A month passed, and every day of that month, I spent an increasingly large portion of my time thinking about and serving my new master, Ryan. Sometimes, he would have me talk with him for hours, late into the night and early morning. I'd have to sit there naked, not allowed to touch my cock, telling him all of my hottest fantasies. After those hours of torture, he often wouldn't let me cum, leaving with a big smiley face in the Instant Messenger box. Other times, he would e-mail me at the anonymous inbox I'd set up just for him, leaving instructions about equipment he wanted me to buy or new rules that I was to live by for as long as he saw fit. Ryan started making me wear a leather cock ring with no underwear all day. I didn't wear tight jeans, but you could still see a chubby bulge in my pants if you looked at all closely. It was pretty embarassing, but at the same time, the feeling of my naked cock against the denim coupled with the thought that I was being commanded to do this made me even harder. I loved nothing more than to see that I had my mail from Ryan -- I knew that whatever he said would force me to become a little more gay, a little more sexual.
Sarah had grown more and more frustrated with our relationship. I hardly ever spent the night in her room anymore and when I was with her, she accused me of being distracted. That was the craziest part -- I didn't even know what Ryan looked like, and yet I was fantasizing about his body when I was with Sarah. He'd told me that he had an eight-inch cock, as thick around as a soda can, which dwarfed my own six inches, putting me even more in my place.
One morning, I found an e-mail from him telling me to go out and get nicely drunk -- buzzed, but not stupid -- and then find him online. I did just that, and when I came excitedly back to my room, I found him waiting for me. We had a long, hot session.
"Fuck your ass, boy," he wrote. I got out my dildo, which felt familiar inside my butt now, and slid it into its home. I'd spent several nights with it in, and I'd even had to go all day with it in once (fortunately, Ryan had allowed me to wear tight briefs that day). I quickly worked myself into a state.
"Now take it out," he said. I felt empty and blue-balled. I hovered over the computer screen, waiting for him to tell me to shove the dildo back in. But he didn't. Instead, he told me to get out the Astroglide I'd bought for him. I had to rub it all over my body, using only my fingertips, until every surface was covered. This took nearly an hour. I was shaking with an erotic fever by the time all my skin was slippery and smooth and warm.
"Now grab your cock," Ryan wrote. I did -- waves of pleasure rushed through me. I nearly came just from the touch. "Do not rub it!" Ryan warned. "I don't want you to cum."
He told me that I had to keep my hand on my cock for 24 hours straight now. I was not allowed to wear any clothes for that period. Every other hour, I was to fuck myself with the dildo for as long as I could stand, up to thirty minutes, without cumming. I was to spend ten minutes every hour slowly feeling myself up with my free hand.
I was in such ecstacy from his demands, but unsure of how I was going to last this long. Ryan had not allowed me to cum for the previous week, either, so I'd been denied the pleasure that I so greatly needed. "If you can do this, boy," Ryan wrote, "you will be well on your way to being a hot little fuck-slave."
"Oh, sirrrrrrr," I wrote back with my free hand.
"Now, what are you?" he asked. "Gay or straight?"
"I'm straight, sir," I wrote, "but I'm your little gay sex slave."
"Confused is what I'd say you are!" Ryan responded. "Good night!" And he signed off.
The next four hours were really tough -- I fucked my ass long and slow, tried my best not to stroke my cock, although the temptation was awfully strong. I could have cum easily, erupted in a powerful orgasm, and Ryan would never have found out. But I couldn't. It would be like letting him down, and it would be cheating. I knew the orgasm coming at the end of 24 hours would be better than this. Oh man, but I was so horny.
My whole body started feeling kind of sticky from the drying Astroglide. Despite the discomfort, I remained rock hard -- I guess my master wanted to show me that no matter what, when I thought of him, I'd be erect. So far, he was right.
Another weird thing was that the buzz from my alcohol didn't quite wear off; it was kept alive by the sexual energy that I was building up inside me. My head was just as clouded by the thoughts of hot white juice spurting from my quivering rod as they'd been by a few beers. I wondered if this was the effect that Ryan had intended.
I fell asleep for a while -- I don't know how long -- and was woken up by the sound of a knock at my door.
I bolted upright, my heart pounding and racing at the same time. "Who is it?" I shouted a little too loudly.
"Sarah."
What the hell was I going to do, I wondered. I was naked, a dildo in my ass, Astroglide shiny all over me, my girlfriend at the door. I could pull something on -- some boxers -- and Ryan would be none the wiser. But something held me back from doing that.
"What do you want?" I yelled.
"Can I come in?" She sounded irritated that I hadn't opened the door for her already.
"No."
"What?! Why not?"
I kept still, hoping she'd think that maybe I'd gone batty and just needed some time alone. That was a stupid idea. She tried the door, then pounded on it. "Open the door!"
I didn't answer. Instead, I started fucking my ass with the dildo real hard, with the same anger and passion she was using to try and knock down my door. I was completely freaked out, but somehow, fucking myself made me forget that I was scared. The only thing I needed to worry about was keeping my hand on my dick for my master and moving that dildo in and out.
"Look," I said finally. "Just go away for right now. I'm not feeling right."
"Go fuck yourself, you lunatic!" she cried, and then she left, kicking the door viciously.
I laughed out loud at that.
24 hours passed, and I went back online with Ryan. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
"I have never been more hot than I am right now, sir." It was true; I'd never spent an entire day getting in touch with my body, being nothing but sexual.
"Nice," he wrote. "Now what will you do for me to cum?"
My face dropped. I'd assumed that after 24 hours of this, I'd have earned the right to cum. But then I remembered that my orgasm was a privilege, not a right. "I'll do anything for you, sir."
"Tell me specifically what you'd do, boy."
I started wracking my brain for what I could do to possibly please Ryan enough. "I'll shave my pubes?" I wrote hesitantly.
"Good. More," he said.
Okay, I thought. "I'll wear my cock ring for a week straight."
"Getting better. More."
"What else do you want?"
"I want a picture of you," he said.
This was a big line for me. If he had my picture, I was no longer an anonymous cyber-slave. This was big time.
"What exactly do you want a picture of?" I asked.
There was a pause -- an exasperatingly long pause. With every second, I knew the description of what he wanted was getting worse and worse for me.
"I want a picture that shows you, naked and hard, from head to toe. You should be shaved with your cock ring on. Across your chest, you need to have a message written to me. It should say, `I am a slave to Ryan's cock' in big, permanent marker letters."
I let out a deep breath. This was how the game was going to go. I was prepared for it. I was getting ready to take the next step. Then he made my heart stop.
"And it must be taken in the room of that girlfriend of yours."