This is a work of erotic fiction. All participants are fictional, and are over eighteen years of age. If reading erotic fiction about adult male participants that involves sex, sexual servitude, bondage, and pain is illegal wherever you are, don't read any further. Also, try not to have any fun whatsoever, as that's probably illegal as well. I welcome your feedback, and hope you enjoy the story.
A Number Of Nights Chapter 10
"What's your father doing now?" Master Ryan asked.
The boy's face was still against his chest, the boy's body still curled up against his; the boy was running one hand over the fur on the Master's chest gently.
"He manages a restaurant in a town nearby. His wife works for the Post Office. And their son... my half-brother... is four."
"Have you talked to them at all since you quit partying?" The Master asked.
"No, Sir," the boy said. "He made it clear that he didn't need me in his life, and I respect that."
The Master's arm around the boy's shoulder tightened, squeezing him. They lay there silently a while, the boy's fingers playing idly in the Master's fur.
"It's late, boy," the Master said. "Do you have to be home tonight for any reason?"
He felt the boy tense up beside him momentarily. "No, Sir."
"Then you'll stay here. There's a bathroom down the hall; you'll find a toothbrush there for you. Get yourself ready for bed, then get back in here."
"Thank you, Sir." The slave went to get out of bed, and for the first time since he'd begun telling his story, the Master saw his face. His eyes were red-rimmed, but his smile was genuine, and he walked out of the room quickly.
Ten minutes later, they were both back in bed, the Master's arm around his slave, the slave's head nestled against the Master's shoulder. With the light off, the bedroom was illuminated only by the green glow of the clock radio, and a faint aura of moonlight from the curtains.
"Master?" The slave said, his voice small.
"Yes, boy?" Master Ryan replied.
"...good night, Master."
The Master ran his hand over the boy's face in the darkness. "Goodnight boy. Good boy."
The next morning, the slave woke up before his Master, and he lay awake in the sunlit room, waiting on his Master's pleasure. It took a while, but the Master stirred, then his eyes opened. He saw his slave awaiting him, and smiled. Then he flipped the covers off himself, to reveal his cock, fully hard and ready to go. "Morning blowjob, boy."
The slave grinned, and dove down on his Master's cock, taking it deeply right to start with, then pulling off of it while sucking hard, his tongue working the shaft firmly. Then back down again, slowly, putting as much pressure as he could on Master Ryan's cock with his tongue and his lips.
Master Ryan closed his eyes, laying back. "That's right, boy... nothing like a blowjob first thing in the morning. You're going to be doing this a lot. Lick my balls, boy."
The Master's skin was warm from the night under the covers, and the boy's hands slid over his thighs while he licked avidly at the soft hot skin of his Master's balls. He buried his face underneath them a moment, then went back to cradle them in his mouth a while, before going on to start licking all the way from the very base of his Master's nuts to the tip of his cock, and then back down again, vigorously.
Soon the slave was using his hand on the Master's shaft, while slobbering over the head of his cock, his mouth and tongue working hard to get his Master off. Soon his Master was pushing the slave's head down on his cock, the slave struggling to keep his Master stimulated as his Master bucked his hips, driving his cock into the slave's throat repeatedly.
As his Master began to climax and the boy felt the cum start to spurt into his mouth, he used his thumb to apply pressure just under the Master's balls; his Master started cumming, harder than before. As his orgasm died off and the Master relaxed back onto the bed, the slave kept his cock in his mouth, suckling at it gently.
Master Ryan smiled, and ruffled his slave's hair. "Well done, boy. That's a great way to wake up."
The slave murmured his agreement around his Master's cock.
They lay there for a while like that, the slave's head pillowed on his Master's thigh, his tongue slowly lapping at the Master's cock and balls.
"You know what today is, boy?" The Master asked, his fingers running through the slave's hair.
"What is it, Master?"
"It's the day I start to take over your life. When you start to understand what belonging to me really means."
The slave nodded. "Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."
"You scared, boy?" The Master asked.
"No, Sir." The slave continued playing with his Master's cock idly. "This slave knows what kind of life it makes for itself, and it isn't a good life. This slave is eager to see what Master builds out of it."
The Master raised his eyebrows. "Impressive. Okay, boy, get up. I've got to piss."
The boy looked up at him, then assumed a position on all fours, the Master's cock in his mouth. Master Ryan looked confused a moment, then laughed. "I'll train you to take my piss eventually, boy. But not this morning. Go get yourself showered and cleaned up; no clothing, though."
"Yes, Master." The boy scurried out of the room, leaving the Master bemused behind him.
A half hour later, showered and dressed, the Master sat at his computer in the living room, checking email. The slave came in and knelt, naked, hair still damp from the shower, and waited for orders, his eyes on the Master's feet.
The Master continued with what he was doing a while, and then turned to his slave and handed him a notebook and a pen.
"I want you to write down the following information. Your full name. Where you live. Your phone number. Where you work, with address and phone number. Your schedule at work, for as far in the future as you know it. Any other time commitments that are set in stone."
The Master turned back to his computer while the slave worked on his task.
"Done, Sir."
Master Ryan accepted the notebook, and looked over the slave's answers. "You just work part-time, then?"
"Yes, Master. It was all this slave could find."
"Do you have a computer and internet access?" The Master asked.
"Yes, Master."
"Set up a calendar online, and share it with me. A separate email address if you like, too, or you can have me use your regular one. Check them at least twice a day. In addition, you'll be receiving texts from me every so often. Some of them will be orders. Follow them. Understand?"
The slave closed his eyes, and said "Yes, Master. This slave is to establish a new calendar, and optionally a new email address, and is to share them both with Master. It will follow any orders it receives via text."
"All right, boy. Get dressed, and go home." The Master turned his back, and the slave gathered up his things from the night before, and dressed himself. At the door, he turned back to his Master.
"Thank you, Master, for... for everything."
Master Ryan swiveled in his chair. "If you want to thank me, boy, do it properly. On your knees, at my feet."
The slave went to his knees before Master Ryan, and began kissing his feet. "Thank you, Master! Thank you for all that you have done for this slave, all that you plan to do! This slave will work hard to deserve Master's attention, will live to be focused on Master's needs, will do everything in its power to make Master happy..."
"Good boy. Now go home."
It was three that afternoon when the slave's phone went off. As soon as it vibrated against his leg, his cock started to stiffen. There were too many cooks and waiters in the kitchen to read it undisturbed, so he went into the walk-in fridge as soon as he could, and opened up his phone.
"Slave," the message said. "In the next fifteen minutes, you are to take off your socks. Stuff one in your mouth. Jack off in the other. Thank me as you cum. Put them back on. Then go back to what you were doing."
The slave's cock was fully hard in its pants now as it tried to figure out how it could follow its instructions. Back in the kitchen, it resumed work prepping salads. It figured that the only option was the bathroom; he'd just have to hope not to be discovered.
The slave headed to the bathroom between the kitchen and the dining area, and found both stalls available. He chose the furthest stall, and locked the door behind him, then quickly took off one of his black Nikes, peeled his sock off his foot, and replaced his shoe; he stuffed the sock in his mouth, then did the other.
He pulled aside his apron, and fumbled with his fly, standing in front of the toilet so it would look to anyone outside like he was sitting on the john. When he pulled his cock out, he was fully hard. He pulled his sock over his dick, and started stroking the damp fabric slowly, the smell of his own foot and the inside of his sneaker making him both disgusted and horny. He decided he would pretend it was his Master's foot scent, and reminded himself that he was doing this for his Master's benefit, and went to work on his cock with a vengeance.
He was about halfway to a good orgasm when the bathroom door opened and he heard someone come in. He realized his breathing had gotten loud, and quieted it as he listened; the man walked to a urinal, and he heard the sound of a zipper being undone, and then pee hitting the porcelain. He resumed stroking his cock, thinking about Master's promise to let him drink Master's pee, and how Master would train him with it, and was getting into it when the stranger's flow stopped, and the urinal flushed.
The slave strained to see who the other man in the bathroom was through the crack between the stall door and the wall. From the color of the shirt it was an employee; one of the cooks, Dave. He washed his hands, seemed to glance at the stall the slave was in, and then left.
The slave breathed a sigh of relief through his sock, and went back to work. He realized he only had a few minutes to cum; a check of his phone revealed that eleven minutes had passed since the message arrived. He redoubled his efforts, thinking about the morning's blowjob, the whipping from a few days back; he thought about how he'd like to spend an evening under Master's feet as his footstool, massaging his feet with his tongue, and that thought, combined with the sock in his mouth and the pressure of the deadline approaching got him to where he was shooting his load in his sock within seconds. As he shot, he muttered through his sock, "Thank you, Master, thank you, thank you..."
The slave took the sock out of his mouth, and toed his sneaker off again; he pulled on the sock, now damp with both sweat and saliva, then he replaced his shoe. He pulled the other shoe off, leaning against the handrail on the wall, and pulled the sock off of his prick, and put it on. He felt his toes sink into the warm squishy mess he'd left in the sock; felt it slide against the sole of his foot as he replace his sneaker.
Then he flushed, just as a formality, washed his hands, and went back to work. Back at his station, he snuck the phone out of his pocket, and texted his Master. "Done as ordered, Master. Thank you, Master."
He resumed work on the salads he was preparing, feeling relaxed and a bit out of it. It was a few minutes later when his phone vibrated again. He snuck it out of his pocket. The message from his Master read: "You feel that, boy? The collar on your neck? The cum you're walking in? That's what it's like to be owned."
The slave texted back. "Master, it feels wonderful. Thank you for owning me, for being my Master."
For the rest of his shift, the slave felt the cum seep between his toes, soak into his sock, become almost indistinguishable after a while; he felt the collar around his neck, the lock bouncing off his chest when he straightened up. And he smiled happily as he worked, knowing that he had found his purpose in life; knowing that he was now living to serve the sort of Master he had been dreaming of. And walking home that night, feeling the cum still sticking to his sole, he had an extra spring in his step.
Back at home, he headed for his room immediately, and booted up his computer. It seemed to take forever to get to where he could check his email, and he was disappointed to find that there was nothing new from his Master. He checked the calendar next, and found that his Master had blocked out most of his free time for Master's own use, including a big block of three hours the next night.
As he was checking, his phone lit up; there was a new text from his Master. "You free tonight, boy?"
He texted back "Yes, Master."
The reply came in seconds. "You're never free. Get your ass to my place at nine tonight."
At nine that night, the slave was at his Master's door, finger on the doorbell. Master Ryan opened the door, and let his slave enter. The Master gestured to the floor in front of his recliner, and the slave knelt there, head down, hands clasped behind him.
The Master took the chair before him; the slave focused his attention on Master Ryan's sneakers.
"There are a few subjects we need to talk over, slave. First off, we've talked about limits before, but only in the context of a one-night thing. Now that you belong to me, you're going to have to think about things differently. I'm going to ask you this now, and then again tomorrow, when you've had time to think about it. And if you answer 'none' you're going to get punished, severely, in a way you won't like. So, what are your limits?"
The slave paused thoughtfully. "Thank you, Master, for addressing your slave's limits. This slave would like to not be involved in scat, it would ask that Master not injure it in any permanent way, and would ask that any blood shed would be discussed beforehand."
"Clarify what you mean about blood," the Master asked.
"Should Master wish to add piercings or tattoos to Master's property, this slave would be enthusiastically in favor of it. Blood from injuries, or blood play, disturb this slave," the slave said carefully.
"Well put, boy. Think more about your hard limits in the next day, and let me know if you want to make any changes or additions. As your Master, I'm going to have to figure out how to punish you, and how to reward you. For slaves, it's sometimes hard to tell what constitutes punishment, and what's a reward. So I'm going to ask you about some kinks, and I want you to honestly tell me how you'd feel about being involved in them. Ready?"
"Yes, Master," the boy replied.
"Puppy play, where I train you to be my dog," the Master said.
"Sir, this slave would very much like to experience that, and would be honored to be Master's dog."
"Water sports."
"Sir, this slave longs to taste Master's piss, and have Master mark it as Master's own."
"Foot play."
"Sir, this slave would consider any time it is allowed to spend at Master's feet as a reward."
"Cross-dressing, forced feminization."
The slave recoiled slightly, but remained composed. "Sir, this slave is not turned on at all by being feminized; it does nothing but make this slave feel silly."
"Good; I want a boy slave, not a girl. Spanking."
"Sir, spanking to a point turns this slave on; beyond that point it's punishment."
"Anal toys."
"Sir, up to a certain size, toys are rewards; beyond that, or if the toy is designed to hurt, it's punishment. The line is hard to define, Master."
"Cock and ball torture."
"Master, again, there is a point up to which the slave enjoys it, and it's a turnon."
The Master nodded. "It looks like we're hitting the same question repeatedly from different angles, and the answer is that I have to learn more about your pain tolerance. No time like the present to make a good start on things, is there, boy?"
"Yes, Master."
"Stand, boy."
The slave stood, and the Master came up to him and lifted his shirt over his head, then ran his hand over the boy's body, one hand going immediately down the front of the boy's jeans and grabbing his half-hard cock. He jacked it a couple of times while pinching the boy's left nipple, hard. "Follow me, boy."
The slave followed Master Ryan into the back bedroom, where the Master shoved him up against the wall under the two eyebolts. The slave felt the leather restraints go around his wrists behind him, and then the Master was locking padlocks and chains to them. Then one arm was raised until he was stretched out, and that manacle was chained to the eyebolt. When his other arm was raised up and the chain was hooked in place, he was flat against the wall, his body stretched enough so that his heels were having trouble reaching the floor.
He felt the Master come up behind him, and run his hands over the boy's jeans, felt his breath on his shoulder, felt the Master's crotch press up against his ass.
"This is how this is going to work, slave," the Master said. "You remember your safeword, and your non-verbal safeword?"
"Yes, Master."
"Test to see if you can snap your fingers in this position," the Master ordered, and the slave did so.
"Good. In addition to those, you're going to have another trigger this time. I want you to grunt three times when you get to where you're not enjoying the pain anymore. It won't stop me; it's not a safeword. We're here to explore your limits when it comes to pain, and I need to know how to punish you. Got it?"
The slave was trembling against the wall. "Yes, Master."
"Good. Be brave, be honest, be strong."
"Yes, Master."
"You want a gag, boy?"
"Yes, Master, please."
The Master chuckled. "I was hoping you were going to say that. He leaned over and grabbed the boy's ankle, and lifted his foot behind him like he was shoeing a horse. He pulled the boy's sneaker off, and peeled off his sock; the dried cum inside it clung to the boy's sole as it came off. The Master shoved the sock into the boy's mouth, grinning. Then he took the other sock off, and stuffed that in the boy's mouth as well.
The boy's jeans and underwear were stripped off next, and he stood naked against the wall, arms chained above him, his own socks, laden with his sweat and cum in his mouth, his cock hard against the cold plaster.
He heard the sound of the Master taking his belt off, and the leather snapping softly against the Master's jeans as it passed through each belt loop in turn. The slave tensed all the muscles in his back, preparing himself.
Instead, he felt the Master's hands at the crack of his ass. The slave moved his legs as far apart as he could, increasing the strain on his arms, and felt one lubed finger make its way up his asshole, followed soon by another. The boy squirmed against the wall as the Master fingered his hole wider, and then felt the tip of a buttplug substituted for the fingers. He braced for the plug's entry, but it slid in easily; it seemed kind of small.
"Hold that in place the whole time, boy, or you'll be punished. Got it?" The Master asked.
The slave nodded and grunted his assent through his sock.
Immediately, the Master put the first lash across the slave's shoulders. The slave threw his head back, trying to keep his ass clenched despite the sudden pain across his back. The next blow landed right away, then another; the slave twitched in his bonds, moving his legs back together, as the Master landed a flurry of a dozen blows on him, hard and fast.
There was a pause; the slave's head hung down, and he was breathing heavily; the Master could see the muscles in his ass as he clutched at the plug. The Master ran his thumb over a couple of the lines across the slave's back slowly, feeling the hot skin and the layer of sweat on it, then took a step back.
The next blow landed low, across the small of the slave's back, and the one after that landed on the slave's ass. The next four went across the slave's pale buttocks as well, as if the Master was trying hard to get the plug dislodged. The slave hung on doggedly.
The pace of the whipping slowed down a bit then, with the Master laying his belt hard across the slave's shoulders, back, and ass at random; the muscles in the slave's arms were showing well now, and his skin was showing the marks of the belt vividly where it had landed multiple times.
The Master desisted, and then came up to the boy, and pressed his body against the boy's back. His hand went around to the boy's cock, and found it rigid, pointing upwards, pressed against the wall. "You do not have permission to cum."
The boy grunted and nodded.
The Master stepped back a bit, and ran his hands roughly over the skin of the boy's back; the slave squirmed as he did so, the fire in his back made worse by the Master's treatment. The Master smacked the slave's ass hard a couple of times, then took the belt up again.
The lashes were slow and deliberate now, working in a pattern beginning just below the slave's neck, working down to just below his ass, and then back up again. He'd made the trip down and back twice when the slave started crying out with each blow; within another pass it had turned to screaming, muffled by the socks in his mouth. His arms were pulling at the restraints, and his ass was quivering; his back was arched, and his head thrown back, then forward. The Master continued with the flogging.
The slave calmed down a bit, tears flowing down its face, and the Master stopped for a moment again. This time, he ran his nails down the slave's back, slowly and firmly. The slave screamed again, his body trying to get away from the pain. The Master reached around, and found the slave's cock had softened a bit, but was still hard. He jacked it a couple of times, and then bit down on the slave's shoulder while he stroked the slave's cock. That elicited a noise that was about half-scream and half-moan, and the Master laughed.
He stepped back, raised the belt, and hit hard across the boy's shoulders; he set up a deliberate, slow, agonizing pace, making sure the slave knew exactly where the next blow was going to land, and when. Ten strokes into it, and the slave was screaming again. Another six, and the Master saw the slave's butt working furiously, but it was too late; the dildo fell out of his ass and hit the ground. The slave sagged in his chains when that happened as the leather belt fell across his back again and again; the slave was sobbing and crying unrestrainedly now, his head hung down against the wall, his fists clenched.
And then, just as the Master was getting concerned that he was going to draw blood, in between one stroke and the next, the slave let out three distinct grunts.
The Master dropped the belt, took the key out of his pocket, and unlocked the boy's shackles from the chains on the wall. He then guided the sobbing boy over to the bed, and had him kneel there, his knees underneath him and spread wide, his head on the bed, his ass up, while the Master pulled a condom on over his cock. And with the boy's skin still red and hot from the belt, his face still soaked with tears, his mouth still stuffed with his sweat and spit and cum-soaked socks, the slave felt the Master drive his cock deep into his ass.
His breath stopped for a moment, and then burst from him as Master Ryan pulled out, then back in again; usually at first his entry was a mixture of pleasure and pain, but in contrast with the agony in the slave's back, the pain was infinitesimal, so the slave understood it as pure pleasure. He arched his back as the Master pushed into him again, breathing through his socks, and when the Master's cock was totally in him, he felt the Master's fingers run over the welts on his back, and he began to scream and thrash on the bed.
The Master pushed him down, and held him down by his shoulders, and started fucking in earnest. The boy's ass rose up to meet his cock, and his hands, manacles still around his wrists, clutched at the covers as the Master mounted him; the Master made a point of smacking his back every so often, or slapping his ass as he rode the young slave.
In the middle of this, when the slave was in agony from the welts across its back and ass, and in ecstasy from the fucking it was receiving, the Master pushed it so that it was laying on its chest, the Master's cock still up its ass, and then the Master's full weight landed on its back. The Master said in the slave's ear, "You have permission to cum for the next five minutes."
With the Master on its wounded back, the slave felt like it could feel every single chest hair the Master had against its tender skin, and yet its cock was fully hard, pressed against the bed. The Master started going at its ass determinedly, fucking hard and rhythmically, biting down on the slave's shoulder now and then to get a scream out of it. The slave couldn't reach its cock, but it felt itself get closer and closer as all the sensations it was having blurred together, and became pleasure.
It felt the Master's strokes start to get stronger and slower, and knowing that Master Ryan was about to cum in its ass was enough to get it started cumming; as the Master approached his orgasm, the slave felt itself starting to cum, and then it was screaming, groaning, and the Master was too, and the slave felt the cum spurt out of it as the Master's cum spurted into it, the Master's teeth sunk deep into its shoulder.
And there's the moment. The Master's muscular form almost eclipsing the slave altogether, the slave's paler legs and arms and side and head the only thing showing. Get close to the slave's face, and it's clear that the slave has been crying, might still be; its eyes are red, its cheeks show tears. Its mouth has socks hanging half-out of it, soaked in its spit; its face is only half-visible, pressed up against the covers. The Master's hands are holding its wrists, over the leather manacles it wears.
The Master is in the act of looking up at it, raising his head from a bitemark on its back, and the look on his face is ecstatic, and honestly, loving. His back is sweating, and his legs are intertwined with the slave's. Down towards the base of the bed, their feet are wound together, touching.
The Master pulled out and rolled over onto his side, letting the slave catch his breath. Soon the slave moved slightly, as the Master watched with concern, and then slowly made his way over to where he had his head pillowed on the Master's chest. The Master stroked his hair, careful not to touch his bruised back.
They lay together in silence a while, their breathing slowing. The Master felt the slave's sweat and his mingle on his chest. Gradually he realized what a tickling sensation was against his ribs; the boy still had the sock gag in his mouth. The Master reached over and gently took the boy's socks from his mouth, and tossed them aside. The boy snuggled closer to him.
The Master gave the slave a few more minutes to compose himself, and then asked how the slave was doing.
"Fine, Master," the slave replied.
Master Ryan shook his head. "Fine is a non-answer. When I ask you how you're doing, I want a detailed, honest response. Try again, boy."
The slave hesitated a moment. "Sir, this slave... went someplace just now. Between the pain, and Master's fucking, and the biting, and the collar, and the smell... Sir, this slave doesn't know what to think. It was... amazing."
"That's good to hear, boy. You did very well. But what I asked is, how are you doing right now?" The Master's hand continued to stroke the boy's hair.
"Yes, Master. Your slave's back hurts, badly. Your slave's wrists as well. Your slave's ass hurts a bit, but feels wonderful. Your slave's entire body is a strange mixture of the aftermath of an astounding orgasm, and just plain hurt. This slave is wondering if it will be able to work tomorrow, or if it will hurt too badly." The slave didn't look up.
"In a moment, boy, we're going to get up, and I'll get you some salve for your back. You'll also be taking some ibuprofen; in addition to being an analgesic, it's also an anti-inflammatory, so it will minimize the healing time. You'll be taking some home with you if you don't already have any.
"You'll be stiff when you wake up in the morning; it's going to be important that you stretch out gently, at least to start with, but you should be all right by the time you have to go to work.
"You have a serious amount of pain tolerance, boy. That's going to make it a challenge to punish you without doing serious damage. I'm going to have to give your punishment some thought."
"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."
"For now, boy, just relax."
For a time, they lay there together, and then the slave followed his Master into the bathroom, where his back was tended to, and he was given Advil. He was then instructed to kneel in the living room. He waited there a while, and then Master Ryan sat in the chair before him.
"There's still a little while until about midnight, so I'm going to put you to work. You came on my bedspread, and there are a pair of socks next to my bed that are soaked in your juices. You know how to do laundry, boy?"
"Yes, Master."
"Get the wash started, and then resume this position." Master Ryan turned to his computer, and the slave hurried into the bedroom, still naked. He stripped the bedspread off the bed, glad that his cum hadn't soaked through into the covers beneath, and read the washing instructions, then he threw it and his socks into the washer. Within a few minutes, he was back on his knees beside his Master.
"All right, boy," said the Master, turning to him from the computer. "I've got a couple of changes I want to make. Stand."
The slave stood up, naked except for his collar, his bare toes digging into the carpet as he felt the skin of his back scream with every movement.
The Master circled him, patted his butt gently, which made the boy flinch; then around the boy's front, he patted the boy's stomach. It wasn't huge, but the boy was kind of heavy around the middle.
"You've got a few extra pounds on you, boy. Part of my job is to perfect you; to make you a slave I'm completely proud of. You're good-looking now, boy, but you have the potential to be magnificent. I'm going to take charge of your weight within the week. Do you own a digital scale?"
"Yes, Master, this slave bought one last year, and has been trying to control its weight forever."
"It's not your problem anymore, boy. All you have to do is follow my orders. You ready to do that?" Master Ryan asked.
"Yes, Master. Thank you, Sir," the boy replied.
"Good. Every morning you're to text me your exact weight. Weigh yourself naked."
"Yes, Master."
"The next few days will give me a baseline to work from, then we'll start changing you. I've sent you a link to the program you'll be following; I want you to read it within four days." Master Ryan tweaked the boy's nipple. "I want you to know that I won't be putting your health at risk; this will be a slow, steady change, which should have no ill effects. You'll be hungry, but not starving."
"In a way, I'm glad that I've got a chance to make some changes," continued the Master. "It's going to be a physical reflection of the changes I'm going to be making to your mind; you're going to be learning to be my ideal slave, both mentally and physically."
"That sounds wonderful, thank you, Sir," the boy replied.
The Master moved over to his recliner, and gestured to the boy. "Plenty of time left, boy. How will you entertain your Master?"
"Would Master care for another story?" the slave asked, a note of eagerness creeping into his voice.
"What story do you have in mind, boy?"
"Master, this story is called
The Tale Of The Stray
Once, in a city that was much like this one, except that it was a completely different city, there was a dog. Now, this dog might have looked to be human, to the casual observer, but a closer examination would reveal his dogged nature. He did whatever he could not to wear clothes whenever possible, and would revel in the feeling of the wind on his bare skin. He navigated by scent to an extraordinary degree, and could be distracted easily by the whiff of coffee on the breeze, or the smell of cooking from blocks away.
He was a creature of enthusiastic impulse, of sensual existence. From day to day, he could be found playing ultimate Frisbee in the park, cadging tickets to the shows of bands no-one had ever heard of, living off dumpster diving, friends, and the occasional sexual partner. He was indiscriminate about his sexual encounters; when he was horny, he found someone to have sex with, male or female, young or old. His only criteria seemed to be that they were enthusiastically willing, and that they smelled good.
He wasn't particularly bright, but he lit up a room whenever he was in an expansive mood. He wore rags, but made them look like a designer had labored on his look for hours. He knew perhaps three chords on the guitar, but when he played, people swooned. He'd been invited to be in a dozen bands, and had joined a few of them, but he lost interest quickly. There was simply too much to do, too many things to explore, to spend the time practicing and doing gigs.
To the people around him, this dog was beautiful, and happy, and free. There were a few people, people he considered friends, who had spent a long night with the dog and a bottle of booze or a bong, who had heard him talk honestly, and they knew that there was a deeper layer to him. He was lost.
He was casting about for something that would catch his attention for more than a few minutes or days; he was battling a feeling of emptiness that comes from getting what he wanted, whenever he wanted, with as little effort as he could manage. Despite the joy with which he lived, he was battling a hollowness inside him, a void which he couldn't name, and couldn't imagine filling.
Now, there came a time when this dog, in his dog-like fashion, bedded himself a virgin. He charmed the boy on a long sunny afternoon in the park, smoking dope and sailing paper boats on the stream, and when they undressed each other in the dappled light of a grotto deep in the woods, the boy marveled at his beauty, worshiped every inch of his skin, and gave himself up to the dog completely. The dog said the words that he knew worked on boys, the promises and urging that would get him good and laid, and he took the boy's cherry on a bed of moss and leaves as the light of sunset fell around them.
When it was done, they lay together for a while, and then the dog remembered something that he had to do, and scampered off into the woods, leaving the boy to gather his clothes and get himself decent. Anyone passing by would have seen the look of confusion, of regret, of trepidation on the boy's face, but there was no-one to be seen.
The boy awaited the dog's promised phone call for a couple of days, but in vain. There was no response. The boy despaired; he realized on one level that he had been seduced, but another part of him clung to the hope that perhaps the dog was sincere, that he might keep his promises.
It was that part of him that guided him back to the grove where they'd made love, and it was there that he sat by the stream, and spoke to it of his fears and his longing and his heartbreak. It was there that he realized that it was all true; that the dog had just wanted sex, nothing more, despite his words to the contrary.
And it was there that he cursed the dog, wishing that he would get what he deserved, that the whole world would see him for what he truly was.
As it happened, there was a witness to the boy's seduction, and to his lament. The grove they happened upon was the home of a wood nymph, Kraneia by name, who had made a practice of keeping the grove as appealing to lovers as possible, so that they might venture into it and amuse her with their lusty ways.
Over the years, she had seen many seductions, many liaisons, many dalliances and affairs, and she had become quite fond of the lovers who passed the time with each other in her bower. The boy's heartbreak wounded her, and she found herself wanting to bring justice to the one who had hurt him. Fortunately, she knew a few entities who could be persuaded to help, and she went to work.
The dog was spending that night with the wife of a businessman, in a hotel downtown. They'd met on the subway, and instantly recognized the lust in each other. They made perfunctory conversation, she bought him a few drinks in a bar, and the hotel room had become inevitable. They entered, spent a while making out, and then she went into the bathroom to freshen up, whatever that means. When she returned, the handsome long-haired young man she'd brought home wasn't there; instead, sitting in the middle of the bed was a handsome, long-haired dog. The four-legged variety. Sure, he was friendly-looking, panting at her eagerly, but it disturbed the woman enough to send her screaming into the hallway.
The dog pursued, barking happily. When security arrived, they found the woman near the elevators, screaming as a big friendly dog attempted to hump her leg.
The dog escaped down a stairway past a confused clerk, and bolted down the stairway to the emergency exit. Free, he ran out into the night, where he found that the world had changed. Whereas before, he had thought about smell a lot, now he was immersed in smell; he thought in smells. The world was alive to him in a way that he'd always longed for, and he went out to revel in it.
He adapted to his new form quickly; he had a way of accepting the present, of making the best of whatever his current circumstances were, that served him well in this instance. After a bit of initial confusion about his new form, he decided that he'd better enjoy it, because he wasn't sure how long it would last. To be fair, that was also how he felt when he had a bag of weed, or twenty dollars, or a six-pack of beer. He was a creature of the present, of simple pleasures and experience, and here was a whole new world to explore.
In the next few hours he discovered that his dumpster-diving skills combined with a dog's natural scavenging ability well; he ate like a king. A dog-king, actually, as a king wouldn't have touched some of the more odiferous offerings the dumpsters contained, but to a dog they were ambrosial. Soon thereafter, he discovered that most of his other human pleasures were open to him as well; his goofy charm served him well in lining up bitches, and other dogs, to hump. He ran the streets he'd known as a human, happy to be relieved of the expectations of others around him to achieve more than he was comfortable with. Nobody expects you to make something of yourself if you're a dog.
And yet, in the midst of all of this revelry, in the middle of descending to the level he was most at home at, the dog discovered that deep inside him, the same hollow feeling was still there. Despite the fact that he had shrunk in form, it had grown inside him; it felt even more vast, even more cavernous. There was something out there that he wanted, and he couldn't even begin to understand what it was, but he knew he would never be complete without it. He took to howling on rooftops at night.
And then there came a day when he was perhaps a little overladen with dumpster fare, where he wasn't paying as much attention as he might have been, and he crossed a street he should have been more wary of. A squeal of brakes, a thump, a few quick spins of the world around him, and he found himself lying beside a curb, one of his rear legs in searing pain. He saw a yellow blur as a taxi sped away, trailing a string of expletives behind it, and he lay a while whining before trying to get up.
He managed to get to his paws in a bit, whimpering with every step. The city that had seemed so sheltering before now seemed intimidatingly impersonal. He knew the danger he was in; if he was taken by the dog catchers, they'd put him down rather than treat a collarless, untagged mutt. He limped into an alley, and thought about what he could do. There was a restaurant nearby where the cooks would feed him from time to time, if he acted goofy enough when he was begging; maybe they'd help. It was all he could think of in his state of mind.
"And, Master, it appears that it's grown a bit late. Would Master care to continue this some other time?"
"Dammit, boy," the Master said. "I absolutely hate and despise your cliffhanging ways."
"Yes, Sir, this slave apologizes profusely," the slave replied, his bowed head only slightly concealing his broad grin.
"Very well, boy, get yourself dressed and go home." The Master watched as the boy transformed from naked slave to ordinary young man, the only thing distinguishing him from the crowds being the collar that could be glimpsed around his neck. The slave knelt at his feet, and kissed them.
"Thank you, Master, for the night you've shared with this slave. This slave is infinitely grateful to belong to Master."
"Very well, boy. Rise."
The boy stood, and the Master as well. The Master reached out, tousled the boy's hair, and drew the boy to him until the boy's head was resting on his chest. "You're a good boy," the Master said.
The slave sounded a bit muffled, perhaps a bit choked up. "Thank you, Master."
"Go home, boy. Check your email tonight."
The boy left.