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A Slave's Induction
Ch 5 - Orientation
I slept, I eventually would find out, for most of twenty-four hours. As I began to regain consciousness, I was on a thin mattress on a cot in the cage room, covered with a blanket. My body felt as if I'd been in a car wreck. My shoulders ached horribly, and there was limited sensation in my arms and hands. Hung over, could not cover the sensations going on in my head. I was not used to much alcohol -- to say nothing of the amount Bill made sure I ingested. I don't know what the drug was, but I was sure it too was adding to the effect of my head feeling like someone else's. What was in the shot was unknown.
I looked at the cage, and all my time in it came flooding back to me. I trembled with terror and rolled over, with difficulty, to face away from it, trying in my mind to make it go away by thinking other thoughts. It was only my experience in the cage that had my mind's focus. Try as I would for a long while, I could not think of anything else. Then it all began to come back. From first noticing Nick in the bar and watching to see who he was with, to our time in the bar together, to the ride home with them, to my truck, to the offer Bill made me, to being brought down here by Nick and "tucked in," and why.
I wondered how long? How long had I been in that cage? I had had little concept of passing time, except that a moment seemed like an eternity. And how long had I been here on this cot? I felt my growing stubble of my beard. It was heavier than waking up after a night's sleep. In my mind's eye I saw the powerful cocky man - so accomplished in martial arts - standing in front of me here in this room. I heard myself being admonished to do what I was told, or I'd get my face kicked in, and how self assured he was in his warning. Nick's words ricocheted in my brain, "You are where you have no choices." There were no guns, or knives in his hands, but he might as well have had an arsenal, for the danger he posed just with his superior body and accomplished capacities.
I relived my sense of worry about backing myself into that awful looking contraption, and that I couldn't have imagined how really terrible it would be, and for so long. I rubbed my aching shoulders and felt only partial sense in my arms and hands, wondering if the nerves were permanently damaged. I thought of how fussy I normally was about my mattress and pillows for sleeping or resting. How luxurious it felt here and now, on this thin foam pad, on this army cot, to be under this coarse blanket, rubbing my soreness - how thankful I felt here and now, for what I would have considered a punishment before.
In the middle of my self-absorption and machinations, I didn't hear the outer door to what was feeling like a crypt of sorts, being opened. As I realized someone was coming through the inner door I broke immediately into a cold sweat and without even thinking about it, started saying, "thank you," to who ever it was that had entered. I didn't know whether to get up - sit up - stand up - kneel down - It was Nick. He could see the cross circuiting in my brain and issued a one word command, "Stay."
I lay there and fearfully watched him approach instinctively answering him, "Yes Sir. Thank you Sir." Fearful or not, as he approached from the direction of my feet, his beauty consumed me. He was wearing only a swimmer jock, caressing his ample manhood to overflowing. He passed by the side of the cot with my eyes glued to his perfect form and then to his ass as it came into view. He walked to the head of the cot and faced away from it fully exposing his broad shouldered, narrow wasted, bubble butted backside. He began to look as if he was going to sit down. That's exactly what he was doing. He spoke as he did so, "I just took a shit," he said casually. "I thought you might like to clean my ass for me, eh?" He told me if that's what I wanted, I should stick out my tongue, if not, to just leave my tongue in my mouth. And as he lowered himself slowly into position, there was one more directive, "Spread my cheeks for me."
I stuck out my tongue, afraid not to, and knowing it wasn't much going to matter. He was going to sit on my face either way. As they came into range I did as I was instructed. I put my hands on his beautiful cheeks - spread them, and just as I did, he sat himself down. I hated the whole idea of shit - knew of the fetish - didn't get it - and certainly didn't want it. I feared and imagined the worst - a shitty hole to have to clean with my face and tongue. What I got was only moderate smells and tastes, undeniably there, but so much less than I thought I was going to endure. I was so thankful. I started mumbling, "thank you's," lapping, and responding to his ass crack movements grinding up and down my face, forcing complimentary movements of my head and nose and tongue.
"Wow," he said. "I think you like my ass." It wasn't something I'd ever done much of - and never a dirty one, but I WAS enjoying servicing this man this way. I surprised myself, actually being a little disappointed when he was through. When he stood and turned around, his cock was punching the fabric of his jock and straining it to the max. He walked around, pulled my blanket off me, pushed my legs over, and plopped down where he'd cleared himself a seat on the side of the cot. Both dutifully and truthfully, I repeatedly thanked him for the privilege he had just given me.
He shut me up and told me that in a few minutes he would be taking me upstairs - that the Boss was ready to meet with me. Something of that cold sweat began to return. Having him sitting next to me on my bed, he seemed so human - so benign. It reminded me of when my big brother used to sit on my bed and talk, or joke with me. But he was far from my loving brother. This man was as dangerous and threatening an element for me, as he was beautiful. And he was as beautiful as anything I'd ever remembered looking at. I wished things were different. I wished I didn't have to be afraid of him, "harming me in ways I'd find almost impossible to live with," is how I remembered him putting it. I'd been given graphic reasons to respect both of these men and their power. Of that there was no doubt. I wished that respect, could have been born out of something other than fear.
Nick sat comfortably mostly with his elbows on his knees picking under one fingernail then another, seldom looking in my direction. He was there to coach me as to my comportment, as if I were about to be in the presence of royalty. What I was about to be in the presence of, was far more important than royalty, at least as would affect me. Among other things, I was reminded how to address him - about how he liked to be begged for what he offers - and that I was never to address him without first being spoken to.
My macho mentor/ tormentor said that if I were going to abide by my original decision, he would just take me up as I was. But, if I intended to express a change of heart about the Boss's proposition, there were conditions I would need and want to honor, before being allowed in his presence. He put his hand under the small of my neck and lifted lightly as I responded and brought myself first to sitting and then to standing posture by his lead. "So, shall we go up now? Nick was guiding me over toward the inner door and I was beginning to panic at being brought before the Boss without his conditions being honored. I couldn't imagine what the consequences of that would produce.
Quickly I begged Nick, "No! Please Nick Sir! I need to honor the Boss's conditions so he will be pleased when he sees me. Please don't take me up there yet." I had said the word, "no" to Nick without realizing it, but my mind was reeling at the thought of not appearing before Bill, as he would want me. Nick stopped us where we stood, and I almost ducked for fear he was going to strike me for my saying "no," to him. Instead he very calmly asked, "Are you sure that's what you want? You seemed pretty adamant about not accepting the Boss's offer to be a part of his project.
"No Sir. I was wrong Sir. Please Nick Sir. I need to apologize to the Boss for my selfish decision. I didn't consider his feelings or wishes. I want to beg him to let me accept his offer." We were standing there dead still, and Nick seemed to be weighing my words for sincerity, so I continued. "Please Nick Sir, what ever those conditions are, I want to meet them before you take me up there." Still no movement and he seemed ready to resume in the direction of the door. I got on my knees and pleaded with the one in control, "I beg you, please Sir! I want the Boss to be pleased with me."
As soon as he directed me away from the door and back into the room I thanked him. He took a small clear plastic box and a straight razor from a drawer. He removed the lid and handed me the open box. He sat down on the cot, and stood me in front of him. When he opened the straight razor, I closed my eyes - prayed and held my breath. He laughed at my response as he began to deftly remove my crotch hair with a dry shave. With each stroke, he took what he'd harvested and put it into the small box. He stretched out my ball sack - even had me help to hold it stretched this way and that - and denuded it as well.
He put me on the cot on my back and raised me till I was only neck & shoulders on the mattress and feet against the wall - my cock & balls hanging in my face. In position to accommodate his ease, he slapped the inside of a thigh. With an accompanying directive my legs spread wide apart for him as he worked the area around my asshole and taint. When he was satisfied with my smooth appearance and no evidence of hair remaining - with it all visible in the small container, he closed the razor and took the box. He stood me facing him and applied its accompanying clear lid. Tenderly - almost affectionately - he rubbed the back of his toughened knuckles across my now hairless crotch, between my legs, and lightly fingered around my formerly hairy asshole. Fondling - rubbing his lips on the smooth bush area - almost making love to it - he spent a few moments, before allowing me to draw my own conclusions as he issued four indicative words, "Men have hair here."
"You will present this to the boss," he directed, handing the box back to me now closed up, "It is a token of appreciation that represents your manhood specifically, but also your person in general. By it's offering, you make a promise to put his needs, preferences, and pleasures above your own, in all things. As u present it you issue the words, "You first, always, and in all things Sir." The words rang in my ears, "always" and "in all things." For the first time, it was feeling certain I would not be leaving here. Holding the representative gift of my own hair in my hand and looking at my denuded smooth crotch, a picture of permanence was painting itself in my mind, which was hard to face, and almost impossible not to try to deny.
Crotch taken care of, Nick went over to a table at the side of the room and picked up a big funnel, and a large mouth canning type jar of what looked like piss. From a drawer nearby he produced a very large butt plug, some lube, and a retention harness. He threw the plug and harness on the bed, told me to kneel and handed me the jar. "Take my cock out," he said, "I have to piss." What was in the jar, he said, was the Boss's and he was going to add to it. I lowered the jock for the first time getting a good close view of Nick's manhood. We were at present sharing a commonality. His crotch was stripped smooth like mine. But unlike me, except for his light happy trail and modicum of chest hair, he was devoid of all other body hair. As he spread a wide armed stretch, I could see armpits were denuded as well. There was no stubble as if he was shaved. There was just no hair. He was smooth as if what ever HAD been there, had been permanently depilated. He had eyebrows - actually quite thick ones, and eyelashes, and the hair on his head was shaved off, but still evident, as was the clean-shaven beard, but everywhere else, not a trace of it - no body hair at all.
Both long and tumescent, his cock was an enviable piece, by the standards of all but the truly horse hung. It was large and veined, and for uncut, had a huge head. He told me to put him in my mouth and swallow the first mouthful of his stream. The rest was to be allowed to course through my open mouth and drain into the jar, as I would hold it under my lower lip. As I held his amazing shaft and put it to my mouth, the scent and taste only an uncut cock can produce, was evident, and compelling. I held little more than the head with its foreskin inside me, waiting to become his toilet. I wouldn't have to wait long, as soon the stream began to flow. I let my mouth fill and swallowed as prescribed. The taste was different than I remembered from my use in the cage. It was far stronger, and more bitter, "Perhaps some supplements or vitamins," I thought.
I held the jar tight under my lower lip and again, as prescribed, the balance of his bladder full, spilled into the jar after using my open mouth as something of a splashguard. He had me lick and clean the foreskin of the last drops of him, before ordering me to put him away. I thought how I would love to suck more than piss from this hot man's beautiful rod - how I'd love to spend what ever time it took to milk a spunk load from him. But now was not the time. I tucked him carefully away - balls and cock - back into the confinement of the sexy jock strap, and he had me readjust things to suit his comfort. He didn't reach down like most men would, taking things into their own hands, and jiggle and move things around till comfortable, but had me do it. I thought about the fact I had not seen him touch himself earlier, nor throughout this whole procedure, and I found myself hoping secretly that it was, as I suspected, because he was not permitted to do so.
He put me on my knees on the edge of the cot and told me to put my head to the bed. He lubed the tip of the funnel and inserted it into my ass and in a moment I felt the warm liquid from its fresh deposit, being poured into me. He emptied the bottle, threw it on the bed and picked up the butt plug. He lubed it and put it to my hole with a warning, "You'd better not move buttfuck." He slowly at first pushed on the huge cone shaped monolith, and as it started to spread me and he felt the resistance from my anal muscle ring, he pushed harder opening me painfully up. As I started to holler he gave it all he had and in the flash of an eye, he had forced the huge intruder passed the point of no return and into me.
Times in the cage played themselves back to me as I screamed from the pain. He held it tight - stood me up - spun me to face him, and worked on the front. There was a flat codpiece with a strap on each side of it. He told me to push my balls up inside their channels and to make my cock disappear inside me as well. Working with my assistance he brought the hard flat leather codpiece up and strapped first one side, then the other, to the harness belt and cinched each tightly. There was no evidence of the presence of my cock & balls - no accommodation where they would normally have hung - not so much as a bulge or protrusion to indicate their presence. As soon as the harness was secured, he smacked me on the ass. "Ok," he said. "We're ready."
He pulled me by the ear and directed me out the doors and down the hall barley able to walk and grunting so as not to scream my representative gift in hand. My ass was spread so wide and filled so deep and my gut so engorged with piss, that, that is all I was, a tortuously spread and filled ass hole, nothing else - no other thoughts existed. My legs were like jelly and it took concentration to keep them under and supporting me. They wanted to collapse with each step. Navigating the stairs was astoundingly difficult and I was thankful for Nick's strong arm to lean into. He was literally holding me up. As we got to the top landing of the stairs, he paused before opening the door.
"Ok," he said, "Collect yourself. I've given you all the support I can. You're on your own outside this door." He let go of me, and I literally fell to my knees and would have fallen down the stairs, if he hadn't caught me. He stood me up, and straightened me out, and mercifully waited another moment, for me to come together. Slowly he let go of me to be sure I wasn't going to fall, opened the door, and pushed on my lower back guiding me through it. I walked - I don't know how - on my own, down the corridor toward the room I had come from many hours earlier, but passed by that door to the next one. Nick opened the door, and I could see it was the gym I had watched Bill working out in, on the video. And Bill was there live, and in the flesh, working out now. I looked in amazement at him, and held myself composed by the hardest, as I stood there, feeling like I was going to black out.
Nick felt me woozy, and whispered to me to put my head between my legs. As I did so, Nick asked Bill if he could do anything else for him. The Boss said he was fine, and that Nick could go. "Yes Sir Boss," was Nick's reply. I slowly raised myself back up to my spread-legged, mostly standing position. Nick turned toward me and felt my smooth crotch as he whispered in my ear. It was a warning, but he tacked a word onto the end of it. "Don't fuck this up buddy." The friendly pronoun took me by complete surprise, and the clincher, was a wink he gave me as he exited.
No sooner had he closed the door, than Bill spoke. I wasn't aware he had yet even looked in my direction, but he gave me an order that let me know he had - perhaps in one of the walls full of mirrors. Either that, or intuitively he knew what I was doing. "Straighten up!" he said. "Put your feet together and stand up straight."
My "Yes Sir, thank you Sir," was strained, and that was the next order of business. He said he didn't intend needing an interpreter to understand what I was saying. I was to speak in a normal voice as well as walk and move normally. And if I needed some time to think about it, that it could be arranged with no problem. I had painfully come to know what "thinking about something" meant, and with exuberance, I almost shouted, "Oh, no Sir! I don't need to think about it." With every fiber of intention I had, I did the almost impossible, and stood erect. I concentrated on how I would sound if I were not in utter torment, and by the end of my brief statement of assurance to the Boss that I didn't need time to think, I was forcing myself to sound as if nothing were wrong, and issuing my thanks, for the Boss's direction in helping me please him.
He was benching around three hundred pounds and told me to give him a spot. "You've obviously spent a lifetime in the gym," he said. "You know how to help out. Come over here and spot me." It only took one step to know that walking without favoring the plug in me was going to make an already terrible situation even more so. As I walked over to him my spirit was screaming for all it was worth. But my voice did no such thing.
"Give me a lift off," was the simple instruction as I reached my place, practically straddling his head looking down on the hairy god-man - nothing of mine in the way of - or diminishing - a full view of his magnificence. Standing over him, the positioning was definitely inappropriate feeling for me, but it was where I needed to be, to accommodate him - besides there was nothing in his view of me he did not choose to see. I put my box of crotch hair on the floor by the bench and grabbed onto the bar issuing my respectful thanks. "I want twelve," he said, starring straight up, as if through me, and psyching himself for the set. With a "One, Two, Three," we both lifted the heavy bar off its perch and I let go, looking for signs he needed help.
My god was as strong as he was beautiful, and I thought how he was putting me to shame, with his ease of movement. The first six were no problem, and then I began to see him straining, so I put my hands under the bar to be ready to help. "I'll let you know," he said, with exhausted strain in his voice. On rep nine he let me know a little help would be good, and he got just what he wanted. Number ten necessitated considerably more help on my part, to the point where eleven and twelve were looking questionable. But he'd said he wanted twelve, so twelve is what I needed to make sure he got.
I recalled how I was, when spotting someone in my gym. As they began to have difficulty, I would holler in their face, "EASY WEIGHT! ALL YOU HAVE!! GO FOR IT!!" and with my hands in position but showing little lifting help, "ALL YOURS!!" and "GO, GO, GO!!!" It kind of just came out naturally as I was completely drawn into the beautiful man before me, and helping him with his intention to get twelve reps, I found myself doing the same thing with the same intensity, just as loud and forceful, but adding Sir, or Boss, at the end of each exuberant admonition.
With my last "GO, GO, BOSS!!!" and some help with the weight, we put the bar back on its perch together. As I looked down at the pumped hairy chest of the man in control, I realized two things - first, how good it felt to have done something with the Boss, and for the Boss, and second - I had been drawn completely away from the pain in my gut and ass for a brief moment. As it came rushing back, I concentrated on trying to sound normal and said, "Thank you Boss Sir."
"Yeah," he said. "Good set." And then he sat up and spoke almost conversationally with me, as if I were a trainer or a buddy. "You're a good spot. You know how to lift the least and get the most outa me." I wondered if the way I was feeling was how Nick felt with Bill. All was for him and by his prescription and everything done or said, put his pleasure and preferences first, but here and now, when his requirements were being met, there was almost a sense of camaraderie. I remembered something Nick had said during his "chat" with me about comportment.
"No matter how familiar the Boss gets with you, you never return familiarity. Remember, and remain in your place at all times. If he believes you have forgotten your place, he will give you time to think about it. And you have experienced a moderate idea, of what having time to think is like. I can guarantee you your next time out will not be as easy as the first was."
"Time out," I thought to myself. That's what you give children when they misbehave. You put them in the corner or send them to their room for an hour. How terribly different the term was interpreted, here in the Boss's world. The Boss stretched and rubbed his shoulder as if it ached. "I need a good massage," he said. Lets go take a steam, and then you can give me one before you shower me down." Then before I could respond, he pointed to the box of my hair on the floor. "Tell me about this," he said as he motioned for me to hand it to him. I froze momentarily and forgot the words I was to use as I gave him my gift. Mercifully they came to me.
"It's my crotch hair Sir. It's a token of my thanks that represents my gift to you of my manhood specifically, and of my person as well. And the words that go with it are - You first Boss, always and in all things, Sir."
"Good. I accept." he said, as casually as if accepting a shirt or a tie as a birthday present. "You can't possibly understand all that means right now, but you will before long."
I was fighting the intensity of the plug with every fiber of strength and determination I owned. The static nature of it holding my ass hole so wide open and stretching me so far apart by the cone shape inside was as close to unbearable as anything I could imagine. Most plugs I had been familiar with narrowed down considerably at their base and were not so volumnous. This was the fattest at the base I had ever seen - the volume of the cone and the circumference of its widest point seemed not humanly possible to accommodate. And the terror I felt when I saw Nick throw it on the bed had been completely warranted.
He put my present down on the bench and said he would tell me where it went later. I would find out it would join a collection he had of them - some brown - some black - red - and blond. Some of the boxes stuffed full to capacity, and some just light wisps of a presentation. I would wonder about the former owners of these bushes.
He put his hand on the back of my neck and guided (or aimed) me toward a door across the room and gently pushed me on ahead of him, telling me to walk very slowly while he watched from behind. "You look really ridiculous. I know you feel even more ridiculous than you look. Bend over for me so I can get a good view." He had me stop and do a couple of movements for him - bending forward - squatting was a tough one - and lunging forward one leg at a time - pushups and crunches. I thought about how easy these things were at the gym, and how astoundingly difficult, and intense, and painful they were here & now with presence of the plug, and my cock & balls jammed inside me. And not a word was mentioned about my flat crotched appearance - only a firm smack on its smooth hard leather surface.
I don't know how I was doing it. Yes I do. I was seeing, in my mind, the cage (or worse), and remembering, "time out to think." He took me into the huge steam room. It was arranged for his convenience, so that he could comfortably recline and have someone seated at his feet for the purpose of foot massage. He sat, and lay back, looking so completely blissful, and free, and comfortable, and beautiful.
That voice from off somewhere in the back of my head was saying, "You should hate this man for what he's doing to you, putting you through." A part of me knew the voice was right - but as before, it was not the part in charge. The part at the helm of my tortured being was worshiping the man instead - feeling privileged to be here in his inner sanctum - and fearing him all at the same time.
He raised his right foot up and pointed, "Sit there and put my foot in your lap so you can massage it for me." The word "sit," was having trouble computing, but only momentarily, and only as I was moving into the prescribed position without hesitation. He told me to look into his eyes. There they were again, those steel-grey windows to his soul. "I don't want any reaction," he said, "I just want you to sit down and put my foot in your lap and take care of it for me." I looked straight into his eyes and sat on the plug base. I breathed a very deep breath and said, "Thank You Sir," with as much composure as I could force. My legs instinctively locked trying to support as much of my weight as possible to Bill's observation, "Tom, look at what you're doing. Look at your legs. Relax them." As I did so, and my full weight came to rest on the plug, I said I was so sorry, but it didn't come out composed. Nor did the following, "Thank you Sir."
I didn't know how I could take another minute of this thing inside me splitting me wide open. And not being able to express my anguish and writhe and beat my fist against something and holler, seemed too much to bear. I never had to focus as narrowly, or try as hard, at anything in my life, and I felt like it was beating me, and I couldn't help it. I'd been fisted once while restrained and without choice. This felt like that horrible pain when the man's hand was sliding passed the widest point before entering me, but it wasn't sliding passed. It was staying there. And what was beyond my rectum was big enough that it made my insides, feel the same way.
I broke down, and with tears coming from my eyes and with words that felt like they were coming from a weak snotty nosed child, I cried out, "I'm trying so hard Sir. IÉ" I was going to say how I didn't want to disappoint him, and more, but what ever else I was going to say didn't matter. His facial expression changed. He startled me to silence as he yanked his foot from my lap and stood up sweat soaked - glistening, and towering over me. There was nothing in his voice but anger and impatience.
"You unappreciative bitch! Instead of thanking me the way you've been told to, you find it necessary to announce to me - blurt out - volunteer - how hard you're trying? Did I ask you how hard you were trying?" I was going to answer but he kept on, "Here you are privileged to be sitting at my feet tending to the most personal of my most private needs. You have, massaging me with your bare hands, and showering me the same way to look forward to, and you'd rather throw yourself a little pity party?" He left me sitting there and walked out the steam room door leaving it open, through the gym, opened the door to the hall and shouted, "Nick! Get in here! Now!" I could barely hear Nick answer from off somewhere in the distance, "Yes Sir, Boss!"
Bill walked back into the steam room in all his hairy glory glistening with his own sweat. "I'm surprised," he said, "I thought you were ready." He put his hands on his hips and just as I was about to speak Nick entered the room.
"Yes Sir Boss," was his greeting.
Bill's voice was business like, "Tom was telling me how hard he's trying. This plug seems to be too much for him. Take him down stairs. He needs a bigger, one that will make this one feel easier for him - help him realize how desirable this one was - and then give him some time to think about it. About twelve hours ought to do. Whadaya think Tom?"
Instinctively I knew not to start with, "I think," with him, no matter what followed it. So in a loud and composed voice I began to implore him, beg him, promise him, reverence, and worship him but with his title first, "Sir, Boss, Master, Sir," I wished there were more titles and names I could use. As it was, "Master," was not a formally approved title. But no one was ever another's slave, more than I was this man's. He had utter control. He truly was, Master. I thought as I continued, and even with some clarity of mind in this exhausted and weakened state. It was almost as if I were channeling. Maybe I was. "I know Sir, that you are the most astounding man I have ever looked at or listened to or respected, and you have shown me you have ultimate authority over me Sir." He was looking at me and listening.
I got down on my knees with difficulty, put my hands behind me and looked straight ahead at his manhood hanging so pendulously and proudly. "Thank you Boss. I know I will do exactly as you decide. I beg you Sir to let me stay with you, to show you I can be about your comfort and needs. No pity party Sir. You honor me with these great privileges, letting me see and hear and smell and touch and taste you naked, and I repay you by being an ungrateful bitch, and boring you with my pointless talk of trying. I'm very sorry Sir. I was wrong." He hadn't spoken a word or moved from the spot in which he was standing, with Nick next to him, and the words that were coming to me were becoming true as they came out.
"I'm totally undeserving and very lucky to be here in your domain Sir. The least you deserve is what you want, done exactly the way you want it. When I handed you my crotch hair representative of my manhood specifically and my person in general, Sir, the words I said were - You first Sir, always and in all things - I want to show you that those are not just empty words Sir, but that they are meant without qualification." Bill sat down on the raised tile seating area behind him. Still quiet, he leaned back and crossed his legs at the ankles.
One more thought was broadcasting itself loud and clear in my head, "I beg you for your pleasure Sir what ever that means. If it means going downstairs and suffering a time out for you, then I thank you in advance for each hour of misery. You and your power and your effect on me will be thought about, and it may be hard to feel at the moment, but I will know that I am very lucky. If it means my continuing to be in your presence and worshiping you here as you originally planed, I will be even luckier. But either way I accept and respect your right to decide what I do and thank you for doing so." I paused a moment and repeated my creed, "You first Sir, always and in all things."
I looked at him relaxing and could almost feel him thinking. His eyes were closed and hands folded and resting on his ab creased stomach. For a time I had been drawn somewhat away from the incessant cramps and gnawing pain. I heard in my head the Boss's instruction to Nick about a larger plug and blanched at the thought. Just the threat of it, DID somehow, make handling the one in me now easier - not EASY by any means - but easy-er.
The man who was laying claim to me as a tool for his convenience and pleasure - the man with all the power and all the control now in my life and my world, raised up to sitting, scooted back on the hot tile seat, leaned forward and held on to the front edge of the seat with his hands. I looked not into his eyes, but straight at his mid section and waited. I hoped, and I prayed, to whatever higher power would listen. Finally he spoke.
"Anything more shithead?" he asked. "Now's the time."
I felt like I was on trial, guilty, no defense, just the throwing of myself on the mercy of the court, pleading for lenience and praying for mercy. But in this court, my Master was judge, jury, and executioner, all rolled into one. I was being offered a last chance to express myself - make my case - speak. "Only, Sir Boss Master Sir, that I am very sorry. I am afraid of another time out Master Sir, more than I can express, and only your undeserved mercy can help me now. I understand that I don't speak unless given the opportunity and that telling you about trying hard is complaining. And whether you send me downstairs with Sir Nick or not Sir, I promise you will never hear it again." I finished with a stream of, "Thank you Sir's," until he cut them off by speaking - which would have made continuing them an interruption.
"Stick around Nick. I may need you to take the sniveling bitch down stairs. He's on probation and borrowed time. Any slipup or poor performance, I'll snap my fingers and you can take him and have some fun with him." My heart almost leaped into my throat, I was so relieved and excited. He was giving me a chance. I wanted to hug him and thank him and kiss his feet.