Transformation of Tarun into a fag

The day dragged on. I couldn’t sleep. My mind was still reeling from the humiliation I endured today. I wished it were a dream, but it wasn’t. I kept pondering how to put an end to it. Was there a way to stop this, and who would be the target of my revenge? Why was he doing this to me? What did he want? Anger and frustration surged within me, urging me to kill him. But I was vulnerable right now. He had the upper hand. I needed to tread carefully—one misstep could ruin my entire life.It was the next day. I was getting ready for the office. I had two workstations: one in the city center, where the Accounts, Management, and project teams worked, and another in the ECR city suburb, where my office was located with the design team. I arrived at my office cabin and began reviewing my schedule. Then my personal assistant, Akash, brought me a parcel and said, “There was a delivery for you, sir. We received it this morning.” He returned to his cabin. When I examined the envelope, I saw it was from Dinesh. Damn that jerk—what was he up to now? What could be inside that parcel? I was confused and hesitant to open it. As I was lost in thought, my phone rang. It was Dinesh. I answered but remained silent, waiting for him to speak. He did the same. Finally, he broke the silence and yelled at me: “You’re giving me the silent treatment, you pathetic fool. When I call, you should answer with, ‘Sir, thank you for the call. How may I serve you?’ Do you understand?”I replied, “Sorry, sir.”Master Dinesh said, “I’ve sent you some gifts. Look at them. They come with usage instructions. Get ready for the evening—you have tasks to complete.”I said, “Sir, I have plans with my friends this evening.”Master snapped back, “Shut up, you dog. Don’t tell me what to do. I own you. From now on, you won’t make any plans without my permission.”I said, “Sorry, sir, I understand.”Master instructed, “Wear what I sent you and be ready by 7 p.m. I’ll call you with updates about the task.”I replied, “Okay, sir.”When I opened the parcel, it contained a chastity cage, a nipple clamp, a pair of pink panties, and a 7-inch dildo. I couldn’t believe what he was planning. The humiliation was unbearable. I couldn’t wear this cage, clamp, and panties. There was a note inside the parcel: “Hi, slave. I know it’s hard for you to accept your fate. You still see yourself as a rich, handsome jock. That’s the past. Now, you’re my sex slave. Your duty is to please your master. Get ready in this outfit and call me by 7 p.m. You know the consequences if you don’t comply. I don’t want to keep reminding you. See you at 7. Bye.”Damn it, he was torturing me. What was I going to do? I wanted to scream and smash something, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to cause a scene at work. I still had nine hours to figure a way out of this. I stashed the parcel in my locker and got back to my tasks. It was 6:30 p.m. now. Everyone had left the office. I had only 30 minutes. I realized there was no escape. I had to do this. I stepped outside to ensure everyone had gone. Thankfully, they had—except for my PA. He’d logged off once I finished my work, so I told him to head home. After he left, I returned to my cabin and retrieved the parcel. My hands trembled. What was I doing? Did I really have to endure this humiliation? My life was a mess. Suddenly, I received a text: “Get ready by 6:55. I’ll call you at 7.” Damn it, I had just 18 minutes left.I began undressing, stripping off all my clothes. I started with the chastity cage. What in the world was this? How did it work? I consulted the manual and, after struggling for seven minutes, managed to lock it onto myself. Then I attached the nipple clamp. Oh my God, the pain was unbearable—it targeted the most sensitive part of my body. Unable to tolerate it, I slipped on the panties as well. It was 6:55 p.m. As promised, he called.Master asked, “Are you ready, you wretch?”I replied, “Yes, sir.”Master asked, “Where are you?”I said, “In my office, sir.”Master asked, “Are you sitting in your MD chair?”I replied, “Yes, master.”Master said, “Have you seen yourself in the mirror? With that cage, nipple clamp, and panties, you must look like a prostitute. Are you really sitting in that chair like this?”I said, “Sorry, sir. What should I do now?”Master ordered, “Get down, sit on the floor—no, better yet, get into a doggy position.”Damn it, I did look ridiculous. A few hours ago, I’d been in a tailored suit, sitting like a boss in my own office. Now, I was dressed like some flamboyant performer, crouched like a dog in my workspace. I lowered myself as he instructed. As I settled into position, someone suddenly opened my cabin door. Oh no—it was the maintenance guy. What was he doing here? What could I do now? Sitting like a dog in panties and a cage on the floor in front of my cleaner—this day couldn’t get any worse. I shouted at him, “What are you doing here? Who told you to come in? Get out!” He responded with a sharp slap across my face. I collapsed to the floor. What was happening? Did he just hit me? I was in shock. He said, “How are you, MD sir?” That voice—oh no, it was Dinesh. Was my maintenance guy my tormentor? Trembling, I asked, “Dinesh, is that you?” He slapped me again, sending me sprawling. The blow was so hard it brought tears to my eyes. He barked, “What did I tell you, you fool? Address me as ‘Sir’ or ‘Master.’ Do you understand?”I replied, “Sorry, master. Forgive me.”Dinesh was a middle-aged man, about 180 cm tall, with a dusky complexion and a stocky build. I suspected he might be married. He’d been with my company for five years, but I’d never interacted with him directly. He was managed by the maintenance department supervisor. His duties included opening the company gates, saluting me as I arrived and departed, and overseeing cleaning tasks. I’d never paid him much attention before.He shouted, “Get up and stay in that position.” His tone was harsh and commanding. I rose and resumed the doggy position. He marched over to my desk and sat in my MD chair. That insolent man—how dare he sit in my chair? A minimum-wage, blue-collar worker—he wasn’t even fit to step into this cabin.Master said, “What are you thinking, you wretch? How could this lowly security guard sit in my MD chair? Is that what’s on your mind? Answer me.”I replied, “No, sir. I’m not thinking that.”Master laughed. “Ha! I don’t care what you think. Look at me—a school dropout, a minimum-wage worker, sitting in the MD chair. And you, the MD of this company, educated abroad, now dressed like a cheap fool, waiting for my orders.”He was right. I was the managing director of this company, yet here I was, stripped bare and posed like a dog before my lowliest employee. I couldn’t fathom how this had happened. What had I done to deserve this?Master barked, “Hey, doggy, come here.” I crawled toward him, and he yanked me closer by the chain attached to my nipple clamp.I gasped, “Yes, it’s so painful. Please remove the nipple clamp. I can’t take it.”Master replied, “You’re useless. You can’t even handle this little pain. What am I supposed to do with you?”I pleaded, “Please, sir, it’s my sensitive spot. I can’t bear this, sir.”Master sneered, “Don’t call yourself a gym buff if you can’t handle this. Fine, since it’s your first time, I’ll remove it—on one condition.”I asked, “Okay, sir, what’s the condition?”Master said, “You’ll help me with my work. Once you’re done, I’ll take off the clamp.”No way was I doing his job. I was an MBA graduate from overseas—how could I stoop to maintenance work? Never.Master continued, “What, you think you can refuse? If you don’t, you’ll wear them for two straight days.”I couldn’t endure this pain for 30 minutes, let alone two days. He was right—I had no leverage to refuse. I’d already lost my dignity and self-respect.Master said, “Accept your fate. You’re not the MD anymore. You’re my sex slave. As my slave, your job is to work for your master. Got it?”I replied, “Yes, sir.” I couldn’t believe I was about to become an apprentice to my maintenance worker in my own company. This man would get paid by me for the work I’d be doing.Master said, “Don’t worry—no one will find out about your side gig.”I replied, “Okay, sir. How will I do this?”Master explained, “After you finish your day job at 6 p.m., you’ll start working as my slave here. You were born with a silver spoon—you don’t know manual labor. Don’t worry, I’ll guide you.”He laughed loudly, staring at me. I felt utterly ashamed and exposed. In just 48 hours, my life had flipped upside down—from the MD of the company to the sex slave of a cleaner. What would happen if my friends and family found out? They saw me as a handsome, successful role model and entrepreneur. What if they learned I was now a slave to a janitor? I’d had maids and helpers at home, and now I was a maid and sex slave to a cleaner. I had to find a way out and end this soon.