Brians Amazingly Quick Transformation

Hello on this beautiful Saturday in Boston. This story is in the gay authoritarian section. Hope you have a great Labor Day weekend. Thank you.

Donny Mumford

BRIAN'S AMAZINGLY QUICK TRANSFORMATION

Chapter 3 By Donny Mumford

After experiencing that humiliating and painful Friday afternoon with the boys I thought maybe I'd be treated a little deferentially at work today, but Junior and Brett have done me no favors; I got the opposite from Brett actually, he assigned me to a shitty detail. First thing Monday morning and I'm outside sweeping the parking lot and picking up trash with another guy. This detail will take all morning and the temperature is supposed to hit ninety-five degrees by noon. What a boring and distasteful job this is, so much so I daydream about various subject matter through most of the morning, at one point thinking about Brett and Junior. Well, especially Brett, and I embarrassed myself by springing a boner or two during my Brett reverie. Mostly I thought about the temperature, and it has me wondering how hot it's going to be in my bedroom tonight without air-conditioning. I grew-up with air-conditioning goddammit! Last night I was sweating my ass off in bed jerking-off. Yeah, and I've been having the best climaxes lately! I love jerking off!

Well, picking-up trash in a parking lot is as far removed from jerking-off as you can get. The nasty bright sun hitting the blacktop makes it seem like I'm in a fucking oven, and I hate sweeping-up other peoples' trash! This really sucks, and it's so unfair! Last summer at the country club I'd never have dreamed in my wildest imaginings that I could fall this far... I mean, come on! Picking-up and sweeping trash in BJ's parking lot? Jesus! No one in my family has ever been to this goofy wholesale club. Yeah, and it really pisses me off that Brett has the gaul to put me on this detail, especially after all I went through with him Friday afternoon. I'm pissed at him alright, not that I have the balls to show it. Finally the lunch bell sounds ending my misery. Me and my parking lot partner, Bill Jonas, are dripping with perspiration when we go inside for lunch. First we both desperately need to clean-up in the lavatory, which leaves us only fifteen minutes to eat. And just as I thought, neither Bill nor me uttered a negative word about how unfair it is to assign dock workers, like us, to a job that's actually a janitorial responsibility. But, you just don't bitch about anything if you work for Junior and Brett... not if you want to keep your job.

We're having an easier afternoon inside the air-conditioned building stocking shelves; another no-brainer assignment that allows me to let my mind wander again. Mostly I'm thinking about the Knight boys and what will happen later this afternoon in the playtime session. By now I've changed my mind and I'm not pissed at Brett after all, I can't stay mad at him. Then, just like that, the final bell sounds and, on boy... my heartbeat really picks-up with anticipation of the upcoming playtime session... it's mere minutes away. I'm half nervous and half excited. Friday's playtime was shocking in so many ways it's impossible to make sense of it. One thing's for sure, I groveled submissively under Brett's dominant control, and of course it was very painful for me at times too, but still, I like Brett. He even kissed me goodbye Friday which was as shocking as anything else that happened that day; shocking that he did it and shocking that I think I liked him doing it. Mostly I'm confused about everything; I've never been involved in, or even heard about, anything comparable to the situation I find myself in with these so-called playtimes. I'm having conflicting thoughts about everything, one minute I like that I'm involved in this and think it's sexy, the next minute it's, "Hey! What the fuck is wrong with me, this sucks!!" Brett's been especially hard on me and very demanding, but half the time I think it's for my own good. I'll be thinking he's the coolest kid one minute, and the next minute I want to hate him. Brett intrigues me for many different reasons and, like I said, I'm still trying to sort it all out. Anyway, as I may have mentioned, heh heh, I've been jerking off a lot lately, so... ha ha, it ain't all bad. Great big wet climaxes thinking about Brett, and Junior too... really hot, so that's the good part of all this.

In the locker room I fiddle-around taking my time changing into regular clothes, waiting for everyone to leave. When they all clear-out I lock the rear door, like I was told to do, and then quickly get completely naked; naked except for my leather dog collar with it's metal-mesh leash. Dropping down to all fours, and feeling foolish as hell, I begin whispering to myself, "I'm Junior and Brett's boy-toy, I'm Junior and Brett's boy-toy!" Sure, Junior's mantra is stupid, but it actually helps get me into the proper frame of mind for this bizarre situation. My frame of mind at the moment is this: I'm resigned to my fate, resigned to my bad fucking luck, and determined to make the best of it. Establishing a goal is always good, so for this playtime my goal is to avoid the spankings and the face slaps of last Friday. My plan is to immediately do everything I'm told and to hell with how dumb I feel while doing it. This is the quickest way to move the playtime session along and get to parts more interesting like my so-called reward sessions. In short, I intend on being the perfect brown-nosing-doggie-boy-toy, or whatever the fuck Brett and Junior want to call me.

Dragging my leash I crawl on all fours from the locker room to the gym only to find it empty. Well fuck! What now? There isn't even anyone here to witness me doing the doggie crawl from the locker room. Hmmm, Junior did say Monday was a play day, right? Neither of them said anything about a change in plans, so what should I do now? Another concern: what if someone other than Junior or Brett walks in here and sees me naked, on all fours, wearing a dog collar? Damn, footsteps are approaching and all of a sudden I'm wondering if I should be on all fours or standing at attention. Oh fuck! At the last second I decide I'd better get in the attention position so I quickly do that, my leash hanging down my back, my chin up. Brett walks in, glances at me, nods his head officiously and locks the door behind him, mumbling, "Junior will be along later, he's got his own key so I'm locking the door." As he's approaching me, I'm thinking, "Thank God I decided to stand at attention!" Okay, I do manage to get lucky once in a while. Brett's fully clothed of course, still wearing the BJ uniform of cargo shorts, golf shirt, red vest, and sneakers. He comes right up to me and exams my dog collar to see that it's on correctly. Then he takes a step back, and asks, "How'd you get from the locker room to here?" I look him in the eyes, and say, "On all fours, doggie style, Sir." Pursing his lips, he rubs around my dick with the back of his fingers, asking, "When did this area get shaved?" I tell him, "Last night, Sir," He asks, "Same for your legs and underarms?" and I reply, "Yes, Sir!" Everything is going perfectly so far. Brett narrows his eyes as if he only half believes me, then takes my dick in his little fist, ordering, "Come with me!" and, using my cock as a leash, he leads me out of the gym and back into the locker room, "The door locked in here?" and I say the same thing I say to all his questions, "Yes, Sir."

Stumbling after him into the locker room, with my cock firming up, I'm wondering, "What now?". Brett holds on to my dick as he opens a cabinet and grabs a roll of thick cotton twine and a pair of scissors. "Clasp your hands behind you," he commands, and when I do, he walks me over to the middle of the room, still pulling me by my dick, and sits on a bench. Positioning me to stand in front of him he strokes my cock a few times and I can feel myself falling into that totally dominated, submissive trance already, which is extra weird since Brett's only been here about a minute. It has something to do with the way he's so sure of himself... yeah, super sure of himself while doing the most outrageously humiliating things to me, and he does these things without a single concern about what I think about it. Letting go of my dick, Brett ties a loop at the end of the string, then cuts off about a yard. The loose end of the string goes through the loop and he slips my scrotum through the circle of string and pulls the slip knot very tightly just at the top of my nuts, near the bottom of my scrotum. It's so tight I go, "Ahhh!". He gives me a stern look and I stifle another groan. Brett strokes my cock a half dozen times getting it semi-hard and lifting up and away from my nuts slightly. With my cock out of the way he returns to my tied-up nuts. The string encircles my scrotum right above my balls as he loops another strand around my scrotum below the first one and pulls it tight, it crunches my balls against the bottom of my scrotum even more. Another loop below the second one and my nuts ache. One

final loop still lower and I'm bending forward, moaning, "Please, that hurts!" Brett snaps, "Stand up straight! Stop your whining!" and he smacks the side of my thigh, then another hard slap on the same spot and the stinging gets my attention away from my nuts for a few seconds. He ties off the bottom string and cuts off the excess. My nuts are tightly packaged at the very bottom of my scrotum and feel very heavy for some reason. The skin covering my nuts is so tightly stretched it's shiny. Brett stands-up in my space, like he always does, and grabs my tightly packaged balls in his fist... I'm holding my breath. We're almost touching as he lightly squeezes my scrotum and I stifle a scream of pain. "Oh for Chrissakes, don't be such a baby," he says, snickering and acting quite pleased with himself. Backing away from me, he flicks my now flaccid cock up so that it lifts and then flops down against my balls... I grunt at the pain. He explains, "We're doing an experiment to see if this will keep you from having an orgasm. You know, the string will prevent your nuts from traveling up to the base of your cock and therefore prevent your balls from firing cum up to your dick. God knows, you're always getting boned-up, plus you had those two big creamy orgasms Friday, so we'll see if this slows ya up at all. You had that first big climax when I milked you, and then the second, even larger one, when I fucked your throat." I blush and bite the inside of my cheek, thinking, "Yeah, how come I got so aroused when he fucked my throat? I'm not gay!"

Brett's holding my packaged nuts again, groping himself as he studies his handiwork, then he says, "No offense, but have you ever checked with your doctor as to why you're so poorly endowed? You have the smallest balls I've ever seen and your penis is a joke." I blush, then take a deep breath trying to get used to the pain. Brett says, "Keep your hands clasped behind you, tiny dick, or you'll get a good hard spanking! I reclasped my hands, and mutter, "Yes, Sir," as Brett reaches up to flip his finger under my top lip, then he holds it inside-out against my nostrils, and say, "Open!" I open my mouth without the slightest idea what he's up to now, but knowing it'll be something demeaning to me; something to demonstrate his power and dominance over me. "Bend at your waist, please," he's using a phony tone of voice, like a doctor during a physical exam might use. I bend forward until my head is at Brett's level, my mouth still open wide. Brett leans over and peers in, saying, "Take a big breath for me. " When I inhale, he says, "Hold it." After thirty seconds I start seeing black dots in my vision and can feel my face getting red and hot. To tease me, Brett blows a stream of air at me through a small "O" he's made with his lips, his breath smells like bubble gum. Finally, "Okay, small balls, let it out," and with him getting his face close to mine, I exhale my long-held breath. Brett makes a face, and exclaims, "Offensive! You're breath's offensive. Open wider," which I try to do, and his dirty fingers are in my mouth pinching my tongue and pulling on it. Then his middle finger moves to my gag reflex at the top of my throat and presses there getting me to gag and almost throw-up, then he presses again, and the third time he does it he can't help but blurt out a laugh. I can tell he was trying to hold it in. He blurted out this laugh and a moist mist of bubble gum breath dampens my face. Getting his laughter under control, he tries acting angry, "Stop messing around!" as if I did the laugh. "Stick your tongue out further, goddammit! Now lift it, move it to the left... now the right." He makes me do this until my tongue is aching. "Keep your tongue out. I want you to exercise your tongue so you can suck cock better. This will serve you well in the future since you'll undoubtedly be sucking a lot of cock during your lifetime. Oh, also... use lots of mouthwash before beginning playtime in the future. In fact, bring a toothbrush for your locker; I want you brushing and gargling with mouthwash before you leave work each day, not just our playtime days... everyday!" I relax my tongue, blow out some air, and quietly say, "Yes, Sir." There's no end to the ridiculous things Brett can think up, and each one adds to the growing list of things I need to stay on top of, and Brett will check... I know that for sure.

"Attention!" I get back up as straight as I can be. Brett, standing in front of me, reaches around with both hands and gooses my bare ass while staring up into my eyes, wordlessly challenging me to complain. No way am I complaining, in fact I like when he touches me, if it doesn't cause a lot of pain. Brett's easy to look at too; he might be the best looking boy I've ever laid eyes on, but then, that evaluation might be partly a result of my brainwashing, or whatever they've done to my brain. Brett makes a face at me, like, "Here we go!" his eyebrows raised and his eyes big... he's mocking me of course. With a giggle he pushes the tip of his finger inside my ass, it burns going in without lubrication. I grunt, and Brett casually asks, "What? Don't pretend you aren't enjoying this prostate exam. We take care of our boy toys." He pulls his finger out and then pops it right back in. I grunt quietly again, biting my bottom lip. As the finger goes in slowly, Brett conversationally says, "Oh, FYI... Junior's tied balls the way I tie yours a couple of times, so you're not the first. The last boy-toy Junior tied was Arnie, who was even older than you by the way. Unlike you though, Arnie's legitimately straight, and so was the first boy Junior did it too." Brett chuckles, remembering something, then says, "It's funny, the first time Junior did it, he left the string around the boy's ball too long and almost castrated the lad. Oh god! That was a big mistake. Anyway, with Arnie's balls tied like yours, no matter what we did to him, he wasn't able to produce much spunk. We milked him for almost twenty minutes too, all we got were dribbles of a watery precum. But, Jesus, was he ever moaning from the need to climax, pathetic actually. Junior's string-strangulation of the boy's balls was so effective the poor boy was unable to have any kind of orgasm until the string was unwound from his scrotum. Straight boys are the most fun actually." Brett's finger is up my asshole a good inch-and-a-half now, then he pulls it out and says, "Open up!" Nothing surprises me anymore, so I reluctantly open my mouth again and in goes the finger. Disgusting! I suck his shitty-smelling finger as he's busy with his other hand pinching closed my nostrils, smirking at me, and saying, "Suck my finger clean, Mr. big shot college senior. I'll hold your nose shut so ya won't need to smell your own shit. Ha ha ha!" After a minute he pulls his finger out, smells it, and says, "Brush your teeth and use mouthwash before Wednesday's session or you'll be paddle-spanked!" He barely gets that out before getting into another one of his giggling fits. The boys controlled their giggling much better in my initial interview, since then they've been outwardly having fun playing with my body and mind, laughing and mocking me openly. Turning away from me, it's like he's giving himself a high five for inventive humiliation. He's probably disappointed Junior's not here to witness his actions, although I have no doubt Junior will eventually hear every detail.

Brett gets his giggling under control again, turns back around, and says, "Okay, here's what it is. Brett's straight boys couldn't cum when their nuts were tied so we wanna see what happens when the same experiment is carried out on a gay boy-toy." Grinning, he squeezes my balls, and I screech, "Nooo, please!" Brett chuckles and drops my nuts, as I'm asking myself, "Why does he keep saying I'm gay?" I begin bouncing lightly from one foot to the other trying to keep from whining about my throbbing, aching nuts. Brett immediately gets an annoyed expression on his face, he reaches up and swats the side of my head, demanding, "Stand still and pay attention! Forget your nuts and listen to what I'm telling you. You're suppose to be looking at me, alert for any change of demeanor or expression that might indicate that I want you to react differently. Unless I specifically say to avert your eyes, concentrate on my face and my body language. Learn to pick-up on the fact I'm upset with you and immediate change whatever it is that you're doing. Change it until you can tell that you've pleased me. When I'm not pleased unpleasant things happen, like this..." and he swings his arm around from left field giving my face a slap to remember. It caught me completely off guard and left me with rapidly blinking eyes, a hot stinging face, and ringing in my ears. Tears form in my eyes so I lift my hand to wipe the tears, but another fast hard slap connect with the same side of my face and I'm seeing stars. He's so quick! "You're not looking at me! Expect you're going to be slapped, forget about that. When you're slapped take it as a warning sign to increase your awareness of my expression so you can avoid another slap." I'm staring intently at him now, doing exactly what he just said. He confidently and smugly looks back at me as I feel the tears roll down my cheeks. He can completely break me down so easily, and instead of being pissed-off at him, I'm crazily thinking that I've never admired another person as much as I admire Brett. That's insane of course, but there it is. He actually smiles at the way I'm intensely looking at him, then he quietly says, "That's the way to do it, dickless. See, you can learn when you pay attention. Lean over here." I lean into him and he does a nice hug around my waist with the side of his face pressed against my chest. "His hair smells like Vitalis hair tonic," is what I'm thinking, as I hug him back. It's such a tender hug more tears roll down my cheeks; tears of relief that he's hugging, not slapping. Brett's the most awesome person! I can't even grasp how awesome he is. He quietly says, "You'll learn. Don't be discouraged, this is only your second session. Give it a few weeks and you'll know how to reach the level of submissiveness you need to reach." Swallowing hard, I forget about my urge to beg for relief for my aching nuts. Instead I become even more docile for Brett, mumbling, "Yes, Sir." He's very hard on me, but I still think he's the coolest fifteen year old I've ever met, the coolest kid of any age I've ever met.

After a few seconds, Brett pats my head, then gets back to being a stern master and commands that I stand-up straight again. He then examines my tied up balls once more, moving my cock to the side to study his handiwork. After a careful evaluation, he says, "Your tiny nuts are becoming a bit swollen which should tightens the package, which is good. Junior will be impressed. We're only in the earliest stages of studying your body and obviously we need to know how much spunk you produce. That's pretty fucking basic. Okay?" He asks "okay?" as if he needs my approval. He's smiling now and squeezing my shoulder to let me know everything is okay. I'm intently watching him and see a questioning expression on his face, raised eyebrows and so forth, and it hits me right then that he's waiting for me to respond to his rhetorical "Okay?" question. I mumble, "Yes, Sir, I understand," and it hits me right then that I've just avoided another face slap by picking-up on his body language. If I hadn't responded to his questioning look... BAM! another smack across my face. He says, "Good, you're learning!" Brett's got tremendous leadership and teaching skills, and he's got that compassionate side to him too. Another thing: Brett's got me concentrating so much on his every move, I haven't even noticed the ache in my balls. My pain in my balls has reduced to just a dull ache... so, if no one else squeezes them, I'll be okay. Brett got me through the pain in my balls effectively, and where Brett's concerned, I'm starting to think of one word: "genius" ... I wonder if he realizes he's a genius?

"Get on all fours!" he orders, and I quickly get down, keeping my head positioned so I can see his face at all times. I'm pleased with my frame of mind at the moment... I'm keeping things on a positive keel! I've been vacillating from positive to negative thoughts ever since being hijacked by these two, but I want the positive outlook to be prevalent so I'm concentrating on that today. I'm also thinking about how Brett always looks so cool, and there real beauty in his face as well; actually he's kind of beautiful, or is this more of the brainwashing taking over my brain? Brett gives me a swift kick in my bare ass, then yanks on my leash leading me back into the gym. Oops, my mind wondered there for a second and I missed one of Brett's body language signals, I guess. Walking on all fours, my bags of nuts feels real heavy as it swings under me and I need to stifle little, "Ow!" sounds each time the tight package bounces off one of my thighs. Junior's re-locking the door as we come into the gym. Over his shoulder, he asks Brett, "Ya get his balls tied up yet?" Brett goes, "Yeah, no problem. He's docile for the most part, he knows to do what he's told... a few slaps across his face to get his attention, but nothing major. He's not like Victor after all, this one is more of a pussy, crybaby." Junior comes over to pet my head, then, "Yeah, he is. Guess we made our point with him Friday afternoon. Didn't we college boy? You get the message who's in charge here?" I mumble, "Yes, Sir." He smirks in my face, then says to Brett, "You did a great job breaking him down. Our boy here gets the message to cooperate or suffer discipline." Then, Junior wanting to get a better look at my tied-up balls, tells me, "Roll over on your back, big shot! Paws up. Let's see how Brett did." On the hardwood gym floor, I roll onto my back with my arms and legs in the air. Brett immediately reaches down and slaps me hard under my thigh, leaving a hand print in white, saying, "When you're in the paws-up position you're to automatically spread your legs wide for inspection." Then another hard slap on the same spot, and I grunt, "Oww!" as I spread my legs exposing my cock and balls. Junior kneels down and moves my cock to the side to get a better look. "Woooeee, Brett! Good job here, very neat." Naturally, he squeezes the tight package and I bite my lip groaning quietly at the pain. "Okay," he says to me, "You do as your told, dawg, or one of us will give you a hard squeeze down here." I say, "Yes, Sir." That's going to be my response to everything... it's easy to remember. I know when I'm beaten, and I know I don't have a chance against these two. Junior goes, "He's your dog, Brett. Should we get him tied-up now, and do that extra discipline you talked about?" Brett's like, "Yep, that's my plan. Lots of discipline in the early weeks will result in a very compliant boy-toy." Junior's nodding his approval, asking, "After that, maybe you can reward him by letting him suck us off before training lessons begin. What do ya think?" Brett says, "Ya read my mind bro." That's just swell! I'm thinking, "Not more discipline... that's exactly what I was trying to avoid. I had two goals for today: One, eliminate the face slaps, and two, avoid the paddling and within ten minutes both of those goals has blown up in my face! Fuck!"

I almost make the mistake of asking why I'm getting disciplined, but my training enables me to catch myself in time. I'm not in a position to question anything; just do what I'm told. And, ya know, I hate the discipline, but the thought of sucking their cocks isn't worrying me all that much anymore. After I did it Friday, what's the big deal? Every day millions of people suck off somebody. Junior pulls on the leash, he's choking me to get me up on my feet. Then he informs me, "When I pull up like this, you're to immediately stand. You'll be trained to know what command I'm giving just by the way the collar chokes you. Some of your training will be conducted with a slip collar which allows me much more control of the degree of tightness I want on your throat. Of course if you're a slow learner we'll use the shock collar." Then he tugs on my leash, saying, "Over here." Confused with all the collar talk, I follow docilely. Brett continues his dissertation, "Junior trained our last boy-toy, Victor, with the slip collar and that boy passed-out unconscious at least a half dozen times from lack of oxygen; he was a feisty one alright. You're more of a pussy so I expect you'll probably obey quicker, but still you're sure to lose consciousness a couple of times during the training." We've walked over to the corner of the gym where Brett orders me to lean over a PVC pipe that's there. The main section of the pipe comes up from the floor and goes right up to the ceiling. About three-and-a-half feet up, at a ninety degree angle, an extension connects to the main pipe and runs over to the wall about four feet away. This is the pipe I lean over. It's a five inch drain pipe left exposed when this unused area of the warehouse was converted into a gym. The pipe feels surprisingly cold on my bare belly when I'm doubled over the horizontal section of pipe. The boys chuckle among themselves as they tie my wrists to my ankles: left wrist to right ankle and crisscross my arms to tie my right wrist to my left ankle. I swing there a bit because my feet don't touch the floor when my ankles are tied to my wrists. This is very uncomfortable! My tight ball sac is almost touching the pipe so if I move just a little it'll get crunched. I'm concentrating on being very still.

Looking from my upside-down position I see Brett going back into the locker room and a minute later he returns carrying what looks like a jockstrap. "I found this in the trash, Junior. One of the guys threw it out." He smells it and goes, "Eeewwww! That's gross." Junior laughs and laughs, then says, "Perfect!" He takes it and kneels down a little to get a hand on my forehead pulling my head up slightly, and commands, "Open wide. This jockstrap will be your gag during the discipline. Today there are garden center people unloading outside which is why we locked the door. We don't want you yelling and attracting attention, so we'll use a gag." Then to Brett, "If he doesn't cooperate, squeeze his nuts." Oh no! I open my mouth as wide as I can and Junior stuffs in the jockstrap. It's an extra large jockstrap and I can only imagine the huge cock and balls that rested in it. There are a number of pubic hairs from the jock that stick to my lips as Junior works that big smelly thing inside my mouth. When he's done, every part of my mouth is totally full of smelly jockstrap; my tongue is plastered to the bottom of my jaw with a little bit of it pushed back to invade the gag reflex area making for an extremely uncomfortable situation. Sweat breaks out on my forehead as I fight off the urge to throw-up. I can't utter a single syllable, sweat burns my eyes. Through the burning I see Junior take two ping pong paddles out of the closet; goddamned paddling again! My buttocks twitches as I nervously breathe through my nose, dreading the next few minutes.

Standing on either side of me, the boys paddle my ass, some of the whacks miss my buttocks and hit the back of my thighs as tears flowed from my eyes joining sweat that drooles into my short hair from my forehead; mucus is soon running from my nose joining the sweat. The paddling is very painful but I stayed still through each "Smack!!" so that my balls at least don't get crushed along with my ass. Except for muffled throat sounds, I make no noise because the gag prevents it. If I could have, I'd scream like a wild banshee, and beg for mercy. In my mind I was screaming, but even so, when it's Brett whacking my ass with the paddle my dick has a weirdly pleasant tingling to go alone with the painful stinging on my buttocks. The boys swing their arms around and up getting the flesh on my buttocks or the back of my thighs on the upswing which drags everything upward with each painful strike. They did it like a competition: who can make the perfect strike against my ass cheek. There was some mock cheering from both playful boys, but they really worked at it and both boys were perspiring by the time my discipline was completed.

When the spanking ends my face, from my mouth to my forehead, is wet with sweat, tears, mucus, and saliva. Junior's spraying the pain-relief spray on my ass and the back of my thighs as the boys argue about who won the competition of best paddler. They're very competitive. The spay went a long way towards alleviating the lingering pain, but the spanking had been a hard thing to endure while it was going on. Brett's declared the winner finally and he does some kind of goofy touchdown dance that gets Junior laughing. I'm feeling weak from the brutal discipline, but the boys are really enjoying themselves. When Junior's done spraying the pain relief stuff on me, Brett says, "By the way, marble nuts, after a few weeks we won't be using the spray, so expect your discipline to stay with you for awhile longer." Then he uses pliers to take out my gag, saying, "I'm not touching that disgusting thing with my fingers ever again!" What a great feeling to have that smelly jockstrap pulled out of my mouth and I move my tongue all around getting the saliva spread to the dry spots. Brett carries the jock in the jaws of the pliers to the trash barrel, holding it away from his body like it's toxic. Junior thinks that's a riot and laughs as they exchange inane comments. It's got me wondering if these boys are using the poppers 'cause this stuff just ain't that funny. Or, maybe it's just not that funny to me.

A bit later, while untying my wrists and ankles, Brett explains that he'd called for this discipline himself because I'd been acting too somber. He explains that it's fine being docile, but I need to be more animated as well. This extra discipline was needed to insure that I not forget that it's necessary for me to be docile, but, at the same time, also excited about playtime and thrilled to see Brett and Junior. "Let your excitement at being our boy-toy show. Show us your proud of that!" Standing now, dizzy from having the blood rush to my head during the spanking, and still whimpering a bit, I manage to nod my head excitedly. My face is dripping with tears, sweat and mucus but I don't dare wipe at it. Instead I process this new information: I'm to be docile while excited and thrilled at the same time. What could be simpler? Fuck it! I'll do it: opening my eyes wide and putting on an excited expression, I listen intently to every word either of them says, and at the same time stupidly nod my head in agreement. Junior notices my phony expression, "That's a little better. Focus all your attention on us... nothing else matters in your life during playtime except me and, especially Brett."

Brett's behind me checking things out back there, he goes, "There a lot of bruising on the back of his thighs. Hmmm, lay back over the pipe again, Brian... I'll get some cream for these bruises, it'll help them heal quicker. We may have gone overboard here a bit. He chuckles, "Heh, heh, heh!" then adds, "Yeah, we're overly aggressive at times, but we're compassionate with our boy-toys too... this cream will help." See, I gotta give Brett credit... he's looking out for me again; taking care of me. He's hard on me with the training, but I know he likes me too. My ass is numb from the spray, but the cream sounds like a good idea so I move my head excitedly before laying my belly on the pipe again, my torso and arms hanging over the other side. Junior says to Brett, "Hell, it'll be easier if I just do a quick retie. It'll keep him in place while we do what we gotta do," and he reties my wrists to my ankles as Brett's goes off somewhere for the cream. I don't know where Junior went, but neither of them reappeared for twenty minutes or so and it was tremendously uncomfortable in this position for that length of time! Blood again flooding my head, and it's really hard on my stomach too. The twenty minutes seemed much longer. Finally, walking across the gym floor whistling, Brett's comes up to me and puts his foot on the back of my head giving me a push, I swing back and forth on the pipe a couple of times further hurting my aching belly. He says, "I had to buy this in the Pharmacy section, couldn't find the other tube." As if I care! Doesn't he realize how terrible it is being helpless like this? Not that I complained out-loud, but I'd let myself get pissed-off again and that doesn't really help matters... be grateful it's almost over and can be put behind me. Doubled over this fucking PVC pipe is convenient for Brett because my ass and the back of my thighs are right there for him to easily apply the cream, so he leaves me gasping is this position as he covers both cheeks with the cream. I can feel his hands on me, but my buttocks are mostly numb, then I feel a cool slippery finger slide into my asshole, which isn't numb past my anus. The finger felt real good with the cream acting as a lube. Brett asks, "How's that feel, girlie-boy?" I grunt, "Nice, Sir." Pulling his finger out and spreading the cream down to the back of my thighs, he says, "We'll start dildo play in a few days to prepare your pussy for our big cocks. You'll get it all before we're through, and I'm betting you're gonna love it all too." For the record, I never had any doubts they'd eventually be putting more than a finger up my ass; I'm not so naive as to think I'll escape that indignation.

Finished spreading the cream, his finger slides up inside me again, much deeper this time and, oh my god, it feels so good! As he finger fucks me Brett's breath is coming out in short wheezing burst. He settles in massaging my prostate and this activity quickly gets my tightly wrapped nuts churning spunk and my dick is definitely chubbing-up; not boner-hard, just chubby, but I'm thinking, "Oh fuck, rubbing inside my asshole right at that spot... it feels like I'm going to cum, and I'll probably get spanked again if I do." But the string wrapped around my nuts prevented that from happening, it's the strangest feeling to know you're going to have an orgasm, yet you never have it. That great feeling that precedes orgasm just keeps going indefinitely; it's not a bad feeling at all, but I imagine the longer it went on, and the need to climax grew and grew, it might get to be an unbearably frustrating situation... one of high anxiety. Pulling his finger out, he says, "Okay, crybaby... that should do the trick for now." Then he finally unties me and let's me stand-up. I'm really dizzy this time, then as I get my balance and I'm stretching out some of the kinks from being bent over that pipe so long I notice my cock's firm enough from the finger fucking to lift away from my body and that would be embarrassing a week or so ago. Not now though, I don't even think about things like that anymore; I'm used to being naked and aroused in front of the boys, it comes with the territory. The boys are still getting a kick out of it though, Junior points at my chubbed cock shaking his head and holding his fingers about three inches apart getting a good laugh from Brett. My dick can't compare to the Knight brother's cocks, but it's longer than that! The brothers have a good laugh mocking me, and when the hilarity runs-down Brett calls me to attention again. I stand there as the boys use wet paper towels to wash my face of the dried mucus, sweat, and tears resulting from the paddling. The do it like I'm a six year old just getting over a crying jag. Brett's holds a dry paper towel to my nose, a finger on either side of my nostrils, "Blow hard, crybaby!" and when I do, Junior says, "Jesus, what a wuss you are, O'Rielly!" Brett scrubs my face hard then and finally dries it and then does his hugging thing, showing me there's no hard feelings about me screwing-up. It's like, I did the crime and now I've done the time, so all's forgiven... as if it's me who needs forgiving! But, it definitely does feels better to be hugged than spanked and couple of grateful tears of relief roll down my cheeks, which I manage to wipe away with the back of my hand before Brett sees them. I'm feeling this strange kind of closeness to the Knight brothers now, especially little Brett. Yes, they discipline me, but they take care of me too. As much as I know it's crazy, I'm grateful the boys are being kind to me and I hug them both back, whispering, "Thank you, Sirs." To that, Brett reaches up and pinches my cheek painfully... Jesus, he's strong. He snarls, "Don't be so fucking wimpy! And, call me Master from now on, same for Junior. I think we've brought you to the point where we'll allow you to address us that way, and I know you'll feel comfortable using that respectful word. Won't you. pussy?" He's just putting-on this tough act to balance the kind one, so I don't take offense. I just say, "Yes, Master," and using that word made my dick to chub-up a little more so that now it's now poking Brett's stomach as we finish our hug. Brett backs off, points to it, and the brothers share a mocking laugh at that too. My face got hot and my eyes got damp... they have this mean streak in them, which hurts, but overall I'm staying positive. I'm concentrating on the positives.

It's disappointed when Brett finally lets up on the hug that he felt he needed to mock me, but the positive in this situation is that his little body had felt so good in my arms during the hug... that's what I'll concentrate on. Junior's got my leash now, he says, "Get down, dickless," and I get on all fours, ready to go with one of my masters. He leads me over to the little desk where he moves the desk chair next to the side chair, explaining, "Brett's agreed to let you suck both our cocks. You suck one for a couple of minutes, then the other... and if you do it good you get to do it until we both spunk down your throat, or in your face, whatever. How's that sound?" Remembering I'm now supposed to get excited about everything, on my hands and knees I'm visualizing a dog wagging it's tail and I shake my body, hopping up and down off my knees, excitedly saying, "Oh thank you, Master!" Brett's like, "Calm down brown-noser, you don't need to overdo it," and he smacks the back of my head. The two chairs are a couple feet apart with Junior's the only one seated. Brett goes, "Okay, let's see if you remember the proper way to get to our cocks." Since Junior's the only one sitting, I doggie walk in between his legs, then raise up on my knees. Then, as Brett sits down in his side chair to observe me, I lean over and unbutton Junior's shorts. Right after that I nestle my nose in his lap getting a good hold, between my front teeth, of the zipper's tab. Remembering Junior's warning that I'll get five paddles if the tab slips out of my teeth, like it did Friday afternoon, I carefully keep my jaws tightly closed on that little piece of metal and slowly pull it down, opening his fly. Then, using both paws, er, I mean both hands, I spread apart his shorts and reach inside to extract his big cock. Next, his bag of nuts get pulled out as I inhale his crotch aroma, wondering, "How's it possible I'm captivated by the animal smell of the boy's crotches?" But ya know, it's almost as if I've been waiting to do this since... since when? Since Frank Barns? Is that possible? Oh man, I'm so fucked-up! I don't understand any of this, but I do like that smelly crotch, and okay, I don't really mind sucking their cocks all that much either. Dammit! I gotta admit to myself it's true.

Looking up at Junior for his command, he goes, " Do the kiss hello, college boy." I lean down, inhaling deeply, feeling my dick swell again. I give the urine-smelling head of his cock a really good kiss, lasting maybe two seconds, then sloppy wet kisses for each of his hairy balls, then look back up to Junior for more instructions. And maybe praise. Junior says, "You did that okay, so here," and he holds out his hand, in the palm is a small dog biscuit shaped like a tiny bone, about the size of a jelly bean, "Here's your treat." I hesitate, but quickly think better of it and lick the doggy treat from his hand and crunch it between my teeth moving my head and shoulders like I'm excited about this awesome doggie treat. He goes, "What a dork," but chuckles and then pats my head. "Now do your master's lap." The dog biscuit taste like cardboard. I repeat the zipper procedure and the other stuff perfectly for Brett too, and get a head rub and a, "Good doggie!" for my efforts. Then, "You can kiss it and then take a taste." Between the two boys, as I've said, I'm attached to Brett the most, after all, he is my main master. He's also much stricter with me, but I think that's because he feels the responsibility of training me properly... he's awesome most of the time. I do a long kiss on his cock... he roughly pulls the short hairs at the front of my head. I let an "Ouch!" slip out which gets Brett yanking harder at the hairs. Then he's rubbing his fingers together dislodging a half dozen short hairs he'd pulled out by the roots as I'm seeing red in my vision 'cause that hurt! As if nothing happened, he casually asks, "You like the smell of your master's crotch?" Ignoring the hair pulling now, I lean over to inhale deeply once more, then murmur, "Yes, Master," and he says, "Well, I've got a surprise for you, prep school grad. You're to take my shorts off and get your whole face in my crotch." He stands up then, and orders, "Do it, girlie/boy!" I do some head bobbing to imitate a dog anxious to obey, then pull his pants down and get them off over his sneakers... next his boxer shorts come off and there it was: his whole naked crotch. Brett's limp cock looks huge hanging from his slim frame, same for his balls, but the amount of pubic hair grabs most of my attention. Sitting back down, he goes, "Lick my balls now, get underneath them, all around. Do it, Fido!" I do exaggerated panting then dive into his crotch with my face.

Prior to last week, I'd be like, "Eeeewwww!" if made to do this, but now it's more like, "Okay, here I go!" My face presses into his pubes, my head and tongue in constant motion lapping the pubic hairs flat against his belly. The aroma is so strong, and since the boys have brainwashed me into thinking it's a sexy oder, my cock totally firms-up. When his pubes are plastered to his skin I start licking all around his nuts. My nose slipping over the wet pubes inhales the aroma there in bursts as my tongue does none-stop lapping. There's saliva's dripping from my chin, and shortly from Brett's nuts. My neck is straining now, lapping under his scrotum and beyond. Finally, as Brett scrunches forward in the chair using his forearms on the arms of the chair to lift his ass off the seat, my tongue is able to flick the edge of his bum hole leaving an acrid shit-taste on my tongue; the second time I've tasted shit today. There's a ring of hair surrounding his hole, which isn't surprising with all that hair around his dick, but I don't really care that he's hairy 'cause I've developed a growing attraction for him lately. Maybe that's just an offshoot of me being in this helpless situation, but the attraction seems real enough to me. Brett's getting to be like my idol or something. Lifting his ass off the seat gets me straining my neck even further and my tongue reaches all the way across his hole, then again and the very idea of licking Brett's asshole sends a thrill chill racing around my groin. I lap the asshole hairs flat and then begin licking his hole clean. A real dog couldn't lap his ass any better than I'm doing. The taste is offensive of course, just like the taste of my shit off Brett's finger a little while ago, but it fades as I swallow and continue licking. Brett's grunting quietly, then breathing noisily through his nose in little bursts, and I'm soon doing the same thing. After a few minutes of licking his asshole, Brett breathlessly says, "More tongue!". My tongue is aching now and as I lick his anus with long laps my tongue is sticking out of my mouth further than I would have thought possible. I keep visualizing how a dog laps at something and try to imitate that. Exhausted from the effort, I move backward a few inches to lick his nuts again, a much less strenuous endeavor. Then, as the reality of what I've just done registers in my brain, my heart starts pounding hard and it's scary, "Oh my god, I just licked Brett's ass!!"

His big cock is very hard now, rubbing across my face as I suck his nuts. Pushing the big boner aside I get one of his balls in my mouth, then realize there might be a problem. His balls appear to be too big to get both in my mouth at the same time... uh oh. He wants them both in though, so using my fingers I try shoving the second one in and when the first one is hanging partially down my throat I actually succeed, but I'm gagging again. That goddamn gag reflex problem is such a pain in the ass! I fight it off, sucking and licking his hairy nuts the best I can with such a mouthful. Brett's long boner is beside my nose extending above my forehead now. He pulls up his t-shirt and I press his boner away from my face, against his belly... the big knob-head extends maybe three inches past his belly button. My master is really hung!

In almost a bored monotone, Junior says, "Hey, prep school fag, you got another master over here, remember?" Brett's huffing and puffing as he smacks my face, and yells, "Ease up for a second with that tongue of yours! I don't want to blow my load too soon. Look up at me!" My eyes are at the top of their sockets as I look into Brett's eyes, my mouth and throat stuffed with his balls. All of a sudden I feel so scummy, what am I doing? Brett says, "Don't fucking swallow my nuts, homo! Gently, pull them out of your mouth and give them back to me." A chuckle from Junior and another light smack on my face from Brett as the brothers look at each other and laugh at the slut they've turned me into. Junior's like, "Holy shit, we never recruited a true homo before and I'm not sure if it's more fun this way or more fun to see the straight boys during the sex sessions." Brett says, "The straight boys are more fun if ya ask me. Seeing the humiliation they're feeling is awesome!" Then to me, "You're alright too, dickhead, don't pout," and they both laugh a mocking laugh at me, which I'm getting used to. The problem is I'm just realizing how ridiculously carried away I got with the balls sucking and asshole licking. What the fuck have they done to my brain? My face is turning scarlet as I very slowly pull my head back, and little by little Brett's nuts slip out of my mouth with a string of saliva connecting from his hairy sac to my tongue, then the string breaks and the thin thread of spit mixed with precum lazily falls down my chin, and then onto my neck. My cock is like a wooden pole, it's sticking straight out from my belly, slowly dripping precum. My balls are slightly swollen and completely numb from the scrotum string strangulation. Still, precum made it's way from someplace so maybe I'm going to be able to have a messy climax after all.

"Get over here, ya Brown University faggot!" snaps Junior. In a daze, I take one last look at Brett's package, wondering, "Why did I think licking his ass was so hot? No idea, but it was." Walking to Junior's chair on my hands and knees, I'm trying to pluck some of Brett's pubic hairs from my mouth until Brett yells, "Stop! You've gotta swallow whatever you get from my body! Keep swallowing until your mouth is clear." Wow, swallowing these curly pubic hairs is easier said than done. They're stuck inside my mouth and hard to dislodge with just my tongue, but I work at it and get most of the crisp curly things swallowed, or at least back near my throat. In between Junior's knees I'm remembering to maintain this happily excited expression with lots of head nods and shoulder shakes as though I'm wicked excited about all this. Finally, impatient, Junior says, "Okay, ass-wipe, open up, let me see!" I open wide and he peers in, then puts his fingers in my mouth to feel around; the second set of fingers in my mouth today. His fingers taste like cardboard, just like the doggie treat. We'd unloaded cardboard boxes all afternoon and, like Brett, he probably hasn't gotten around to washing his hands yet. He says, "Okay, that's good enough. Get to it, college senior, lick my sweaty nuts." I hate when they remind me of how much older I am than them; it makes what I'm doing even more humiliating, but that's probably the point, right?

What fills my mind when I lean into Junior's crotch is the aroma. Junior's cock and balls smells very similar to Brett's and I try to convince myself that I don't really think it's a sexy smell, but lying to myself does me no good. I like the smell of both crotches, but I prefer Brett's. He's obviously brainwashed me into idolizing everything about him. Following the same pattern of licking and sucking of Junior's balls as I did for Brett, except I can only reach some of his pubic area because he didn't take his shorts off. My boner never went down while sucking off Junior so it's not like Junior has no effect on me, it's just not as pronounced as Brett's. Okay, I need a reality check here: is it possible Frank Barns indoctrinated me into this type behavior ten years ago? And if he did, should I be grateful or ripping mad about it. I hesitate to call it homosexual behavior because I don't feel I'm gay, but how else to explain my boners and climaxes? It's something I need to really think about and try analyzing sometime soon. Perhaps it's like the cross-dresser anomaly where cross dressing men have the fetish of dressing like woman, yet most of them aren't gay. Maybe my fetish is simply that I'm sexually aroused by dominant boys... or maybe I actually am gay, although I'll be surprised if that's the case. In other words, it will surprise me if I'm looking to suck boys cocks when I'm not being forced to do so, but then again, maybe I'm fooling myself there 'cause Brett knows much more about this than me, and he says I'll be sucking cock all my life. Hmmmm, what to think? To say the boys have me totally fuck-up in the head is an understatement. I contradict myself repeatedly trying to understand my behavior, both my conscious and my subconscious behavior. All I can do is struggle along until I see the light at the end of the tunnel, and, in the meantime, why not let myself go and try enjoying whatever I can out of this whole disastrous situation?

Forgetting about the self analysis I let myself mindlessly lick and suck Junior's balls, my face is soon covered in my own spit. Rubbing my head and grunting from the sensations, Junior gasps, "Suck my big cock now, rich boy." His cock is hard and leaking, just like mine and Brett's. When I guide his cock inside my warm wet mouth an unexpected moan slips from my throat, "Mmmmmm, ahhhhh". I had no idea I'd moan with pleasure like that, but I'm done analyzing the reasons behind everything that happens, this is a whole new world for me and I'm back to going with the flow. For instance, why lie to myself, the skin texture of the head and shaft on Junior's cock but feel awesome on my tongue and I close my eyes to concentrate on the texture and taste. Sucking down some precum, I think,"Uh oh, open your eyes, dummy!" I had that thought a fraction of a second too late as Brett smacks my face hard. "You're a slow learner! Worship Junior's cock! You need your eyes open to do that." He'd stepped over as soon as I closed my eyes to give me the slap; obviously Brett's very conscientious about my training. Stepping back to his chair he gives my bare ass a hard smack on the way, saying, "Energy! Pay attention!" That got me bobbing up and down on Junior's boner, slobbering spit along the way. I've been spending too much time trying to rationalize away the obvious fact that I'm sexually aroused by sucking the boys balls and cock... rationalizing is a waste of time. Suspend old values and embrace your new life, that's a survivalist's philosophy; everything will go more smoothly if I can remember that.

Junior's cock is now steadily dripping precum. I'm not allowed to swallow cum until told to, but the precum's apparently okay to swallow; it's not all that bad if you don't think about it too much. Just in time I get my head in the proper position to take his cock into my throat, avoiding another smack across my face... see, I'm learning! Obviously, Brett's a hard disciplinarian, but perhaps I'm learning more quickly because of that.. see, I'm gonna go with a positive attitude from now on. And then, I avoid yet another potential slap by massaging my own throat in preparation to take Junior's cock. He grunts, squirms, and then makes a wheezing sound sucking air in between his lips, approaching his climax. The head of his cock slides against the roof of my mouth, then presses against the opening to my throat... and then is forced past my gag reflect area and is slowly pushed all the way down my throat until my nose buries in his bush. The bulbous knob leads the way, expanding my throat as it goes; my hand feels the enormous bulge in my throat while precum begins leaking in a thin stream from my cock; somehow it's a sexual turn-on for me to be abused like this, so I'm going to enjoy it. Junior pulls back, air rushes in through my nostrils, then that huge salami is pushed back down my throat again blocking my breathing passages and I feel like an explosion is about to happen in my hard, crushed nuts. It's awkward and uncomfortable, but I'm also aroused enough by it to feel stabs of pain jolting my nuts and then another drizzle of cum slowly oozes from my boner. I stroke it twice and get a loud slap across my face for my trouble. "Never touch yourself without asking permission!" Junior orders. Well, I do remember him saying that before, but how the fuck can I ask permission with his big cock down my throat? And another thing: even from Junior that slap was kinda sexy and causes more creamy cum to ooze from my boner... no big climaxes, but the oozing feels awesome too, and lasts longer too.

I gotta face the facts here, I kinda like being abused. Junior begins a steady fucking of my face, and it's getting to be the hottest time for me... electric sensations twirl around my cock and balls, then a buzzing sensation moves outward to my belly; my whole body shudders with that awesome electric buzzing. Junior squeals unexpectedly, actually squeals like a girl as he's thrusting his crotch forward to smash my nose against his belly and then, making another strange squeal, Junior fires his load into my throat coating it with creamy boy-spunk, thick and sticky. He pulls his cock out of my throat for his second blast and it hits the back of my mouth causing my dick to vibrate twice before a splash of my own cum splatters my belly. I can't articulate how aroused I get from him climaxing in my mouth, it's very, very hot though! Junior leaves his cock in my mouth firing off some additional shots of spunk; thick, salty, tasty boy-spunk. Can't articulate that taste either, other than to say it's a taste I like. This time I'm able to save much more of his cum than I did Friday. Junior finally pulls out, telling Brett, "Fuck! He's a good cocksucker!" I was proud hearing Junior compliment me to my master. I patiently hold a mouthful of Junior's cum, mostly on my tongue, waiting until he gives the "Show" order. Then he says it, "Show me!" and out comes my cum-covered tongue. "Swallow!" is his next command and I do so with two gulps. Like I said, it tastes good to me now. It's really creamy when it first comes out of Junior's cock, but liquifies in my mouth rather quickly. I find myself staring at his cock. Could it be I want another taste? He says, "Don't drool all over yourself looking at my penis, get that dopey look off your face and do your master now, dufus!" Remembering my recent paddling, I act doggie-excited about the thought of sucking off Brett, and get another doggie treat for my trouble... I'm thinking a sarcastic, yippee!" As I crunch the disgusting tasting dog biscuit into small pieces I notice my cock's still dripping watery cum, but it's a much slower drip now that I don't have a cock in my throat. Obviously the slowness also has a lot to due with my balls' current tied-up, squashed situation too and I guess I'm okay with that because it's causing my climax to drag-out into numerous smaller ones instead of one big blast. Apparently Brett's tied those nuts of mine perfectly! The little climaxes feel good.

Done the doggie treat, I doggie-walk to Brett's chair and admitting to myself that both boys are very fucking attractive as I go. That makes all this a little easier to swallow, so ta speak. On all fours, between Brett's legs, without thinking, I stick my nose into his pubes and get two surprises: One, my saliva from earlier has dried on his pubic hairs making them stiffer. My second surprise shouldn't have been a surprise, but it was... a stinging slap across my face, followed immediately by another one. My eyes water as Brett yells, "Back-up and get up on your knees; I'll tell you when you can sniff my balls. Bad doggie!" and a third hard, loud slap has me seeing stars again. That one gets Junior's chuckling, then muttering, "Jesus, bro, you're tough!". He is, but I let myself drift off into a daydream frame of mind and wasn't paying attention. I've got to do better; Brett never slaps when I obey or do something correctly, only when I screw-up. He's staring at me with a stern expression on his cute face, looking about thirteen years old. His beautiful multi-tone blue eyes are glaring at me. I can't hold his stare though and look down feeling a deep submissiveness, and it's especially strong right now because I've let him down somehow. Silence for a minute, me feeling worthless but not wanting to think about that, or anything else right now. Then Brett says, "Okay, get down on all fours and get your nose into my bush, but wait for my instructions in the future." I hurry to comply, quietly saying, "Thank you, master." My nose burrows into his pubic hair and he rubs my head, saying, "You'll learn one way or another." The aroma of his crotch again stiffens my cock back up to full boner status. I lick around the base of his cock again and this time Brett arches his back and scoots his ass forward more than he did earlier giving me full access to his asshole. His short legs actually go over my shoulders, one on either side of my neck... I like the feel of his silky skin against my back.

Now that I'm admitting it to myself that I kinda like sucking cocks, I need to deal with an even more astonishing realization: I kinda like sucking Brett's asshole too. It's beyond comprehension, but there it is! I admit it! I like licking his asshole! My tongue laps over the rosy-red lips of his anus once more flattening the hairs that surround it. Allowing myself to totally enjoy the experience, my nose is in his ass crack, my eyes closed with my lips pressing against his buttocks. I kiss his asshole with lots of tongue and his anus quivers. Brett's making a hissing noise between his teeth as he lowers his body some from his hold on the arms of the chair. His thin biceps are showing proportioned definition looking hard as metal as he holds himself off the chair and adjusts his legs on my shoulders giving me more exposure to his hole. Ya know, some things are so mysterious there's no sense trying to make sense of it and that's the way it is with me sucking and kissing and licking Brett's ass. It's arousing to inhale the mixed smells down here too: his crotch smell is strong, and there's a hint of shit, and a touch of BO as well. Brett's ass-crack BO, after working all day on the hot docks, is a heavy smell of something musty and sickeningly sweet, yet sexy. Getting into ass licking again, I do a long lap up his ass crack, then do the same thing two more times before sucking on his asshole with a lot of tongue action. I'd cleaned his anus with my tongue earlier so no shitty taste now, just a touch of the lingering smells that I mentioned. When I spread his buttocks apart with my thumbs, stretching his hole sideways, it allows me to get the tip my tongue inside him and then, once again, I do experience that familiar acrid shitty taste. Somehow it makes me want more so I keep working my tongue into his hole. In the background I hear Brett doing his hissing sounds, breathing heavily like he's in heat, while Junior's excitedly saying muffled things I can't make out. My cock is sopping wet with precum, it's coated from knob to root. Brett's huge boner has been rubbing my forehead and hair as my head moves with my licking and sucking. His cock is as wet as mine and precum has been rubbed into my hair, some has even drooled onto my face. Brett's squirming and humping his hips now but all I'm interested in is getting my tongue further up his asshole. Constant taste of shit on my tongue; there can't be a more submissive thing to do for your master than this!

Half my tongue is inside Brett's ass when he yells, "Fuck!! Oh shiiiiittttt!" He humps a violent hip thrust and I feel a big glob of wet hit low down on my bare back, then two quick smaller splashes followed by a wet spray. Preceding each wet spot on my back was a hip thrust and a pleasurable groan from Brett. The picture in my head of Brett's spunk shooting over my head and landing on my back has got me thrusting my own hips and then shooting spit ball size cum shots, my balls come back to life enough to ache with each shot. My tongue comes out of Brett's asshole and I bite down on my thumb to keep from doing my own girlie scream; it felt awesome firing those cum spit balls, my boner's alive with sensations. Brett pushes me away and strokes his dripping boner. He's got bright pink splotches on each of his cheek bones as he grits his teeth and strokes his long fat boner. His small hand barely fitting all the way around that swollen organ, moving so fast it's a blur. Junior's staring at us, grinning and groping his crotch. Then he says to me, "Nice rimming, college boy!" That's how I discover what licking and kissing a boy's asshole is called... "rimming". It's not so bad, really.

After cleaning Brett's cock of random spunk with my tongue, he leads me into the lavatory to clean me up with wet paper towels. Most of the remaining playtime today is then used training me to be more dog-like. Brett tells me there's slave training too, but he's starting me with the easy stuff for now. Well, it doesn't seem so easy to me when he ties me up again. Just like last Friday afternoon Brett painfully ties my ankles up against the back of my thighs. The difference is today he also walks me around the gym, me on hands and knees, but it's like I have no legs below my knees. The circulation to my calves, ankles, and feet is cut-off and everything goes numb. Walking on the center of my knees, instead of the bottom part, like a normal crawl, is torturous. Brett smacked my face when I whined that it's killing my knees and then softened-up to assure me I'll get used to walking this way soon enough. As a matter of fact, in a couple of weeks when I'm walking fine on my re-worked hind legs, the same idea will be played-out for my front legs. He'll tie my wrists to my upper arm so I'll need to walk on my elbows and knees imitating a four-legged dog. It's almost impossible to believe I'll be able to do that, and I'm not looking forward to it, but I'm taking one day at a time; that's all I can handle.

This first training period is all about the proper way of walking next to my master; on all fours, that is. It called heeling. Sadly I didn't learn it fast enough to please Brett so he changed my collar to the shock collar and when I do the heeling incorrectly he pushes a button giving me a electric shock that has me yelping with every jolt, and the yelping eventually got on Brett's nerves so he paddled me again for that. It was a tough forty-five minutes with Junior calling out instructions to Brett from time to time. The boys got into these laughing fits and everything stops until they get it together again... they're having a good time. All the previous doggie-boy-toys have been trained by Junior, by the way. I'm Brett's first so I think he's being especially hard on me to compete with his brother. What the hell, I'd like to do well for Brett, but these goddamn shocks from my collar have me so distracted I've been screwing-up even more than usual. To heel, by the way, is when I'm pinned to Bretts left leg when we walk or stop; which means I'm to be close to his left leg, but a tic behind, and no touching. My knees ache from pounding the hard wood floors and my neck and shoulders ache from taking the brunt of the electric shocks. Once in a while Junior would sneak up behind Brett and reach around him to press the shock button even when I was doing everything correctly. Those shocks took me by surprise and I'd yelp and jump a couple inches off the floor and the boys would laugh their asses off.

There's a list of things I'll be trained to do. All together it's known as Obedience training and it's intended to train me how to reliably respond to these commands: "sit" "stay" "down" and "come!" The advanced course, when I'm trained on the basics, consist of these commands: "speak" "fetch" "drop it" "give" "back up" and "stand"! Brett, with a straight face, tells me it's a challenging program and that I've got a lot of hard work ahead of me. I used whatever will power I have left not to roll my eyes at that ridiculous statement. We're looking at each other and after a couple seconds, he couldn't hold back the snickers. The boys just want to have fun, ya know... at my expense. By the end of todays training, I'm not having fun. I'm hurting, to say the least. In addition to my knees, shoulders, and neck problems, my ass stings something terrible from the frequent disciplinary paddlings I've received. Brett finally leads me into the showers, takes off my collar and gives me a good bath. Then he unties my nuts and ankles and I lay on the mat as he massages feeling back into my calves and feet. He can be so nice and tender and caring when he wants to be. You know, the contrast of the hurtful things he does to me and then the tenderness he can show is so striking! Somehow it makes the tenderness seem real powerful and I fall for it every time. We did some hugging and it's really quite a pleasant part of the sessions and makes me forget about a lot of the awfulness. Brett claims I'll become very attached to him in time; like a real dog gets attached to his master. Frankly, all the negative things he does to me notwithstanding, I can already see that's happened to some degree. It seems the harder he is on me the more I'm drawn to him, and I think that's because he ends the sessions with this sweet tenderness, and by the end of the playtime sessions I really need some of that.

When my legs, ass, and balls are more or less back to normal, and we're done the hugging, he kisses me on the lips again; me up on my knees and Brett standing. That's our positions during the tender hugging periods because Brett wants to be taller than me. He's a good kisser for a fifteen year old and my dick gets hard again by the time he's done. He says this kind of affection is an important part of proper BDSM boy-toy training, especially if one's going to follow with slave training. Junior's the brains behind the training programs of course, but Brett's seen Junior go through the procedure a number of times with other boy-toys. Even with the tender periods, by the time these sessions are over I don't know if I'm coming or going. Monday ended on a good note though, first the kindness Brett showed to me, and lastly I received a favorable evaluation of B- which is a relief because a grade of C or lower requires educational discipline. In the end, I was dismissed with a pat on my sore ass.

First thing I do in the parking lot is light up a cigarette, and boy did that taste good. Driving home I'm shaking my head trying to grasp everything that happened today. There was a lot of discipline and pain, but some hot climaxes and pleasure too. I'd never in a million years have thought that a slap across my face could get my dick squirming, but when Brett does it that's what sometimes happens. God, I've got this mysterious affection for him... it's grown to such a degree that my cock's firming-up from just thinking about him! How can this be? Well, he is hot, dominant, and awesome... and only fifteen years old! Jesus, how hot will he be when he's Junior's age? This constant speculating on why I feel this or that is driving me nuts. I just gotta take it as it comes because I have no choice anyway. Smoking two more cigarettes on the drive home 'cause I'm anxious to get there... the first thing I want to do is jerked-off to a regular orgasm; one without my nuts tied down. Lately when I think about Brett I've needed to jerk-off, and it can happen two or three times a day; not that I'm complaining. Today when I get into the apartment I stroke myself quickly with the smell and taste of Brett still in my head and I have a nice semi-messy climax, then stroke myself slowly a couple minutes afterwards. After cleaning up my spunk, an incredible tiredness comes over me. I'm feeling okay, but tired, so I take a nap and consequently I'm able to be in an upbeat mood while helping mom fix our dinner later that night. She'd gotten her first raise in pay today too, so things are definitely looking up with her. After dinner I talked with Mikey for a while on my cell but got the impression he was maybe a little anxious to end the call. I think he had someone in his room with him, which is good 'cause he doesn't make friends easily. After a shower I drive to the mall for some air-conditioning and maybe I'll even run into one of my old friends from Dover. As I'm killing time walking the mall, something strange is occurring: for some reason, the longer I'm away from Brett and Junior the less positive I am about my feelings for them. In their presents it somehow seems sort of okay to do the nutty stuff they insist I do, but now I'm beginning to feel humiliated and pissed-off at myself for allowing it. But so what? The reality is that there isn't anything I can do to about it as long as they have those pictures, and have all the power. Yeah, that's true, but I don't need to be enjoying the bad treatment, do I? The other side of that is, why not make the best of it, and that makes sense too, but there has to be a reason I can accept all this disturbing behavior. I need to understand what that reason is. This is killing me... not knowing why I behave like I do. Wonder if this is part of their nefarious plan to turn me into a dog. Nah, that's stupid!

Wandering around the mall I continue trying to make some sense of all this. Okay, the most obvious reason I'm doing what they say is to keep them from showing those horrible pictures to my mother or brother, and whoever else, which would ruin my life as it's currently constituted... no more Brown University, for example. So that makes sense, but I still need to get some insight as to why I have this man-crush for young Brett, and a little bit for Junior too. After deep thinking and two coffees, here's what I finally come up with: In high school I learned about something called the Stockholm Syndrome. Basically it's a form of brainwashing that occurs in circumstances where an immediate and massive change in your life takes place. The change allows someone to gain enormous power over you. In my case, they have the power of those pictures which creates an emotional state of chaos for the victim, in this case me, which can often also include a sympathetic emotional connection from the afflicted, me, to the person who has the power, Brett. I have a predisposition to admiring dominant peers in the first place, so I'm the perfect foil for Brett and Junior. This situation has caused me to mis-attribute my emotions; that is, instead of fearing Brett, I chose to be attracted to him. I'm subconsciously admiring him in hope upon hope that there will soon be a reason to admire him, and in that regard I'm magnifying small bits of kindness from him into some sort of nobel trait while, at the same time, ignoring the ruthless face smacking and paddling he passes my way. Hmmm? Deep thoughts. Yeah, and that might all be true, but I need to admit that maybe I'm simply one of those masochistic types who enjoys being dominated and mistreated. That might explain my behavior ten years ago with Frank Barns too. Or maybe I'm homosexual and just don't know it, or maybe it's some of each. I can't see inside my subconscious so I'll simply accept it now for what it is. But, at the same time, I'll continue looking for clues to get the definitive answer to the question: "Why don't I hate Brett and Junior instead of admiring and looking up to them, and wanting to please them??

And what's with all the boners and gushing orgasms?"

A little later, still drinking coffee at the Dunkin' Donuts shop, I see two boys I used to play pick-up basketball with back in Dover, but they somehow seem too good, too pure for me now. Is the reason my self image is so low because we're poor, or because I'm being totally dominated by two teenagers? Probably both, and that's depressing. This is a far cry from how up-beat I felt right after playtime. Fuck it! Leaving the unfinished coffee, I decide I need something stronger than coffee and on the way home stop at a local watering hole for a few beers. Trouble with that is you can't smoke in bars and when I drink beer I really want a cigarette. I wind-up outside in the heat as often as I'm inside with the air-conditioning. Plus, it's not much fun drinking alone so I leave after two beers. At the apartment mom is watching a reality TV show which is something I do not need at the moment. Saying 'goodnight' I go to bed with a fan blowing right on me. It's not air-conditioning, but it's better than nothing. I can't get to sleep from thinking about Brett and I soon have an uncontrollable urge to jerk-off again. Giving in to it, I whack-off under the covers wondering how I'm going to jerk-off as much as I need to when Mikey's in the room with me. Jesus, one problem after another!

Next day, as soon as I wake-up I have a nice morning jerk-off thinking about you know who, then off to work I go and my workday goes pretty good. No nasty job assignments and no demerits. All day I'm very tense around Brett though and I don't know why that is... maybe it's that I want him to pay more attention to me. He did give me a painful goose when we were in the back of a big van cutting open cardboard boxes; just the two of us. I jumped a foot in the air, probably due to this tension I've felt all day. Maybe I'm a bit disappointed because this isn't a playtime day. Then later I get a hard-on thinking about tomorrow when it will be playtime again. That familiar squirmy feeling in my groin came on me whenever I let myself think about Brett fucking my throat. Whatever their brainwashing technique, it's apparently working on me. As soon as I get home after work I go into my bedroom and jerk-off again thinking about being humiliated by the Knight brothers. My climax is awesome, it leaves me breathless. After dinner mom went next door to play Scrabble with our neighbor and I watch a Red Sox game, half interested in the game and half trying to understand my infatuation with Brett. And, like always of late, eventually I need to jerk off again... I just have to! It didn't result in as big an explosion this time, but still felt damn good. Love jerking off!

Wednesday went fine during the day except I got a demerit from Brett for lack of respect. What it was: he asked me a question but I was daydreaming and thought he was asking Marty, who was right next to me. Marty's nodding his head in Brett's direction trying to get me to turn around, but it was too late. Brett made me carry this big BJ's flag over my head as I ran three laps around the parking lot during our lunch period. Customer's were frowning with questioning expressions on their faces as I ran like a geek, the flag at the end of a ten foot pole. Embarrassing, but I sprung a boner when I spotted Brett watching my humiliation from the side door, a smug smirk on his face. Junior was standing next to him laughing. Then, after work, we had pretty much the same kind of playtime as Monday, except the shock collar replaces my regular collar right from the get go. I've come to the conclusion I should let myself enjoy the parts I enjoy and figure out why I enjoy them some other time. The playtime started out with Brett tying my balls the same way as before, maybe a little tighter and a little lower, but now I know better than complain about the constant throbbing pain. I passed my body inspection with a warning to have a fresh haircut for Friday's session. There was no initial discipline like I received on Monday; we got right into the obedience training and after a half dozen electric shocks that had my voice box buzzing when I tried to talk, I was finally able to do the "SIT!" command by stretching one leg in front of me and the other awkwardly to the side. Brett had me do it ten times and by the tenth time I had it down pat and received a doggie biscuit as my reward, plus a pat on the head, with Brett exclaiming, "Okay, finally!". Whew, glad I learned that command. The "STAY!" "COME!" and "DOWN" commands took the rest of the training session and then came what they call my reward session.

Sitting in the two desk chairs Junior and Brett both had their shorts off this afternoon and both crotches were hot and heavy with aroma; I pretty much know the drill by now and it's kind of exciting to be doing something I've learned to be good at. The sexy smell wafted-up from their crotches like humid, moist, jungle air. I did Junior first and rimmed his ass for ten minutes. He's cleaner than Brett, guess he wipes himself better. They both have tons of pubic hair and it seems that half of it winds-up in my mouth by the time I finish sucking their cocks, lapping, and rimming their asses. When I finish rimming Junior his cock and mine are like flag poles. Wanting to stroke mine, but knowing better, I sucked Junior's nuts until he gasped, "Okay, ya Prep school cock-sucker, suck my cock." His cock was really dripping and I sucked it for a few minutes, but I'm very horny this afternoon and anxious to get that fat knob in my throat. I get my head in the proper position, like I've been trained to do, and after I do some throat massaging that fat cock went in tightly. Junior's precum did it's job lubricating my throat; soon he was sliding his boner up and down my throat smoothly and, oh my God, did I ever want to stroke myself! This whole reward session is moving along very nicely because I know what's expected of me now and, frankly, it ain't bad at all. Sucking cock is turning out to be an okay, sexy thing. My cock is hard and straight out from my groin painfully dripping precum and throbbing, and still aching to be stroked. My nuts, tied down low in my scrotum, are swollen and numb just like Monday, but I'm used to that by now. Feels kinda good actually. Pleasure and pain are close relatives.

In between gaging and gasping for oxygen I marvel at the sensation of having my nose pressed into Junior's groin, enjoying the aroma and the taste of his precum, the texture of his cock on my tongue; all of it, fantastic! Junior is close to blowing his nut, but Brett orders me over to him. I hear a low growl from Junior, then a mumbled "Ahh fuck!" as I pull off his big cock. In between Brett's legs I do the kissing of his cock and balls, then the whole routine. Like Monday, I slowly work my way back to his hole, which is crusty today. I don't want to think he purposely didn't wipe properly wanting me to clean him with my tongue, it's probably a coincidence. It took me a while to lick away the shitty crust and then get my tongue inside his asshole. I taste his shit the entire rimming and after awhile the taste becomes just one more thing I must accept and forget about. As I push my tongue inside his ass my cock twitches and begins firing those same spit ball shots of cum I fired on Monday, each one a mimi climax and I had to pull my tongue out to quietly squeal with each one. My balls tied down like they are having a difficult time getting good volume of cum all the way up my cock so just the little balls of spunk get out, one at a time.

Soon I want to stroke that sensitive boner of mine so badly I actually asked permission. Pulling my face away from his ass, I humbly ask, "Please, Master, may I relieve myself. It'll only take three or four strokes?" Brett says, "No, don't touch yourself, and the next time you ask you'll get a paddling. Now get back to doing your job of pleasuring me and Junior. That's what this is about, not pleasuring yourself!" The spit ball cum shots let up then, but a little later when Brett's cock is plowing down my throat I get so aroused three fast wet spays of cum shoot onto my belly. The effort of sending the cum has my tied-up balls aching like mad, but it seems nothing can stop the spunk from flying when Brett has his boner in my throat. It was a very unusual climax for me, but felt good just the same. Then back to Junior who didn't take long to climax and it was one of those facial cum shots that had both brothers giggling like, well... like teenagers. My face was dripping with cum which they let dry on my face, so that was uncomfortable. Later I ran through the various commands one more time then was untied, massaged, and bathed. It felt good to get the stiff, dried cum washed away. When I'd dried myself Brett hands me a little pair of pink silk panties, "Wear these!" Knowing better than to argue, I stepped into them. My cock and balls, while small compared to the Knight boys packages, bulged-out the crotch of this little silk panty... there were tiny pink bows sewed at the border on the outside of each leg opening. Brett did the usual hugs and then he did his version of French kissing, he calls me, "His girlie/boy-toy". We did about five minutes of tongue against tongue kissing that left me hard and totally confused, as usual. Brett had me lick his balls and asshole again after the kissing, but I wasn't allowed to taste his cock.

I'm to wear the panties to work for the foreseeable future, Brett will check on it. Smoking cigarette after cigarette, lighting one from the other, I drive home thinking one thought, "I can't wait to do a full blown climax jerk-off... no tied balls, just let it fly!" I head for the bathroom as soon as I'm in the apartment, pulling my panties down as I go. Biting my lip and grunting with anticipation I frantically jerk-off thinking about Brett, and blast spunk against the shower curtain, then another couple of spurts on my leg. In a trance I wipe the cum off my leg and lick it off my finger... it's taste very similar to the boy's spunk. Eating my own cum gives me another boner. Later, laying on top of my bed with a fan blowing on me, thinking back on today, I again hate on myself for being so weak. It seems when I'm not under Bret's influence, he and Junior don't seem as fantastic as they seem in person. Where Brett's concerned though, I need to admit to myself that he's turning me into his boy day by day. I can feel myself slipping away, and a new me being made the way Brett wants me to be... and now I've got another boner from thinking those thoughts. That's the brainwashing part, but I'm convinced when I get free of those two boys I'll go back to a normal life.

Mom makes us a nice dinner and I concentrate on upbeat chatter to cheer her up after her long day as a sales clerk, but what I can't wait to do is lay in bed and think more about what's happening to me. Before going to sleep I can't help myself, I jerked off again... my dick's getting sore from this constant whacking-off, not that I plan on stopping any of it. Times flying by, it's already my second Thursday working for BJ's. Brett pulled me in the lavatory at lunch break, pushes the button to lock the door, and has me drop my cargo short. They lay crumpled around my ankles as I stand at attention. He has an expression that's so arrogant and dominant it gives me the most awesome feeling all around my groin. It makes me want to touch him or follow a command of his. I'm itching to interact with him in whatever way he demands. Brett might have read my mind because he slaps my face, which I don't mind at all anymore, and says, "You're not looking excited to see me," and another slap, as my cock squirms in my panties. I get an excited expression going for me, looking as alert as I can look, and he mumbles, "That's better," and then he fondles my cock and balls through the pink panties. I bone-up almost immediately, his touch of any kind now, even those slaps, almost always results in me quickly boning-up. The massaging of my cock continues until Brett sees precum leaking through the panties turning the fabric from pale pink to dark pink. Smirking and fighting off a giggle, he says, "Don't forget to wear girl's panties every day from now on. You can buy some new ones, or wear these every day, I don't particularly care which as long as you're wearing girl's panties." Turning and walking out of the lavatory he leaves me needing to jerk off, I quickly lock the door and stroke my cock, but there's a rattle of the doorknob, then a knock at the door, so I call out, "I'll be out in a sec!" Pulling up my shorts, I bite my lip trying to control the urge to whack-off and walk slightly stiff-legged out the door nodding at Marty who needs to take a piss. After lunch I have another routine afternoon.

Then, Thursday's workday is over and I drive directly to Leo's barbershop. I've decided I like short hair, just not this short. I'll let it grow in to the length Brett's hair is when I'm back to college. In the barbershop I need to wait for two older men to get their old men's tapered haircuts, then Leo motions for me, and asks, "What's it gonna be, skipper?" I go, "Another burr haircut, and can ya make it real, you know... crisp!" He asks, "You one of Junior and Brett's boys? I think I remember you." I better be polite or he'll tell Brett, so I say, "Yes, Sir, I am. They're wonderful boys." He laughs in my face, his big yellow horse teeth looking enormous in such a small man, his misty breath, smelling like pipe tobacco, dampens my face. Gross! I manage to keep a partial smile while my stomach churns. Using only the clippers, Leo quickly duplicated my first burr haircut of two weeks ago; it takes only about five minutes. Another ten dollar haircut, but to be on the safe side I also leave him a dollar tip. Maybe he'll put in a good word for me. Walking out of the barbershop I have this same weird feeling in my gut that I had after the first haircut, a strange buzzing and humming, maybe it's a submissive reaction. After all, a teenage boy with power over me is responsible for me having my hair cut this way... I have no say about it. I feel submissive to Brett even though I'm ten miles away from him, but I'm not saying it's a bad feeling, 'cause it isn't. Running my hand over my head I feel my hair and notice it's less than a half inch in front, tapering down to about a eight of an inch at the crown. The sides and back are so short they feel like sandpaper. This isn't a duplicate of the first burr, it's shorter! Goddammit! Oh well, guess I shouldn't have mentioned 'crisp'. It'll please Brett though, and that's my main concern.

Well, Friday went okay during the workday. Brett didn't mention my haircut but he did tell me to show him the panties I was wearing. I pulled up a piece of the panties' pink waistband and he nodded once and was on his way. The damn things are much too small for me though, and therefore very uncomfortable. I'll buy some larger ones at the mall this weekend. After work, when everyone left for the weekend, I undress and reach in my locker for my collar. Before I grab it, Brett comes in and tells me to tie-up my own balls, and then off he goes. This is totally unexpected, another test or something. Anyway, I took it seriously although it turned-out to be a real challenge. Knowing Brett will examine my handiwork I've got to do this right; he's always looking for any reason to spank me. My task is to get my nuts as scrunched-down in my scrotum as possible, the same way he does it. I'm doing pretty well, but it takes real will power to wind those last two string loops around my scrotum down near the bottom. I hold my breath and do it, then wait for the pain to get to a dull level, which takes a while. Whew! That smarts, and another thing... my scrotum is stretching. It's lower than the knob of my cock now, and it's never been this low before so obviously this tying-up procedure is responsible for the stretching. What the fuck will my nuts look like by the time I'm heading back to college? Maybe they'll be swinging against my knees. It's taken me quite a while to do this nut-tying thing so I'm now getting concerned about a spanking for being late. Grabbing a dog collar, I buckle it on and quickly doggie-walk, on all fours, into the gym going directly to where I'm suppose to stand at attention.

Good thing I hurried because Brett's waiting, looking a little irritated, he says, "What the fuck took ya so long?" I meekly say, "It's my first time tying my nuts down, Master." He makes a face, like, "What a loser!" and goes, "Practice tying your nuts at home over the weekend so you can do it much faster on Monday!" I say, "I'm sorry, Master. I'll practice at home!" He puffs his cheeks out and noisily exhales, then says, "First, the inspection, then I'll tie your hind legs for you and we can begin. Junior's letting me run this whole session alone so pay close attention to my commands." I'm thinking, "Ah ha. Without Junior over-seeing everything I'll bet Brett goes easy on me." Brett takes off his vest and tosses it on the desk, then walks over right in front of me, like he usually does. He smirks smugly, then goes, "Phew, I noticed that wickedly short haircut of yours earlier. Lean your head down." I do and he runs the back of his fingers along the bristles on top of my head. Then feels the sandpaper sides with his fingertips, asking, "My Uncle Leo give you this haircut?" I say, "Yes, right after work last night." Brett does one of those laughs that blurts out, like he was trying to hold it back, then, smirking, he goes, "Well, I like it! Keep it like this, or even shorter." I nod, feeling good that I've gotten off to a great start this afternoon. Then stuff starts going wrong, Brett grabs my leash, and sputters, "What the fuck? You're wearing the regular dog collar, it's suppose to be the shock collar. That earns you a paddling!" My shoulders slump hearing that. He snaps, "Stand up straight! What's wrong with you today?" So much for the compliment about my haircut. I stand-up uber straight as he's fingering my tied-up balls.

Things go from bad to worse. "This should be tighter," he mutters, as he squeezes my nuts and I gasp going up on my toes. Then Brett gasps too, and goes, "What? I can't believe this!" He's rubbing the back of his fingers on my belly near my dick. "Stubble!" is his one word accusation, and my heart beats a little faster. Oh geez, how often should I re-shave my pubes? I did it Sunday night, five days ago. Brett's shaking his head. "Jesus Christ, if Junior were here I'd be so embarrassed! You diss me by not paying attention to details. Don't you have any pride in yourself?" I don't know what to say, he's really pissed-off. It's a little bit scary seeing how angry he can get. He takes a deep breath, then says, "This can't happen again. I need to bring that fact home to you!" Taking my dick, he pulls me over to the basketball backboard at the end of the gym. It's got the regulation ten feet high rim, but without a net because it isn't used anymore. Brett, looking up at it, appears very short. He commands, "Right at this spot do leg thrusts until I get back." I snap-out, "Yes, Master!" And do a deep knee bend, put my hands on the floor, then thrust my legs out behind me and bring them back to the deep knee bend position, then stand up, and immediately do it all over again. I'm doing them perfectly, concentrating on every one because Brett's worrying me a little. It's that pissed-off look on his face when he stormed out of here that has me concerned. He seems disturbed and motivated.

He returns fifteen minutes later, just before I collapse from exhaustion. I'm dripping with perspiration but Brett doesn't tell me to stop, so I struggle to continue doing the leg thrusts. Glancing over at Brett, I see he's pulling a rope from the satchel he'd brought back with him, then some leather objects. Standing, Brett calls over, "Get to attention!" I'm thrilled to be done the exercises and quickly obey his command. Standing at attention the sweat's running down my face burning my eyes, but I don't dare move to wipe across my forehead. My dick is limp, stuck to my thigh, wet with sweat, the dull ache in my nuts has tuned into a sharp pain from all the jostling around doing the leg thrusts. Nothing's going real swell for me right now. "Hold out your arms." I do, and he buckles six inch long leather cuffs on each wrist. The cuffs have a metal ring sewn into the end near my hands. There's a hook tied into the end of the rope that he attaches it to the cuff ring on my right wrist and then the other end of the rope is thrown through the basketball rim. I almost say, "nice shot" but catch myself in time 'cause Brett is not a happy camper at the moment. "Raise your arms over your head," and when I do, he says, "Up on your toes!" I hold that position as Brett pulls over a desk chair to stand on so he can tighten the other end of the rope to the ring in my left cuff. Uh oh, I'm either going to need to stay on my toes or swing from my arms because I'm tied-up too high to stand flat-footed. Brett pushes the chair out of my reach and leaves the gym without saying another word. Okay, this is my discipline for fucking-up today; there are worse way to be punished I guess.

My left calf muscle cramps-up in ten minutes so I lift my toes and hang from the rim by my wrists. It's not too bad for the first few minutes but shortly my arms feel like they're coming out of their sockets so I try resting them by standing on my toes again but now my foot's cramping, and this sucks! All the fun I've had playing basketball at prep school and now I find myself hoisted on a basketball rim like a... like a, I don't know what. Goddammit! This goddamn discipline shit is getting old. Here comes Brett again, finally... he's carrying some kind of flimsy stick flicking his wrist making the stick whistle through the air. He's also got some old sweat socks hanging out the side pocket of his shorts. Putting the stick down, he pulls the chair over to stand on, and says, "These socks were left behind by some old dock worker last winter. They'll do very well as your gag. Open wide!" Brett's got a hand on my scrunched nuts so you better believe I open my mouth as wide as I can. It's cliched, but the sweat sock smelled very, very badly of foot oder, and something else too that I can't put a name too, mold perhaps. By the time Brett has the first one stuffed into my mouth I need to fight off the strong urge to hurl. It was close, I almost threw-up in my mouth again. Spared that horrific experience, the second sock is being meticulously shoved in inch by inch. The last of the second sock is inside my mouth bulging out my cheeks and forcing part of the first sock two inches down my throat. I don't believe I've ever been this uncomfortable. My eyes are tearing as I looked through them with a begging expression at Brett. He glances at me and says, "Save it. You brought this on yourself. This will be severe discipline for you helping to establish in your slow brain that you need to think of nothing except pleasing Junior and me. That means when you're not participating in a BDSN playtime, or working on the dock, you're to be conscientiously thinking about what you need to do during your next playtime. Don't waste time thinking too much about anything except that." I'm not listening. Fuck him! There's panic in my brain thinking I'm not getting enough oxygen through my nose 'cause the sock seems to be blocking an airway; not that I can tell him that.

Brett's pushing the chair back to the desk as I'm desperately fight panicking. I find there's enough oxygen getting through if I stay calm so I relax and let my arms support me for a minute while I'm wiggling my feet hoping to get the cramps out. Brett comes back and picks up the stick, then moves my leash around in front so it's hanging over my shoulder and down my chest, all the time talking. "This is a rattan cane used in canings. Have you ever heard of caning?" I shake my head 'no', but he's got my attention now and I listen to him closely. He says, "Well, canning is done with a thin, flexible strip of rattan like this. I've soaked this one in water to add some weight to it and make it even more flexible than it normally is. It won't break or splinter so it's good for whipping across someone's ass." A shudder runs through me and I feel fear creeping in now. Brett likes me though, doesn't he? He won't seriously hurt me. He flicks his wrist and the cane whistles through the air again... my tied-up balls shrink a little. "This one is four feet long and less than a half inch in diameter. When professional caners, in various countries still allowing caning, cane a person each stroke of the cane splits the skin on the buttocks, but when Junior or I use it we just flick it so that we rarely break the skin. Each time it connects with a buttocks it leaves a raised welt and lots of pain, so it's not going to be pleasant for you, but it won't kill you. As you're being canned, think about how you can avoid making me do this to you again; not that I mind doing it all that much." The cane whistles through the air again as I stare at it in fascination. Brett continues, "You've disappointed me and that pisses me off; your lack of respect makes the canning necessary and I'm happy to do this for you... it's for your own good in the long run, ya know?" I try communicating with my eyes that I'm sorry. If I could I'd beg for another chance, promising that I'll never screw-up again... I would definitely beg. But of course I can't even utter a sound and when I try to, the dirty sweat sock in my throat gags me and that feeling of vomiting passes by again scaring the shit out of me. My entire body is covered in sweat as I hang helplessly from that basketball rib, thinking, "Is it possible that he's really going to do that thing, that canning?"

Brett's practicing flicking the cane in the air. Then, apparently satisfied, he saunters behind me, whistling quietly; now seemingly happy and carefree as can be when only a minute ago he was royally pissed-off. I swivel my head watching him walk behind me, balancing myself on my toes. Brett, without hesitating flicks his wrist and now the cane is doing the whistling; it whistles through the air toward my ass, me holding my breath. The cane makes a cracking sound when it connects across both cheeks of my buttocks and for an instance there's no pain, just a warm burning feeling because it's numbed the skin, but as feeling quickly returns the heat becomes unbearable and I scream in my head as the cane is whistling through the air again. The second stroke has me floundering from the basketball rim pulling myself up with my wrist. Tears flood my face. I realize the floundering is getting me no where as the third stroke kills with pain and surely must have broken the skin! Then I uselessly try tip toeing out of range of the whistling cane but it lashes across my upper thighs causing so much pain my bladder lets loose and a stream of pee leaves my shrunken pecker to splatter on the gym's hardwood floor. Another lash across my ass as the pee flows freely, and now I feel faint and sick to my stomach from the pain and the fear of another stroke from the cane, but it's apparently already over.

Hanging by my arms, my body slack, my ass and the back of my legs on fire, my pee stream finally runs out and the roaring in my head begins to subside. Brett's back to lecturing, "Five strokes of canning gets a person's attention, even the attention of a big shot prep school grad from Brown University, like yourself. In Singapore caning is an official form of punishment for crimes of all kinds. The maximum strokes assigned for any crime is twenty-four, but with professional caners, twenty-four hard strokes could put a person into shock and maybe kill him, so it's rare. Five or six strokes is common, but like I said, when they do the five or six cane strokes it results in five or six long open wounds on your ass, where as with me you get five welts." I'm giving Brett my undivided attention and to hell with the pain on my buttocks because I'm seeing a new Brett now. I was romanticizing him before instead of taking him as seriously as I need to. There's no doubt in my mind that Brett will cane me again if I screw-up so I'm raising my level of respect for him and not taking anything for granted. If he says for me to pee my pants, I'm peeing my pants. He watches me hanging by my arms, and from the smug look on his face I can tell he knows I'm totally defeated. Making sure I don't show anger in my expression, I meekly stare back at Brett; I'm alertly watching for any sign of a command he might be sending. A blank expression on his face, he glances away from me to look at the pee puddle on the floor, shaking his head, muttering, "That happens a lot with the caning." Then, addressing me, "I was gonna leave you hanging like this for a while after the caning, but it's your first serious offense so I'll give you a break this time." He gets the chair and I'm hoping the first thing he does is get these fucking smelly sweat sock out of my mouth and throat but he releases a hook that allows me to drop down to stand on my feet, and I realize how shaky and weak the canning has made me. Brett gets his arm around my waist and leads me to the mat where I lay on my stomach keeping my ass in the air a bit so as not to lay on my scrunched-up balls. "Don't take your gag out till I tell you to. I'm still pissed-off at you, but I'll get the pain spray and cream anyway. You've learned your lesson." Oh, thank God for the pain relief spray, but how come I'm concentrating on being grateful for the spray instead of being bullshit and angry as hell at the fact Brett caned me? He canes me and my respect for him increases? This is insanity!

Oh man though, after this canning, when Brett speaks he's gonna get my total undivided attention. I'm repeating his every word in my head to be sure I know what I'm to do. I'll nod my head at his every comment so he knows I'm paying close attention. Back with the pain spray and healing cream, but before applying it he lectures me some more, reiterating the concept that, except when working at BJ's, I need to think exclusively about him and playtime. I should be reviewing my training and try anticipating how I can make the experience better for him and Junior. Again he tells me to be docile, but excited, to look interested and, at the same time, pay close attention to anything either he or his brother does or says. Total attention to only them. The pain was awful as I lay there on my stomach, up on my elbows, my head up looking at Brett and concentrating on his every word. I'm looking as alert as I can considering the pain I'm experiencing. After each comment from Brett, I'm quietly saying, "Yes, master!". Then he mercifully sprays my ass and the relief comes quickly, the cream further eliminated the burning and will promote quick healing. Putting the spray and cream away, he says, "Get a bucket and a mop from the janitor's closet, then swab this floor. Not just where you peed, the whole gym." He's carrying the satchel and cane back to wherever it came from. I manage to get up quickly, still shaky from the caning, to do what I'm told.

The sweat socks, still in my mouth, are mostly soaked through with saliva by now and taste terrible; they stink too. I can't ever remember feeling worse than I do now, but as I work at mopping the floor I talk myself into starting fresh with Brett. I reinforce the concept of being much more attentive and respectful of everything he says or commands me to do. I can't conceive of my brother or mother or classmates at college seeing those pictures of me so my only choice is to make this work with Brett. That's one hard-ass fifteen year old boy. Speaking of ass, I felt back there on my ass, and sure enough there are five raised welts chris-crossing my buttocks. The welts are mostly numb from the spray and cream right now, but when that wears off it'll be painful so I'm stopping at the pharmacy on the way home to buy my own pain spray and cream. Brett came back after a bit and sat at the desk watching me labor over the mopping chore. I maintained a pleasant expression on my face even though I was less than happy. When I finish mopping the floor and have cleaned the mop and thrown out the bucket of soapy water, Brett says, "Do another mopping of the floor, this time with plain water." I nod enthusiastically at that delightful news and get right to it. By the time I have that task completed there's saliva drooling down my chin as the sweatsocks are soaking wet with spit and are heavy in my mouth. Next I need to use dirty gym towels to dry the floor and I'm drenched with sweat and feel about as lousy as it's possible to feel by the time I'm done doing it all.

When I finish putting the towels back where I got them, Brett stands, and snaps out, "Get over here." I'm dripping with perspiration, at attention in front of Brett, he hands me a disposable razor, and says, " Get your whipped ass into the locker room and spit out the dirty socks, re-tie your nuts, then wash yourself and shave your body of hair stubble, then get the proper collar on and get back out here so we can start from the beginning. You'll be getting home later than usual today, but then so will I so we're even there. Your fuck-ups have screwed-up both our Friday evenings; it's just a damn good thing Junior wasn't here to see it." I'm nodding my head, putting a lot of energy into everything I do. "Get going," he says and I start to run but at the last second remember I'm wearing a dog collar which means moving back and forth from the locker room on all fours. Dropping down I scurry as fast as my four legs can go, following Brett's commands. What a relief to get the sweat socks out of my mouth. I rinse my mouth three times then, taking nothing for granted, I do everything quickly, but meticulously. I wash throughly, then undo the bottom strings around my scrotum and retied it tighter than even Brett ties it. My nuts are numb but begin throbbing again when I'm done. I even added a string beneath the forth one which squashed my nuts into an even tighter space, stretching my scrotum in the process. Shaving close and then putting on the shock collar I promise myself there'll be no more screw-ups, everything is going to be by-the-numbers and exactly the way it's suppose to be, according to Brett.

When cleaned, shaved, tied-up, and collared correctly, on all fours I go swiftly from the locker room to the gym and then stand-up in the proper spot, at attention, breathing hard. Brett comes over and starts the same way we started an hour ago. "I like that haircut, see that it stays looking like that." I say, "Yes, Master!" and make a mental note to visit Leo's barbershop every week, not every other week. Looking like a geek is of no concern when compared to being caned. He looks at my painfully tied nuts and mutters, "Good," and then carefully feels my shaved pubes area, bends down to feel both my calves. The palms of his hands encircling my leg and rubs down my legs, one at a time. He then gets a finger under all five of my toes while looking up at me in a challenging manner... my expression was pleasantly attentive, watching my master for a hint of anything he might want me to do. My toes curl around his finger. He seems to like that and gets an index finger under the toes of both my feet making my toes curl. Pulling his fingers out he rubs my legs some more, moving his hands up my thighs to a spot just below my tied-up nuts, and after all the pain and aggravation I've been through, my dick responds to Brett's touch on my leg and begins firming up.

Taking my firm cock in his fist he does what he always does, he strokes it into a boner, which doesn't take long. Why shouldn't he do what he wants with my dick, he basically owns it. Biting his lower lip and breathing deeply, he orders, "Arms up!" A quick checks to see that my underarms are free of hair, then he does his normal touching of my naked body, ending five minutes later with him stroking of my cock until it's boned-up hard, poking straight out from my belly. Brett then takes a thin strip of leather from his side pocket and ties it around the base of my boner, very tightly. "We'll add this to the balls tying and see if you can still have an orgasm. Knowing something about your sexual appetite, I'm betting you can." Brett has my undivided attention and enthusiasm. I'd underestimated him, but now I know better. The caning was the end of any resistance to anything Brett wants me to do. I'm convinced he's smarter and stronger and just plain better than me. I've got ten weeks left of my servitude and I don't intend giving Brett a bit of trouble for the duration. Brett's my master for real now.

Even when he ties my legs up extra tight to begin our exercise session I don't even grunt in pain. The next hour is gruesome but my concentration on doing things the way Brett wants it done kept me from complaining about the pain in my knees, cock, and balls. All during the exercises my cock stayed hard because the leather strip wouldn't allow the erectile blood to leak back from my cock. Having a boner made doing some of the exercises very difficult to perform, but not a peep of complaint from me. When we finish the exercises and the command doggie training, I was looking forward to the so-called reward part of the session as an opportunity to sort of re-bond with Brett, but Brett checks the clock on the wall and says, "All that nonsense at the beginning of playtime screwed-up our schedule. I need to meet Junior outside now to get a ride to a dentist appointment, but we're not done here so you'll need to stick around; I'll be back in a while to finish up. As he's talking he's leading me by the leash into the supply room where he hooks the leash on the doorknob, then says, "Stay!" Moving stuff at the back of the room exposes a smooth piece of wood about four feet long with three half-moons cut-out of the top edge. The wood is screwed onto a heavy wooden bench. Brett rustles around and comes up with a matching four foot long board also with three half moons cut-out... they match the other boards half moons. Brett says, "Lets see which size fits the best," and he pulls on my leash getting me to crawl over to the bench. "Lay your neck in this cut-out, hot shot," I'm thinking, "I'm going to be in stocks? Like in colonial times?" Sure enough, when I lay my neck in the first half-moon cut-out Brett slipped the matching board over the back of my neck, and mutters, "Too small." He fitted me in all three cut-outs and none was a good fit. The end one he claims is too big and the other end one is too small, middle one is actually too small as well, but he presses the top board down and made it fit. Clicking some kind of metal latches at each end of the stocks hold the boards together snugly. I can't move. As he clicks handcuffs around my wrists, he's explaining, "I'll be back in an hour and a half or so. The handcuffs are so you can't reach over and undo the stock's latches."

As he's getting something from a drawer, he's saying, "You brought this on yourself so I've got a clear conscience about leaving you here. We'll finish the session when I get back. You'll be quite uncomfortable in here, but consider it part of your punishment for screwing-up earlier." I struggle to say, "Yes, Master. I understand," It's difficult to talk with the wood circle almost strangling me. I feel a cool wetness on my asshole now, as Brett explains, "You may as well get used to your tail too. It's a screw-in dildo with a doggie tail hanging off the end. This is all part of breaking you down completely and then building you back up the way we think you should be. You'll understand it by the end of the summer." Something is pushed in my asshole and then twisted many times. It feels like it's getting bigger and bigger the more the dildo is twisted inside me. "I'll only go half way in today 'cause it's your first day." He does one more full twist and I think my asshole is going to tear, half way? He mutters, "There, that'll do for now. How's it feel?" "It's tight but I don't mind, Master." He chuckles and says, "Yeah, the canning usually brings reality home to you submissive boys. Keep that brown-nosing frame of mind going for you though, it'll serve you well." "Yes, Master." Then my body is being jostled slightly and I'm guessing he's playing with my feet, but I've no feeling in them so can't be sure. It's impossible to turn my head and look back, moving my head at all is impossible, I can't see much of anything except the dirty floor below my eyes. The jostling goes on for maybe two minutes with Brett quiet except for some raspy breathing.

Then Brett turns out the lights, and says, "Spend this time thinking of ways you can be a better boy-toy for me," the door closes and I hear the scratching of the key as Brett locks it. Silence and total blackness surround me, plus I can't move. Claustrophobia sets in quickly and of course that gets me struggling to move, wanting to stand-up and spread my arms in open spaces so badly, but I can't do any of that and it puts me into a panic mode. I feel like I'm in a little box that's not quite big enough to hold me, but I'm squished inside anyway. I think about crying, but make myself calm down and think positive thoughts like: This is bad, but Brett didn't put a gag in my mouth at least, and he didn't spank my ass either. The second part of that has me thinking about my aching ass. The welts are calm because of the pain spray but that fucking tail, or dildo... it feels like he screwed a big eggplant up my ass. I've never had a overstuffed feeling back there to compare to this. When Frank Barns fucked me at age twelve it felt full back there, but this feels much fuller. Then I shake my body to prove I can move a little, it helps that I can move a few inches but my neck is jammed too tightly in this round opening so I can't move forward or backward as much as a quarter inch and that greatly restricts any movement for other part of my body. The couple inches I can manage doesn't completely fend off that scary claustrophobia feeling, and it remains a constant problem... me just barely outside a condition of uncontrollable frantic panic. My best defense against that horrible claustrophobia is to keep my brain occupied, but the time drags on agonizingly slowly and I'm running out of things to think about. I allow myself to hate Brett for a while and that takes some time and feels really good, but in the end I don't know if I hate him or love him or maybe even worship him. He's got my head fucked-up beyond belief. There's a period in the closet when I'm convinced he isn't coming back until tomorrow or maybe Monday and I did cry there for a little bit, but drift into a trance of some kind afterwards. Then I spent some time congratulating myself on being strong enough to tolerate this torture and then I crazily thought of all the people throughout history who had it worse than me, and say out loud, "Don't be stupid, asshole!" I scream as loud as I can, but that only hurts my neck. Then, what seemed like eight hours later there's a rattling at the door as a key is inserted, the door opens and light fills the room, and I'm so relieved. Brett and Junior are laughing, Junior goes, "Holy shit, Brett! You're too much. We haven't used the pillory for quite a while. That's awesome!" They come in, with Junior exclaiming, "Oh fuck, look at those raised welts" and he laughs, then says, "And ya got his tail in too! Brett, you are the man!" I hear their hands slap together in a high five, then a fist bump.

Smacking the back of my head, Brett asks, "You doing okay, big time college boy?" He's so in charge I feel small and unimportant, I mumble, "I'm okay, Master." Even to me I sound like a wimpy little girl. That's pretty much what I feel like too. Brett undoes the latch at one end of the stock as Junior gets the other. "I brought Junior back to enjoy the reward session with us. Isn't that nice." I meekly say, "Yes, Master." Junior chuckles, "Wow, Brett, you've got him pretty much where ya want him now, don'tcha?" Brett's like, "For now, yeah. The canning was needed, and might be needed again down the road, we'll see." I'm thinking, "Oh no! He's not going to need to cane my ass again because I'm determined to show him how humble a toy-boy can be." My neck's free of the torture device they called a pillory, and now the handcuffs are off too. Brett pulls on my leash and I scramble to move forward, my knees and hands moving fast, but I stay in place, my knees and hands scraping against the dirty floor but I'm not going anywhere for a second because I'm moving everything too quickly trying to respond immediately to Brett's command. I'm like a cartoon character. The brothers laugh again, Junior says, "He wants to please you big time now, bro. Great job!"

I heel perfectly right next to Brett's left leg as he walks me over to the desk where the boys' chairs are. Junior takes a seat and Brett puts me though the commands, putting on a show for Junior. I've never done the tricks better, my new tail swishing around behind me feeling funny. I got a doggie cracker as my reward when it was over. It had been like: "Sit!" and I'd get right down looking at my master for his next command, my tail's pulling at my asshole, but I didn't care about that. It hurt, but nothing like the caning hurts. I definitely need to raise my level of tolerance for pain. Junior's like, "Bravo, Brett! You rock! I've never trained a boy-toy this quickly." Brett's beaming, me too a little. "Beg, boy!" I go up on my knees with my hands limp and hanging forward, about chest high. Both boys laugh mockingly at me. Brett throws a pencil across the floor, and says, "Fetch!" and I go scrambling after it on all fours with the brothers laughing so hard they're holding their balls when I bring the pencil back in my mouth to drop at Brett's feet. I don't care about their laughter. Mock me all you want, just don't cane me or put me in that stock thing again... I'll be good! I'm now making a dog's panting sound with my mouth hanging open as I look at Brett for his next command. He goes, "Okay, it's really getting late so get over here, ya tall asshole, and pull our shorts off with your mouth.

After I undress them with my mouth, we follow the established routine. My nose in their super musky pubic hairs to lick all around their groin area, suck their nuts, and rim their asses. Then they took turns fucking my throat until they both blew their loads down my throat, in my mouth, and on my face. I never climaxed because of the tight leather strip at the base of my cock and my tied-up balls, but there was drool from my pee slit that looked like precum and, of course, I have the worst case of blue balls ever. They untied my legs while laughing again about the way I did the doggie tricks. Then I was excused after a quick bath and a little tender loving care from Brett, my master. Brett kissed with lot of tongue today getting me so aroused I almost stroked myself, but my training allowed me avoid making that mistake. When dismissed I hurried to the pharmacy section to buy the pain relief spray and the healing cream because my canned ass is starting to ache... the silk panties are a blessing now, so soft. Running to my car, in an odd stiff-legged manner, got all my aches and pains flaring-up, especially my knees and ass, but I want to get away from here as fast as I can so I ran. In the car I chain smoke all the way home, speeding. The only thing on my mind is jerking off and relieving the pressure in my cock and balls. I've never needed to cum this badly. Mom's out for a Friday night with the girls so I went right to my bedroom, pulled down my cargo shorts, then my pink panties, and ohhhh, it felt so good jerking off. Sure, I thought of Brett's cock down my throat the whole time I pulled my pud. I fantasized he was slapping my face every ten seconds as I sucked him off. Then I fantasized his underpants were covering my nose and I could smell the stink around his asshole, and then it was the taste of his boy spunk... and, oh my God, I shot off a load that had me squealing out loud in our empty apartment. I savored that climax by pulling on my dick for five minutes after orgasm, then sprayed my ass and did the best job I could of getting cream all over the welts. Exhausted, I fell on my bed face first and went to sleep on top of the bedspread.

Waking up three hours later with a dream about Brett still in my head had me jerking-off again. After cleaning-up, I fix two egg sandwiches to eat and then I drank almost a whole quart of orange juice. After that, I feel really tired again so I brush my teeth and go to bed the proper way, in my boxer shorts, under the covers. My pink panties are hidden in a spot no one would think to look. What a fucking day! Just before falling asleep I thought about needing to buy more panties, an extra toothbrush, and toothpaste for work. Oh, and a bottle of mouthwash. Brett keeps heeping things on me and pretty soon I'm not going to able to think about anything else except my responsibilities to him. Brett, my Master, and I'm admitted to myself for the first time that I honestly see him that way. He's my master and my better, next to him I'm nothing. He pretty much owns me all the time now, and he completely owns me three afternoons a week... and, ya know, I'm starting to think maybe it's better this way... and that frightens me.

To be continued.....

Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com