over as HE walks around me. “Roll over!” I do. With one foot HE spreads my legs so HE can see how marked up I am. “Hand me the strap, please,” HE says to this guy whose name I still haven’t learned. Next thing I know HE’s got one foot on my chest and HE starts whipping my thighs and even hits my dick a couple times and now I’m screaming out loud.
It stops. “It’s had enough now. Get the slave used to wearing iron. ” HE says to HIS friend. HE never says a word to me. HE just leaves, and the lights go down low again. “Up on your knees, faggot!” It hurts so much to move but I don’t dare hesitate. Next thing I know my wrists and my neck are being locked into iron, just like HE ordered. Then my hands are chained together behind my back. He locks manacles on my ankles as well with a chain connecting them. The next thing is the worst of all: he orders me to crawl around the entire area getting used to what it’s like to be chained up this way. I can tell you what it’s like: every single move I make tells me just how trapped and helpless I am and the fact that I’m sore all over as well makes it even more intense.
But do you know what? All of a sudden it just comes over me, this feeling of how secure I am, how safe, how good it feels to know I am owned by someone who even considers me to be his boyfriend. Wow. HiS. No one else can get to me. Even this Dom who just beat the hell out of me can’t hit me any more because HE said I’d had enough.
I get so tired. So very very tired. The things I’m locked into are pressing me down, down, down.
The guy comes over to me. He grabs my collar and gets down close to my eyes and repeats what he told me before. “. Your boyfriend WANTS this. He wants this for you. You got worked over because He wanted it to happen to you, to get worked over by a total stranger so you know there’s nothing personal about it at all. Not between me and you, anyway. Of course, between you and HIM it is very personal because HE owns you and everything you suffered today you took FOR HIM and AS A WAY TO LET HIM KNOW HOW MUCH OF A SLAVE YOU ARE, how much you want to be HIS slave. That’s why HE wants HIS slave to learn how to take pain, slave.”
I am so tired, so sore, so wiped out and everything is so so heavy. Mercifully, I pass out.
. . . . .
I wake up in the dark on a cold stone floor in some basement and everything hurts so much that I can’t figure out a way to hold myself. My iron collar is chained to the ground. It’s quite long so I can crawl around a bit, but I cannot stand up which, I realize, would be the least painful position for me to take. That’s probably why HE’s chained me so I can’t get up on my feet. In fact, I can’t kneel up either. I’m huddled down. At lease they took the manacles off so I have more freedom of movement.
HE comes in. I know it’s HIM because he’s holding a candle. HE drips some wax on me and I start screaming again because some of it lands on my balls.
At last HE speaks. “Now you will understand what it means to be MY slave. I will have things like this done to you whenever you need a reminder. Have no fear, I will often beat you MYSELF, of course, because that is the only way you sex slaves can properly trained to have the correct attitude. It cannot be neglected or slaves like you lose their fervor to serve.”
He releases the chain from my collar. “Kneel up and open your mouth.”
HE takes out HIS cock and pisses into my mouth, then orders me to swallow. This continues until HE is completely drained.
“This is what you are, slave. This is your dream come true. “
Dream? Or nightmare!!!!!!! Suddenly, I realize that I don’t want any of this. Why the fuck did I I willingly consented to all this. I thought it was what I wanted. Now I’m trapped and HE says HE owns me now.
“No, no, no,! I cry. “I don’t want any of this! I made a terrible mistake. Please let me go, Master, please?”
Everything around me dissolves and I find myself on our bed at home. All the pain is gone. I’m lying here in my boyfriend Jeffrey’s arms, snug and safe and feeling very much loved.
“You doing okay now, baby?” he asks me. “that must have been some awful dream you were having. I couldn’t get you to wake up. You were crying out ‘please let me go, please let me go.’”
He kisses me on the forehead. I open my eyes and almost faint from shock. HE’s Jeffrey. Jeffrey is HIM. No wonder it was so easy for me to think I was madly in love with HIM. This is reality now. HE is Jeffrey, my real boyfriend, the one I love with all my heart and soul. Sure, Jeffrey spanks me sometimes, but that’s because we both get into it, and sure, he bosses me around a lot and I get turned on when he behaves that way, but he’d never let anyone ever lay a hand on me. At least I don’t think he would . . .
And so, folks, that’s the end of this tale. For now. feel free to write the next chapter.
