Back to Content & Review of this story Display the whole story in new window (text only) Previous Story Back to List of Newest Stories Next Story Back to BDSM Library Home

Review This Story || Author: 2nn

Real Commitment

Part 1

Real commitment

By 2nn

WARNING! This story is not for minors or people who don’t like sexual writings and such. It deals with hard core homosexual sex, BDSM, brutal torture, body modifications and worse. If this offends you or you are a minor, stop reading now.

Chapter 1: What are the odds?

Lately the sense of disconnect has been getting stronger, like everything I do is basically a waste of time.  Maybe it’s passing forty or maybe it’s the ghost of relationships past, I don’t know. Some would probably say it’s a mid-life crisis, but I don’t feel like doing any of the classic things usually associated with this: I feel no need to chase much younger women or, being bi, younger men either. Not that I don’t enjoy the sight of either of those two groups immensely, but that’s merely the way things have always been. I haven’t felt an urge to buy a sports car or suddenly start parachuting or do something similarly suicidal to prove my masculinity. I am not hugely virile anymore, my erections lasting shorter now than before and my loads being smaller too, but truth be told I have never been a star in bed, never lived up to those porn star fantasies that now seem to govern the world. And just as always I don’t really care. I have what I have and am what I am and have never seen any reason to either regret this or have any of those drastic and futile things done to my cock or anything else below. My orgasms are just as satisfying now as when I was sixteen or twenty-one or thirty-five. Ok I masturbate less than I did at twenty-one, but three times a day is still respectable - I think at least.

Nor do I feel the slightest urge to give up and start golfing or something similarly soporific. I am still me, but my desires are changing and it’s as if I need something new, something else. Drastically so.

The thing is, I know what I need, what I ache to try. And getting it is not only hard, but also constitutes an almost complete break from what I have done and wanted in the past; a change so drastic I can’t really get my head around it.

With women I have always been safely vanilla, taking charge very softly when needed. My taste in men has always run to the softer, slightly feminine types with a strong preference for sissies. With these I have always been dominant. Although the fact that my male-male playtime has always been very private and secret and thus somewhat limited by time and place, I have managed to do some very nice SM-stuff, always with me as the dom. And while I have tried sucking cock, it has been limited and mostly I would have the sissies suck me or me fucking them. All the things in my ass have been put there and controlled by me alone. And I loved it.

Lately though, one particular fantasy has been growing stronger and stronger and it’s unlike any other I’ve had all my life: getting dominated and fucked by another man. Or several men. Now that of course sounds simple enough, and advertising after it on the Net should get me at least a few contacts, a few leads, in a matter of days. But of course there’s a twist. I have found that I can’t do this, can’t get excited about it, if the guy isn’t taller than me plus slim and athletic, with a good body and strong too. Age matters less to me, but those other things are a real obstacle. The thing is that I’m tall myself, with a good athletic body, if not actually super strong. At 6’6” and 200 lbs, I quite simply can’t find a guy who fulfills those requirements that turn me on so strongly and would permit me to explore these new, darker fantasies of mine. The final thing is that he has to be really, really dominant. I want – I need – a man who will take absolute charge and control events, and me, completely.

All these things put together makes finding the right guy pretty hard. Maybe even impossible.

After much consideration and trepidation I posted profiles on several sites for my kind of people, but after more than a year I have had only a few who just barely fit my fantasies and all but two I rejected within a very short time frame, mostly for being idiots.

The two I did not reject, I tried some very enlightening things with. I say enlightening because while I loved the being tied up and helpless part of it and to some extent the “torture” performed on me, it was also clear to me that neither of these two men did it for me. They were neither dominant nor brutal enough for me. But at least they cleared up for me that hard domination and brutal S&M really is what I crave, so the sessions were enlightening.

Unfortunately it also means that right now it seems I’m stuck in vanilla land – and without real luck there either.

And in right now vanilla land is not even home. I’m on a business trip, on assignment a few hours flight from home. It’s very cold and windy outside and since I am alone also boring here. Having just arrived at the hotel a week already seems long. If only the guy like the one standing next to the front desk buying something would respond to my profile. There’s a woman in front of me, so I manage to get a good look at him and he’s like taken out of my recent wet dreams. My guess would be that he’s 6’8” or 6’9” and a very fit 220 or 230, triathlete or swimmer. Black hair with a little grey at the temples and steely grey eyes, not unlike my own, he looks like he’s no more than thirty-five, but having seen myself in the mirror and having gotten the same remarks myself, I put him at mid-forties – just like me. He’s wearing a very sharp business suit and he looks absolutely fantastic. The twenty-something year old girl selling him whatever he’s buying thinks so too, tittering like a teenager and blushing so hard when he hands her the money that she could be running a high fever. If it’s the same kind of fever I have, and I’m pretty sure it is, it’s epicenter is located a little south of the waist. And quite intense.

And then he turns and catches me looking – or more precisely staring. It’s far too late to escape notice, but still my head snaps to the front and luckily it’s my turn. Now I can pretend to be occupied with the details of checking in. My heart pounds in a way a simple sneak peak at a good looking guy shouldn’t be able to provoke and I fumble intolerably with the credit card, but I do manage to check in without embarrassing myself too much.

Feeling a mixture of relief and disappointment that I’m off the hook, I turn around and find that I’m not off the hook at all. He’s standing right there, looking right at me, obviously waiting for me. I stop cold and I think my eyes have already gone wide when he asks, in the most casual of tones, as if we’d known each other for years: “Want to grab a cup of coffee?” Eyes widening further and with my mouth now gaping stupidly, I am just about to creep away, make an idiotic excuse, when I get a grip. I want this. The only thing holding me back is myself. He’s probably plain old vanilla but even vanilla he’s so hot it can’t be all bad. And I want it. So instead of my usual hesitation in these situations I close my E’s He might mouth, smile and simply say: “Yes, I’d like that”. His smile makes my heart pound again and when he says: “Good. I’ll meet you in the bar after you’ve dropped off your bags” I have to remind myself that running for the elevator and running back is uncool. He’ll wait, he just said so. He wants this too.

Nevertheless I definitely don’t waste time dropping off my bags in the room. In no time I’ve deposited all my stuff in a pile beside the bed, dropped the cold weather gear and am on my way to the bar. Right before I exit the room I catch myself in the mirror. Slim, athletic, graying blonde with grey eyes. Not bad looking if I may say so, but when it comes to clothing I feel several steps behind that guy. Practical shoes, jeans and a shirt are all nice, but a far cry from his obviously stylish and expensive good looks. To hell with it! He asked me; can’t matter that much then.

Just like he said he’s waiting in the bar at a table in the back. Its early afternoon and there are few people here, so he must have chosen it for privacy, foregoing the view of the tables by the windows. As I order my coffee this thought makes my heart pound faster.

He stands to shake my hand and introduces himself, his accent meaning he’s American unless I’m much mistaken. His handshake is firm, not crushing my hand in any way, but I can feel the steel underneath nonetheless.

The conversation is as smooth as any I can recall ever having. We click instantly. For every passing minute I like him better and better and this seems to be reciprocated. Turns out he’s in town all week (joy!) for some sort of showoff scene for startups. He’s a venture capitalist and by the sound and look more than a little successful. Miraculously he’s not at all bored by me being a hardcore techie, but actively interested and even more miraculously able to ask relevant technical questions. I’m getting a really good feeling about this.

That feeling doesn’t get any worse when he smoothly steers the conversation towards sex. So smooth in fact that I hardly notice that I’m suddenly answering some pretty deep, personal questions about my preferences. The conversation quickly – within a minute actually – establishes that we feel a very strong mutual attraction. Right now I love that he has chosen this out of sight table, because I’m pretty sure I look like I want him to fuck me right here. But he’s so damn smooth and elegant and wins me over even more as he casually continues the conversation instead of rushing it. As he casually mentions that he likes to top and be in complete control, I let my tongue slip and reveal that being dominated by a big, strong guy is one of my recent, unexplored fantasies. This stops the conversation and the smile on his face damn near takes my breath away. “Let’s go then. I have both condoms and lube and a strong feeling I can make that fantasy come through”. No attempts to leave separately, no undue indiscretion or for that matter discretion, just polite business-like – and very controlling in the soft sense.

I try to play it casual and continue the conversation in the elevator, but he merely smiles: “We’ll talk more once in private. Quiet now boi”. The “boi” hits me right where my fantasies told me it would and without even thinking I reply: “Yes Sir”. This clearly pleases him.

Being a venture capitalist obviously has its perks. His room is on the top floor, has a stunning view over the city with no one looking in and is so large that the room I have, which is quite nice actually, could fit in the bathroom. I have just managed to take this in, when he stand behind me, places a large hand on my ass and whispers into my ear: “You can put your clothes on the dresser and come on in after you’re naked”. Then he passes me standing dumbfounded right inside the door. This is exactly what I have been dreaming about these last two years, but it’s also overwhelming, scary and incomprehensible to me given what I’ve done before. I’ve never let anyone dominate me quite like this before and the reality is so different from the fantasy. It’s better. I’m stopped cold in my tracks not from disappointment in reality, but from shock that this feels so good. And he has only touched me once, and not even my skin, yet my pulse is racing and I can feel myself going half-mast, even beginning to drip.

“Don’t over-think it boi. Get naked and come inside. On all fours like a good boi”. Oh God! That man presses all my buttons at once! But at least it snaps me out of my stupor and in a flash I’m naked. It takes some overcoming, but as ordered I get on all fours and crawl in. The floor is cold and hard and I find myself excited in way I haven’t been for years, maybe even decades. He sits in an armchair at the other end of the room and without him telling me I know what to do. I crawl over there, my head down, and kiss his shoes: “Sir”. The word escapes my throat, drawn almost involuntarily from me. The feel of his hand patting my head fills me with absurd pleasure as he says: “Good boi”. Then it gets better as his large, but somehow soft, hand runs down over my back towards my ass. Involuntarily I arch my back down and my head up, but his free hand stops my head, gently holding it down. Not allowed. His hand then moves over my buttocks and down my legs and I am now more excited than I have ever been before. I don’t even think my first time comes close to this. Not that I am porn-movie hard and ready, but my whole body tingles with excitement and his hand on me is all there is. I sense noting else.

The hand moves all the way down to my feet and then back up the backside of my thighs, finally reaching my genitals. As he cups my balls my breathing becomes irregular and as he slowly, much too slowly!, slides his hand forward to cup my member it stops altogether. I dare not move, I dare not breathe. This is impossible. This can’t be. I met the guy an hour ago, told him about my desires less than half an hour ago and now he has me naked on all fours and panting like a bitch in heat, submitting completely for the first time in my life. This only happens in the stories, the fantasies and the dirty movies. Not in real life.

But it does. His hand on my cock is so very real. And it is moving me towards a climax unlike any I have known before. Now I am hard, now I am dripping and although I do not have porn movie dimensions my cock is straining very hard to reach them. I close my eyes and again try to lift my head for my climax, but again he presses it down. It only makes it better as I prepare to moan or scream or whatever I will do when this orgasm comes; I have no control, it will just happen.

And then the hand moves away, in one deft move slipping from my shaft to cupping my balls and on to squeezing them. My orgasmic moan becomes a low scream of pain as he squeezes my testicles in his large hand, big enough to fit both of my nuts inside one hand. The pain is unlike any I have ever known. Intense, focused and, even though I think it’s pretty far from as bad as it can get, so bad I very quickly go soft. Yet it is also the only pain I’ve felt so far that’s quite simply erotic. He’s hurting my balls, making me scream, but although my hands are free I do not move an inch to protect myself. He’s flooding me with pain I only ever suspected I needed, craved even. If there ever was any doubt that I wanted to live out my fantasies, they are gone now. For the first time in my life I have not only allowed another person to dominate me completely, but I have also let him hurt me for real, doing nothing whatsoever to stop him, loving the pain even.

Then it stops. His hand goes away even if my screaming continues for a few seconds more. I’m panting, my body trembling and sweat is pearling on my forehead even if the room not that warm. His other hand leaves the back of my head and I lift it up, turning to look over my shoulder. In my fantasies the one dominating me is always cool and calm in every situation, but I am pleased to see that his face is flushed with excitement as he briefly catches my eye before standing up, moving in front of me. “Up on your knees boi”. There is a very slight tremble in his voice and it makes me feel warm that I am exciting him too. As he stands up his hand hooks gently under my chin, signaling for me to rise to my knees. I marvel that he with such a simple gesture, that could mean so many things, is able to make me do exactly as he wants. “Had much cock sucking experience boi?” I look up at him now – fuck he’s big from this perspective! – and answer truthfully: “No Sir, not much”. The smile is predatory yet far from unkind: “Then you’d better get some practice, hadn’t you boi?” he asks rhetorically and hands me a condom – placing us both in the tiny minority of people who think condoms are needed for this kind of encounter. I now like him even more than I did just five second ago.

Lack of practice doesn’t cover it. I suck at this – pun definitely intended. Fist I fumble opening the package – why is harder to open a fucking condom wrapper than breaking into a bank? – and then I realize I’m kneeling with a condom out in the open and I haven’t even opened his fly. Damn! But really, those are details and I’m a realist. This isn’t a porn movie and he probably isn’t expecting my moves to be fluid or trained. Glancing up my suspicion is confirmed. He’s grinning. That’s just good – and at the same time so humiliating. Palming the exposed condom I finally get to his pants and thankfully I’m able to open them and pull them down enough for me to get at him.

Just for a second everything stops right after I’ve pulled down his boxers. It’s a thing of beauty. From a well groomed, lightly cropped bush, it rises. Uncircumcised and about 8” – semi-hard. Wide too. I’m a big guy and my mouth will probably take it – probably. But my ass? I doubt it very much. I have been playing ass games with myself, but none of the things I’ve used have been even close to this and frankly I think this one would hurt me even in this state. He must have read my mind. As I cautiously stroke it to bring him to full mast his voice comes from above, reassuring me: “Don’t worry boi. I know you can’t take me, so we won’t try that today”. My whole body relaxes and I sigh with obvious relief: “Thank You Sir, I am not that experienced with this Sir”. Inexperienced yes, but at least I remember proper address I tell myself as he quickly rises to full mast. Fuck! He’s big! Something like 10” if not more and so big my hand can’t close around it. Can’t help but think that he’s more than twice as long as I am and certainly more than twice the diameter. Makes me feel inferior and for the first time in my life that feeling makes me hornier than I thought possible.

Now my movements are surer, more skilled. I slip the ultra thin condom onto his pole (I hadn’t imagined ever saying that to myself) with practiced ease, more than a little sorry that I can’t just suck his naked cock but all too aware that that would be just plain stupid for both him and me. In any case it’s warm and hard and I hesitate not even a fraction of second before slipping my mouth over his now exposed head, protected by the thin rubber film.

A few times before – three or four – I’ve sucked cock, but those were very different occasions. I did it to tied up sissies to tease and torment them. Their equally well protected little cocks were just that; little. And none of them were allowed to climax, my sucking and licking only intended to tease. This time I’m putting all my energy into making this as good as possible for him and him alone, deriving my own pleasure from pleasing him. The rubber is of course coated with something that feels and tastes like licking your hand right after applying lotion, but that doesn’t detract much from the pleasure I feel. Remembering all the times I’ve had head, I try my very best. I lick his shaft up and down, lingering at his balls, even slipping them into my mouth one at a time. I nuzzle his crotch and let my tongue touch the space between his scrotum and his ass, letting it flick the spot for a few beats, before licking my way up to the main attraction. I love his cock and I love the inherent submission my act carries with it: balls hurting, kneeling naked in front of a almost fully clothed man, who is certainly bigger and probably also stronger than me, sucking his cock for all I’m worth, focusing on his pleasure alone.

By the sound of it, he likes it too. As I wrap my mouth around him again and use my hands to gently roll his balls, a finger pressing against the spot under his balls, stimulating it, his hands settle on my head, pressing me down on him. My eyes are closed and without thinking I’m doing a mix of humming and moaning around his cock.  He begins to thrust his hips, his otherwise discrete sounds becoming moans. Then he thrusts forward – not quite enough to make me gag, but far enough – and with immense satisfaction I feel the condom filling up with warm liquid.

Gently I roll the filled condom off his slowly deflating cock, tie a knot on it and with practiced ease hit the garbage can from fifteen feet away. Then I kiss his cock lightly on the shaft and put it back inside his boxers and zip him up, before looking up at him: “Thank You Sir”. He smiles, strokes my hair and says: “Good boi. Now stay”. Then he leaves me and soon after I can hear him rummage through the closets. I feel fantastic, yet strangely out of it, like I have no control and just as in my darkest fantasies it’s a feeling I like. A lot.

Coming back he kneels in front of me. “I want to play with you all night boi. Can you?” I was hoping for this and tell him I can, but also that I have to work very early tomorrow. This suits him just fine. “If you please me then we’re both here for the whole week. Could be very good sport for both of us”. The thought has occurred to me, to state it very mildly, and I had been hoping he’d something to this effect. I play it cool, yet very submissive: “Yes Sir”. This makes him laugh out loud and when he’s done chuckling. “Run off now and go to the toilet boi”, he says, “It’ll be a while before you can go again”. I do my business as quickly as I can, acutely aware of my own nudity and paying very close attention to cleaning my ass. Oddly enough the naked man looking back at me in the mirror doesn’t look strange to me or out of place. He looks like me, the guy I want to be.

Once back in the room and kneeling in front of me, he shows me the ropes, the straps and all the other bondage gear he’s brought out. Who the hell brings a full suitcase full of bondage gear on a business trip? The question must be written on my face: “One of the perks of being stinking rich: you can pay for all the excess baggage you want, just in case you happen to meet the right guy”. Makes me all warm that he refers to me as “the right guy”. Scares the shit out of me that he travels with so much gear.

“I’m going to tie you up now. No resistance, understood?” There is only one answer to that and soon he has me touching my elbows with my hands on my back, tying my arms together well above my now exposed ass. Instant helplessness. He then directs me to the bed and has me kneel so that my feet stick out over the edge, but about half my lower leg rests on the bed. Although the tie is quite intricate he pulls it off with an ease I would not be able to match myself, at least not without a lot of practice. And somehow I don’t that’s the kind of practice that’s in store for me right away.

My knees are connected, yet spread wide. He has looped the rope around first one leg just above the knee and then the other, so that they are connected by the same rope. Then he has pulled either end of that rope underneath the bed and after looping each end a few times around the legs of the bed so I can’t simply slip off the bed, the ends of rope have been tied together, securing me kneeling and spread wide, unable to change the position of my legs. Around my neck a loop has been placed, one that cannot tighten and strangle me, pulled down my front and tied to the rope connecting my knees, so that I cannot straighten out my body. Finally he has pulled a rope from my front, under one arm, around the back and out front again through the other armpit. This rope he has then pulled taut and tied around the headboard of the bed. Now I can’t straighten out and I can’t roll up either, but am stuck ass up, face down on the bed, with my arms tied so that I can’t even protect my ass, much less my genitals.

My body is tense, at the point of trembling, my breathing fast and erratic.  I’m scared, I’m excited as hell and my mind on one hand tells me to run while on the other telling me that this is the best place in the world for me. He kneels down beside me, smiles and say: “Easy boi, easy. It’s going to hurt. A lot, but you want this, remember? You came for this, right? You’ve dreamt of this, right?” As he speaks he runs his hand over my ass, cupping it, fondling it softly. His touch and his words calms me, reassures me. My breathing gets under control and I relax a little. Not much, but enough: “Yes Sir”. Again that smile: “Good boi. Now open wide”. The ball gag is big and black and soon all the sounds I can make sound like weak mumbles. Then he produces a blindfold; a big, black leather thing that fits snugly and eliminates all light. Now I’m helpless, blind and unable to call for help or even say I want out. Only now does it strike me that we should have agreed on a safe word or similar, but after a second of holding my breath I reach the conclusion that I neither need nor want it. I’ve never met anyone, man nor woman, I’ve reacted to as strongly as this man. I both like and trust him after only a few hours together. And although he might of course hurt me quite badly, we are in a setting where he can’t really get away with it. I’ve wanted something like this for so long and I trust him at least enough for me to get out of this reasonably unharmed, so I wouldn’t have opted for a safe word anyhow is my conclusion.

My ass high, I’m expecting a spanking or whipping, but get neither. Instead his hands find my balls. My whole body tries to jump away, but of course I’m trapped. First it’s a gentle fondling. Then comes a light squeezing and since my balls are sensitive from previous games this hurts more than it should. Then comes slapping. Now I’m screaming. Kneading. My body jerks and spasms, fighting to get away, screaming at the top of my voice. I fight as hard as I can against my bonds and I get nowhere. I’m completely helpless. The pain in my crotch is bad and in my state of near panic I no longer even feel exactly what he’s doing, just that he’s hurting me.

Then I realize that while the pain is still there, he has stopped hurting me. His hand is stroking my back and he’s talking to me, very gently: “Easy boi, easy now. You’re a good boi; good boi. Now breathe deeply”. God, it feels good. The system is flooded my with contradictory sensations of pain and acute pleasure and his hand on me, coupled with his words make me feel so good, so right and cared for. I’m still scared shitless and a big part of my mind tells me to run and this makes my whole body tremble and strain, but at  the same time I can think of no place I’d rather be.

He continues to stroke my body and soothe me for a little while and then leaves without a sound. My universe is now almost silent except for my own somewhat frantic breathing and consists almost exclusively of sensation and emotion. The sensation of ropes biting into my skin, for now they are actually biting into me, the throbbing pain from my balls, the tightness of the blindfold and the intrusion of the gag, making me drool and mewl. My emotions are conflicted yet clear. While telling me to avoid this imprisonment and pain, it is also clear that I get a real high from this. Both from the feeling of helplessness and pain, of surrender, but just as much from the note I caught in his voice: he loved this. He derived real pleasure from doing this to me and again I find that making this man happy means something to me. It means a lot. I’ve been with him for a few hours and I’m falling in love? Can’t be. Doesn’t work like that, yet here I am, an otherwise independent man in his mid-forties feeling a crush on another man, wanting very much for him to be pleased with me. This is so confusing.

Then he makes the confusion go away. First I feel his hand, now it seems covered in rubber, cup my balls and an involuntary scream escapes my gagged mouth before I realize that for now he’s just getting my attention. Then he makes the whole world disappear in a haze of pure pleasure, mixed of course with pain; but lovely, beautiful pain.

I feel something wet and cold being deposited in my ass crack. Feels like a lot of lube. Then his finger invades me: “Relax boi. Let me in. Relax”. I obey and this time with very little difficulty. I seem to have been waiting for this, because I can’t recall ever being this ready or hot for ass play. His finger is big, but gentle at first, probing me, fucking me. While one hand works inside my ass the other strokes my cheeks and I’m in heaven. The deeper he goes, the more I love it. I move with him and once again all of me is focused in a single place. It’s been a long time since I discovered the joys of anal sex, but I have always done it to myself only. Now I wonder how I could have been so thick, so stupid. This is so much better. The probing is still gentle, but also hard and insistent, his finger both long and thick as it reaches the hilt, now moving in circles. I moan with pleasure.

I also whimper a little as he pulls out, only to moan much louder as the first finger is joined by it’s brother. It’s still not big enough to really hurt me, but as he buries them to the hilt as well, my moaning becomes louder and now I find myself flexing my sphincter, as if trying to bring pleasure to what I apparently see as a cock in my ass. This does not escape his notice and his laughter is not just derisive, but filled with a note of satisfaction as he says: “Such an eager bitch, aren’t you boi?” This makes my ass clench up good. His bitch. I like that way more than I should.

The two fingers probe around for a long time; or at least I think they do, because in truth I’ve lost all track of time. When he pulls out and quickly inserts three fingers I am prepared, relaxed and wanting that attention. It hurts now, but this a pain I welcome. I am focused solely on my ass, barely noticing his other hand stroking my cheeks. His fingers now spread a little from time to time, obviously trying to dilate me. I love it and again I lose track of time.

When he pulls out the third time I fully expect a fourth finger, am braced for it actually, but instead something smooth and rubbery slips well-lubed into my ass. It’s fully as big and wide as his three fingers and getting thicker as he pushes it in further until I am grunting with pain. A final push makes me emit a little pathetic scream and then the plug is full inserted. Fuck it’s big! Bigger than anything I’ve ever tried before. As I try to adjust I feel a rope encircling my stomach, then pulled over my back, the end slipped down through my ass crack and pulled tight as it’s tied to itself on my stomach, pushing the plug in further, trapping it there so I can’t push it out. I am now very full and in a great deal of discomfort. Then he pushes something on the plug and it begins to vibrate. A long, deep moan escapes me now. This is the most intense ass play I’ve tried yet and it hurts and I love it.

Of course I should know that that would not be enough for him. I don’t hear the sound of the approaching crop, but I sure as hell feel it. He holds nothing back now, leaning into every blow and hitting every part of me that is exposed back there, from soles of my feet, up the back of my legs and of course focusing on my ass. I scream and fight but I can do nothing but accept it, take it. The only thing he spares is my balls, but then again he’s already given them more than a little attention. My world has again been reduced: this time to the pain from the whip, the pleasurable pain from the vibrating plug and my own screams into the gag. I am covered in sweat and my body trembles from exertion as I futilely fight my bonds and I have no choice but to take. There is no time any more, just pain.

Then he stops. I’m not quite sure when he stopped, but I notice that now all that’s left is the vibration from my ass and my whimpering. The bed settles in front of me and I feel how he pushes his legs in under my shoulders, pushing my head and upper body up from the bed. This pulls my bonds more than a little bit, making the ropes cut deep into my flesh but as he moves more and more of his legs under my body I understand and begin to shout for it: “Please fuck my face Sir!” I scream into my gag, managing only pitiful mewling, but he understands fully. My gag is removed, my head is lifted painfully by the hair and his rubber covered member is pushed into my mouth. Fuck I love this! The position forbids me doing much more than sucking him energetically, but that seems to be enough. His thrusts in and out as much as he can and after a while begins to moan: “Good boi. Gooood boi. Suck that cock now you dirty bitch-boi! Suck it now boi!” I don’t need even tiny bit of encouragement but I love hearing his voice encouraging me and I try to shout to him to fuck my face, but it is of course impossible with a mouthful of cock. As he shoots his load I am filled with intense pleasure, mixed with a tiny bit of regret that I can’t taste him.

He pulls out of my mouth, but leaves his legs under me, making my position very uncomfortable. But I don’t mind as his hand strokes my cheek and he says: “Very nice boi, very nice”. I just manage to thank him before the gag is reinserted. We rest like that for a while, him sated and comfortable, me happy and uncomfortable with a large plug vibrating away inside me.

He slides out and I tense up as he moves behind me. With good reason. Feels and sounds like a paddle this time and soon I am back to screaming into my gag again. Everything back there is now sore from the previous whipping and he exploits this fully, reducing me to sobbing and screaming in a short time. But this time he stops sooner than before and then he moves in for the real attack: my screaming first intensifies as he slides his hand up my balls and then turns to moans of pure lust as he grabs my shaft and begins to masturbate me. He uses one hand to masturbate me while the other pushes the already vibrating plug around inside me. I am conquered: bound, beaten, fucked and now manipulated I reach what is beyond any doubt the best orgasm of my life in a matter of a few minutes. I scream, spasm, jerk and pump the last remaining strength out of me until I am just about to pass out. Nothing I have ever done before has ever felt this good. Nothing.

As he removes the bonds from me, leaving the gag and blindfold for last, I simply collapse, spent. It’s only when I sink down in a puddle of my own cum I notice that he has covered the bed in towels for this very reason. I’m not sure I can move, so tired I just want to sleep, but I do hear him call room service and order some kind of meal. Then he grabs my arm and makes me stand: “Come on boi. Let’s get a shower before dinner”. It hurts to walk, not only my ass and legs, but also the soles of my feet which he has apparently hit quite hard. On the way out to the bathroom he stops me and lets me inspect the damage to my ass and legs. I’m too tired to be shocked, but I do realize that sitting down will hurt for at least a week.

For some reason I expect us to take a shower like two regular gay guys; nice and soft. I am, however, mistaken: “You tend to my needs first”, he states flatly, leaving no room for argument, “wash my hair and body with the greatest of care, before you can turn to your own needs. That can only happen at my command, understood boi?” I am no longer tired or sleepy, but wide awake as he without hesitation does the one thing that makes me love this even more: “Yes Sir, I understand”.

The warm water hits us both and after the initial stinging of my hurting body, it turns to pure pleasure, even if I of course get only a fraction of the beam. He is, after all, the most important one here and gets the most of it. I have just grabbed the bottle of shampoo when he looks at me and says: “My ass needs special attention before any soap is used. See to it that it’s pleasantly clean before you do anything else boi”. He then gently grasps my chin, sticking his thumb inside my mouth before turning around, leaving me in no doubt whatsoever as to what is expected of me.

I have never rimmed anyone, never even had it done for me, but I nonetheless get on my knees without hesitation. His ass is just as beautiful as the rest of him and putting my hands on those cheeks is so very nice. But sucking ass? It’s disgusting and I’ve never done it before and now, his cheeks spread wide in my hands, I hesitate. Not for long though: “Get to it boi!” he barks and I opt for simply obeying and dive in, tongue first.

It’s not disgusting. It is humiliating to think of what I’m doing but his somewhat musky and earthy smell and taste is so satisfying somehow and the act itself, while intensely humiliating and outrageously submissive, is also so very sensuous. After the first few tentative licks I find myself going all in, licking for all I’m worth and even plunging my tongue like a small moist cock into his ass. Distantly I hear him: “Good boi. Sweet little ass kisser, nice little butt muncher”. Fuck! That’s just so demeaning! I don’t miss a beat, keeping up my licking and kissing, loving every degrading and sensuous second of it.

“Enough boi”, he says from above, and gently pushes my head out of his ass. “Time for soap”. He stands completely still, just looking at me, as I wash his hair and body, allowing my hands to feel every inch of his perfect body. He doesn’t stop me as I pay special attention to his genitals, stroking his cock with soap and fondling his balls with the utmost care. I love this body in a way I have never loved any body before it; male or female. I could spend all day doing just this.

Soon he’s erect again – impressive stamina too – and without a word he hands me a condom. This time I squat in the shower, warm water running down over my face as I blow him. I’ll never tire of this I think as I with increasing gusto and skill manipulate him to a climax where he forces his cock so far down my throat as he comes that I gag and choke. I don’t mind I find, somewhat to my own surprise. It’s yet another way for him to dominate me and that is something I’m liking more and more.

I finish washing him and under his watchful eye hurry cleaning myself up. After we step out of the shower it’s the same thing: I dry his body with great care and as he walks out of the bathroom I’m left to finish my own drying as fast as possible. On the way out he casually says how I now crawl on all fours unless told otherwise. My “Yes Sir” is instant and utterly accepting.

The food has yet to arrive, but he is dressed in a simple T-shirt and a pair of boxers. At his direction I stand up beside the table and soon I too am dressed – after a fashion. My legs are bound by rope at ankles and both above and below my knees. A rope is tied around my midriff and to it my elbows have been bound as well, securing them to my sides. My hands are tied in front and my lower arms folded up, resting below my chin and held in place with a rope around the back of my neck. Around my waist I yet again have a rope “belt” with a pair of strands running down through my crotch, holding a small but noticeable butt plug in place. I am helpless. And humiliatingly aroused, my cock is now at half mast and dripping; my genitals pulled out in front. He chuckles at the sight and then simply sits me down, pulling the table up. A short time later a knock is heard on the door and I am very relieved to see that I cannot be seen from the door. Of course he laughs at my relief when he returns with the food.

The meal is pleasant and relaxing. Apart from him addressing me as “boi” and me him as “Sir” there is nothing to indicate that we simply aren’t two gay men, boyfriends most likely, simply having dinner together, talking pleasantly about the events of the day. Well, there is of course the fact that I am naked. And bound. And being handfed by the man who has tied me up. My body is hurting, aching and I am very, very tired but this is the best dinner date I’ve ever been on. He’s intelligent, charming, sexy and even considerate in a distinctly non-conventional way. I am definitely falling for him and I am very pleased to note that he seems to like me a great deal too.

It is, of course, futile since we’ve met by chance in a foreign country and he’s American and I am not, but I am determined to not let that spoil the fun. However, that subject is suddenly brought to the fore as he asks where I live. When I tell him his face changes in an instant. I am about to ask if something is wrong when he tells me: “Be still boi”, looks down and becomes very pensive. It doesn’t last long. Then he looks up and tells me where he’s living right now and will be for the next year or two. My heart begin pounding when I realize that he lives less than an hour away from where I live and less than half an hour from where I work. Again I am just about to speak when he shuts me up with a hand gesture. “I would like for you to be my slave boi”, he says, speaking the words I had so hoped he would utter. He’s not quick enough to stop me from shouting: “Yes!” but grinning he does stop further utterances and says: “I have tried many slaves both at home and abroad and you show real promise boi” (Pride!). “However, slavery with me, even part time, will be hard, very hard”. (Good!). “I would so like to abuse and fuck your tight body boi,”(Joy!), “but there is one thing you have to know before saying yes”. (Trepidation…). “I do not allow my slaves to cum. At all. If you become my slave you will leave here with your cock locked up and the only times I’ll let it out will be to hurt it. I demand absolute chastity from a slave. You will exist to please me and the only pleasure you’ll get is from pleasing me”. Shit! I knew this was coming; deep down I knew it. A guy that good, that dominant doesn’t let slaves cum. Hell, I’ve never let the sissies I played with cum when I was around, why should he be more lenient?

But I know, deep down as well as right up front that I’ll say yes to his proposal, even if it means that I won’t cum for a very long time, even if that means that the one orgasm he’s given me, which was the best ever, will be the last for months to come. I’m falling hard for this man and if I’ve found out anything these last few hours, it is that I want to please him and I want that bad.

But still he won’t let me say yes to his proposal yet, which is both very reassuring and very frustrating at the same time. He wants me to think it over at least one more day, try working a full day beaten as badly as I am now and judge whether or not I can function like that, as I will have to if I become his slave. I know this makes sense and I know that I’ll hate the little plastic cage he places on the table for me to inspect (he brought one with him just in case?!), but I still want to say yes right now.

That, however, is not allowed. Instead we finish our meal and while I sit tied up and helpless, he puts on a pair of pants and goes to my room, fetching all my gear. My company will pay for a room I will not stay in for the rest of the trip. He then lifts me up and endearingly he carries my bound form in his arms into the bathroom. I feel all giddy and can’t really stop looking at him and he knows this, looking ahead and trying to play it cool, but smiling way too much.

What goes on in the bathroom is unlike anything I’ve ever tried, but so relaxed and natural, yet so completely in character that the uneventful becomes an event in itself; something that cements our beginning relationship: He places me in front of the sink and leaves me there. I have no control whatsoever and while he does his business I stand leaning slightly against the sink for balance, silently and helplessly waiting for him. Once he’s done he simply instructs me to piss, while holding my cock to direct the beam. Suddenly the simple everyday act of taking a piss becomes something controlled and inherently submissive. After washing his hands he gets my toothbrush and brushes my teeth. Then he lifts me up and carries to the bed.

But instead of putting me to bed he teaches me the next natural consequence of being a slave: next to the bed he spreads out a blanket – not a quilt which is otherwise the cover of choice in these colder climes – lays me down on it and rolls me into a neat package on the stone floor next to the bed. In answer to my unspoken question he says: “Of course slaves sleep on the floor. Never in bed”. Then he caps it off by blindfolding me. Lying on the hard, but thankfully not that cold, stone floor, I hear the sound of him slipping into bed followed by the click of the light switch.

I lie on the hard floor like a momentarily forgotten toy; an object my master has left for the cleaner and my first thought – after thinking about how uncomfortable this really is – is how things are moving much too fast. I’ve known the guy for half a day and now I want to become his slave? But still: I’ve been fantasizing about this for quite a while and he is certainly hotter and more dominant that any I’ve ever met and at the same time nice, charming and seemingly sane and safe. Things may be moving very fast, but I want to ride this, see where it goes. My head should probably be spinning way too fast to sleep, just as my body should hurt too much, but the truth is that both of those things are also completely exhausting and I fall asleep within minutes.

I wake up during the night, my cock so hard it nearly hurts, but sadly not just from the undoubtedly wild sexual fantasy I was having. I need to pee. Badly. There’s no way around it: “Please Sir?”, I call out. “Please? I need to pee”. It takes a few tries but finally I hear him grunt and get out of bed. I really need to pee now, the result of drinking way too much water after being worked so hard by him. As he unwraps me and lifts me up, leaving the blindfold in place, I nearly scream from the pain. My bruised ass and legs, now having had time to begin to recover, fill me with completely outrageous pain and I can only roll with it, accept that that’s way it is now. When he tells me to let go I sigh loudly with relief as a flood of piss breaks loose.

Once he’s done too, he carries me back into the bedroom, but he doesn’t wrap me up and go to sleep. Instead he puts me on my knees, presumably beside the bed, and sits down, grabs my hair and pulls me over his rubber covered cock once more. It’s slow, sensuous and sleepy blowjob this time and I love it, but my desire to taste his cock and not his condom is growing strongly. Again I cannot really do that much besides use my mouth, but he has a firm grip on my hair and my head and he steers me around, often poking all the way down in my throat, until I am again rewarded by the sound of grunting and the sensation of the condom filling up. Then he wraps me up again and we both go to sleep without a word. Master and his slave.

The next day is beyond a doubt the roughest workday I’ve ever had. I’m exhausted, it hurts when I walk and when I sit my ass, legs and inside of my ass hurts, though truth be told the last pain is minor and one I gladly endure. It takes all of my experience and a great deal of will power to perform my job, the people I’ve been sent to work for remarking how bad I look, asking if I’m ill, running a fever perhaps.

I am running a fever of course, but you’ll never know it from my body temperature. I have a fever for him. I can’t wait to get back to him and agree to his proposal; to submit. I fully understand why he wanted me to endure this day before saying yes, but nothing changes my mind. The pain and exhaustion get worse and worse during the course of the day, but my resolve only strengthens: I want to be his.

I feel close to collapse as I stagger back to the hotel, but so very relieved that I will finally be able to be with him. He has given me a keycard to his room and I slip inside with a questioning: “Sir?” The suite is empty, dark and silent, but on the large mirror just inside is a Post-it with the words: “Into the bathroom before you do anything else. I’ve left a present”. My cock feels his words, even just written down, and I quickly enter the bathroom. Inside is a simple plastic bag with a folded note on top with the word “boi” written on it. No capital letters here. The note starts: “You have now tried a single day of testing how hard it can be to be my slave, even part time. If you wish to continue you will follow the instructions in this note to the letter and be ready when I get back at 9 pm. This is just a first step and you will get chances to opt out later if I wish to take you further. But know this: it will never get easier than it is now; only harder and you will never cum while I own you. Never”. I swallow involuntarily at this, but my mind has been made up hours ago. I want this.

The rest of the message is simple: get undressed and shave every hair off my body and face, from the ears to toes. Then rub with depilatory cream for extra smoothness. Finally I am to give myself an enema and take a shower. The stuff I need is in the bag and once I’m done here there’s another note on the bed. I had anticipated something like this, but supervised by him. Now that I think it over, however, this makes more sense. Make me submit more cleanly; prove my commitment. I glance at the clock; 7:30. My stomach rumbles, but this is more important. If he wants me fed, he’ll see to it.

I’ve never shaved my entire body before, but I like it a lot. Surprisingly my cock looks better in a hairless crotch I think. Not because it makes it look bigger – it doesn’t – but there’s just something in that look that’s inherently nice. Looking at it, a stab of fear drives into my gut. He’s going to lock it up. He won’t allow me to cum. At all. An urge to masturbate right now grips me, but with real sadness I reject it. Not that he’s said anything, but I’m quite sure he will be disappointed if I do and I’m also quite sure he’ll ask. Not only do I not want to lie to him, I genuinely want to please him and start this honestly, but I’m also a lousy liar. Always was. So I simply move on to the depilatory cream, ignoring my cock’s pleas for attention.

The enemas are the hardest part, administered by two douche bottles I have to empty into my bowels. This is most easily done, the instructions tell me, lying on my side. Easy my ass. Literally. In the end I do manage and it is every bit as hard and demeaning as I recall it from a hospital visit long ago. Once clean inside too I take a very welcome shower, but press myself not to spend too much time here. I must be ready for the next set of instructions and I don’t even know how long they’ll take. On the way out of the mirror I stop and take in my image. Although the face is the same I now look very different. Smooth and hairless skin really makes a difference and it makes me feel even more submissive.

On the bed are a bag and a note. The content of the note is simple and I don’t hesitate for even a second. First step is looping a strap underneath the bed, near the foot of the bed but inside the legs of the bed, placing the ends on top. Then I place leather manacles on my ankles, lock them with padlocks to which I see no key. The manacles are connected by a two foot chain, so now I’m hobbled. I then kneel on the bed, in the exact same position as yesterday and connect the two ends of the strap to my manacles, tightening them as much as I can. I then cuff my left hand with a pair of handcuffs, but leave the right cuff dangling for now. I then carefully lay out the big, black ball-gag from yesterday in front of me so I can find it again. I do the same with a wide and very sturdy leather collar, making sure that the padlock for this is right next to it. Then I slip a thick, black, eyeless rubber hood on, open only at the nose (barely) and mouth. It’s a very tight fit, compressing my head and face more than anything I’ve ever tried before in a way that’s both wonderful and more than a little claustrophobic. Working to keep my resolve up, I quickly place the collar around my neck, tightening it as much as I dare and after a little fumbling I also manage to secure it in place with the padlock. I find the gag and tighten this one even more than he did yesterday it is more than a little uncomfortable, but I hope it will please him. This one had a padlock too, but it takes more than a little fumbling to find it. Finally the gag is also locked in place and now there is only one step left, the one that will make me completely helpless. I lean forward until my head rests on the bed again and place my left hand on my back. That way the free right cuff has a place to land and I can find it and with relative ease lock my right hand up along with the left.

I am now more than a little helpless and I am also hard. As I feel my horniness and the hard-on that goes with it I suddenly realize – again – that I won’t cum again for a long time. A groan of defeat escapes me, but all I can do now is to wait for him to return. I really hope he likes what he sees, likes me as a slave and that he wants me. I can’t recall when I last wanted anything quite that bad. That is apart from how I felt all day yesterday. The situation is more than a little erotic and I am actually dripping when I hear the door. I tense up and breathe faster, but I don’t move or make a sound. It doesn’t even strike me until much later that it might have been a cleaner or some other person. I automatically think it’s him. Turns out I’m absolutely right. A large, warm hand rests gently on my battered ass. The contact alone is enough to hurt it, but I eagerly and completely without thinking about it press my ass up against him. He says something low I can’t hear and then his arm is around my upper body as he pulls me into a standing, kneeling position. He holds me tight here, my naked back pressing against his no doubt expensive suit. He then asks very loudly and clearly, penetrating the thickness of the hood: “You are absolutely sure you want to be my slave boi?” My mind made up I nod vigorously while mewling “Yes Sir” into the gag. “Good boi. Good boi”, is the reply followed by: “Did you masturbate one last time boi? Squeeze a last orgasm out?” I shake my head, actually bowing it involuntarily in defeat, mumbling “No Sir” into my gag and surprising myself by actually feeling a little teary. Fuck! This man does things to me no one else has ever managed to.

He waits a few beats, then strokes my ass and back with surprising tenderness and says: “Good boi. I am very pleased with you”. I am outrageously and absurdly happy for his praise. No one should be able to push my buttons like this, no one, but this guy does without any effort at all. No hesitation, no effort yet even his slightest move seems designed to make me love him and what he’s doing to me more and more. He’s a drug, I realize now, and I am becoming hopelessly addicted.

He strokes me for just a beat more and then says: “Stay like that boi. It’s time to make it a bit more formal”.

When he returns he wastes no time: first he wraps one arm around me, holding me tight and in the same fluid movement he grabs my balls and squeeze them long and hard, until I can’t scream anymore and feel the bile rising in my throat. My senses overloaded with pain I distantly feel how he supports me with his body, while his hands work deftly in my screaming crotch. After a short while – I think at least – he exclaims in what appears to me as a soft whisper: “There. All nice and locked now”. Still overpowered by the pain in my balls I do feel how my cock is now compressed and held securely in place inside what feels like hard plastic. Even through the haze of pain I can feel how this cage must be much too small for my poor member, but I also fully realize that I can do nothing about it and it is just one of the things that I have to adjust to in order to please him. Suddenly I am overwhelmed with the situation; the helplessness, the pain and the realization that orgasms are now something other people have, but instead of panicking and fighting I go limp. There’s no more fight in me it seems. Whether he uses this is a matter of perspective I suppose, but he does secure me in much the same position he had me in yesterday: kneeling, ass up, head down and unable to either stretch out or curl up. Only difference is that he seems to have used straps and chains today and rope yesterday. And he doesn’t miss a beat: my hands are also moved well away from my ass by a chain securing them to my collar, pulled painfully up towards my neck.

He goes away for an undeterminable time, leaving me as I am. Now the reality of the cage and of what I have consented to really press down on me. I feel a wave of delicious helplessness wash over me. I am his now and he can have all of me.

At his distantly approaching footsteps I automatically tense up, fearing the whip or the paddle. Instead I feel the cold lube in my crack, followed by his hands. Just as the day before he starts with fingers and he again proves that he’s an expert. He makes me moan, squirm and even scream a little as he carefully works on dilating me while not really hurting me at all. As fingers come and go just as different sizes and shapes of ass toys do (just how much of this shit does he travel with!?) I lose track of time – again. He has reduced me to a grunting, moaning, trembling and shivering piece of slave flesh whose entire being is completely focused in his ass. I can’t even think to fight against my bonds and simply stay calm and limp as he works my ass.

He stops three times during the night. First time for a blowjob. Second time for a meal of some sort – of which I get nothing – and finally for a good night blowjob. After that one he replaces the ballgag with a perforated leather flap in front of my mouth so I can breathe, but otherwise he leaves me like this for the night: Bound, unable to move in much more than twitches, with my ass pointing skyward and with a large plug residing in my hole, held in place by two narrow straps. I want to object, to say I have to work in the morning, but before I can even open my mouth he reminds me: “You wanted to be my slave. You asked for it. Now you have to accept the consequences. All of them. Sleep tight slave”. I feel a blanket settling on my back and then everything goes quiet and still. This is how it is now. This is what I am now. My ass involuntarily flexing around the plug I fall into an uneasy and exhausted sleep.

My wake-up call is the plug beginning to vibrate violently, causing me to emit a small and pathetic scream. This is stopped by my mouth flap being removed and him positioning himself for a good morning blowjob.

As I crawl out of the shower I am exhausted like I have been before in my life, my backside still hurts from the beating two days ago now and my ass feels like his hand would probably feel comfortably inside. I am extremely hungry and so tired that I can hardly see straight, but as he strokes my back, his hand lingering for just a second on my ass, and softly praises me with a low “Good boi. Nice boi”, I am filled with joy and pride. Having required a great deal of adjustment to clean and dry, my cage once again reminds me of what I am now and although very frustrated I like it. A lot.

Breakfast is consumed on my knees beside him, eating without hands from a plate he has set down for me, while his feet rest on my very sore ass. Then he allows me to dress and sends me off to work, bleary-eyed with exhaustion.

The next couple of days pass like this. I work in the daytime, having to muster all of my experience and professionalism to get the job done, the people I work for becoming increasingly worried for me. After work I go back to the hotel, am met with some kind of assignment which smoothly moves over into him using and abusing me.

When I hit the seat for the flight home, my body screaming with pain and exhaustion and my ass hurting on every level and in every crack and crevice, I fall instantly asleep. I only wake up as a very worried flight attendant violently shakes my body and I notice that all the other passengers are long gone.

Chapter 2: The one and only

I came home Friday night and as such I have all weekend to recuperate as the man I must now call Master will not be using me for a while. He has decreed that he will not meet me until we can both produce a certificate stating that we are disease free. This is of course entirely sensible and my body loves the pause this gives it to recover, but already by Sunday, while my body is still hurting, do I miss his attention unreasonably. I can think of little else but him and while I spend a great deal of time dealing with the hopeless, straining frustration of not being able to get off,  I also remember all the lovely, demeaning and painful things he did to my helpless body. It is him, my mind focuses on. Whenever I think of him, his face, his body, his smile and his voice I feel a flutter of wings deep in my stomach. Not for the first time I marvel at how he has me made me fall in love with him; how he has given me back feelings so strong I thought them lost forever. I am definitely falling not just in lust with him, but in love.

At work word of my performance has reached my boss, but in the form of wild praise. Apparently the people at the company I was on assignment with were very impressed at my professionalism in spite of being obviously ill. I have to stifle a chuckle when I hear this, but I am also touched by the concern implicit in the praise. Even my job benefits from him.

It takes a little over three weeks to get the tests done and get the results and in that time I do not meet him at all. We talk every evening over webcam where he charms me utterly by keeping it almost plain vanilla. He demands that I sit naked in front of the screen and address him correctly, but other than that we’re simply a couple getting to know each other. He asks me endless questions which I answer with an honesty and depth which I have never before mustered so soon in a relationship. I hold nothing back and nothing I say seems to turn him off in the slightest. The same seems to be the case the other way around. He answers my equally penetrating questions in detail and I find that I believe him.

Turns out that he’s originally educated as a doctor, surgeon no less, and that he only became a venture capitalist full time five years ago when his father died, leaving the company to him. Of course he had by then had quite a bit of training in the field by his old man, but up until then he had pursued his old dream of training as a surgeon. However, he had been getting tired of it already and the rewards of being stinking rich could no longer be ignored, so he switched careers effortlessly.

Surprisingly he has never had a 24/7 slave. Given his competence as a Dom I would have thought he had had a whole bunch of them, but turns out he’s only had part time slaves. The reasons are on closer inspection perfectly natural. His training as well as jobs so far, first medical school then internships and then the jobs as both surgeon and then as a venture capitalist, with global reach, in training has prevented him from having other than part time slaves. Some very committed and controlled part time slaves to be sure, but part time nonetheless. It is the same deal he is offering me; I serve him whenever he wants me, but in such a way that I can lead a fairly regular life. Or at least a life where me serving him doesn’t attract too much attention.

Like me he’s bi and so he’s actually had both female and male slaves, but lately – like me – he’s becoming more and more gay. Apart from a growing attraction to slender and athletic male bodies (I actually blush and look down when he says this looking straight at me through the cam), which I of course share, he specifically lists the pleasure in denying a man cuming and hurting his balls as well as the joys in making a grown man squirm and moan like a bitch by manipulating his ass. I am in so much trouble I realize – not for the first time. He declares his cruelty and brutality openly and my now imprisoned cock strains against its confines and I have to suppress a moan of lust.

The three weeks pass with excruciating slowness, but for the first time in my life I know what it’s like to ache after another person. Not fat by any measure I am gripped by a need to appear slim and fit for him and so almost at once go on a diet of sorts, foregoing what little I consume of sweets and fatty foods for the joys of vegetables, which is fortunately for me easy. Never had much of a sweet tooth or need for red meat. Having done some sort of sports practically all my life, I step up the training but find myself hampered by the chastity device. I can’t shower naked with other people so swimming is out. Running proves painful and uncomfortable, as the cage pulls my package painfully when I land. I can sit on the exercise bike and the rowing machine and lift some weights. So I do that. Every day for three weeks. Helps keep me tired and this suppresses my horniness – but only in the evenings. Exercise is good for nearly everything – including the libido it turns out. During the daytime, when I am rested, I am outrageously horny to the point of dripping when I see a good looking guy or girl, or worse still someone who even vaguely reminds me of him. So I work out harder to hold the horniness at bay, becoming even hornier the next day, all too aware of the feedback loop I’ve created but unwilling to stop since it will make me look more attractive once he allows real life meets again. By the time that finally happens I weigh 195 lbs and don’t think I’ve looked quite so fit for ten years or so.

Then finally, after 23 days after coming home from the trip where we met, we both have our clean bill of health and he has told me to come see him and become his slave for real. Not that I am free now, my cock locked up and my body kept scrupulously smooth and hairless by being completely obsessed with him, but submitting to him again for real and this time hopefully being allowed to taste his cock without the annoying presence of rubber, will make my submission much more real, my commitment firmer.

It is every bit as perfect as it should be.

His house is of course a huge affair, at least by local standards, located in the most attractive and expensive part of town. It is discretely located at the back of a large plot and as I walk up to the front door I glimpse towards the back of the house, what looks like the railing for a staircase leading down; presumably to a basement. Probably perfect for a play room/dungeon is the thought that flashes through my mind as I wait for him to answer the door. I suddenly find myself afraid that the moment won’t live up to my expectations; that he will somehow disappoint, that I remember him as more attractive and better at dominating than he is really is, that my infatuation has somehow gotten the better of me.

Opening the door is the same utterly charming and dominating man I met just a few weeks ago and I can’t help but smile broadly when I see him, beaming up at him like an infatuated teenager. I am pleased to see once again that he can’t hold a smile back either. Closing the door behind me he’s actually chuckling as he says: “Get naked boi and crawl after me into the living room. We have things to talk about”. As I undress very, very quickly my cock is straining so hard against the cage that it hurts – not exactly a new situation for me, but much stronger around him in real life than just over webcam.

I hardly notice the discrete luxury of his house as I crawl after him. The house is certainly big, but not monstrously so and furnished and decorated so at to be full, but without even being close to overfilled. Almost everything is light, stylish designs and there is plenty of open space, but no place seems empty. Whether his sense of taste is the form of hired help or his own is irrelevant; it spells real class. Can’t help but think that this matches him quite well.

He has me kneel, back straight, sitting on my feet with my hands behind my back as he tells me – again –what he expects from me and what I can expect from him. I love this clarity and lack of pretense: he wants me to accept his domination with open eyes, of my own free will, and considering how harshly he intends to treat me the numerous repetitions – for he has said the same thing quite a few times over cam – is only right and fair. Considering what he wants it can be summed up with deceptive simplicity: I am absolutely forbidden to cum. I will keep my body completely smooth and hairless beneath the eyebrows. I will be at his call at any time I am not working, only medical excuses accepted. He controls my social life absolutely, and I will have to ask for permission for all activities I do outside work, even shopping. I will have my own place and my finances are entirely my own, just as he will not interfere with my communication although he will dictate when I can use pc and phone, guaranteeing at least one 15 minute timeslot on all weekdays for this. He promises no permanent injuries and that I will and must be able to hold on to a job and seem normal to the outside world. I can also quit when I want outside the dungeon. Once a dungeon session is going on I have to endure until he’s done with me. He neither offers nor tolerates safe words of any kind. When he’s working on me I have absolutely no say. Leaning forward and down, kissing his feet, I gratefully accept his offer and a broad, leather-lined steel collar goes around my neck, snapping shut with a sound that actually makes me jump a little with nervousness.

Four hours later, as I sob: “Yes Master. At once Master” and slip my mouth over his absolutely perfect cockhead for the third time that evening, I realize – not for the first time – that I needn’t have worried. If anything he has proven better than I dared hope for. My balls are red and swollen and. My ass is stuffed with a fiendishly large plug of some sort and my body is covered in red whip marks, from below my neck all the way to the soles of my feet. My feet are manacled and connected by a three foot long steel spreader bar, which in turn is secured to the floor by a padlock, locking an eyelet on the spreader bar to one imbedded in the floor. My wrists are manacled too, padlocked together and my arms are raised up high behind my back, so that I am bent at the waist, but I cannot bend all the way forward as a chain connects my collar to my wrist manacles. It is just a tad too short, so that it chokes me a bit when I lean to achieve a little less strained position. As it is, that is impossible and I must hold myself in the most strained position possible to avoid choking.

I feel small, broken, humiliated and like I will never regain control. My body is hurting very badly and I am crying openly; sobbing as tears run down my face. In a few short hours he has bound, beaten, humiliated and first and foremost enslaved me all over again. I deeply regret coming to him and I can think of no other place I’d rather be. As I begin sucking I think again how much I love this. The texture of his cock and its taste of piss and cum is of course perfect, but it’s not so much this act, even if I have been dreaming of this ever since I first saw his cock. It’s the fact that by sucking this perfect cock I am serving him, pleasing him. Submitting to him. Right here I feel no sense of disconnect or purposelessness, like I do almost everywhere else. Here I feel a strong sense of purpose, like what I am doing is good and matters to someone. That I am desired. With him I feel fulfilled somehow; complete in a way I cannot explain and have never felt so strongly before.

But it’s more than that; deeper than feeling a sense of purpose. In here I am showing him that I love him. Because now; bound, beaten and broken I am quite sure that is what I feel: I love him. Of course I love what he does to me – how could I not? –  but the most important thing for me is that he is pleased, that he is happy. At this, our very first session with unprotected sex, the very first meeting in at his house, I am becoming more and more certain that the feelings I had for the man were in fact real. I have fallen in love.

At work the next day I can hardly sit down. He has forbidden me to take painkillers and ordered me to wear jeans. As a result me swollen balls are compressed to a degree that makes me feel like screaming with pain. Shifting my weight back just shifts the pain from my balls to my ass, but really those are just the worst pains. My whole body aches. I have had very little sleep and am hurting badly, but I also feel that sense of fulfillment. Belonging to that man just makes me feel good, in a very demeaned and humiliating way.

My coworkers are concerned, but I am able to fend them off and actually work. After work I go back to him and do as instructed. He is home when I arrive, but of course does not come to greet me or let me in. Instead I go to the back of his house and let myself into his basement, into a small and cold anteroom, separated from the rest of the house by a sturdy door, which is locked. Here I strip, urinate and put on my collar and my ankle and wrist cuffs, leather-lined steel just as the collar. Then I attach a leash to the collar and the leash to a hook in the wall. I then put on a blindfold before securing my hands in rubber mittens. The first one goes on easy of course, even blind, but locking the second one requires quite a bit of work. Finally it’s done and I stand on all fours awaiting his pleasure.

It feels like ages before he comes for me, but is probably just minutes. My aching body and abused asshole long for his attention, while still hurting so much I can’t help myself and pull away slightly as he strokes my backside. A single word confirms what I already knew: “Punishment”. Soon I am strung up, hanging by my wrists and ankles, both secured to the same place so that my ass and pelvis are pushed forward and exposed. My wrists and ankles, as well as my shoulders, elbows, knees and hips hurt badly from this position but are completely secondary to what he is doing to my ass. Miraculously he has left my balls alone today – I suspect he’s actually afraid he’ll castrate me if does more to them – but that means all the more attention for the backside of my thighs and my ass, the skin of which I am now certain is broken and bleeding from the caning he lavished on them. But even that intense pain still lingering is just background noise to what he’s doing inside my ass.

I liked anal play before meeting him, but my response to him seems ridiculous to me. I writhe and moan with pleasure at not only his lightest and gentlest touch, but also when he hurts me, trying to dilate me. I haven’t tried cuming from anal stimulation before and frankly didn’t think I could, but now I am certain that it’s just a matter of time. I absolutely love it. Even as my sphincter is screaming with pain, my screams of pain are mingled with moans of pure lust. I truly believe that it’s only my own lack of experience with ass games and the resulting difficulty in relaxing enough that prevents me from cuming.

His attention to my ass ends with a huge plug being forced into it and then held in place by some arrangement of straps. I don’t care about the specifics, only about his attention. Then he moves around to my head, behind me. He removes my blindfold, smiles down at me and takes out his beautiful tool. Without a word being said I open as wide as I can and tilt my head backwards as far as I can. He grabs my shoulders and as he pushes his tool into my throat, using his grip both to level my body for his intrusion and to control my movements.

What follows is the most terrifying blowjob I’ve tried yet. His cock is constantly actively choking me and making me feel like throwing up, while he from time to time directs a well-placed blow to my balls. I am helpless, being choked and in need of screaming out loud, but without being able to do so. When he finally does retract his cock from my mouth and throat I am crying again. I love what he does to me and it terrifies me. I am beginning to suspect that I will allow him to do quite drastic things to me, should he want to.

As I crawl, small and defeated, after him up into his bedroom, I am so exhausted I just want to collapse. But of course I make it and at the bed he swiftly hoods me, secure my still hands – still inside mittens – to my collar, secures my collar to the bed (I presume; I can’t see, only feel the tugging when I turn) and finally straps my legs together at knees and ankles. A blanket is dropped over me and as I plunge off the cliff and into deep, exhausted sleep, I fleetingly register that he hasn’t removed the plug from my ass. I am far too exhausted to care, although a small glimmer of affection does register in my mind. So considerate of him.

I only awake for real when the piss actually begins to flow. Somehow his lifting of my bound form and his wonderful cock being pushed into my mouth wasn’t quite enough, but when the warm piss fills my mouth I do wake up fully. Thankfully I manage to swallow everything, obeying without even thinking. It’s only afterwards, after he commands me to suck, that I realize that it’s the first time in my life I have drunk piss. And I did it without even thinking about it; no resistance, no objections, just blind obedience. I groan with humiliation around his perfect tool and his loud chuckling tells me he know exactly what I feel. I marvel at how well we seem to be matched. So well it scares me a little, but not enough to make me feel less affectionate about him.

I am again allowed to shower with him, and although my body screams with aches he has induced and although I am so tired I could drop it is something I wouldn’t miss for the world. He lets me blow him again and this time he’s rough, kneeling with me on all fours, raping my throat until I nearly pass out.

Breakfast is silent, with me eating a tiny amount of cereal of a doggy bowl on the floor, but as we both prepare to leave for work he almost makes me cry with joy: “Bring a bag of clothes, enough for a week, and a toothbrush when you come back tonight”. The remark is casually delivered but I cannot keep my cool, and slobber all over his shoes as I thank him without the slightest bit of restraint – in itself a humiliating proof of what he is turning me into. I have found the one I have been looking for; maybe what I have been missing all my life. I am profoundly happy and hope this will last for a long, long time.

Chapter 3: The couple

It’s been a month and half since we first had unprotected sex now and I am now completely sure that I love him. He has never kissed me and I am quite sure he never will. He hasn’t given me anything that wasn’t supposed to either hurt me or demean me or both I can’t see him ever doing anything else.

We are together every day now, with the exception of one of us travelling for work, which thankfully has only happened once so far. For all intents and purposes I have moved in with him, but he insists that I keep my apartment just in case.

He now only brutalizes me really badly up to weekends and such, so that I can keep my job and outward appearance of being normal, but without either of us stating it explicitly I am now his 24/7 slave. He hasn’t taken over control over my finances and hasn’t tried to either, but all the time outside work and my daily commute I spend at his house now. I am allowed 15 minutes each night to keep up with my mail and such. The rest he controls. I work out according to his plan in his private gym in the basement; conveniently placed next to the dungeon. I eat when, what and how he says and the same thing goes for everything else: hygiene, bodily functions, clothing, sitting, standing, and sleeping. Everything.

At night I sleep under a blanket directly on the hard stone floor beside his bed and count myself very lucky that’s it’s heated, but knowing deep down that I’d be just as happy with a cold, clammy and dirty floor as long as I slept beside him.

While he does take me to the dungeon every single day, he usually doesn’t beat me or hurt me, but rather mostly “just” ties me up very tightly and plays with my ass. He’s of course working on dilating me so that I can one day take his monster tool, but even though I love his cock I can’t really see it happening anytime soon. Although my enjoyment with ass play only increases over time, I spend every night screaming at the intrusion of plugs that I think are nowhere near as big as he is. My ass is constantly sore and usually I end the evenings completely exhausted from just the ass play – and that’s on week nights. On the weekends I am beaten and tortured as well. He loves it, so I love it. He doesn’t show me tenderness in any conventional sense of the words; no kinds words, little kisses or attempts to make the small things pleasant and easy for me, but that he loves me like I him is confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt each day. From his sleepy and relaxed face as he pisses down my throat every morning and his tough, yet gentle grasp of my head as I blow him afterwards to the way he looks at me when I scream and cry. He could have any twenty year old submissive, male or female, with the most amazing and even untouched body, but he looks at my screaming face like he wants nothing else and what’s more: he acts accordingly.

Often, when he’s put me through a session, he will carry my exhausted form up into the living room and watch some TV before going to bed. I am of course no longer allowed to use furniture when with him – in fact I’ve never sat in a chair or on a couch in his home at all, even my business at the pc handled from the floor – but he does allow me to sit at his feet while he sits in the couch on these occasions. I will be wearing my usual home wear: steel collar and steel manacles on wrists and ankles. More often than not I will be secured in some painful manner; hands in backprayer or hogtied with very short chains. But no matter if all I can do is to lay my cheek against his foot or if I am lucky enough to be allowed to rest my head against his thigh, these are moments of profound tenderness. Often we talk like lovers do, discussing the events of the day, albeit with him controlling the conversation completely of course, but sometimes we just sit in silence enjoying each other’s company. I am his slave because I want to be and he my Master because he wants me as a slave; lovers – just not in the usual fashion.

This extends beyond the mere fact that we love each other. I am practically never trained in slave related things: he isn’t big on protocol; just on obedience and I display that in abundance. I don’t need to be beaten to give him complete and absolute control or to behave properly; I just do it.

Only once has he had to teach me a real lesson and it’s not one I’ll forget. Ever.

About two weeks after I could suck his bare cock for the first time I reached a crisis point. It had been more than five weeks since my last orgasm and with everything I did being sexually charged, I broke down briefly and begged him to let me cum. Just once. I crawled to his feet, kissed them and started begging and soon, before I even thought about it I was holding his leg, looking up and begging him, belatedly realizing that I had actually been humping his leg like a bitch in heat. The look on his face told me that this was wrong and I realized this. The second he took a leash and attached it to my collar, silently leading me down into the dungeon I started begging for forgiveness.

He tied me standing up, spread-eagle, arms high and wide, stretched to their limit. My legs got much the same treatment, but not quite as wide so I could still remain standing. My hands were again sealed inside rubber mittens and my head was this time sealed inside a thick rubber hood, open only at the mouth. My feet he had placed in thick and very constrictive rubber socks, so that my toes were almost folded in on themselves, making it somewhat painful just to stand. I had stopped begging by the time he had secured the chains, knowing that it would be useless and knowing also that the pain would be extreme.

The whipping was bad, very bad even, and the only places on my body not marked were head, hands and feet, but what really got me were the things he did to my balls. Foregoing his usual hands-on approach, he first weighted them. It didn’t seem so bad at first, but after a while the weight and the prolonged stretching got quite bad. And that’s when started the really bad stuff. First came some kind of belt I think, then a crop of some sorts and then he used a clamping device to squeeze them. By the time he had gotten to the clamp I had already passed out once and my voice was cracking seriously. I was begging constantly for forgiveness and to be released. But it wasn’t over yet of course.

After the clamp he used a set – a large set it seemed to me – of needles to pierce my balls. To me they seemed to be as thick as knitting needles too and after the first one I had been reduced to pathetic sobbing, unable to even beg anymore. I passed out twice more before he finally let me down, not a word spoken about my transgression.

It was, however, not quite the end of my punishment. After releasing me from my bonds, he simply had me dress in street clothes and sent me on my way home. No fuck, no blowjob, not even a demand for worship. Nothing. On the way out of the door he told me that I had a one week quarantine; that he would see me only after this period of time and consider whether or not he wanted me back.

I was devastated. This was by far the worst part of the punishment. I would have learned my lesson very, very well and thoroughly from the beating alone, but to be banished like that got to me in a way I never would have imagined. Not only was I potentially being thrown out by a man it was becoming increasingly clear that I loved very much, but I was also potentially being cut off from that one fantasy – the strongest I had ever had – that actually did come through. It was more than I could bear to think about.

Since he had also decreed that we would not communicate in any way until he left a message telling me whether or not he wanted me back, I spent that whole week in mental agony. At work I was absentminded and at home I didn’t know what do with myself. I ate very little, worked out until I collapsed and slept on naked on the floor beside my bed, feeling it was better somehow. I didn’t even consider taking off the cage. The only thought in my head was how I wanted for him to take me back, how that was the most important thing of all.

When the call came, not after a week but after nine days, the last two spent mostly sobbing on my part, I was beside myself with joy and actually broke down crying with joy on the phone. I had never, ever done anything like that for anyone at all, proof – as if any was needed – that I was in love, lust and need for him.

That night I rushed to his house after work and rushed to get ready, in no time on all fours, collared, manacled and blindfolded, my leash attached to the ring in the wall. Like a man in utter control he of course kept me waiting, but not overly long I have come to realize. He wanted it too. Silently he led me on all fours, still blindfolded, to the dungeon where he, to my surprise, didn’t tie me up. Instead he had me kneeling in an upright position, unbound, in front of him. Then he removed my blindfold and looked down on my no doubt pathetically eager, upturned face: “Do you understand now boi, that when I said you will never – never! – cum while you are with me, I meant this literally and very, very seriously?” Embarrassingly I can’t recall my words, only that they were very sincere and very pathetic. “Good boi”, he smiled down and me and patted my head in a manner so condescending that I should have cringed. But I didn’t. Filled with bubbling, intense happiness I beamed up at him instead, the eager dog shown affection by its owner. “Never again ask for this, understood boi?” he asked and I agreed willingly, eagerly, pathetically and without any other thought in my head but to please him. My owner. Master.

What followed wasn’t the best blowjob I have ever delivered, as I have gotten a lot training since. Nor was it the most satisfying for me either, although on this point it does come closer. But it was one of those events in my life that stand out; that have that special shining quality to it. A moment of fulfillment, of clarity. In hindsight it was perhaps also a decisive moment, although that period in our lives was filled with moments that can all rightly be called decisive. No matter how you look at it, it was one of those moments that bound me to him and him to me. It is with intense pleasure I remember his quickening breath, his hands gripping my head harder and harder until that final, deep, animal grunt that this time just kept on going. With absolute awe I realized as his load filled my mouth and he just kept cuming, that he hadn’t cum in that week either. It was just perfect and his face smiling down at me, seen though just a little sheen of tears, was the icing on top of the cake.

After that I moved in. Not as much per stated wish from Master, but more as a natural thing that just happened. Weeknight were spent with dilating my ass, in the hope of one day being able to take him, and weekends were spent either in great pain or in long term, super restrictive bondage. Or both.

It’s now Friday night and a little over a month and a half since I effectively moved in. A boring week at work is at an end and I am in my “home uniform” and as always very nervous. Nervous and excited. Fridays are when the weekend starts and is usually the time when I start screaming in pain or am placed in some kind of super restrictive and painful bondage. I can tell by his look and the pace he’s setting as I crawl after him that he too is excited and eager to get this show on the road – whatever that show might be. I know I’ll find out soon enough and that I will be completely powerless to stop it, but I still can’t help but ask questions in my mind. I guess I haven’t been conditioned fully as a slave, am not yet going along mindlessly, and the thought fills me with a savage kind of joy. Not because it marks me as independent and strong willed or of the other virtues normally celebrated in a man like me. No, I love the thought because it means that I will have to be put through days and months of brutal and no doubt inventive tortures before I am molded into that shape – assuming, of course, that that is what he wants me to become. I’m not at all sure it is, but then again I am sure of very little about this man except that I love and trust him. Trust him to hurt and control me far beyond my ability to bear.

In the dungeon he removes my blindfold and I look straight at something I haven’t seen here before: a sex sling. Very heavy duty leather and I can see that once strapped I will have absolutely no way of getting free, but I wonder why it’s there. I can’t imagine that I’m dilated enough to take him already and he must want to use for hurting me. That is of course the logical thing, but still I wonder as he straps me in. Could this be the night? Could he really want to fuck me for real? Already?

I am quite sure I’m not wide enough for him and that any attempts at penetration will hurt he badly, maybe even to the point of tearing me, but then again I can see him doing it just to achieve both: torture and real fucking. I shiver involuntarily with that mixture of lust and fear that fills me so often these days. He feels it and chuckles, a very ominous sound when you’re strapped down and helpless. I am wise enough not ask out loud, but my looks must say it all: “Don’t worry boi. You’ll find out soon enough”. I am in so much trouble. Again.

Once I’m strapped in, hanging with my ass four feet off the floor, my arms and legs secured to the chains holding the sling, he gags me. A great big penis gag mounted on a wide, padded leather strap. Once inside I am silent except for the sounds escaping my throat, which is quite dry now.

He starts out by lubing me up, his long fingers probing me, working the lube deep into me. It lasts forever and I love it absolutely. I have heard of people who are able to cum from anal action, their prostates worked until they have some sort of anal orgasm as their prostates are milked. Others of course say it’s just a disappointing milking action, providing relief but little pleasure. I have resigned myself to the fact that I am apparently one of those that can derive no “anal orgasms” and that I am also the type isn’t really milked by anal action either. I like anal play – I like it a lot – but I guess I’m just not lucky enough to be able to get full benefit from it.

Not that I care much right now. I am – for lack of better word – cooing into my gag from the nice feeling of Master using his hands to fill me up. I love this, for the feeling of fullness and the feeling that he controls my body completely, and he looks like it gets him hard in a big way.

I have scrapped the idea that he might fuck me tonight. He’s spent ages probing me and working me over and I am covered in sweat from the effort, but he has moved no further. Maybe he’ll finish off by hurting me and the fucking my conveniently inverted face.

Only I’m wrong. As he stops his ministrations, he steps back and opens the fly of his dead sexy black leather pants and pulls out his beauty of a beast. “Yes, my little bitch-boi”, he smiles at my unbelieving face, “tonight is the night I pop your cherry. Feel free to scream”. I don’t – yet. But I do look at him with wide and unbelieving eyes as he steps up to me, his wonderful cock lubed up to match my very, very, very well lubed ass. He places the tip just right, uses one hand to steer his cock and the other to steer me via the sling, and the pushes very slowly forward, inside me. At first it’s not bad as the head keeps dilating me, but then the stretching begins. At first it’s just uncomfortable but then it becomes painful until I am grunting loudly into my gag. No tear yet, but it can’t be long now I think, but pain just building all the time. But miraculously I don’t tear. Suddenly the head passes into me and my sphincter snaps shut behind the head, catching me completely by surprise. My lower legs are unbound and dangling from the chains and as I snap shut around him, I involuntarily spasm, my legs closing around his lower back, actually pushing him into me faster than he planned. The effect is that of him ramming it home – hard. I can’t believe how good it feels, how full it feels and how deep it feels. I am wide-eyed in disbelief, yet I feel like throwing my head back and howling with pleasure.

I realize that he has been playing me, planning this moment far more meticulously than I thought possible. He has dilated me, yes. He has pushed large and wide things in me, yes. But he hasn’t, it turns out now, pushed any long things into me, not before now when his own cock is playing that role. That’s why I haven’t experienced either anal orgasms or milking. He has quite simply made sure he didn’t use toys that were deep enough for them to reach my prostate or any other really deep spot of pleasure. And I didn’t see it, couldn’t see it because it was always behind me or with me blindfolded or, more often than not, both.

It is outrageously, yet also very subtly, pleasurable in a way I have never tried before. As he finds his rhythm and begins slow, deep strokes, I can feel my cock pulsing in time with him – as much as it can. First few strokes it’s “just” pleasurable, but then my imprisoned member begins to leak fluid in time with him. I love it. He fills me up completely and at the same time he reaches pleasure points I thought I didn’t have. I may be stretched to the point where it hurts badly, but that means nothing to me now. I love every second of it and hopes he never stops. He wants that too it seems. So badly he bites his own hand, drawing blood even, as he forcibly postpones his orgasm. Again he hits me deep, making me love him even more, just when I thought I’d found the true depth of my devotion. When he cums, frantically thrusting himself into my in a truly spasmodic rhythm, I reach a strange apex of pleasure, an almost true orgasm as the emotions overtake me, causing a weird, shivering sensation.

When he finally pulls out I am spent. Completely exhausted. I hang limply in the sling and were it not for the gag, my mouth would drool just as much as my ass. I know full well that it really isn’t a river of cum that leaks out of my ass, but more a tiny rivulet of lube mixed with a little cum and other unspeakable fluids, but the thought of his cum leaking out of me in vast amounts like is very nice.

He seems mellow as well – or as mellow as he will ever get. He releases me from my bonds, unceremoniously wiping my ass clean with a cloth that somehow gets pressed extraordinarily deep into me. Then, instead of making me crawl as usual, he attaches my still sealed hands to my collar, does nothing to take the rubber socks off my feet and simply scoops me up, carrying me to bed. And I do mean bed. For the first time in months I sleep in a bed, staring at my lover, my Master, my owner with wide eyes as he lays me down in bed beside him, smiling gently to me before making me turn on my other side so that we can go to sleep, spooning, him holding very possessively on to my body. His cock, semi-erect as he goes to sleep, presses against my ass and I can hardly contain the happiness I feel.

The next morning he continues his extremely successful efforts to turn me into a complete ass slut. I wake up feeling fantastic, better than I have in a long, long time. I also wake up feeling like someone has just opened a new tunnel – the one leading into my ass. And it seems it’s open for traffic right from the early morning. Instead of the usual blowjob, he places me on all fours, in this case knees and elbows. Then he dabs on some lube and with disturbing ease – but not without considerable effort – he pushes into my newfound pleasure center. The sounds that comes from my mouth as he hits me deep is so embarrassing that I will never repeat it to anyone who is unable to force it from me like he can, but for him I instantly turn into an ass slut, moving, moaning and sweating until he produces a miniature version of what he did induced in me last night.

The weekend is spent training me further in this of course, occasionally taking breaks to make me scream with pain. The training of course also includes withholding his cock from my ass and Sunday night he nearly has me begging for a fuck, stopping only as I recall what happened when I tried that last. I might have taken the red pill, but I still have no idea how deep the rabbit hole really goes it seems.

Chapter 4: Full time position

It’s been about five months now since I moved in with him and it’s Friday night again. But unlike any other Fridays I am not bound or in pain. I’m not even impaled on his cock or sucking it for that matter. We’re not even in the dungeon. I am sitting – in my uniform – at his feet in the living room. He has just asked me the big one. Not as an ultimatum, merely as a strong wish from his side. He has asked me to quit my job and become his fulltime slave; complete loss of control, complete surrender – or at least as far as that goes without it actually becoming truly permanent.

He will be going back to the US in about six months and he can see me as his slave – permanently. He makes no secret of this, doesn’t disguise it in any way. The goal with what he’s asking me, is that in time I will disappear from the world and become his alone, controlled in every way for the rest of my life.

It is of course something that makes me all warm, but as always both he and I are practical people beneath all of the hardcore SM and underneath our shared kinks and, let’s be honest, mutual affection. For me to become his represents the content of all my scariest and most vehemently wished for dreams, dreams that I fully realize can almost never come true – and if they do carry with them some truly frightening consequences for me personally.

So I am deeply grateful that he doesn’t try sugar coat it or hide it in any way, but lays out his road map, as it were, for me to think about before deciding. His proposal, for it is just that; something I can opt out of, is this: First I quit my job here, but keep my apartment and all my savings. He controls everything: all communication and all accounts, but lets me look him over the shoulder at times agreed on beforehand. I will have the option of bailing at any point during this period. He sensibly points out to my unspoken question, that in a country such as mine it is very, very difficult to hold someone with just a bit of resources against his will over an extended period of time without someone else finding out. And besides: how’s he going to transport me across the ocean without my consent and active participation? I conceded his point of course and since I trust him my mind is almost made up. Almost. It’s a very big step to take, so I won’t jump and he doesn’t expect that either.

Instead he goes on describing the rest of his plan. After the six months as his 24/7-slave, he will move back to the US and wants me to come with him. Again as a 24/7-slave, but much more restricted. I will have to sell my apartment and put the profit – there will be a profit I’m quite sure – into my savings, which will from then in be controlled completely by him. I will have no control over it and the only guarantee it even exists will be his word. As his slave in his home country I will have to disappear completely, and do so voluntarily and actively participate in that disappearance, so that if the final step does indeed go forward, nothing can come back to haunt him. I fully appreciate the honesty of that statement.

During this stage I will be controlled utterly by him and he can practically guarantee that he will modify my body in some pretty drastic ways – I’m quite sure castration is a given – but also ways that would allow me to return to normal life, should I want to, when this period is over. He will not say how long this period is simply because he does not know, but he guesses is three years. But he stresses that he really doesn’t know because he hasn’t tried it before.

The final step, should both of us wish to take it, is for me to disappear for real, into slavery for the rest of my life with no way out. This will almost certainly involve modifications that would prohibit me from ever coming back to normal life, let alone function outside a heavily controlled slavery setting. What these changes might be, he doesn’t say, but I can venture some very good guesses and those guesses make my blood run cold – and some of them my cock run wild.

For what might seem like a very detailed discussion of some very, very drastic scenarios completely alien to other people and something I must decide with far too little experience of the man, is actually far from it. We have talked about this in detail for almost as long as I’ve been his. This is what we have talked about in the evenings once the day had been discussed: what our deepest kinks are and what we’d really like to do. I am more sure now than ever that 24/7-slavery is what I want. I am still unsure if the really final stages of what he describes are for me, but it’s more the details I am unsure about rather than the substance. I am pretty sure, even after being told his darkest kinks, that I want it.

And his darkest kinks are truly dark I know now. He not only wants complete control over every tiny little detail of me at all times, he also wants to alter me, alter my body. Not as in turn me into a female or anything like that, but more like cut things off. Toes, fingers and of course my balls. He has made it quite clear that he would prefer it if I never cum from my cock again. Ever. He can tolerate – for now at least – that I can cum with my ass, but if I stay with him for long enough my balls will go for sure. Probably my cock as well, but he isn’t sure about that one. Might be fun to play with as he says. For him I’m sure, but to be completely honest I can see myself getting my kicks out of this too.

We spent time together at his PC, where he has shown me what he gets off on. Eunuchs with completely smooth crotches, nullos even. Guys with heavy tongue piercings to the point of having trouble speaking. Amputees.

I have of course seen amputees before, a few in real life and a lot more on TV and such. But the first time I was introduced to one in a sexual context I was literally sitting in his lap. His was buried to the hilt inside me, and my hands as usual in mittens, secured to my collar. Then he opened a page and on it was a scene so sexy and scary that I moaned. Sexy because a beautiful looking woman was tied up and being made to blow some lucky guy. Scary because of what it revealed about him. Not that it was particularly extreme compared to what he has shown me since or for that matter what he has described as liking, but seeing it for the first time was kind of a shock – even if I knew what was coming. The picture shows a woman with no legs, amputated right above the knee, and although she seemingly had hands, these had been folded and tied off in such a way that she appeared to have been amputated at the elbow. Only close scrutiny of the picture revealed this. She was also bound in a web of leather straps, collared and ring gagged, so that she had no choice but to accept the cock being forced into her mouth. It was extremely sexy and outrageously scary the way this picture made Master harder inside my ass and made him increase his pace. He pressed me back to meet his body and leaned in over my shoulder and whispered into my ear: “I want you like that boi, only more severe: no legs, no arms – and worse, other changes as well, more of you removed. A stump; completely at my mercy”. I wanted to scream, but not with fear. Yes, the fear was there; is here. I’m not stupid. This would be a step so final that I would most likely only live a few painful and humiliating years beyond it. If that. A man like mine doesn’t do soft and I would be subjected to the same level of pain as before, worn out as it were.

As I rode his cock, looking at the amputee and listening to what Master’s darkest fantasies were, this was all clear to me, how this would effectively be a time delayed death sentence. No need to sugar coat it, because that’s what it would mean. A respite of a few years, but no more I should think, before the abuse and the lack of real medical attention would mean the end. He might be a doctor, but without full access to the wonders of modern medicine he will only be able to do so much. That and the fact that once a slave reaches that point there would be very little left to modify, meaning boredom for both owner and slave and thus spelling the end. I know I sure as hell would rather be snuffed than end up as a forgotten toy, seeing the look of boredom on his face. The consequences of such a path were clear to me then and have been ever since he talked about his darkest fantasies for the first time. To his eternal credit, and a big part of the reason that I love and trust this man, he said the very same things the first time he brought it up. And has consistently done so ever since.

And so, as I rode his cock these thoughts were present in my mind and at the very forefront of it too. But there was also a completely outrageous arousal. The very thought of giving that to him; of submitting so utterly and definitively turned me on so much that I came right then and there. Not a real, cock orgasm of course, but a very strong anal one that made me moan and spasm.

This is what goes through my mind as I kneel, naked but unfettered, as he delivers his pitch. For that is what it is: a pitch to make me give up my current existence and join him for the first step along that path. It is of course a well delivered pitch – my man is very good at this – but it is also an honest pitch. No hidden agenda. He makes it plain that just starting as a 24/7 slave with no outside contact will begin to condition me and thus increase the likelihood that I will accept the more severe steps taken later, but again this is something I have not only thought about before but which he has also carefully stated many times before. It may be a pitch and it may be good, but it is completely level.

But really, there is little choice for me here. Not that he has cut off those choices, far from it. It is rather that I remember how I felt before meeting him; how my life was going before all of this submission, pain and so many other things considered extreme by so many. I remember the longing and the dreariness; the sense that I was never going to find something interesting to do again. Emptiness and disconnect. So what if this is the path to an early death? Sacrificing six months to step a little step down that path is a complete no brainer. I’ll just take it and right now please.

But thinking of the full package I think that perhaps five more years, maybe even more, of this extreme submission and first and foremost five more years with him, might very well be something worth sacrificing my old age for; might very well be worth dying before men like me usually die. It even seems attractive to me now, but I am smart enough to push such decisions until such a time that they have to be made and since he doesn’t press me on this, but “merely” on giving up my job and becoming his 24/7, I leave it for another time.

As I say “yes” to his proposal – loudly, clearly and gratefully – I am, however, struck by a nagging thought. If, when the time comes and I reject his proposal of “final slavery”, will I then be thinking of what might have been for the rest of my life?

I have now been his 24/7 slave for a little over two months and this life is much harder, much more demanding than I had imagined. I hadn’t fully appreciated how much of a rest going to work actually was for my body and mind and although I had thought of how 24/7 slavery allows for much more extended periods of bondage and such, I hadn’t realized – probably couldn’t as it were – just how hard this is on the slave.

Master now can, and frequently does, tie me up for days on end in positions that are either very strenuous or allow for no movement at all – or both. Apart from his other games there are already two days a week where he ties me up for a whole day. Every Tuesday and Friday I am tied up in a ball, plugged, hooded and gagged with a ring gag connected to a tube and placed inside a tiny cage and spend all day there while the cleaning lady makes sure his house is immaculate. That is if I’m not already tied up in some other long term bondage scene. Because he doesn’t use me as a domestic servant at all. I don’t clean, I don’t cook, I don’t do any work around the house except scream and moan for him. I spend most of my time in the dungeon or in the bedroom, with some much loved hours spent at his feet as he reads or watches TV or works on the PC, but most of my time is spent in the dungeon.

I knew being a slave would have it’s boring moments and that these would occur in the dungeon while he was away. I wasn’t wrong. Being chained to the wall or locked in a cage or otherwise prevented from leaving the dungeon, which offers no access to any kind of entertainment that does not involve me doing my slave stuff, is outrageously boring. I knew it would be. I had steeled myself for it, knowing full well that the full extent of this boredom could only be experienced. I was right. But I was also right in thinking that I would rather have this kind of boredom than the one I experienced on the outside before meeting him. I love being his slave.

Besides, quite often I have no time or mind for these thoughts. He loves to tie me up in strenuous positions from which I can’t possibly escape. His favorite for comparatively short term, is me tied into a ball, blind and deaf and with my balls pulled out behind, exposed for abuse. Although my cock still strains inside it’s cage when I get aroused I have serious doubts that it will ever work properly again and I am sure that no viable sperm can ever come out of my balls. I know it is continuously produced in there, but the amount of abuse heaped on my poor testicles defies belief. I have had a whole week where I couldn’t walk normally with my legs together unless he whipped me, so bad was the pain and swelling. That he usually ends these things by sitting down in front of me and allow me, usually crying, to envelop him with my much too willing mouth is what really makes my day, but truth be told I love being tied up as well.

That should serve me well right now, but somehow it’s all but forgotten. I just want to scream, but I can’t even do that. I am tied up, lying down on my back, ramrod straight with my legs together and my arms tied to my sides. Simple enough really. Except he’s sealed me in a layer of rubber so thick I can’t feel anything outside this envelope. And he’s strapped me down with at least ten broad straps, a figure which does not include the one crossing my forehead or the one crossing my mouth, which has a hole in it latching the hole in my ring gag. My ass is plugged with a very large and very long plug which can vibrate violently whenever he wants it and my cock is miraculously free of it’s cage. The miracle ends there, however, since a large bore catheter has been inserted through my urethra and all the way up to my bladder. I nearly came from his touch alone as he inserted it, but he had warned me not to so although I was at that time unbound I managed to hold it back, actually getting a little teary as I realized how close I was, yet how far off my orgasm also was. In any case my arousal didn’t last long, as the insertion of a catheter proved to be outrageously painful and uncomfortable.

I am strapped down on a padded bench, not for my comfort, but because this special kind of padding, which shapes itself after me but is otherwise very firm, enables him to secure my position even better. Apart from the straps, a board of some sort is placed under my feet, pointing them straight up, to which they are strapped as well, leaving no room for movement whatsoever. Around my knees are strange corset-like things, insuring that I can’t flex my legs at all (I think. I can’t see them; only feel them). My elbows are similarly secured, as is my torso, with what I imagine to be a large, black and completely draconian corset extending from my hips – actually going somewhat down over them, so to anchor the corset – and ending somewhere in my armpits. Finally my head is fixed in a neck corset. I have only one part of me that can be moved and that is my tongue. Otherwise I am literally completely immobile and so helpless that it leaves even me panicky. It goes without saying that I can’t see, but I also can’t hear anything at all, since Master has made sure my ears are covered with headphones that emit a steady hum of white noise, drowning out everything else. The rubber makes sure I can feel nothing of what goes on and he has even used the ring gag as an anchor point to fold the rubber in over my lips. I have one point of contact with the world and that is my tongue. When he wants to feed me – liquids only of course – he lets a few drops of liquid hit my tongue. As acknowledgement I then have to extend my tongue and wriggle it before he very carefully starts feeding me.

I am quite sure he has kept me like this for days although I have very real trouble with time. After what I think was half a day, but could have been three days or just half an hour I had my first real panic attack and began screaming. I think. Because I couldn’t hear myself. That only made me scream harder or rather try until my mind went blank with panic. Later I had a moment of clarity and realized that it shouldn’t be possible to drown out the sound of my own voice so completely, since most of the sound of our own voices travel in the bones and not the air. That left only two options – I think, now increasingly unsure of every little thing – and that was active noise dampening in my bones, which I have never heard of, or that he had somehow paralyzed my vocal chords. I hold the latter to be the more likely, but right now I am unsure of everything.

I have begun imagining never being let out; staying like this forever and had I not been plugged and fitted with a catheter I would have soiled myself. I cried endlessly. I think.

Sometimes the plug in my ass begins vibrating violently and although I do love it, it also takes me by surprise every time and scares the shit out of me. And when it stops I find that I can’t place when it stopped, only that it did. My lacking sense of time and sensory input is driving me crazy – for real. I have no doubt that this is what he intended, but right now I can’t even find pleasure in the fact that it no doubt pleases him. I have clear moments, like now, but often they slide into panic seamlessly and I get the sense that they never happened at all.

I want out. I can’t take anymore. I think I am screaming continuously now and this is the only kernel of clear thought, the only part of me left, somehow sitting at the back of my mind watching it all.

I don’t remember coming out of the cocoon. He must have sedated me before taking me out. For the next three days I was a wreck, sobbing and crying and he had to stay near me to stave off panic. I was eternally grateful for the leather straightjacket he placed me in, but when he left me even for a second I got panic attacks. His touch, something I have loved from the very beginning, became a necessity. Gradually, over days, he brought me back to a semblance of normalcy so that I could once again function as his slave. I say semblance because there is no doubt that the cocooning, and I still don’t know how long it lasted, only that it was more than a week, has left me even more dependent on him. I now crave his touch and being around him in a way I never knew existed. He no doubt intended this and I should hate him for so brutally condition me. Except I don’t. Rather I find that I love him more for it, as if the helplessness and panic removed any reservations I might have had for even the most extreme among the things he might conceivably do to me. And although I now fear being cocooned to the point of sobbing when he places me in even the lightest of cocoons, I also love him for doing it to me; like nothing he can do is wrong.

A contributing factor in this is no doubt what he did right after taking me out of the cocoon, washing me no doubt while I was out cold, he took me into his bed. I woke up beside him, laced into the straightjacket. I woke up with a start and had it not been for his arms instantly enveloping me, holding me tight against him, I would have had full panic attack. He must have paralyzed my vocal chords while I was under because I could actually scream. I remember his strong arms and his soothing voice: “Easy boi. Easy now. You’re out now. Easy”. He held me like that for an indeterminate time while I cried and once my crying had died yet another of those things binding us together. “Shush boi”, he whispered and placed his hand on my cheek, “It’s alright. I’ve got you boi. You’re safe now.” I almost started to cry again when he continued: “You’re my good boi aren’t you boi?” I could only sob, but I did manage a weak affirmation and my sobbing died down altogether as he began peeling the straightjacket off me. I have no doubt my eyes were wide with wonder and love as he took it off me, but it was nothing compared to my reaction as he left me completely without restraints, placed me gently on my back, lifting me up easily as he slid a pillow under my lower back, raising me to the level of his cock. What followed was a slow fuck, so sensuous and gentle that this too made me cry. I have become such a bitch! But I couldn’t help it. The panic from the long time cocooned was still with me and his gentleness took me completely by surprise. I was of course not allowed to cum with my cock, which had in fact already been locked away securely once again, but the “anal shivers” the fuck induced in me had aftershocks fully as powerful as a real orgasm can have.

Or at least I think so, because truth be told, now that I’ve been nearly a year without cuming I think I am starting to forget what it was like. Not that I don’t miss it all the same. I miss cuming just as much as I did after the first month. I thought that I would adjust, get used to it, but no. There are only two things keeping me from begging for release and that is the thought that he might dump me if I did and because I know it genuinely pleases him to see me desperate without cuming. I really want to please him and so I go without orgasms. And more and more I am beginning to think that it is entirely likely, probable even, that I have had my last orgasm ever. That the orgasm he gave me with his hand when we played the very first time was the last time I came. I am beginning to think that this is the way it will be. Part of it is that I can’t imagine leaving him. I want to be his and so I must not cum. But another, and frighteningly rational part of me, also thinks that I will never cum again and so I might as well get castrated as soon as possible and so spare me the frustration which is enough to drive me insane. If I thought it would do me the slightest good or that it wouldn’t make him mad at my begging, I would consider asking for that castration now. I am that desperate to cum or be free of the frustration.

I am standing naked in front of a mirror in the gym, Master behind me, slightly to the side so that both of us are visible in the mirror. I haven’t seen my naked reflection in some time now, months, since when I work out down here it is always on the exercise bike or doing back and stomach drills. And all of these are always done blindfolded or hooded. I am not allowed to lift weights as Master wants me weak in the arms. As I look at my reflection I more than realize that that goal has been achieved. What he has also achieved it to make me skinny. Not slim or even thin. Skinny. Having been just weighed I know I now weigh 175 lbs, a full twenty pounds less than when I first sucked his cock without a condom. I look skinny as he wants me and I know he can easily overpower me, but I also think I look kinda hot. Slave hot. Weak, skinny, naked and subjugated. He underlines this without saying a single word as he twists my arms behind my back with no effort at all and fucks me brutally over one of the benches. So that’s what these are used for now.

The six months are up and it’s time to make a decision. Time sure flies when you’re screaming in pain to please the love of your life. Again he lays out his plans for me, both near and long term, should I agree to them. I will still have an option to leave after this one, provided I do go of course, but I will be damaged in some ways. Castration has now moved from being probable to being a certainty. I love the way he makes no attempt to gloss it over. I love him. I can’t be without him, just as I can’t be without the control, the pain and the humiliation he provides. And I certainly can’t be without that wonderful cock of his. But most of all it’s him I can’t bear to lose. Besides, the thought of resuming my old life fills me not with dread, but rather with disgust. I simply do not want to return. This last year or so has been the best time of my entire life, emotions so strong and pure I have never felt anything like them before. I am not the man I was – not by a long shot – but I like being the overly emotional and incessantly screaming bitch I am now much better. Even if I cringe at that thought. I am clear in my decision: I want to go with him.

He has also validated my trust in him by – again – showing me the contents of my savings accounts and pensions and that they are still there, for me to take should I want it. I don’t, but that he has once again proven his honesty and trustworthiness is extremely important to me.

But of course my man, my owner, my love, does not do things half-assed – even if I soon wish he had on this one. Since we both realize the importance of this decision, he insists that I make it without him as a constant influence. So he’s banishing me for a full month to make the decision completely on my own. “Banishment” is not the word he uses and that’s not what he means, but that sure is how it feels. For a month I will have to live alone without any contact with him at all. He has forbidden me to have sex with others or to take the cage off, just as he has forbidden me to even e-mail him except in cases of dire need, framing this as yet another test of my devotion to him. But really those edicts were entirely unnecessary. Of course I’m not going to have sex with others and although I am so horny I could scream I am of course not going to take it off. I am his, with all that carries with it.

After a day my mind is made up. After three I have no idea what to do with myself and am beginning to suffer from what can only be described as withdrawal pains. I of course sleep on the floor, since the bed feels wrong – without even having tried it. I meticulously shave and although I am now allowed to eat whatever I want, I stick to the very strict diet he has had me on for the last six months. I try watching TV and find that I am bored beyond belief. I try going for long walks, both in town and in the woods, but these activities bore me almost as much as they fill me not only with the familiar and dreaded sense of disconnect, but also with a acute nagging fear of being out and free. It simply feels wrong. I push myself to do all the things I would have access to as a free man, but find all fall short of my real need.

My love is of course bankrolling this little exile of mine and he is doing so lavishly. Since he’s intent on doing this properly, then I can take a no less ambitious approach. So I book a last minute flight and take 5 days in Rome. The weather is good and the city is very interesting and is in fact the perfect city vacation spot. I break my diet and take in the food, which is of course brilliant once you get off the most obvious tourist tracks.

Without even looking for it I enjoy a very hot flirt with an absolutely beautiful woman, 15 years my junior and from Spain. I actually feel nice being reaffirmed as being bisexual and had it not been for my man I am pretty sure that the conversation would have ended with breakfast in bed. As it were I don’t even consider cheating on him – even if she has my cock as hard as it will ever get inside the cage. When I tell her that I think she’s lovely but that I have someone at home she is visibly disappointed, flattering me wildly, and when she can’t help but ask about whom that might be, I am very gratified to see that she doesn’t display even the slightest hint of surprise or disappointment when I tell her that I have man at home. She would have made great girlfriend material I think, but some other lucky guy will have to come and get his hands so very full with her.

It’s a great vacation. It’s just doesn’t do it for me. Again I am left wanting, empty somehow and when I fly home I am more convinced than ever that I will follow him to the end, bitter or otherwise.

True to how it’s intended I try hard to see if I can’t return to the so called normal life, but it’s pointless. Searching out all the things that pleased or amused me before I arrive at the same conclusion and end up sitting alone in a windowless closet room of my apartment, surfing hard core SM-porn and waiting for the time to run out so I can call him and tell I want to be his.

Because this is not only what I want; it is what I want the most: to be his – no matter what that ends up meaning for me.

Chapter 5: Reaching the point of no return

To say that he is pleased with my decision is an understatement of gargantuan proportions. He might be my owner, the brutal and merciless man who controls me completely, but when I return to him, put on my uniform and kiss his feet, telling him that I want to come with him and be his, he grins like a kid on Christmas Eve who’s just been handed the best present ever. It’s just one of the things that I love about him. And god! I’ve missed him! As I see his happy face it strikes me right in my center. I have made the right decision, I know it.

I have missed something else as well and were it not for the fact that he doesn’t like me begging, I would be begging for attention. Cock if I can get it; anything else if that can’t be.

Three hours later I am vomiting with pain. He has hurt my balls this bad before, I know he has, but I can’t remember when that might have been. I have been screaming with pain for at least two of those three hours now and I am delirious with pain, unable to take more yet forced to take whatever he gives me. My arms are folded and held inside black leather pouches that are pulled very tightly, trapping my arms. Of course my hands are inside mittens as usual so I have no way of escaping. As a new thing he has done something similar to my legs, which are also folded and trapped inside ludicrously tightly bound leather pouches. He has reduced me to sort of a stump, but without actually amputating my limbs. The fact that he displays his darkest desires so blatantly already now scares me beyond belief and the ferocity of his assault does nothing to diminish this feeling, rather the opposite. I tell myself it’s because it’s been a long time for him too, but still it scares me.

As he finally stops and leaves me alternately sobbing and vomiting from the last round of squeezing of my genitals, I finally get a break that allows me to think a little. Not a thing has changed I find. I am scared shitless of what he’ll do to me, but I am still all his.

Master dislikes vomit and so he quickly washes away what I have left on the floor. All power has drained from me from the furious torture session and I lie still and limp as he does this, but I am very grateful as he washes me as well. Then he picks me up and I am struck once again how easily he accomplishes this. It’s as if I weigh nothing. He may grunt and look strained at lifting my about 170 lbs, but really he handles me like you would a small dog. Only I struggle a lot less. He places me on a padded cross, which is lying down at the moment and in a few swift movements he has my already helpless body strapped down tightly. From my prone position I can’t see my balls, but they feel like they are ten times their regular size and the pain is blinding. With a big, fat smile – the smile of the cat who having a particularly tasty mouse over for dinner – he cups my balls and lets me scream weakly until I realize that he’s not going to squeeze them after all: “Good to have you back slave”. I gurgle with inarticulate happiness. Then he breaks out the lube and with surprising gentleness he lubes me up and slides in. The pain in my balls and elsewhere in my body is still too great for me to cum, even with my eager ass, but to feel him inside me is so amazingly satisfying that I am able to enjoy it in spite of the outrageous pain.

It’s a long and slow fuck, which surprises me a great deal, and at some point I become aware of a strangely melodic cooing, gurgling sound, rising and falling in time with his strokes. To say that I am mortified when I realize that I am the source of the sound is an understatement of the century. But I can’t stop even now. It just feels so good and he has as always the ability to strip me down to the core, leaving only me and my desires bare, without even a tiny bit of covering. I try to squeeze him with both my ass and my legs when he cums, but bound as I am, I am only completely successful at the first part. God it feels good to be back!

With mixture of relief and disappointment – but mostly relief – he slows down considerably during the next days, seemingly having let off saved up steam in that first session after I gave myself up. I might actually last more than a few days as his slave after all.

There is also the more practical consideration that I will have to be able to move out in public as I will have to travel. His packing and travel arrangements are conducted with lightning speed. I am amazed at how quickly he is able to wrap up his life here and be ready to move home. Of course he’s had a month without distractions and of course having more money than god undoubtedly helps too. In less than three weeks he’s all packed up and as a bonus I have managed – supervised closely by him of course – to sell my apartment or at least set things in motion to the point where all that’s left is paperwork back and forth; things I can do remotely. For this my man has of course set up a fake address for me here, all in my name of course, and arranged for anything sent to it to be forwarded to him. In short we’re good to go.

Again he is meticulous and has everything planned in detail. I go over the plan with him, providing my technical insights which are considerably more detailed than even his and soon I am ready to disappear altogether. I don’t have a ticket to the US, but to Canada instead. There I will lose my mobile phone as well as all other objects that can be used for tracking and move via bus and using cash only to an agreed on point along the border. The spot we have chosen is very remote and I will have to trek through mountains and woods for several days on either side if the border – without the benefit of a GPS. While this worries him, both amused and happy at his concern for me, I am supremely confident. I spent a large part of my youth, before the advent of GPS, doing just this and the terrain I will be traversing maybe wild and remote, but I have trekked in far worse. It will be fine. Once on the other side I will again travel by bus to a city he has pointed out and here he will pick me up and I will disappear, quite possibly to never return.

The plan goes without a hitch. There are no full body scanners in the airport I depart from to discover my cage and my clothes are immaculate. This, I learned long ago, is important when entering another country. Dress nice and clean, look calm and smile, but don’t overdo any of these. While no guarantee, these are the top tips for dealing with immigration authorities in most places. So too with the Canadians. I enter without incident, lose my phone and my minimum amount of entirely fake luggage and buy the outdoor gear needed. The trip by buss is long, but uneventful and soon I stand at a common disembarkation point for trekking. From here most people move north or west, but while I start out along the northern trail, I soon veer south and after 8 days I am on a bus heading south. Since it would be impossible to say exactly when I would arrive in the city, he has cleverly chosen a city he often does business in and so can stay at a hotel in without it seeming strange. We had been unsure of whether I would be able to find a pay phone, whether these existed at all anymore, but it turns out that the bus station does indeed have one and from this I call his cell phone; an anonymous prepaid phone used for this alone. The relief and joy in his voice is unmistakable and I too feel warm and pleased. He is actually doing business and not just waiting for me, so it isn’t until late evening before he picks me up at a secluded place outside town along the freeway. I am so happy and relieved that I take the liberty of freeing his member and blowing him right there. Given his lack of objections, the volume of his grunting and the size of his load I surmise he feels the same way. I find that my future worries me not at all. I am with him. He will decide for me. He will control, hurt, use and modify me as he sees fit and I am happy with this.

I think it has been a couple of months since I disappeared and I am struck by how much harder this is compared to how I had imagined it. I had figured that it would be more restricted than the slavery I experienced as his 24/7 slave before, but I hadn’t fully realized he would step it up this much.

First of all I hadn’t figured that my service would involve others. I thought he would keep me strictly private and hidden. Not so. Not that he has involved many others, but the three others he has involved has meant a considerable increase in my use and a corresponding decrease in the amount of rest I get between sessions. The three guys are: a high school buddy, who is now a mechanic with a large and well equipped workshop, a college buddy and finally a cousin who has shown me that Master’s heroic size is apparently a genetic trait.

I know that his high school buddy is a mechanic with a large workshop because I have seen it. It is so far the only time I have been outside Master’s house and it happened very soon after I arrived. Naked as always, I was gagged and hooded, my arms were cuffed behind me at the wrists and elbows and while I could walk on my own, the chain connecting my manacles was less than a foot long, making me take tiny shuffling steps. It felt like he simply hooked a finger in the ring of my collar and led me by hand to his car. I know it was his car because in a matter of minutes after feeling the cold night air against my naked skin and the gravel of his driveway under my bare feet, I was scooped off my feet and dropped inside a trunk. Not a man who leaves anything to chance, I was of course not merely allowed to merely bounce around the trunk, but was soon strapped down to the trunk floor and covered by a blanket.

The drive was not long – I think at least – and soon I was lifted out again. This time I could feel cold concrete under the soles of my feet and as I shuffled behind him until his hand against my chest stopped me. I was very excited and very nervous, since this was the first time I had been outside his house since arriving and also because he had hinted that I would meet other doms or users for the very first time. As the hood was removed I found that it was indeed so. Standing in a half circle, all grinning appreciatively at my bound form, were three men.

The one closest to me, apart from Master who was supporting my from behind by holding my forearm, was also the one who looked most like Master. Not quite as tall and with less grey in his hair, he looks like a toned down, less sharp, softer version of Master, but otherwise the resemblance is striking. This is of course Master’s cousin.

Next to him is a man who looks decidedly out of place, yet exudes natural dominance to a degree only surpassed by Master himself. He is a small, no more than about 5’8”, neat man with skin the color of coffee and he is dressed in a light grey business suit that is obviously expensive. He is bald but sporting an unnaturally well groomed goatee and everything about him seems out of place here, in what is obviously a mechanics garage. What does not seem out of place, but rather fills me with delicious submissive fear, is the way he looks at me. I just know that this man will cause me great pain. He is, I later find out, Master’s college friend and a very wealthy man with his own slave – just like Master.

The last man looks right at home, because he is. He is the mechanic owning the garage and like Master he is big man; even bigger than Master in fact. He must be 7’ tall and built like truck engine – looks like he can lift one too. His hair is blonde with a bit of grey in it and his eyes ice-blue. In spite of him being a mechanic in his own garage there is nothing dirty or grimy about him. He is immaculately clean and it is only his work clothes that set him apart from the rest.

My legs are spread and at a nod from Master they all set about examining me; a process that involves an inordinate amount of very, very hard and insistent probing, kneading, pinching and slapping. It goes without saying that my balls and ass receive special attention and that I am soon moaning, then crying into my gag. It being the first time anyone but Master does this I feel incredibly exposed and vulnerable and I do not have to be told to look down and behave submissively. I can’t remember feeling this humiliated – ever.

My cage is the subject of more than a little ridicule and I can almost feel my cock shrivel from it. How can a situation be so outrageously and arousingly humiliating, yet cause me to grow softer? I don’t understand myself, but I am Master’s property and I love being his – with all that entails.

“That’s enough boys”, his voice comes from behind me and the men stop their assault on my defenseless body. “You all know I’ve brought the slave here for a purpose. Are we ready?” he asks the mechanic. The man grins wide and laughs as he points to a large makeshift slave cross lying horizontally in the center of the garage. Soon I am strapped very thoroughly down on it, so that only my head, my hands and my feet can move even a tiny bit. I have straps around my forearms, in two places no less, and this double strapping is repeated on my upper arms and both my upper and lower legs. My torso is also strapped far more thoroughly than it normally is; no less than 4 sturdy straps. He must need me very still and that makes me more than a little nervous.

I suddenly see quite clearly what is going to happen: Master is going to castrate me. I can’t help but keen with fear and shake my head in denial of the inevitable, mumbling inane pleas into my gag as I try to struggle against my bonds. It is hopeless and I can’t even produce a scrape mark from the straps; they are simply too tight. I knew it was going to happen, Master was quite clear on this, but now that it’s time I don’t want to. I may not have cum in over a year and my prospects of ever cuming again are abysmally low and I may even have thought that castration would be good for me, but now that it’s time I want to keep my balls. I want to remain a man.

My desperate pleas reach a new high as Master steps in between my legs and ever so gently cups my balls, pulling them out without hurting them for real. He looks so very much in charge, so natural and so very dominating. As I realize this, as his full power hits me once again, I give up. I can’t drop his gaze but that’s all I have left. I can’t resist him, can’t resist his power. I love him and what he does to me and if he wants my balls right now, then that is his right – one I gave him voluntarily when I agreed to disappear and become his. I still want to keep my balls and remain a man, but he owns everything about me and can do everything he wants to.

“Done now, bitch boi?” he asks, his voice derisive, but playful. I nod a defeated “Yes Master” without any sound escaping from behind my gag. “You recognize at last that taking your balls is my right and my decision alone?” On the verge of actually sobbing – god! that man has turned me into such a bitch! – I once more nod a defeated “Yes Master”. “Good boi” he says, “Lucky for you that we’re not here to castrate you, isn’t it boi?” I start – or rather I start as much as I can in these bonds – and my eyes open wide. “We’re here to fit you with permanent restraints you silly bitch”, my owner intones and all of a sudden all I can feel is shame and humiliation.

My permanent restraints once again prove Master’s brutal commitment to keeping me under control that is so fiendishly complete and total that I can only admire it. The permanent collar I had expected and I am not really surprised when it turns out that I am getting permanent ankle and wrist cuffs as well. What does surprise me are the equally permanent cuffs right above my knees and right above my elbows. I am already a very controlled slave boi but these will enable him to step that up a notch.

The cuffs themselves are the work of a master craftsman, things of beauty. Each cuff, as well as the collar, is a little wider than 2” and about 3/8” thick. Each is fitted with no less than 4 sturdy eyelets welded to them, big enough for a large bore padlock to be threaded through these. They are made of high quality stainless steel and the edges of the cuffs are rounded so as not to scrape my skin unnecessarily. This is not out of concern for my well being I am sure, because with the exception of the collar, all are fitted so tightly that they compress my flesh, but do not cut off blood-flow. This means that it is very hard for them to shift position up and down my legs or arms, which of course also means that I can be secured so that I won’t be able to move a muscle.

The collar is slightly different, not only in that it has slightly sturdier eyelets, but also because a number of holes are drilled into the upper part of it, in the edge closest to my head. After looking at it for a few seconds I realize that these holes will make it possible to make to secure a hood even better to my head.

The cuffs and collar are put on by first wrapping the limb in question with a thick piece of leather. Then the cuff, which comes on two halves, is placed around the limb and pressed into place using vices. This operation of course means that blood-flow is cut off temporarily, but this restored when the operation is over. Then Master’s mechanic friend welds the two pieces together – an operation that makes me lie absolutely still with fear. Especially when he does it to the collar. Once all the cuffs and the collar are on, he goes back to the first one he welded on and sands and polishes this until it looks seamless and is shiny like the rest of the ring. I am now collared for real, for good, and it somehow amplifies the sense of being owned, of being a slave.

I am of course fitted with a matching steel chastity device, the only part of the process that Master is involved directly in. It is of course a fiendish device, compressing my poor needy thing, while holding it so that have no chance at all of manipulating it. Master is involved because it is secured to me and my cock not only with a very tight and sturdy ring around scrotum, but also with a piercing. A Prince Albert. This is of course why Master is involved. Piercings are not left to others; not even his closest friends. And although I dutifully scream in pain into the gag like the slave bitch he has turned me into, I am also deeply grateful that he is the one piercing me. I am also perversely happy that me chooses to lock me up in steel. There are two reasons for this: first of all it could – could – mean that he wants me to keep them for a while yet. I know I will never cum again – I am absolutely sure of this – but at least I will still be a man of sorts. Secondly it pleases me that he pierces me. I am here because of him, for him, because his pleasure is my pleasure and his personal involvement in this quite simply makes me happy.

Of course a new piercing should have time to heal properly before use, but that would be so unlike Master. So soon after being pierced my cock has been fitted with a padlock that threads up through the PA-hole and attaches the chastity device very securely. Just to make sure – and no doubt also to prove that this is not for show – Master has his friend weld a small steel plate over the keyhole of the padlock. To remove the padlock one would now need an angle grinder or something similar.

Once the piercing is in place Master again cups my balls and says: “For now I will keep these balls to hurt, but there is no way you will escape castration boi; none at all. Do you understand?” Defeated, but also proud and pleased that he wants me and my body, I nod my understanding. I do know that my balls are doomed. All I can hope for is that they will provide Master with pleasure and I find that this is indeed something I fervently hope. I love him and whatever he wants to do to me he can.

The fact that my balls are doomed should make me feel desperate – and it does to some small extent of course – but the little scene I made before seems to have cleared this in my mind, moved me further along to accepting my eventual and inevitable castration as a fact.

The process of fitting me with the cuffs takes hours, but I am kept occupied. Every once in a while one of the men take up position over my head, removes the gag and fucks my face or pisses down my throat. When the cuffs are all in place, the leather removed and everything polished to perfection, I feel very full.

But of course now it’s the mechanic’s turn and since he has just performed a favor for Master, he gets special access. Soon I am suspended by my new restraints, hanging horizontally with all my limbs pulled as far as they can go without dismembering me. The mechanic leans down, removes my gag and with surprising tenderness strokes my cheek: “I want to hear you scream boi” he says, smiling and in low and intimate tones.

Soon I am doing just that. The mechanic proves to be both brutal and imaginative, using wires for whips, cables for strangulations and banding and alligator clips for every single sensitive piece of me he can get at. My body is covered in angry red welts from his whipping and around my neck a cable is tied so tight that I gasp for air. My balls are also tied around the base of my scrotum, so tightly that they are turning purple while causing considerable pain. He has alternated between tying them off like that and releasing them, letting blood flow back, making me scream in pain, and then applying alligator clips to them. The clips are also attached to my nipples (of course) as well as my tongue, lips (several on each lip), nose, ears and in fact just about every spot on my body he has been able to tease some kind of skin into a suitable attachment point.

I am absolutely delirious with pain, past the point of being able to scream even.

My ass is filled with a giant steel dildo and as a final touch he has made sure all of the clips attached to me are connected to a generator – this includes the dildo. So just when I think it can’t possibly get worse, he electrifies them. He does them all at once, one at a time, two at a time, all of them alternating, pulsing a fiendish rhythm out through my aching body. You name it, he does it.

I scream, I gurgle and even beg. Yes, right after “disappearing” and being settled in, Master gave me permission to beg again. He quite simply told me that my slavery would from now on become so hard that he would no longer insist on me not begging. It is impossible for me to convey just how scared that remark made me. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that I have found out that Master’s insistence that I don’t beg was actually doing me a favor. Because no matter that I in certain situations – like this one – simply can’t stop myself from begging, I have found that begging only makes it worse; amplifies my sense of helplessness and the accompanying pain and degradation. Focusing all my being on not begging because it would have him kick me, out focused my mind somewhat away from the pain, making it easier to bear. But now that barrier has been removed and so has the ability to shift focus slightly. I now get the full force of the pain and suffer all the more for it. Again I have to marvel at how that man is able to play every little string of my being like a finely tuned instrument.

The pain I feel now is immense. The mechanic has me completely delirious and has had me like this for what seems like forever, showing no signs of ever stopping. There is only pain in my universe, nothing else. Except one little thing: unlike any other torture session I have ever been in, there seems to be no indication at all that he wants to use my body to get off. I haven’t blown him; he hasn’t fucked any part of me. In fact his cock hasn’t been out even once. This scares me badly and once again I am very grateful for Master’s presence – but then I am always happiest when he is around.

I am on the verge of passing out when the mechanic finally wants sex. Only he doesn’t want like the others. He steps a little closer so that his crotch is near my right hand. He then presses a button, sending an especially powerful surge through me to get my attention – as if he didn’t already have my full attention – and speaks: “Boi. Hand-job. Make it good or…” I scream something unintelligible to acknowledge his command. At this point I can’t even form words inside my head, much less my mouth where the alligator clips along with the cable around my neck would make understandable words impossible anyway.

It is perhaps the strangest sexual experience I have ever had and more than a little creepy. My nearly numb – from being suspended – fingers fumble until I have his cock in my right hand. He is quite big – not nearly as big as Master of course – and he is very hard even before I touch him. The thickly veined tool is slick with his juices betraying obvious arousal, but when I look at him me is utterly impassive. He stands still and his face betrays no emotion at all. As I masturbate him – and I am quite good at this Master has told me repeatedly – his face, body or breathing still betrays not even the slightest arousal. There is no sound except for my own pathetic panting and screaming every time a new wave of shocks hit me. I do however, not slow down at any point and his cock in my hand clearly reveals that something will soon happen. When he cums, he does so without a sound – not even a grunt! – and without any change in breathing or facial expression. He simply shoots a staggering amount of cum in a great arch onto my body and face. And as he does, he pushes a button and shocks me worse than ever before. I pass out with every muscle in my body tensing completely – including the ones holding his member. If the night holds more I don’t sense it.

I think it has been perhaps a little over six months since I came here and I have – as promised – been irrevocably modified by Master and although I fully expected castration to be first, I still have my balls.

I love Master, more than ever before but it would be foolish to deny that he has turned my life into a nightmare of pain and humiliation, endless brutal servitude with only his presence as comfort. Slavery is so hard, so much more demanding and painful than even my previous service to him. His dungeon is larger and much, much better equipped and so I can be put through much more and much more painful things. Master has also equipped an entire room with medical equipment worthy of a surgery so that when I am damaged – it’s no longer “if” but “when” – he can fix me himself and this leads him to do more brutal things to me. He has also changed his business so that he now works from home. I didn’t fully appreciate before how much it meant in terms of rest for me that he had to go to work most days. Now he only leaves me alone if he has to leave on a business trip. Otherwise he uses me intermittently throughout the day. And when he does leave me to go on a trip, his friends “take care” of me in the harshest possible manner short of maiming and killing me. It’s so bad that I now involuntarily begin to cry when Master says he’s leaving and can’t stop trembling when he hands me over to one of his friends. His college buddy is especially bad, outrageously thorough and innovative, but truly they are all accomplished sadists.

And now Master has modified me and in a way that has me crying inconsolably. So humiliating and debilitating and so logical when you think about it, yet one that caught me completely by surprise. Four days ago, after I had provided Master with his usual morning blowjob – a greatly satisfying ritual for both of us – he led me into what he likes to call “the clinic”. Here he strapped me to his examination chair, a piece of furniture that looks like a cross between a dentist’s chair and a gynecological examination chair. This one is of course custom made so that my restraints match perfectly and in a matter of seconds I am literally locked in place, unable to move anything but head, hands and a feet. This time the head was fixed with a broad steel band, but only after he produced a speculum so that my mouth was forced open.

Then Master steadily and methodically went about removing my teeth. Not all of them at once, but about a third of them in the first session. All of my front teeth, both above and below. He did use anesthetic so it wasn’t painful, but I still cried inconsolably from the shame and humiliation, but also and most importantly from the sense of losing something important for good. Master took my teeth over three days and it is impossible to overstate how much of mental defeat it was for me. It is no overstatement to say that it broke me, but what is more important than that even, is how it bound me closer still to Master. He took them from me to make me more his. He took that tiny bit of self reliance and independence that being able to chew your own food is from me and with that he made me more his. It’s the lowest I have been yet, but I feel closer to him than ever before, needing him and depending on him on so many ways now.

I can of course see the logic and not only from a pervert’s point of view. Having a slave who effectively can’t take care of his own dental hygiene because of the way he is kept, leads to bad teeth so why not simply remove them? Furthermore eating only soft and blended foods gets into his head as does the forced speech impediment. And every single time I blow him from now on I will be reminded of him taking my teeth as his tool slides into my smooth mouth; the face pussy he has fitted me with.

It is safe to say that I absolutely hated having my teeth removed, but of course we would not be the couple we are if it weren’t for the fact that he has made me love – love! – some aspects of it. There is of course the fact that it bound me closer to him, but frankly that seems to apply to pretty much whatever he chooses to do to me. I am such a pushover when it comes to him. No, what really sealed the deal was the first blowjob – and all the ones that followed. It was three or four days after he had removed the last of my teeth and my gums had healed. Every time I ate or spoke I would end up sobbing. I felt small, insignificant, humiliated, degraded beyond belief and very, very broken. He had left me alone sexually speaking after the extraction and that certainly didn’t help. I was sitting chained in the dungeon feeling sorry for myself and had been sitting like that for hours when he came down. Unlocking me he signaled for me to rise and then took me by the hand. He has done so before, always in somehow extraordinary situations, and it works with me every time. To me it conveys a special sense of intimacy between Master and slave and that instantly made me feel better.

He led me up and out of the dungeon and into the bedroom. Here he stripped while I did my best to look down, failing miserably. I love looking at him and his naked body just makes me feel good. Lying naked on his back he asked me: “What are you boi?” I answered as best I knew how: “I am Your slave Master, Your property Master”. My teeth gone this of course came out more like: “I am You’ d’lave Mad’ther, You’ po’po’dy Mad’ther”, which if course made me cringe. “Good boi”, he said, “now blow me you little bitch”. With the greatest of delight I proceeded to do just that, finding that it was much, much better than I had expected. The sensation of his tool sliding into my mouth, completely smoothly and without even the tiniest bit of resistance was just outrageously sensuous. Preoccupied with what I had lost I hadn’t realized what I had gained. I had gained a perfect fuckhole for Master and one over which I had unparalleled control, one which I in the most sensuous way could use to please the man I love.

It must have been written all over my face, because when I looked up at him he smiled involuntarily and no doubt equally involuntarily stroked my cheek once, tenderly like a lover and whispered softly: “Yes slave, I knew you’d love it”.

That moment changed everything for me and although I still cringe a little with humiliation whenever I am forced to speak, I am deeply grateful that Master had made me a better cocksucker by providing me with a smooth hole. He has improved this further by piercing my tongue, inserting four studs with round ends. The stimulation I am now able to provide, combining my smooth a pleasant hole with the concentrated stimulus of the rods and my already quite accomplished tongue and well trained lips, makes even the mechanic gasp. His surprised gasp when I took him in my mouth for the first time after having the studs inserted, as well as his almost desperate grunting as he struggled in vain to regain composure and control as I took charge and forced his orgasm to spray out him with hitherto unseen force and speed, was more than worth the pain he caused me afterwards. The others may use me, but only Master owns me.

Since Master does not want my lips to sink in I am now gagged with a big, black ball at all times when not in use, but this is actually only an advantage for me since it means that I speak less.

I am pretty sure more than a year has passed since I came here and my life has in no way gotten easier. I have adjusted in many ways, but it never gets easy, never will get easy. What is done to me is brutal and merciless and what’s more it keeps changing. Just when I think something is routine, it is changed.

Master also does a good job of keeping me in the dark as to the passing of time. I am not his house slave, taking care of cleaning and so on, so most of the time I am kept in the basement/dungeon. I am allowed up and used around the whole house, but often hooded, blindfolded or at night. Furthermore I am never taken near windows and the house itself is a marvel of climate control, so that I am effectively unable to tell if it’s warm or cold outside.

So while I am pretty sure that a little more than a year has passed, it might just as well have been nine months or a year and half. Maybe two? I just don’t know.

It is also increasingly irrelevant as my days pass in a haze of sex and pain. I am a plaything for Master and although I love him absolutely, crave his attention like nothing else I have ever craved and yearn for him to be pleased with a fervor I didn’t know I had in me, I am also aware that I am a possession, increasingly an object rather than a person. He has very warm feelings for me – I think at least – but I do not fool myself and think these feelings are anywhere near as warm as those I have for him. He loves me like one would a trusty dog, but not beyond that I think. Certainly I am no longer a person to him; not really. While this might seems a little disappointing to some, it doesn’t matter to me. I am happy just to be near him and find it impossible to think of life without him.

His love for and fascination with amputated slaves has made many of his sessions, both pure torture, pure sex and all in between, occasionally very scary experiences. The mild version, which is still very scary, is that he has had made a set of very, very tight rubber pouches to seal up my hands, arms, feet and legs. These he then uses to differing degrees, the mildest being having my hands and feet sealed inside them. Maybe this can’t even be said to be special anymore, since it seems to me that my hands and feet are sealed inside the pouches more often than not. When they are on I can’t use or even move my fingers and toes. Not being able to move my toes means that I can barely walk. Walking is more like awkward wobbling.

Often, however, this isn’t enough for Master and my arms and legs are folded and placed inside their own pouches. Small pouches. Tight pouches. They create the illusion that my legs and arms are amputated at knees and elbows, while of course making me even more helpless. Sometimes he lies down and lifts my “amputated” form up and impales me on his cock and sometimes he does this in front of a mirror. The sight of my now tiny form, utterly helpless, thin, weak and completely controlled, scares me so badly while arousing me enormously. I can see very clearly what he wants to turn me into eventually and more and more I think this is how it all must end for me. I don’t want to end up like an amputated stump, I really, really don’t and the very idea makes my mind almost blank with fear, but I know for certain that this is how he would like me to end up. And it is becoming more and more clear that I cannot, will not, live without him. I simply can’t picture life back in the “real” world anymore, it seems so remote and so utterly alien to me. I am a slave now and I cannot see myself being free ever again. And this of course scares me quite badly; knowing that I have lost the capacity to be free.

It also means that I probably will end up like that stump I am looking at right now in the mirror. He has me impaled, my limbs sealed inside pouches and my face gagged with a huge, black ball. My little cock is straining like mad against the cage and both he and I are wet with my juices. His hands hold my surprisingly small waist firmly and I make the most embarrassing, almost cooing, sound from behind my gag as I enjoy his fucking fully. He has been going at it for ages now and I am covered in sweat. Master’s stamina is just incredible and as always there is nothing else in the world for when he fucks me, the sensation and enjoyment so intense it focuses my whole being in my ass. They say that men can’t experience multiple orgasms and while they certainly aren’t conventional male orgasms and it is becoming increasingly debatable whether I can be said to be male any longer, I have had a whole flock of what Master occasionally calls my “slave bitch ass shivers”. He has been holding me just right for a long time now, so that practically every thrust he makes hits just the right spot making my whole body tingle. I love it. I love him. I have no control whatsoever and am simply forced to accept – as always – his complete ownership of my body.

My owner finally having shot his load inside me, he dumps me on the floor beside the bed and goes to sleep. I am left tied and gagged as usual and of course without covers. He does, however, take the time to hood me, so that I now lie blind and mute and defenseless. I like the feeling. I also love the feeling of his cum leaking out of my ass and even experience a strange, muted sort of aftershock, a little shivering bitch orgasm of sorts. My whole body seems overly sensitive after that fuck, but it is a tendency I have noticed lately. I am becoming more emotional and at the same time certain parts of my body are becoming more sensitive; nipples especially. Having felt my balls and how they seem to have gotten a little smaller and to have pulled up some, I wonder if I am feeling the effects of damage to them, the first castration-like symptoms. The thought scares me more than it excites me and I am overwhelmed by a fit of emotions, crying myself to sleep. I may have told myself it was alright, but I don’t really want to lose my balls. I don’t want to be castrated after all but I am certain that I will be and this is the thought on my mind as I sob myself to sleep.

Master has picked up on the fact that I am afraid of getting castrated after all and what started it – again. He has me tied down to the examination chair and is conducting a very thorough and very painful examination of my balls. My ass is stuffed with a truly huge steel dildo (“to keep me in place”) and I am of course chained, locked and strapped down to that all I can move are my eyelids and tongue, sticking out of ring-gag. Most of the examination is of course just an excuse to hurt me, but even his hands squeezing my nuts do feel much more like a real examination and he certainly hasn’t used ultra sound on them before, producing pictures of them. After a good long while he actually shows me the pictures and explains that he will have to give the ball torture a rest because of beginning damage, since he wants my balls intact for when he castrates me! I can’t help it; I scream. My love smiles: “There, there my little bitch. You’ll be so happy when I finally take them and I know what you want most of all is to please me”. He certainly knows me and crying I try to agree. “Good boi. Know that when I take them you will be pleasing me immensely”. There is no stopping the tears now, but at least the facefuck he gives me when he climbs onto the chair is epic.

Master has spared my balls for the last few months or what I think of as months. I have by now lost all realistic sense of time. My best guess is that I have been here for at least two years, which would mean that I have been his effectively for more than three years and that it is that long since I came for the last time in my life. I realized some weeks (or was it months?) ago that I can’t really remember what cuming feels like, but it doesn’t stop me from needing to do so very, very badly. More out of a sense psychological need these days than a real physical one. I am fairly sure that my both my balls and my cock, even given the pause Master has imposed, don’t work properly any more. How could they after years of intense abuse and confinement? But still I feel like I should be able to cum, like I want to, but I can’t really recall what it’s like, only that it feels good – or rather that it should feel good.

I am lying at Master’s feet as he uses me to pursue his amputation fetish in the scariest possible way without actually cutting anything off; a pursuit that has taken on ever increasing ingenuity since he declared my balls off limits. Today he has taken me down into the dungeon and injected me with some kind of numbing agent, and I have lost control over my limbs completely. My arms and legs flop around like dead fish, completely beyond my control. They are numb, which certainly doesn’t make me feel better. To further humiliate me the substance has made me lose control over my bladder and bowels so that I am now wearing a very full diaper. My head would loll dangerously around if he hadn’t fitted me with a very, very tight neck corset and head harness, which is conveniently fitted with a very large ring gag. All I can control it seems is my eyes and my breathing, although even that is affected to the extent that I gasp for breath, fighting against a measure of dead weight from my own chest.

It scares me shitless since I know that there is a real chance of permanent damage being in this state and not for the first time do I get the idea that maybe I won’t get a real chance to opt out once the time comes, that he will just keep me no matter his promises. Not that I think I will opt out. In spite of my newly re-found fear of castration and the fact that slave life is so much harder and scarier than even I could imagine, I can still not imagine life without him.

I have been like this for hours I think, a completely paralyzed piece of slave flesh currently acting as a footrest for Master, when he uses me for the first time. As he lifts up my limp form I fully appreciate how helpless I am as my head tries to drop back and is only held in place by the corset. Were it not for the corset my neck would probably drop back until it snapped. My arms and legs flop uselessly of course and Master seems to have real trouble handling me, until he gets a full body harness on me, supporting me under my arms, with straps around my torso and finally straps skirting my diaper. Once that is on he hangs my limp form from a chain connected to a rail and simply pushes me along like a sack of whatever. I am dehumanized and humiliated beyond belief, but I don’t start crying until he places me on a table of some sort and changes my diaper.

I am still leaking a few tears as he pushes me along the rail over to the bed he has in the corner, a place I have fond and deeply scary memories of. He undresses and lies down and drags me along until I am poised above his very hard and ready cock, guiding me with one hand while using the other to operate the remote control I am then dropped down on his pole. I love that sensation even if the sound I produce involuntarily as air is pushed out of me as the cock goes in is deeply humiliating. Even completely paralyzed with no control over my sphincter I love being penetrated by him. A submissive smile would no doubt be spreading across my face, were I able to control my facial muscles, but as it is I simply enjoy the moment.

Then it gets weird and degrading. Pushing a button on the remote he makes the winch pull me up and drop me on his cock in a rhythmic fashion so that I am fucking him/getting fucked by him without either of us really doing anything. After a short while I can feel my prostate being milked to the same rhythm, my slave juices flowing helplessly from my imprisoned cock as I bounce up and down on his pole, truly just a plaything, a fuckdoll.

I’m guessing that it’s been at least six months since Master declared my balls off limits, but that is now over, just as my days as man will soon be. Master is castrating me and just as I expected and feared, he is doing so with an extreme and extremely long torture session. All his friends are here, but for once they are not allowed to touch my balls at all. They watch and can of course use me for sex but all torture is performed by Master. Not that this means that I am being spared; quite the opposite in fact. Master has once again proven that no one can compete with him when it comes to cruelty and imagination and I am terrified of him. After hours of pain I now try to scream even at his slightest movement.

This, my final day as a man, started with Master declaring after the morning blowjob we both enjoy so much, that I would be castrated today. No fanfare, no drama. Just a flat declaration that he would castrate me. I didn’t object, I didn’t try to argue in any way and it is with considerable pride I can say that I didn’t cry either – at least not then. I simply bowed my head and said “Yes Master”. After what I think is about four years of slavery and even longer chastity I knew it was coming and although I most definitely do not want it and fear it very, very badly and most decidedly have not come to terms with the inevitability of my emasculation as I thought I would, I do realize the futility of objection. I try to tell myself that it will be a relief to be free of the need to cum, the desperate yearning for an orgasm that will never be granted that has been a defining feature of my slavery, but I cannot convince myself.

Try as I might I cannot accept it fully and in full view of all his friends I begin crying when he ties me down. I don’t beg or fight at least, but I cannot stop myself from sobbing as I am laid out on my back on a narrow torture bench, my arms and legs secured behind and below me for full, free access to my genitals; my forehead strapped to a some sort of movable head-“rest” so that my head can be flipped back for better access to my mouth. Looking down over my bound body it looks like my arms and legs have already been removed and this certainly doesn’t do wonders for attempts at calm and acceptance.

Then, for the first time in what I think is almost five years, my cock is freed from its prison. Master’s hand strokes it gently and looking down my body I find that what I have for years taken to be erection straining against the cage have been nothing of the sort. My cock leaks madly as it always has, now closer to that orgasm which I am certain will never be granted, but it does not get hard. It doesn’t even get half hard. What I am experiencing can’t even be called a swelling, more like a weak pulsing and it is as far as one can imagine from an erection. Not only that, my cock is visibly smaller than it used to be, shrunk from years of relative inactivity. All this time I have somehow told myself that the desperate urges I had also meant that I experienced erections. And really, now that I think about it; how often have I been able to see my own genitals for the last few years? Hardly ever. Of course my cock has not only been conditioned to stay soft, it has also shrunk from the lack of blood-flow. It’s logical, but takes me by complete surprise.

I look at Master with eyes no doubt filled with fear and desperation, my mouth working to produce words when he says: “It hasn’t worked in years boi. Certainly even a useless slave shit like you should know this. You will be much better off once your balls are gone”, and before I can even object, he grabs a nut in each hand and squeezes them viciously. There is no scream, no energy, much less air, even to scream with and I am simply straining against my bonds, nearly passing out from the extreme pain. Master has spared my balls for this so that he would have more “material” to torture and it has had the no doubt intended side effect of me being less tolerant of this kind of pain than I was a year ago.

When he lets go my scream finally comes, but it is weak and out of breath, not in any way conveying the depth of pain and desperation I feel. As I pant out a series of equally humiliating little screams, trying to regain a tiny measure of composure, Master proceeds to pack my ass. He inserts an inflatable dildo into my much used ass. Already quite large he soon has me first squirming with discomfort, then moaning with pain and finally screaming as it feels like I’m about to explode. Looking down my very skinny form, the outline of the dildo stands out clearly, raising both my crotch and stomach. It feels as if he has inserted not one, but two fists into me and as usual I cannot conceive of being able to hold it inside for any length of time, yet I know I will hold it as long as Master wishes it – and that this will no doubt be a considerable amount of time.

As I lay there gasping for breath Master’s friends take up position around me and while I look up at them Master hits me again, this time a fist punching my balls full force. I want to scream with pain but all I can manage is a weak vomiting. This is going to be so much worse than even I can imagine.

Over the next hours he uses his hands as well as floggers, crops, paddles, weights and parachutes in different configurations, electricity, heat, cold, needles and skewers on my balls and quite possibly also a few other things during the periods I either pass out or blank out from the extremity of the treatment. I scream – when I am able – at his lightest touch and begin to beg if he even makes a move towards me. I am absolutely terrified of him in a way and to an extent that I have never been afraid of anyone before. The man whom I love, who owns me utterly, is the one whose mere touch makes me scream with terror. The look on his face is intense, almost maniacal and although I have been subjected to tortures most people would scarcely believe, he has of late become much more sadistic, this, my castration marking the absolute apex of sadism.

And then he reverts to his old self, to the man I adore so absolutely. Lying there, by now unable to stop pathetic little screaming sounds coming from my throat as I look down my body, my truly mangled nuts in full view, he lays his hand on my skinny hip. I scream with terror until I see the look on his face, somehow softened: “Shush slave. Quiet now. It’s alright”. I am losing my balls in a torture session so bad I have vomited until I have nothing left, how can that be alright? “It’s ok boi. You’re with me; you’re my slave remember? All of you belong to me; you gave yourself to me. It’s going to be ok, you’ll be fine. You will love being mine just as much as you did before slave”. How can it be ok with this cruelty, this unbridled abuse, this terrorizing of my whole being through my balls? How can that be or become ok?

Only somehow it is ok. He has reminded me of what I am and more importantly shown himself as he really is; the cruel and dominating man who is also strangely caring, who has kept every promise he has ever made to me and given me the full force of my own fantasies; made them come through. How could I not see that this is simply the natural course of my own fantasies? A natural consequence of my utter commitment to him, to making him happy whatever the cost? How have I lost seeing how his pleasure is my real fantasy, my real goal in life, my true source of pleasure? I suddenly feel like the most useless slave in the world and begin crying helplessly while I babble this out: “I’m sorry Master. I’m so sorry Master. I’ve been a useless and ungrateful slave. I’m so sorry”. I go on and on, unable to stop myself and babbling like an idiot. Between my lack of teeth, my voice hoarse from screaming and my tears making me blubber I doubt anyone can understand what I am saying, but Master accepts it smiling. He strokes my body gently and calms me down. When I am finally calm he says: “I know slave, I know. Now make it right, be a good slave and give me what is mine. Be a good boi now”. There can be no doubt what he is asking of me and now I do not hesitate. Not only do I know what is expected of me; I have rediscovered my true passion and it is pleasing him at all costs. And I know what will please him the most right now, so I give it not only freely, but gladly: “Please Master,” I say hoarsely but surprisingly firmly, “Please Master, will You please take my balls Sir? If it pleases You, will You please castrate me Sir?” My Master, my owner, my man smiles broadly and strokes my cheek. Then he says: “Of course I will castrate you slave”. The words electrify me, but in a good way this time. I can see how pleased he is and that sight provokes a wave of pleasure in me almost as intense as one of my anal “shivers”. This, my ongoing, outrageously brutal, castration has refocused me, given me back something I hadn’t realized was gone. It has given me back my full pleasure at being owned by him.

Then he cements this by lubing me up (hardly needed these days, given how loose I am becoming back there) and sliding into me. In spite of the extreme pain in my crotch I can’t help coo with pleasure as he hits that special spot. That stops as he grabs my balls with both hands, using them to hold on to me as he thrusts in and out of me. I now scream, gurgle and blubber with helpless, blinding pain as he fucks me with his usual abandon and incredible stamina, but I am now where I want to be, need to be.

Still I cry with relief and gratitude as he finally shoots his hot load inside me and pulls out, letting go of my mangled balls as he does. I also blubber with gratitude and humiliation as he lets me clean his magnificent cock, now covered in its usual mixture of my shit and his jism. As I lick, absorbed by serving him, I distantly feel how a new cock thrusts into me. This time no one touches my balls and I can concentrate fully on Master’s cock while at the same time enjoying a good fuck. I am being castrated but I right where I want and need to be.

Early on in the torture session he bound my balls with several turns of a thin, black rope. It raised my poor balls up and out for punishment, but was not wound tightly enough to cut off blood supply and thus reduce sensation. It also brought them into my own field of view – when I wasn’t bent over to get throat fucked at least – and thus forced me to see my own manhood being destroyed. I watched and tried to scream as he ran skewers through my balls, four though each one and one long skewer through both at the same time. This came after a beating which had already made my balls impossibly lumpy and as the final skewer ran through both balls I grayed out while retching hopelessly, the last tiny bit of vomit already long gone. I came to shortly after only to find the nightmare deepening as Master hooked several of the skewers up to a generator and over the sound of my out of breath begging switched the power on. The pain was once again extreme, making my whole body shake as the current pulsed through my by now irrevocably damaged balls. Master stopped before they cooked, but not before he had put me in that state of absolute terror of him.

Then came a vicious round of punching and kneading, where I was certain that they would be crushed and fainted several times only to be brought back to the nightmare with smelling salts. During one of my blackouts my balls were put into an electrified ball-press and the sight of them, almost completely flat as seen through the wire interlaced Plexiglas of the ball-press made me certain it was all over, that they were gone.

But they weren’t and just as I was most terrified of him, he brought me back and gave me my focus as a slave back, reaffirmed my commitment to him and gave the whole brutal and terrifying scene meaning.

The fucking, first by him and then by all his friends, gave both me and him a much needed break but now it is time. Master takes up position at my crotch, looks me deep in the eye then begins. If I had thought that the final my part of my emasculation would be swift and merciful I was mistaken. Master now embarks on an extremely lengthy and outrageously painful final round of kneading and punching. I lose all sense of passing time, trapped and frozen in an endless, excruciatingly painful moment broken only by my own blackouts. Finally when I am almost spent in a way not even I have ever been before, on the brink of unconsciousness from which I suspect smelling salts cannot bring me back from, Master stops for a short minute. He readjusts his grip so that he now hold each of my testes separately in his hands, his large and powerful fists covering the misshapen and ruined, but still roughly egg shaped, balls in his hands. He looks straight at me and says: “Final one boi. I end them now. Ask me nicely”. His last order is of course pointless and impossible given my current state, but as I croak out something which even I can’t understand, he takes it for what I would have said had I been able to talk and simply says: “Good boi” as he smiles warmly. Then his fists close with unyielding force and with a sickening squishing sound, Master turns my balls into mush, using his hands to grind it until there are not even lumps left. I can’t even scream. The pain fills my entire body and there is not a single fiber of my body that does not tense up and by all rights I should have passed out long ago. It seems, however, that I am unable to and as Master pulls my ruined crotch upwards while he grinds with his hands we lock eyes and I am held in that moment, once again controlled utterly by him as he keeps me trapped in an infinite moment of infinite pain. A huge rushing sound fills my ears, drowning out everything else, but I do see his lips move. I have been his a long time and although I have never trained in it, I can read his lips easily: “Good boi. Nearly over now. Very good boi”. Through the immense pain an absurd happiness fills me; that I have pleased my owner. I exist only to please him, I know that again now.

Then the moment ends. He lets my ruined sex go and darkness creeps in and claims me.

Chapter 6: The object

I cannot move. Or at least I cannot move more than a slight shaking. This goes for all of me. I am lying on my back on hard surface covered by a thick layer of soft rubber. My legs are tied down with a multitude of straps, spread wide and bent slightly at the knees. My feet are in their usual rubber socks and are also secured with straps. Broad straps across my hips, lower and chest upper chest hold me down, as does my collar, which I can feel is strapped down on either side. A strap across my forehead holds my head in place.

My arms are folded, so that my hands, sealed in mittens, are secured to my collar, while the arms themselves are strapped down like the rest of me. My head is sealed inside a very thick rubber hood, open only at the mouth and nostrils and earphones plug my ears, filled with muted white noise, drowning out all other sound.

My permanent rings on my arms and legs are no doubt also part of my bindings; I just can’t feel that with any certainty given all the other straps.

My mouth is filled with a special gag: an inflatable bladder through which runs a tube which I think extends all the way down into my stomach, or at least far enough down to be safely past the point where fluids can reach the lungs. My nostrils are filled with thin tubing feeding my lungs with air – or whatever Master chooses. Likewise my cock is fitted with a catheter, but my ass is merely plugged with a conventional, inflatable dildo, filling me up while no doubt helping secure my further. I am completely helpless and isolated. I can’t even scream.

This is how I woke up after the castration. It took me a good while to even realize that I was awake and once I had realized it, my state sparked a fit of panic before Master’s voice replaced the white noise and calmed me down. He explained that I am recovering from the torture session and subsequent surgery. I am now castrated and Master told me that he has removed all traces of my sack as well, replacing it with a nice, straight and, in time, barely visible scar. I am learning to accept this and his reaffirmation of my status during the castration itself has certainly helped, but the realization, whenever it hits me, still fills me with something close to panic.

While he was at it, Master also decided to circumcise me. The simple reason for this, he bluntly informed me, was that he intends to fit my cockhead with a ring and that cleaning also would become easier. Not coincidentally, the increased sensitivity of my exposed head makes for very enjoyable torture, at least while it lasts, and he practices this very often as I lie here. How he is able to gauge my reaction to this exquisite torture is a mystery to me. I have no sound and no movement left to me stronger than a feeble trembling, but he must genuinely enjoy gently massaging my very sensitive cockhead given how often he does it.

After securing my attention right after coming to, Master informed me that I would be like this for no less than three weeks and quite possibly a lot longer. To say that I panicked at hearing this is an understatement. I don’t know how long it took for Master to calm me sufficiently down for me to hear him out, but I suspect it took days. I have hated and feared isolation ever since he did it to me the first time and this will be the worst by far.

The first few of what I think of as days pass with a mixture of sleep and panic. I am still very weak from the castration scene and I cannot get over my fear of this kind of isolation. When I am awake – and I still can’t figure out how he knows this – Master is invariably there to tend to me. I think water and food is probably fed to me when I am out since I can’t really feel it and I never feel hungry or thirsty, so that isn’t what he does when I am awake. Piss is of course taken care of by the catheter. What he does do, apart from torturing my newly exposed foreskin, is change my bandages and clean me out with a series of enemas each time the dildo is removed. These are not punishment enemas, but rather very pleasant ones with water that is just right. I do love having my ass tended to and after a short while I find myself wishing he would fuck me. But he doesn’t and neither does he remove my throat tube and let me suck him. I know I am supposed to recuperate but I can’t help thinking, once the worst fatigue is over, that he is withholding his cock as yet another form of torture and control. In the years he has had me, he has turned me into such a slut, an eager bitch who craves his sexual attention constantly. I can only marvel at this transformation, but have found that I can do nothing to resist it. I am his.

When he tends to me he also flips whatever I am secured to, so that I hang from my bindings for what I think is a few hours, presumably to avoid giving me bedsores. Master is thorough as well as cruel and he is clearly demonstrating – as if that was really necessary – just how tightly I am controlled.

I am crying again while having a hot spell at the same time. I have been tied like this for long time, I think at least, and the effects of the castration are manifesting themselves. I have, with a mounting sense of desperation, felt how I am gradually losing my sexual desire. I feel less and less horny. But it is a quiet and increasingly resigned desperation, as I become more and more the docile and accepting eunuch slave Master wants me to be.

The mood swings, however, are terrible. I get so sad and cry endlessly and right now I am gripped by despair deeper than I thought possible. And then Master’s voice comes on again, just as it has all the other times I’ve cried. I don’t know how he knows that I crying, but I am so very grateful that he knows. His voice speaks softly into my ears: “Easy now slave. Being a neutered is good for slave. Master likes slave castrated. Master wants slave to be sexless. Being a eunuch makes slave feel good. Being castrated makes slave feel safe. Being neutered is natural for slave and makes slave more desirable. Master likes slave castrated. Master wants slave neutered. Slave must please Master. Slave loves being Master’s neutered pet….” and so on. It goes on forever and I love it. Not so much the message that I should love being what he has made me, but more his presence in my ear, his soothing voice and his constant affirmation that I belong to him, that he wants me. Of course being in the state I am, I cannot deny that the message is also increasingly sinking in. Even when I cry I increasingly find it right and good that I am now sexless. As ever he knows just how to make me as he wants me to be.

I am so very grateful that he is considerate enough to speak to me and explain this to me. It makes me feel so strangely safe and cared for and I crave his presence so badly. When he touches me to clean me or something similar, I strain to meet his hand, savoring each second his hands are on me.

To my completely outrageous joy he has also begun using me again. Apparently I have healed enough for this to take place. There was, as always, no preamble, no warning. Master simply removed my dildo, cleaned me out and then slid his magnificent tool home. I wanted to scream with pleasure, but as the fuck went on and on as it always does, I simply rode with it, my little and now limp cock leaking no doubt as I ended in a sweet, but muted “anal shivering”, crying with the sheer emotion of finally being used again. His voice in my ears right then, telling me how good it was for me to be his castrated slave, did wonders for my acceptance of my situation. After it was over I found myself for the first time feeling a feeble sense of happiness that he had taken my balls. All subsequent fuckings have been followed by the same fits of crying and his voice telling me just how good it is for me to be a eunuch slave and have moved me far towards not only acceptance of my situation, but liking or even loving it. As he no doubt intended all along.

For the first time since my castration I am screaming in pain – or rather I would be screaming in pain were it not for the tube in my throat, blocking my vocal chords. Master is fitting me with two piercings. The first one is the promised ring through my cockhead and from the feel of it Master has pierced right through the center of my cockhead and placed a very sturdy ring there, soldering or even welding it shut. My breathing is just returning to normal now and then Master hits me with the second one, one that suspends me in wild and outrageous pain all over. He is driving what feels like a giant, red-hot poker through the flesh right beneath where my scrotum used to hang. After the piercing itself comes the ring and from the feel of it, this one could probably take all of my weight if needed, it feels that big and heavy.

My limbs are still stiff and my fingers and toes are definitely not as mobile or have the same dexterity as before, but I have now been out for a couple of weeks. I am slowly getting used to the new reality of being sexless, but there is no denying that the whole thing has left me even more dependent on Master. Much more so in fact. It seems to have robbed me almost completely of my self-confidence. While I actually accept being neutered now and have come to love the way my sexlessness pleases him, it also means that I only feel any kind of worth when he is around to use me. When Master isn’t there I feel lost. Just seeing him, even if here is there to make me scream in pain, makes me happy and seeing him disappear makes me want to cry. I do a lot of crying these days as the castration seems to have made me a much, much more emotional slave. I had thought the effect would wear off and maybe it will, but right now it seems to be pretty permanent. I cry at the slightest thing and especially being without Master makes me inconsolable.

Being released from the hood and all the other bindings was an unspeakable relief – and very, very hard. My eyes couldn’t stand even the dim light of the dungeon and I had to wear sunglasses for the first week. My vocal chords took just as long to recover and just as importantly, so did the rest of my mouth. My jaw was nearly locked in the open position. I couldn’t really bend my fingers or toes properly and this has yet to improve significantly. I can still provide handjobs, clumsy ones, but that’s about it. Anything requiring significant dexterity is out of the question.

I have also lost weight and I would guess that I am now at 150 lbs or so. Certainly no more. My ribs, jaw- and cheekbones stick out and both my legs and arms are quite thin and look to be just what they are; weak. I am absurdly pleased that my hips do not stick out and that my ass is still only slender and not bony. Again I marvel at what a bitch he has turned me into. I love having a nice ass because I know it pleases him. Even now with my sex drive very nearly gone I still think the best things in the world are being fucked by him or being allowed to suck his cock.

After a few days when I could stand on my own again, Master took me to the big mirror in the dungeon and as he stood behind me I again realized just how much I depend on him; how much I am his. While he was always a few inches taller than me, we were once about the same size: well trained and groomed men in our mid-forties, looking significantly younger because of healthy lives. Strangely neither of us seemed to look much older that we did when I met him, although it must have been nearly five years or more now. Only this time, standing there in front of his immaculately trained body, I looked very much smaller than him, so small in fact as to seem younger than him at first glance. It wasn’t so much that I looked young – I don’t – but more that my diminished and subjugated form just appeared younger and somehow so very inferior to him.

My cock, now tiny and limp and fitted with a ring, hanging above an absolutely empty crotch reinforced this in a way so powerful that it is impossible to overstate.

Although I am getting used to the idea of being neutered and I actually do love that it pleases him, there is no getting around the fact that I hate being castrated. And I am certain that this is part of what he loves about having neutered me. It was the same thing with the chastity device I have come to realize, only this is so much stronger and so much more profound. I hated the chastity device, all those stolen and denied moments of ecstasy, but loved him taking them from me and that it made me so much more eager to please, hoping against all reason that one day I might be allowed to cum again, if only once. I loved that it pleased him to keep me like that but hated the device. Hated it.

It is the same with my castration only much, much stronger. When I see or on rare occasions feel my limp cock or when I notice that I don’t feel any kind of sexual desire in situations I used to be so very hot in, I am close to panic.

I can’t really grasp how profound the consequences are and it is with a tiny bit of pride I can say that I have not yet begged him to reverse it all and give me my balls back, because that is what I want to do every time I realize that I am actually castrated for real. They are not coming back and there is no chance that I will be given hormone replacement therapy. He wants me this way and I will stay limp and sexless for as long as I am with him.

That of course also means that were I to be set free, I would be able to get hormones. But would I want to? Be set free or for that matter be given hormones. Given my completely impotent response after years of chastity it is a very good bet that even with hormones I would remain impotent. I would be able to feel desire of course, but probably never get hard again. This might not matter that much I reason, since I would be all gay bottom if I ever got free. I haven’t thought of a woman in years, not even dreamed of one, and I doubt that would change. I may be bi, but the gay part has taken over completely now. And given how much of an ass slut I have become, I would fit perfectly as the submissive bottom for any nice top out there. But the thing is, that’s really all I think I would be capable of now. I haven’t made a decision in four years at least and I have no independence left in me at all. Master has used me fairly lightly since I came out, using his business travels this time to help me recover, instructions clearly left for his friends to only use me for sex while he has been away, and the rest this provides has giving me time think. I have tried to picture myself outside the dungeon, free as I was before meeting Master. I just can’t see it. I can’t see myself going shopping for food or picking out clothes, much less going to work. I can’t do that anymore; I am no longer that person. I need someone to make all those decisions for me now, I need someone to tell me what to wear and what to do, how to behave. I am no longer even slightly independent. I can think just as well as I could before – I haven’t gotten significantly more stupid – but mentally I have become someone else entirely.

If I were to go free, I would be a stay at home bottom for some man, of that I am sure, “the little wife” as it were. But really, what man would want such a stay at home guy, someone for whom you would have to make nearly every little decision, every day? A former slave without teeth or balls and with piercings in his tiny cock, where his scrotum used to be and in his tongue and who is about fifty? Not many if any at all I think.

More importantly I can’t see myself in that role either. Try as I might and even picturing the glorious effects of hormones, reclaiming my sexual desire, I can’t see myself like that. I came to Master not because I wanted to bottom to him. I came to him, gave myself up completely in fact, because I wanted, needed, craved, his intense abuse and domination. All the things he has given me over the last five years; given so richly it defies belief. And I would do the same if he asked me today, even knowing that I would one day sit here neutered and wishing I still had balls, even knowing the full extent of the dreadful effects on my mind the castration would have, I would still chose it. Not only that; normal life no longer holds even the slightest attraction to me. I want this, his domination for the rest of my life, even if it means that my life will be significantly shorter than I could otherwise expect. I want to be his for good, knowing full well that he will turn me into a sexless stump sooner or later. I want that rather than anything else I can think of. Nor is this a new thought. I had had it long before being castrated and had come to the same conclusion then, feeling the icy stab in my guts as I realized that I was never going to cum ever again and that I would rather have that than be released. I had that thought before I lost my focus and it came back to me as I lay in my forcibly imposed, immobile isolation. I don’t want out. I want him. I want to please him and be his above all else, even above my own health and life. It is what I live for and looking back now, it is what I have lived for ever since he took me that very first night at a far off hotel, since his hand stroked my skin for the first time and certainly ever since he fucked my eager ass for the first time. I am his and always will be.

So really, why put off what seems to be inevitable anyway?

I sit here in the dungeon now, waiting for him. I am kneeling, my cock and my scrotum rings padlocked to a ring in the concrete floor and my hands cuffed behind my back. The handcuffs are of course also locked to the ring in the floor. However, I am no longer wearing any permanent cuffs apart from my steel collar. Not that Master wants me free, but rather I have lost so much weight that they no longer fit. His friend the mechanic removed them while I was tied down, recuperating and I must say I regard it as a minor miracle that he was able to do so with disturbing a single one of my other bonds or even loosening them.

I am kneeling in front of a mirror and what I see in it tells me unequivocally that this reasoning is correct. The slave in the mirror would probably be tall if he could stand, but as it is the slave is quite skinny, but still with a nice body I tell myself. It is completely hairless in all but eyebrows and a short crop on top of its head. It has a limp appendage which is ringed and locked to the floor, but is otherwise sexless. The skinniness and lack of hair conspire to make to make the slave look sexless in the full meaning of the word, not just as in emasculated. Looking at my reflection I must draw the conclusion that to refer to myself as “he” is no longer correct. It probably hasn’t been for quite a while, since the bodily changes since my emasculation aren’t that huge, but still I must conclude that I am now more of an “it” than a “he”. I am certainly not feminine in any way, but almost just as certainly I am no longer male.

When Master walks in I have had a cry – again – but it is over now. I look up at him and try to smile and speak clearly as I speak without being spoken to for what must the first time in years: “Master, please Master”. He looks taken aback, even shocked, and I can see how his response is building, so I cut him off and continue with what I must, need, to tell him: “I don’t want to leave You ever Master. Please Master, please keep me for good Master. I want to be Yours for good Master. No more choices, take away my final way out Master. Make me Yours for good Master. You can do as You please with me Master. Please Master. Please”. As the import of what I am saying sinks in, I can see him stop in his tracks. I need to be sure that he understands me and that I get my meaning across before I lose my composure: “Master please. Please do with me as You please. Modify me just as You like. I’ll be Your stump Master. I don’t ever want to leave You Master.” I begin sobbing a little, but determined I go on. This is what I truly want: “Please Master”, my voice now tiny and begging, “I know I don’t have any say, that You have the right to decide everything, but please Master. Please keep me Master. Please keep me to the end Master. I need to be Yours Master. I love You Master”. I can’t hold it anymore and begin crying again. Master is, I am pleased to see, surprised and even somewhat shaken by my words, but he accepts my surrender with grace and, showing that he is still the man I fell for in the first place, he spends the next couple of hours questioning me about this. He sits down on the dungeon floor and questions me. I love him for not releasing me, yet coming down to my level as he asks his questions. When we are done, I have told him in depth of my motivation and made my complete and utter devotion and love for him perfectly clear. There can be no doubt that I mean every word, that I do really mean this surrender and that it is not just a product of my castration. He looks at me and produces a key: “slave. I will now unlock you and fuck you to seal this. Last chance to back out. Once the locks are open you will have lost your freedom for good and you will be modified in all manner of ways and you will never leave my house alive. Is that clear?” I answer as strongly as I can: “Yes Master I understand. I want this Master”. He looks at me again, holding up the key: “Last chance slave”. I bow my head and speak: “I want to be Yours Master”. Then the key slides in and unlocks me, imprisoning me for good, all hope of freedom forever gone.

Master then helps me stand and takes my hand, leading me to the rubber covered bed in a corner of the dungeon. As he takes me from the front I can’t help but cry over the fact that I will now most certainly become the stump which I have feared becoming for years, but I also cry from sheer relief. Finally I have no more choices left and finally I have, with this gesture, been able to make Master understand how deeply committed I am. The small and weak squirt of clear fluid accompanying my little anal shivering as Master cums inside me is the final defeat, my final surrender to my brutal and domineering love.

It seems that the effects of my castration have now leveled off and have reached some sort of steady state. My guess is that it’s been six or seven months since my castration, but as always I have no real way of knowing and I also no longer care that much. I am committed.

I no longer feel sexual desire, but I am very glad to report that I still love being used. Not so much the limited release I experience, but more the intimacy of and the fact that I just have to admit to being a complete ass slut. Being filled up is just one of the best feelings in the world for me and I love it absolutely.

My skin has gotten a bit softer in the places where it is not scarred from beating and other torture and my facial hair growth, of which there was precious little left after several rounds of near permanent hair removals from Master, is now completely gone. I have almost no fat left, but what little I have has shifted to my thighs and tits. Much to my horror I now sport a pair of tiny, little tits, complete with very sensitive nipples. Very, very small and not really feminine in any way, but tits nonetheless. I still have mood swings and I can get very emotional and cry over nothing, something Master uses mercilessly against me. My cock is tiny and limp; less than two inches long, very thin and utterly flaccid. Not even with Master’s wonderful tool filling me up does it stir and I think this might very well be what I hate most about being neutered.

I now have no thought about the future whatsoever and I find that this has made me a happier and calmer slave and more focused on Master’s pleasure – if that was even possible. After my surrender all thoughts about what would happen tomorrow gradually stopped over what I think was a period of perhaps a month or so. I now live in the moment only, doing and being exactly what Master wants.

Right now for example, he wants me to scream and so that is what I do. My entire being consumed by pain all I can do is scream. Not long after my surrender he apparently decided that my period of rest or grace or whatever you want to call it, was over. At the moment I am hanging suspended a couple of feet of the floor, arms and legs spread as wide as possible and stretched as far as possible also. My hands and feet are inside their usual rubber pouches as they indeed are most of the time now. I have never recovered full dexterity since coming out of my immobile prison and I don’t think I ever will. After all, why bother when they are going to be removed sooner or later?

Apart from the bindings holding me painfully suspended I am hooded; a thick leather hood open only at the mouth and made to fit me very, very snugly. If – or rather when these days – my mouth is covered I smother, no air reaching my lungs at all.

Master and all of his friends are whipping me at once, their floggers hitting very nearly all exposed areas of my skin. I am quite certain I would have been dead by now had they used whips instead of floggers, but as it is my entire body is burning with pain. I can feel no pain in my limp cock, but that is due to the fact that Master has tied it off at the base, cutting off all blood. He doesn’t want to remove it – at least I don’t think he does – but rather he is continuing a program of cutting off blood to it for about half an hour at a time and then letting the blood flow back for about an hour before cutting it off again. Not only is the blood rushing back very painful, but the effects of this repeated over and over again is to shrink my cock. It’s becoming shorter as well as thinner and the sight of it these days makes me cry.

The flogging stops but it takes a little while before my screaming does. Just as I get control over myself the string around my cock is released and pain flows back into my abused member. Just because it doesn’t work, doesn’t mean that it can’t cause me pain.

The pain in my cock subsides to a throbbing ache and then the sounding rod comes. A surprisingly wide rod of stainless steel, so long it defies belief, is forced into my poor cock, as deep as it can possibly go. The discomfort of this operation cannot be overstated and I am consumed by it, feeling like my skin is about to crawl off. Moaning and writhing I am held in position as the sound is moved in and out and I am so focused on this that it is not until someone has what feels like four fingers inside me that I feel the oncoming fisting.

As I moan and try to writhe, my cock and my ass competing for attention, taking all of my energy and consciousness, my newly installed nipple rings are electrified. I try to scream but find that I can’t. I am simply unable and hang twitching and writhing, a plaything, a toy for Master.

I lose track of time but eventually I end up on the floor on all fours. I am of course still hooded and my hands and feet are kept useless as always, but now my smooth mouth and willing ass sustain brutal poundings and as the sounding rod slides out of my cock, forgotten by the horny men who use me, I enjoy fully being the used and abused piece of slave flesh that Master has turned me into.

Master has begun his modifications of me, the ones that make it impossible for me to return to life outside the dungeon – provided I still had that option of course. The first one has taken my completely by surprise. I had imagined many things, including things that did not involve my limbs, but it seems that my imagination failed me. Master has removed my voice.

I woke up with a sore throat and was informed by Master that he had removed my vocal chords and that the area would remain paralyzed by chemical means until he deemed me sufficiently healed. That time came an hour or so ago and since then he has tried to make me produce sounds and words. The sounds I am now able to produce are moans and what amounts to modulated exhalations. The idea that I won’t be able to speak again of course makes me cry, but really it hasn’t sunk fully in yet.

Of course Master enjoys having me without speech and naturally uses it to torture me, but now, after a couple of months of being mute, I have learned to take some degree of real pleasure in it. I can’t fully explain it, it’s not like my castration, where I hate being castrated but love that being that way pleases Master, although that is of course also part of it. It’s not as if I like being mute and only being able to produce embarrassing sounds. But there is an element of silent adoration about it that I have come to appreciate; that I must now express my devotion solely through actions and looks.

In those moments when I am merely lightly bound and sitting at Master’s feet as he works or watches TV – it is with no small amount of joy I can say that even after nearly six years of brutal slavery we still share those kinds of moments – I am now reduced to rubbing my body against his and looking up at him adoringly to convey my feelings for him. Of course I wasn’t allowed to speak without permission before, but that still provided opportunity for telling Master just how much I love him. Now, with the voice gone, all I have left are looks and touch and it is somehow more intimate at times, especially when he on stops what he’s doing and looks down at me, wordlessly reciprocating.

Master and his friends have a game going with me now. The objective is to make me produce the loudest and most embarrassing sound. The winner is Master’s cousin, who, with a combination of fisting me while electrifying my nipple rings and the steel sound in my tiny cock and the ring in my scrotum, draws from me a high pitched, spasmodic keening that is easily the most ludicrous and embarrassing sound to come from me since Master removed my vocal chords.

For this game I am again suspended in a pathetic X, “supported” only by the wires that hold me. Marks from zippers, floggers and whips decorate all of my skin, but it is the electricity coursing through me as Master’s cousin forces his hand so far up inside me I feel if will soon exit through my mouth, that draws the spasmodic, yet oddly rhythmic keening that makes all of them break down laughing. Needless to say I am crying like the broken bitch I am. Apart from the obvious pain aspect of it, I am also crying – yet again – from the look of my tiny cock, grotesquely distorted by the giant sound pushed inside it. My tiny limp thing is now no more than about one inch long and barely a quarter of an inch in diameter, so the sounding bar has the effect of blowing it up like an elongated steel filled meat balloon. At the same time the ring through the circumcised head is now so large in comparison, that my cock now looks like a mere skin flap holding a ring. I am of course no longer a man and this has been true for quite a while now, but it can also be argued that I am no longer really human, at least not to the men using me. I am now a mere object, capable of providing sport for real men.

This is not a new thought, it occurred to me years before I was castrated, but since I submitted that final time to Master, begging him to never release me again, it is becoming increasingly true. The fact alone that I am sexless and without speech is the least of it really. What really matters is how I am treated by Master, and to some smaller extent, his friends. Master still keeps me as his slave and from time to time treats me with real tenderness – albeit not in a form usually recognized as such. But gradually over the last few months  – or rather what I think of as months – he has begun treating me more and more like a thing. He doesn’t call me by my usual names, “slave”, “bitch”, “ass slut” or similar, as often as before but either doesn’t call me anything or uses designations like “pain bag”, “screamer”, “fuckhole” and refers to me as “that thing” or simply “the object”.

Also the quiet moments with Master are getting rarer and he looks at me less often, now usually settling for resting his feet on some part of me or sticking his feet into my mouth or such. I still sleep on the floor next to Master’s bed and still drink his morning piss, followed by a blow job and while I still enjoy it immensely, it is no longer our shared start of the day. These days I am always hooded and am as such merely his fluid receptacle. There is no longer any intimacy and I hate that.

As I have for the past couple of weeks I am crying myself to sleep. Master has taken my objectification to a new level and permanently banished me from the upper reaches of his house. No longer am I allowed to sit at his feet when he works or watches TV or be around for casual use when he and his friends merely lounge about. Worst of all I no longer sleep on the floor next to him. I now live exclusively in his dungeon and at night I sleep in a tiny cage, not even big enough for me to stretch out in. I hate not being near him, even if I had spent months hooded when I slept with him and so had already lost the intimacy I so loved. Being confined to the dungeon permanently is so much worse and I hate it. After my castration I became so very dependent on him being around and now that I spend so much less time in his presence I feel so lost and alone. I need him so bad, even if it’s just to piss into my hooded face. As with every single brutal act Master has performed on me, this too has made me need him even more. I crave him now more than ever, even knowing that he probably has much worse in store for me.

My new “sleeping quarters” is a cage, but Master being who he is, it’s no regular cage. I can only fit inside with my arms and legs folded up and placed in pouches, mimicking the stump I will no doubt soon be. Once I am all sealed up in my pouches and my hood, my ass securely stuffed with whatever toy Master has chosen for me this night, I blindly crawl into the cage through a “door”. Once inside I fold up my arms and legs beneath me, since this is not only what Master requires, it is also the only way my much reduced form will fit inside. As I do this I also open my mouth and inch forward until I feel a large dildo in my mouth and proceed forward until it almost reaches the back of my throat. This marks the place I need to be and once there Master secures me in position by locking my nose ring – another new addition – to the cage. In this position I can barely wriggle, but Master being who he is, this isn’t quite good enough, so he has made the cage so that can actually compress me. The top of the cage presses down until I can only just breathe and I have absolutely no movement left, since the compression also has the effect of pressing my limbs down further. The position is so uncomfortable that it should be impossible to sleep but of course I have no choice and over the last few weeks I actually do get some sleep – after crying over the loss of position next to Master’s bed. I am such a bitch for him; nothing he does to me makes me love him less. The worse he treats me, the more I need him, long for his touch.

One more modification has been done to me and this one is so cruel that I want to beg Master to take it back, even if I know it’s impossible. A barely visible scar is all there I have to show for it, yet it may very well be the modification I hate the most, makes me the saddest. Even worse than being castrated. Master has removed my prostate, robbing me of the better part of the possibility of getting pleasure from anal games. I have been an ass slut from day one with Master and now he has taken most of that away from me. I still get some small degree of pleasure from the sensation of being filled up, but it in no way matches having my prostate massaged by a cock or a hand or whatever else I’ve had forced into my eagerly awaiting ass.

Master and his friends of course exploit this fully and in endless sessions I am passed around for one brutal insertion after another, crying for the first few weeks over the loss while they laugh and whip me, electrify parts of me or do other evil things. I hate it and I realize that now I am truly, completely sexless. Yet, when I see Master enjoying himself, taking pleasure in my pain and misery, and being near him as he does so, it’s somehow alright. As long as it pleases him it’s good. I live to please Master and sometimes I need to remind myself of this – especially when I lie alone in my cage at night.

Previously deemed too dangerous Master has begun playing breath games with me. When I was still a person and had yet to commit myself fully Master told me that while he loved breath games, there was simply too big a chance of damaging me in ways he did not want. Now, however, when I am only an object, there seems to be such limitations. Master seems to have forbidden things constricting my throat and for that I am grateful, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be brought to the edge of consciousness – and beyond – with the aid of something as simple as a piece of cling film.

At the moment I am tied down on my back, arms and legs folded and sealed, straps holding me down to such a degree that I can’t even shake my head. Master and his friends are having a night of drinking and sports and I am the sport. After drinking all of their piss – and there was plenty after what was probably a considerable amount of beer – I was strapped down like this to a bench Master has had especially made for me, so narrow it only just supports my body and with even narrower supports for my arms and legs, keeping them spread wide while allowing access to all of me. A round of electro torture was up first, but even I thought it was a little lame, barely making me scream properly as they all seemed to want something else.

That something else is what they are doing now, Master being last and of course best at it – although his college buddy as usual had me in a state of complete panic as well. It’s a simply game: the guy doing me grabs a piece of cling film, slides his cock into me and fucks me while he presses the film down over my nose and mouth, cutting off all breath. He then has to take me as close to fainting as possible while fucking me, but without making actually me pass out. Furthermore he has to do this for as much of the time he is fucking me as possible, the other guys timing him, and he get’s extra points if he can make me pass out just as he shoots his load. After three very accomplished dominants, all exceptionally cruel and none of them with even the slightest tendency to shoot their load in a hurry, I am completely unable to think straight as my body burns with hunger for oxygen and panic fills my mind. The others were bad – or good depending on your point of view – but Master is in a whole other league. Not only is he a more accomplished dominant – though not by much compared to his college buddy – but he is also much more in tune with me, so he can take me much closer to the edge. And finally his stamina when fucking is without compare. I am a smothered fuckpuppet, bound, beaten, castrated and utterly defeated and although I love feeling him inside me I can no longer feel real pleasure. The only pleasure I have left is that which he feels, which I of course realize is as it should be – even  if I so long for the sensation of having my prostate pounded by his wonderful cock. But as the obedient and well conditioned slave I am I take pride in Master’s contended smile as I feel him flooding my ass, while my whole body spasms from lack of air and my vision fades.

Master has modified me further and this time I can see the end and it scares me so badly I almost piss myself when I think about it. As with the other modifications it came without warning. I simply woke up as I am now. It took me a while to wake fully and when I did realize my state, I spent a good deal of time trying to scream before Master came and gave me a sedative. After that I spent some time – maybe a couple of days – so out of it even Master deemed it better to keep me sedated or otherwise medicated.

Although the wounds have healed fully by now I still get panic attacks over what he has done to me, but as I adjust they get fewer and fewer. Not that he gives me anything for them anymore; he seems to enjoy me in a state of near panic and often exploits the opportunity to fuck me.

I am now the stump I have always feared becoming. Master has removed both my arms and my legs in one single operation and as always he’s has gone all out. My arms have been removed two thirds up my upper arms, leaving only a tiny stump and he has done likewise with my legs, removing them two thirds up the thigh. He has apparent removed even more of the bone, since all stumps are covered by a what feel like a solid padding of flesh.

The first time he showed me myself in the mirror I nearly went into shock. No arms, no legs, a smooth crotch in which a ring is the biggest thing, sitting right below a tiny flesh tube which is also pierced. Nipple rings and a throat without an Adam’s apple and a small, straight line scar where my voice box used to be. Only hair left on entire body are eyelashes. Master has taken the opportunity to remove everything else – permanently.

As Master held my helpless body with ease, he whispered in my ear that I now weigh about 80 lbs and as I began to cry he sat me down on his magnificent cock. I now only feel the pleasure of fullness and what pleasure I am able to give Master. Fortunately that seems to be considerable as Master fucks me with a fury I haven’t felt in years, grunting and thrusting as he shoots his load inside me with a force I can only admire. I may still be sobbing with loss and shock at what I have become, but I do love to see the look of pure desire in his eyes as he surveys his conquest, his property, his stump of a slave. Me.

Months have passed since Master turned me into his stump and I have adjusted as far as is possible I think. Not only that, but I have come to cherish one certain aspect of being Master’s stump: He now spends more time hurting and fucking me than he has in years. Not that he has ever really left me alone and when he’s been at home – which I must say he has for far the better part of the time I have been his fulltime slave – he has always used me extensively. But since he turned me into his darkest fantasy I am incessantly being used. And I can’t get enough. No matter how bad he hurts me I still cry when he leaves me and I feel like crying with joy when he returns, even if it’s only to pull a plastic bag over my head and watch in amusement as I pass out, twitching with panic.

I have, however, not regained my status as a person of sorts and I still sleep in the dungeon at night; still the object. In fact he has traded the cage for something worse. These days I am hooded and plugged as always, but instead of inching my way into a tiny cage, which then presses in on me, I am now sealed inside a thick rubber bag, from which only a reinforced tube screwed into my threaded ring gag exits. Once inside the bag, I must fold my “limbs” in under me and then the bag is closed, but not before all air is sucked out of it. I sleep vacuum packed inside thick rubber, deaf and blind and utterly helpless. Not only that, my vacuum packed is then deposited in a padded box which is such a snug fit that my “limbs” must be folded just so for it to work. As the lid of the box closes I am pressed down, completely immobile and without any sensation left to me apart from the sides of the box pressing down on me.

Master has made me little rubber “shoes” for my stumps, something like cups that are secured with straps to my “limbs”, so that I can walk – or rather waddle uselessly. I of course have neither knees nor elbows anymore, so I have to move my stumps in circles when I try to walk and I am quite sure I look ridiculous. Master and his friends certainly laugh when I waddle.

One of the games Master tried on me was inserting a huge dildo in my ass tied to a weight, which then lay on the floor. I then had to pull the weight across the dungeon floor as fast as possible and was of course punished for being too slow. It’s a game that’s been going on for years and which is intensely humiliating. Not only because I am the ass-bitch doggy slave crawling across the floor while men taunt me as a prelude to hurting and fucking me, but also because it’s a game which has fully exposed just how much my ass has been used. The first times it was played I used a tiny, completely smooth buttplug to drag twenty pounds or more across the floor. Now I am plugged with a huge, knobbed monster and am barely able to hold on to it as I drag a weight of less than a pound behind me. My ass has quite simply seen so much use that I have trouble holding on to shit these days, but it’s still not broken. I still have a little retention power, so I’m not permanently diapered – yet.

Still, deep down I like the game, love it fact. Because I am usually able to crawl quite fast and avoid the worst of the punishment, getting just enough to feed the pain bitch that’s also me. Master has also found a way to motivate me. He sits, cock out, at the point I am to crawl to and I have dropped all pretense by now and I readily, if shamefully, admit that I a complete cock slut – especially of course for Master’s tool.

I am still confined to the dungeon and never even go outside the main room anymore, but since it’s quite big, Master has moved the group’s lounging activities down here. This means that I can now waddle helplessly from one evil man to the next and soundlessly implore him to use me in whatever fashion he desires. If he accepts my plea for use – for it is a real, honest plea on my part, make no mistake – I can then clumsily try to crawl into whatever position he should need me in for the privilege of accepting his fluids in some way or scream soundlessly as he amuses himself at my expense.

I love Master so much for having done this. Now I spend his nights with the group as I am meant to; pleasing. Although I can of course no longer feel real anal pleasure I do love it when my tiny, helpless form is trapped between two of them as I gasp for air, taking a huge cock in either hole. Or after a long and utterly exhausting torture and fucking session be allowed to slowly and gently suck a cock as my tears dry and my breathing returns to normal. Sometimes I am even allowed to fall asleep from exhaustion like that, sucking the last wonderful man-juice out of Master’s slowly deflating cock.

Chapter 7: The happy end

I think I have been Master’s stump for well over a year now, although I of course have no way of knowing for sure. This means that by my reckoning I have been owned by Master for about eight years, which when I think about it is really far more than a hard-use slave like me could possibly expect.

During the last weeks I have felt how the thrill of me being a stump is gradually wearing off for Master. This of course not only saddened me, but also scared me. Knowing my owner it could only mean that things would change for me – and not for the better. True to his nature Master has changed things for me and once again in such a way as to leave a broken, crying wreck.

Master has turned me into his toilet. While I have always taken pride and pleasure in drinking his piss and the same with rimming him, eating shit has never been even close to being a fantasy of mine, rather filling my with deep revulsion.

As always there was no preamble, no warning. Master had strapped me down on the usual bench, on my back, my head fixated and simply lowered the bench, straddled my face, looking in the direction of my crotch and squatted down. Forced to look directly up into his ass I watched in horror as his muscles contacted slightly and his sphincter began to loosen and realized what was about to happen. I also realized very clearly that there was only one correct response to what was going on. The sense of helpless revulsion and complete defeat as Master’s warm and disgusting shit slid into my mouth cannot be overstated. Fighting to keep up with the flow of his shit on one hand and my natural reflex to vomit on the other, I struggled to eat all of his disgusting load until I finally lay, dry heaving and silently sobbing as it ended. As I swallowed the last revolting bits with great difficulty, I realized Master had not moved away but was waiting for me to lick his ass clean, something I of course did without hesitation. Then Master stood up, pulled up his pants and left me there with the taste of shit on mouth and feeling of complete and utter defeat. Only the aftermath of my castration could compare with respect to how low I felt – and that sadness was to a large degree fuelled by hormones. Master didn’t even comment on it, much less praise me for completing the disgusting job. He simply treated me fully and wholly as an object.

A number of hours later, when I had stopped crying, he came back and did the same thing again. Since then I believe I have become the only toilet in the house he uses.

I think it marks my final transition, this time to the status of complete object. Master and his friends still use me in the same way as before, for torture and sex, only now they also use me as a full service toilet. Whenever they are over all shit and piss goes into me. Furthermore Master has stopped talking to me at all. Even on those rare occasions when I am allowed to suckle his cock in a quiet moment – the best moments I have left to me – he now bare acknowledges my presence.

I often panic inside my vacuum sealed prison, want out or cry with the hopelessness of no longer being really intimate with the cruel love of my life, but it is of course me being ungrateful and unappreciative. After all Master still uses me after all these years and for that alone I should be grateful. Very grateful. And the things is: I am. I still love him and what he does to me, even when it’s this disgusting and remote. Because often I catch a glimpse of him when he’s fucking me, hurting me or even when he gets up from the toilet I now am and I see that smile of contentment on his face and I know I put it there. I live to please Master and if me being like this pleases him, then it should please me as well. And it does.

He has made a special toilet chair for himself, one I have to crawl into at his command and place myself so that I can receive his load and clean him afterwards. The biggest defeat for me when I have to do it – and every single time is a defeat for me – is not that he uses me as a toilet, although that alone is huge. No the worst part, the real defeat, is that he doesn’t say it to me, doesn’t use a vocal command. He simply kicks me and points. I then crawl into position and lay down on my and open my mouth, ready for another degradation.

My ass has finally been broken and although I had in some ways anticipated is, it’s still both shocking and humiliating in the extreme.

Last night I was strung up, spread-eagle, hanging in mid air, my limbs spread as far and stretched as far as they would possibly go. A huge blow-up gag was lodged in my mouth, nearly dislocating my jaw in a frankly feeble attempt at muting my desperate screaming. Weights hung from my nipple rings and the two rings in my scrotum and my body was covered in welts from Master’s furious cropping of my helpless form. He had been fisting me furiously when he pulled out, lubed up both hands and then I watched in horror as he inserted both hands into me, making me scream as he placed the fists right next to each other, working them in and out of my ass like that, the strokes becoming longer and more furious as time went by. By then I wasn’t so much screaming as moaning with horrified pleasure. I loved being filled by Master and yet I could also see clearly what Master was doing; ruining one more part of me. When the session ended and I was allowed to suck Master – he simply inverted my, so that I sucked his cock hanging upside down – I wondered if Master had actually ruined my ass or simply expanded it further.

Now I have the answer. As I crawl across the dungeon floor towards the toilet chair where Master wants me now, I feel a gentle sliding feeling in my ass, followed by a soft, plopping sound. As Master chuckles I turn around and am horrified to see that I my shit has simply slid out of me, completely beyond my control. Master’s response is no nonsense, practical and yet humiliating. Wordlessly he makes me eat my own shit off the floor and lick it clean. While I do this he slips a plug  - a big one – into my ass and inflates it until it seals my ass securely, by which time I am feeling very, very full. It’s one more modification Master has performed on me, one more defeat and as always I cry as Master crops my ass, making me lie down on my back and look up. As I do, I see his smile and even through tears of utter humiliation and defeat I feel a small but powerful sense of pride that I am still able to please Master. Then I open my mouth.

Master talks to me for the first time in a long, long time. I am overjoyed that he talks to me and for a brief moment even treats me almost as a person again, even if this is the last time this will happen. Ever. And it is, of that there can be no doubt at all. Master sits in a couch as he explains to me, standing on my stumps on the floor, looking up at my owner like the good slave bitch I am, what my final modification will be. He explains, calmly and dispassionately, how I will end: “When I am done with you for today, I will inject a sedative and when you wake up everything will be completely dark and silent. And it will remain so for the rest of your life, slave. I will be removing your eyes as well as your ears. I'll even damageyour inner ear so that you will not be able to pick up sound transmitted through your bones either. You will become utterly deaf and blind”. Distantly I hear myself begin to keen with terror as a stream of my own piss hits the floor. I am paralyzed with terror.

This might not be the actual end, but I would probably be better off if it was. Master slaps my face hard to get me refocused. “You will continue to serve me as you have, be my fuckhole, my painslut and of course my toilet”. I am shaking slightly now as I realize that I will be living the rest of my life as a deaf, blind, mute, toothless, castrated and utterly sexless stump, eating shit every single day.

Bad as that is, I also feel a deep sense of pride. Master wants to keep me! He wants to use me still! I knew something like this could and probably would happen and I knew it when I gave myself to him fully that last time. And I chose it willingly then. I do not regret my decision even with the horrible consequences it entails, and I am sure I cannot even grasp how bad they will be. I have found that for me, the reality of my changes in status and my modifications have always been worse than I imagined and I have no doubt this will go doubly for this one as well.

“Now slave,” Master continues, now holding my chin, holding me with his gaze, “since this is the last time we speak and you after your final modifications probably won’t be able to tell what is real, I will tell how you will end”. I nod dumbly, transfixed by the love of my life describing how he’s going to kill me eventually. He means this a favor I know and strangely I find myself thinking of that way too; a sign that he actually cares for me. “One day I will fuck you, press into your loose hole as I know you love. This will happen many, many times still but that final time I will press your head back and push a very long dildo down your throat until you are unable to breathe anymore. I will keep it there until you’re dead”. There is no mistaking the real tenderness in Master’s voice as he says this and I recognize it for what it is: his form of love for me. This is Master caring deeply for me and I love him for it. “You have been a good slave for me boi”, he finally says and strokes my cheek as we lock eyes. I wordlessly mouth my true feelings for him: “Thank You Master. I love You Master”.

Then he picks me up and takes me to the dungeon bed. Again he takes me face to face and as always it’s long and furious – just as I love it. His eyes as he grunts and shoots his load makes the moment perfect for me and when he is done he lets me lie between his legs, gently licking his cock as we both enjoy our final real contact. Smiling gently he picks up a syringe and leans in over me. I feel a small stab in my buttocks and Master leans back: “Goodbye slave”, he says as he strokes my cheek and I fall asleep with his cock in mouth, feeling truly happy.

I am panicking again. I think I’m thrashing wildly, but truly I don’t know and I’m trying to scream as well, even if I know full well that’s impossible for me. I think I’m awake, but this might just as well be another nightmare. My world is now completely dark and silent and the only contact I have with the world is through touch. Master being who he is, even my sense of touch has been muted.

When I woke up darkness it was – as expected – even worse than I could imagine. I have no idea how long I spent in various stages of panic, punctuated only by jabs of the needle, followed by soundless sobbing as warm immobility flooded me and all my senses, muting the desperation. Gradually I gained a measure of composure, helped greatly by Master. His cock made me feel safe again, became my tether to reality. I am desperate without it, lost and when it enters me I feel like crying with gratitude. Other cocks are good too and in fact any kind of touch, no matter how brutal is good. Because the alternative is so very scary.

When I am not in use my ass is plugged securely and Master has seen to it that I am covered from head to toe in thick rubber, leaving only my ass, my tiny cock and my mouth free. But since both ass and cock are usually stuffed, with an inflatable plug and a sheath with a tube respectively, really only my mouth is left free. Sometimes that too is plugged with a gag with a tiny hole through for breathing. Thus covered in rubber, muting the final sense left to me I am generally kept in one of two ways, although Master of course has endless variations to offer. The first is placed in some kind of box, held in such a way so that I can’t move at all, not even to shake my head. I am not strapped down or compressed as was the case before. Rather Master has made something out of formfitting foam, so precisely made that when the lid descends I am completely immobile. My mouth will in these cases be fitted with a ring gag with a thread and a breathing tube attached. I can feel the foam ever so softly holding me in an unbreakable grip, but that is all I can feel. Nothing  – nothing! – else penetrates this prison and in spite of having been placed in it many, many times I still get horrible panic attacks. If I black out from them I can’t tell, just as I often have real trouble telling sleep from waking.

The second way I am held is in what I think is a sling, suspending me off the floor. In that case broad straps hold my rubber covered form at the remnants of my arms and legs and via a narrow “seat” or “bed” running from my lower back to my neck, to which I am strapped. My head dangles backwards over the edge of this “seat” being held by no strap, but the suit is so stiff that none is needed to keep my neck from sustaining injury. My head tilts back just enough for the perfect blowjob/facefuck angle and no more.

While this allows me more freedom that the former, or at least slightly more movement and sensation, it is just as unbreakable, like a spider web from which I cannot escape and which leaves me completely helpless. While the foam lined box leaves me soundless screaming myself to sleep/unconsciousness, the sling makes me thrash and jerk until the same happens. Both leave me completely desperate for any kind of attention and both see to it that I am cut off from all input from the outside.

Time has lost all meaning and often I am sure I have gone mad, except I can still reason like this and the silent darkness is still gloriously punctuated by a cock now and then, which for me are the best moments in my existence. I invariably cry when a cock goes away – the lingering hyper emotional state from my castration still making sure that I am such a high-strung little bitch. Being handled in almost any way, including whippings and electro-torture and just about any kind of pain – even breathplay these days – is so very good. But after cock the thing I love the most is getting my rubber suit changed.

I love this for several reasons: first of all it of course frees my skin to be caressed by real air and it impossible to overstate how much I love that simple feeling now. Secondly a change of suit is always accompanied by a sponge bath and that is even better. Thirdly, and most importantly, I can feel that it is Master himself who always handles these sessions himself and his hands on my skin are moments of real happiness for me – even if he doesn’t fuck me or allow me to suck him off. I think that these rare moments, combined with the times I have a cock inside me, are the reason I am still functioning – of sorts. All else is pitch black, utterly silent desperation – as Master wants it for me.

The pumping motion is completely exhausting and I love it. My rubberized form is being fucked at both ends, one big cock throwing me onto another only to be immediately returned to the former. I can only breathe about half the time due to the cock in my throat and I feel like I am on the verge of fainting. The feel of my rubber-clad body slipping over sweaty man-skin – however distant – fills me with excitement and although I miss feeling real anal pleasure I love this. Strong hands hold me and use my helpless body as I am absorbed by the intense sensations of being handled. I hate being castrated. I hate having no prostate and I am absolutely terrified of being the barely human clump of meat that Master has turned me into. But I am such a bottom, slave slut and being handled by two strong men while completely helpless, and most importantly pleasing Master by doing so, fills me with savage joy. I find that I am now savoring the moments I do get far more fiercely than before, in expectation of the plunge into horrible loss of sensation that inevitably follows.

I swallow the third full load of disgusting shit and a yet another tremor of revulsion shakes as I extend my tongue up to lick the hole above me clean. I am completely full, yet I know that in all likelihood another load is coming after this one, another sign that some sort of gathering for my group of users is going on outside my private hell. I know that all are present because I sucked all of them a short time ago, two of them twice.

I have gained a measure of control over my emotions; at least when I am not being held and I have tried figuring out time. This was hard even when I had senses, now it’s very nearly impossible, but my best guess is a year like this and more likely quite a bit more, since this period of relative control over myself was preceded by a very long period of near constant panic. That is a very long time to be kept like I am and must mean that I will soon, if not already, have been Master’s slave for ten years or more. I doubt anyone can understand the joy and pride I feel at that; at having been allowed to be with Master for that long and apparently still be pleasing to him.

In spite of my gain of control, I feel like I am on the verge of losing my mind for real. The darkness and silence and the nearly total lack of any kind of sensation, which I experience for the greater part my time, is creeping up on me. I can’t stand it anymore and it has gotten so bad it taints the otherwise wonderful moments when I am being used. I realize that I must still have some kernel of sanity left to be able to formulate this thought, but it feels like that is slipping too. I need Master so bad and in a way that is no longer possible.

I am picked up by strong hands that I recognize as Master. I must have been sleeping and for once I feel a bit rested and I also feel saner than I usually do these days. I seem to remember a pinprick in my buttocks, so perhaps Master granted me some sleep, some chemical bliss. No matter what, being handled by him makes me happy. This time he places me on my back on a bed and it’s glorious as he begins to fuck me like this, face to face; although of course he will be looking at a rubber “mask” rather than a face and I can’t see.

This is one of the best fucks I’ve had in ages. Master is hard and furious in his fucking and twists and turns my body for maximum pleasure for himself. And he seems to be doing everything he can to extend it even by his own herculean standards. I quite simply can’t remember being this exhausted from a fuck only and I haven’t felt this good since I don’t know when.

Then Master’s hand presses on my forehead, pushing it back. I briefly wonder what is going on when I feel a round rubber form – clearly a large dildo – being pressed into my mouth and stopping right inside my lips. As Master momentarily slows his fuck down I realize what this is. And I’m glad. After second’s hesitation I nod, strongly, clearly, twice. I want this. I am ready. The dildo slides deeper into my mouth and stops again, questioning. I don’t hesitate this time and deliver two vigorous nods as quickly as I can. A large hand presses my cheek softly, but strongly and Master’s pace picks up again. When he hits full stride again the hand shifts and in one long, smooth movement the dildo is pressed all the way down my throat, far past the point of cutting off all breath. Exhausted and out of breath already from the fabulous fuck I quickly begin fight for air that isn’t there. Involuntarily I being to thrash and spasms as panic fills most of my mind. I am loosing the fight and instinctive panic tries to flood me. Then my body begins to float away, a twitching mass at the end of Master’s cock and distantly, oh so very far away, I feel my love’s orgasm pumping into me and all I can feel is that small kernel of happiness.


If you liked the story, feel free to drop me a line on:

Review This Story || Author: 2nn
Back to Content & Review of this story Display the whole story in new window (text only) Previous Story Back to List of Newest Stories Next Story Back to BDSM Library Home