The Man: Part 1
—Not even hard, the man mused aloud. And to think you wanted me to help you with your erection problems.
—Sorry, I’m nervous, the boy said.
—Take your cock and jerk it. I want it hard, boy. Now!
Taking the hairless flesh in his fist, the boy almost eclipsed his limp member. Only the tip was visible as he ran his dry hand up and down the length of it, more mashing and squeezing than actual jerking. It took a long time, but eventually the shaft lengthened and stiffened as the boy’s ministrations brought a rush of hot blood to the member, swelling it and deepening its color. The tip went from pale pink to dark and then to an almost purple as it throbbed with the nearness of his pleasure. Its tip glistened with pre-come, and if the boy had been telling the truth, two weeks’ worth of come lay heavy in his balls, which had drawn up tight against his body.
—Stop! The man commanded, and the boy obeyed. Tricky little one, aren’t you?
—Trying to steal an orgasm on me.
—No. No, never. I’d never come without permission.
—Yeah, well, we’ll see about that. Move your hands now, so I can see it better.
The boy’s cock was short but fat, and its tip was tiny, more like an overdeveloped clit than the tip of someone’s manhood. It was a pretty cock, the man had to admit, very dainty and perfect for abusing. But it would have to be done right. It would have to be done his way. If the boy was too afraid to show his face and was barely willing to show his cock to the man he would call master, then he clearly wasn’t ready for the brutal cock and ball torture that he listed as one of his wants in his profile. Most likely, all he was looking for was jerk-off material, and this was just another elaborate masturbation ritual for him.
Oh, if I could get my hands on you, boy, the man thought. But he had to be patient. For now, he would play the game.
—A very pretty cock, the man said.
—Thank you, the boy said, and the little bit of his face that the man could see blushed. He gave it a long stroke, held it firmly in his fist, then released it to spring back again.
—Don’t touch yourself unless ordered.
—Oh. Right, sorry.
—Don’t be sorry. Just do what you’re told.
The man’s own cock was throbbing in his jeans at the thought of what he’d do to the boy for a transgression like that in person. Most likely he’d soon learn that his body wasn’t his own anymore. Hard lesson to learn when you’re hundreds of miles from the one you’d give yourself to. But eventually… I have to be patient!
—Okay, boy. I’ve made my decision.
The boy made as if to sit on his computer chair, covering his shrinking dick with his dainty hands.
—Hands away! Let me see your cock. Don’t let it got soft, do you understand? A sissy should never be soft—so long as you’re not mine, you’ll be hard all the time. Hard, throbbing, and leaking… Get it? And don’t sit down. You don’t sit in my presence, either. Listen, boy. I’ve decided that I will help you with your wish. You’re to be mine, and mine alone.
—Thank you! the boy exclaimed. I won’t let you down, I promise!
—Not so fast. The man’s tone was necessarily hard. I don’t want you to agree to anything before you know what you’re agreeing to. When you’re mine, you’re mine. I own you, mind and body. Even your soul is mine. Understand? That means you’re to close your profile, close all your profiles that pertain to this. You’re not to speak to anyone about it. And, most importantly, your body is mine. That means many things, but what’s probably of greatest concern to you right now, that means no more orgasms. Until I say so. Understand? If you agree to be mine, you agree to all that I’ve said.
The boy’s breathing increased. A smile formed on the bottom half of his face—visible unbeknownst to him, no doubt—and his cock stiffened again.
—Yes, I agree, the boy said.
Beyond the anonymity of cyberspace, the man smiled. This was the first step.
—Good. Now give your balls ten good, hard slaps. I want to hear them, boy.
The boy obeyed, which surprised the man, and soon the sound of his open palm hitting his bunched-up and overfull balls came spilling out of his speakers. When it was over, his dick had shrunk from the pain. The man ordered the boy to hold his cock and balls up to the camera for inspection. The balls were nice and heavy and full. He hadn’t lied. Nor had he held back on the slaps, for even in the poor quality image on his computer screen, the man could see that they were read and starting to swell.
—Good boy. You didn’t hold back, I like that. Now, before you go for the evening, I want to see you jerk yourself hard again. Go on. Do it.
—Yes, said the boy, panting.
His cock looked so beautiful when hard, the man thought. Enjoy it, boy. When you’re mine—really mine—you’ll beg for the feeling of even that. Oh yes.
—Good boy. Now, remember. No orgasms. None. Got it? If you come, even by accident, I’ll know, and that’s it. The end of us. Understand? Mention me to anyone? We’re done. And if I log in tomorrow and see that you’re still browsing your profiles—that your profiles are still up—then we’re done. Play by the rules and I’ll see you trained. You’ll be the best little mincing sissy faggot you can be. Now go. Take care, boy. And remember: no orgasms!
He signed off, leaving the boy with his erection and his thoughts.
That one will be fun to abuse, he thought, and went to sleep, dreaming of screaming sissies and their little clits locked firmly away in hard plastic.