Chapter 55.
On the ride home I keep burping up from the piss I drank. Bobby's piss. Only Bobby's piss, he's promised me. But still, it's fucking piss! Not only that, but Jeff offered me a toothbrush but Bobby denied me that relief. Said he wanted me to taste his piss until he got me home.
I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he drives quietly. Once again I take in the sight of his face and feel all the things it brings up in me. Admiration. Lust. Love. An overwhelming craving to surrender myself to this Alpha in every possible way. He is so self-assured and my sense of self is so compromised, so feeble, so shaky. The only time I feel complete is when Bobby is doing something to me or looking at me with that Alpha Dom look in his eyes.
Something really frightens me: that if I were to turn away from him and leave, he would still be as solid as he is right now. Meanwhile, I would break into a million pieces. Bobby is the one who holds all my pieces together. I drink Bobby's piss because I need as much of Him as deeply in my body as I can. Even though part of me recoils at the utter degradation of having to drink another man's piss, my spirit craves it. Bobby is in me. Bobby is entering my blood stream, I'm told.
It's all Bobby. Suddenly words come out of my mouth that I seem to have no control over. "Please whip your slave, Master, when you get home. Please." Bobby smiles at me with the kind of smile that makes my heart quiver. "Oh, I'm planning to, boy. I know how much you need it. Especially now that you have the taste of my piss in your mouth, like the disgusting faggot you are. Lowlife. Learn your place, boy. When you're the most down into your slave space, boy, that's when my love for you overflows. That's when I can see you in all your naked desire. That's when I know what you are. Just for me, boy. All for me."
I sit there and listen to him and my fingers go to my neck and caress His collar on me. Yes. This is who I am. This is what I need to be. This is Who I worship and serve. This is the One Who holds the whip in His hands while I beg for the pain and humiliation that brings me peace. I am so helplessly lost without Him. Because I crave Him, I crave His lash.
We get to the house and Bobby makes me strip naked before I leave the car. He stands on the grass and watches His slave crawl on the rocky path back to His door. I get the feeling that Bobby had me in mind when He had this path covered in bits and pieces of rock and stone, that He knew that someday He would meet a faggot boy who would crawl this path, heedless of the pain.
I struggle along, the rocks biting into my hands and knees and feet while my Master watches me crawling. It would have been a simple thing for me to simply move to the right and crawl on the smooth cool grass, but no. The rocky path is for me. And in the midst of the pain and shame of having to crawl to His home like this, I understand what I am. The Inferior one. The totally Inferior one. I can only be with Him when I'm in pain. That is what He requires of me.
When I get to the door, He orders me to stop. There's a hose on the side of the house connected to a faucet. He picks up the hose and turns on the water. He aims the spray nozzle at me and in a flash, I'm being pummeled by cold water and the force of the blast hurts. I cry out as Bobby sprays the water all over me. Eventually He just keeps the water spraying the top of my head and its falls over my face and I start crying. He blasts me right in the face to wash away my tears, but more come.
Finally he throws down the hose and opens the door. With a light kick, He bids me crawl inside, dripping and shivering and crying, and I descend deeply into sub space. He leaves me there motionless and goes inside.
After a moment He returns, holding the shoelace whip and He begins to whip my ass, driving me forward down the hallway to the room He's made as His dungeon. When I get there, He begins to lash me more furiously, and I start rolling away, trying to avoid the lashes. He just keeps swinging and laying the whip on me. It hurts so bad and yet feels so good.
"Put your mouth on my foot and don't lose it," He orders. Slowly He walks into the dungeon and I struggle to keep up. Whenever my mouth loses contact with His foot He lashes me harder. He walks around the perimeter of the dungeon backward, watching me struggle to keep my mouth in contact with His foot as He keeps moving away. He doesn't have to say anything. I know what He's doing to train me, to break me down, to beat me because I am His slave. He isn't whipping to punish me right now. He's whipping to break me down lower. And He's succeeding.
I fall to the ground weeping and breathing heavily, my body covered by the pain of His whip. He stops whipping me and just stands there, looking me over.
He speaks to His slave. "Jeff is encouraging me to pimp you out as a naked houseboy to some of his wealthier friends. He says I can offer you to those who would be interested for $500 for an afternoon of cleaning and sexual service to those who buy you, and then donate the fee to charity. It's a nice way to raise money for kids who aren't as lucky as you, gay teenagers even who are out on their own with no means of support. I think I'm going to take him up on his offer. It's for a good cause and it will keep you humbled and obedient."
He says nothing further about the idea and does not ask my opinion or my consent. He reads my mind. "I am not looking for your consent about this. If I decide to put you to work this way, then you will serve as I direct. It's certainly better for you to be doing something like this than crawling around the Inferno sucking off horny old men. This way at least you'll be sucking off horny wealthy men and cleaning their toilets and anything else they want done."
He sits down. "Strip my feet and then clean them with your tongue, slave."
Awesome feet. Cleaned recently, so this is nothing more than an act of humble submission to the man who owns me. I've learned to like doing this. I really feel like I'm making love to Bobby this way and His feet are as appealing to me as His cock. I lose myself as I suck His toes and lick between them the way He likes.
After a good long time, He speaks again. "I'm going to have your schedule changed next semester. Either early morning classes or night classes. The afternoons will be free for me to pimp you out for housework. As soon as I get your schedule worked out, I'll let Jeff know what days you'll be available as a house slave."
I just keep licking and sucking His feet and what He's telling me is making me realize just how much control He has over my life and just how much my life is going to change as long as I've surrendered everything to Him Do I have a choice? I'm willing to surrender to the idea that no, I do not have a choice. Can I do that?
Right now, as I'm down on the ground licking the Master's feet while feeling the effects of a pretty substantial whipping all over my body, I realize that it is really a simple thing. Simply a question of convincing myself that I have no right to consent, that anything and everything Bobby wants to do to me or with me is automatically consensual.
Can I do this? Can I surrender this totally?
Damn, I want to. Some would say this is only a game we're playing and I know that. But I want it to be more than a game, and the only way I can do that is by surrendering the right to give consent, by truly becoming Bobby's slave in every sense of the word. That means that Bobby can do whatever He wants with me, even things which I would usually not choose to submit to.
Does this make any sense?
It does to me.
It's time for supper. Bobby gives me a bowl of gruel and makes me eat it on the floor without using my hands. Meanwhile, he's on the phone with two friends of his from school, Harry and Vito, and they make arrangements to meet for dinner at a very exclusive restaurant at 7 pm.
He leaves me be for a while He showers and then gets dressed in a 3-piece suit. Quite elegant. He comes to me and orders me to put on socks and sneakers, jeans and a t-shirt, no underwear. "I'm bringing you to Leonardo's, a very exclusive restaurant.
"I know the place. Dad took me there for dinner on my 16th birthday.
"I'll drop you off at the back door. They're expecting you. You'll be washing dishes and pots while I enjoy my meal with my friends. Get ready. I want to leave in 5 minutes."
No discussion. NO options. Shit. Yes, fuck! This is what I was thinking about before. Having to serve in ways I really don't want to serve, but having no choice. Being a real slave. Fuck, I'm going to hate this but it's going to turn me on nonetheless!
And to make matters worse, on the way to the restaurant we stop at Harry's place first and Bobby makes me come inside with him. Vito's already there, so Bobby "displays" me to his friends by making me strip down and present myself, hands behind head. Both of them "inspect" Bobby's property (=me) with their hands as well as their eyes. Vito is really turned on by all the evidence of the discipline I've received. Harry gets slap-happy until at last, Bobby holds him back because he sees tears forming in my eyes.
After that, Bobby makes me grovel and raise my ass so they can see (and in Vito's case, touch) my hole. As I get dressed again, they talk about me as if I'm not there, or as if I'm just a piece of property. "I'm surprised to see someone as young as you so self-assured and clearly in command," says Vito, who is about 10 years older than Bobby.
"I caught sight of some of my Dad's porn when I was about 11 years old and then managed to get into his stash. He's big time into BDSM, although he never did anything around me. Anyway, I got a damn good education. He had all the right books about all the right practices. By the time I was about 15 I began fantasizing about having my own sub or slaveboy some day."
"So how did you meet this one?"
Bobby chuckles. "Bascially, it came begging to me. Here's what happened: In school, actually. I was sitting in class and got some vibes like someone was staring me down. There he-it--was, sitting in a back row on the other side of the room, practically salivating over me. Finally, I made my move. Interestingly enough, we're a perfect match. It needs to be a slave as much as I want to be its Master. Now I enjoy creating situations where I can really break the faggot down and reduce it to as low a state as possible."
"So why is it here with you now?" asks Harry.
"I know the kitchen manager here. I made arrangements for him to put the slave to work while we're enjoying our dinner. Told him that the kid owes me a large some of money and that's how he's paying me off. Told him to make the kid work hard."
Now I'm hearing all this for the first time. I keep making fists involuntarily, which shows how much I'm resenting being treated like this and dreading what's to come. Shit, it's happening. I'm being treated like nothing more than a powerless captive slave.
The guys all look hot the way they're dressed up. It turns out that Vito is an officer in Bobby's Dad's corporation and Harry is a younger intern on his staff. They had planned this dinner several months ago, long before Bobby laid claim to me as His slave. Me working in the kitchen is just a twist that Bobby came up with to delight himself. The fact that his friends know what's going to happen with me makes it all the more real and all the more humiliating. Story of my life.
We pile into Vito's luxury Buick. Bobby has me sit behind the driver by the door, so I can quickly get out of the car when he drops me off in the back of the restaurant. The guys are chattering away. Vito has a funny story to tell about a mishap at work. They ignore me completely.
When they get to the restaurant Bobby asks Vito to drive to the back. Meanwhile Bobby sens a text to the kitchen. When we get to the back, there's a guy standing in the door. The car stops. AS I'm getting out Bobby says "if they have any complaints about you, boy, you'll spend the night in your cage covered in my piss." I say nothing but just get out and slam the door shut.
The guy at the door, wearing a long apron, says, "So you're the brat I have to put to work, eh?"
"Yes, Sir," I say. What else could I say. "Good. One of my dishwashers called in sick. You'll do as a replacement. Come, boy," he says, and leads me into a very hot kitchen, quite noisy, with a lot of workers doing various things. He brings me right through the main area and into a steamy back room with a hot machine working. The dish room, I guess.
"Kabo, put this trash to work," he says, and this tall black guy looks me over and sneers. He shows me around and then puts me to work washing pots in a large deep sink, showing me what to do. He walks away leaving me standing there and I get started.
Doesn't take much brains to wash pots, but because of the height and depth of the sink my back is killing me after an hour. That guy Kabo only comes in once to check up on me. He looks over the pots drying on the rack and brings in a bus boy to put them away after I'm done with them. Meanwhile, more and more are added to the pile. Kabo didn't give me an apron and I'm wet all down the front of my clothes.
"Go take a ten minute break," some other guy tells me and shows me where to go to hang out. Just a small room, practically a closet, with three hard chairs in it. "You want some water?" he asks. "Yes, please, Sir," I answer. "I was told that's all I could give you. Just water." "Fine with me," I answer.
"Sure is a weird way for a dude to have to pay off a debt," he tells me. Same guys comes in after a little while. "Okay, fucker, get back to work," he tells me. Things have piled up while I was on break. Fuck. Back-breaking work. I keep trying to figure a way to do what I have to do without bending over the side of the sink so much, but I just make even more of a mess and spill a whole pot of dirty water down the front of my jeans.
Sucks to be me. Worst of all, it keeps getting later and later and I'm wondering how long those guys could be taking at dinner. I'm getting unsettled when it's already 11 pm and keep looking at the door to the room. Finally, Kabo comes in. "Watcha looking for, punk?" he asks. "I figured the guys would have picked me up already. They've been at dinner for hours already."
Kabo snickers. "Guess they didn't tell ya, kid. You're working till closing. I'm bringing you back home."
We don't get done until about 12:30. I don't get home until 1. Kabo drops me off and I have trouble walking my back is so sore. No one's watching so I walk on the grass to the back door. There's a sign on the door in Bobby's handwriting. "Strip outside and leave your dirty clothes on the ground. Be quiet. Don't shower tonight. Sleep in your grunge, on the floor in the living room. Be quiet. If you wake me up, you'll be sorry, faggot."
So I do what Bobby told me to do, feeling pretty low and damn lonely sleeping in that room. Like most real slaves probably said all the time, sucks to be me. And it's completely real in my world no matter what anyone else might think.
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Here are the other stories I have posted, with the dates where you can find them:
The first five should be read in order:
The Alex Chronicles 9/25/2022 Sweet Subjugation 1/15/2023 Brandon's Bosses 4/3/2023 Brandon's Brothers 5/19/2023 Total Subjugation 5/25/2023
These stories are stand-alone
Tommy Loves His Sub 8/17/2023 Training Toby 12/31/2023 Breaking Me In (in progress)