(This story contains graphic depictions of a gay BDSM relationship. If this offends you or if you are here by mistake, go away.)
COCK HUNGRY, Part 3
By Scott Weatherby
How Part 2 ended:
I scampered over and sat down. My hands went up to the keyboard as though I no longer had control over them. I simply typed in my father's phone number and address. And my boss's. And my ex-girlfriend's. And my best friend's. And my sister's. The five people I never, ever under any circumstances would want to see me like this.
Then the five I wish could see it. I typed in the name and number of a Master to whom I'd especially enjoyed submitting to. I typed in Fred, an acquaintance whom I knew was gay and suspected was into BDSM. I typed in the name Henry, a black man who worked at the tennis club who turned me on. I typed in the name and phone number of Doxey, a college professor who was the first to explore my submissive nature but never got to really use me because I'd freaked out and bolted, then avoided him the rest of my time in college; I figured I owed him one.
I read over the list and realized that I'd just given my Master everything he needed to ruin me, completely and totally ruin me. Even just a one-minute snippet from the video he now held over me would seal the deal. I had confessed everything. In full, vivid digital splendor. Knowing the full implications. How sick was that? How low had I just gone?
Not as low as I would go. I wasn't even close yet.)
A lot of you have asked how I met my Master. We play tennis at the same facility and got paired off for a doubles match one evening. I'd been watching him for weeks, actually. He was tall and lean, athletic with Cal Ripkin eyes. He usually had a two- or three-day growth of beard, which was about as long as his hair.
He is by far the superior and more experienced player. But he was also patient and kind. The first time we played together, he walked over halfway through the match and gave me a tip. Not in a harsh way. I like to play tennis with partners who are better than I am. just so I can improve. There are some who will get pissy when I make mistakes. He wasn't like that.
I'd just won my serve and was about to receive. The other player's serve had eaten me alive last time around, and his tip was simple. "In doubles, you really can't stand back as far back as you're standing," he said in a voice that might have been a principal sternly instructing a student. "Doubles is all about angles. Try standing inside the baseline." I nodded and it worked; we broke them. He grinned broadly, and I felt strangely proud that I'd pleased him. Since I'd been receptive to taking his direction, he offered more suggestions as the match went on.
After that night, he was always friendly whenever we ran into one another, and seemed to make it a point to always speak. It didn't take me long to develop a crush on him, even though I had no idea whether he was gay or not. I wasn't even sure if I was. I'd been mostly straight all my life, even though my sexual fantasies were almost exclusively gay and exclusively BDSM. I guess was ready for it, ready for a man to come along and take me.
I don't know if he recognized that in me, but one night after a match, he invited me to grab a bite at a nearby tavern. He'd ordered us a scotch after dinner and as we drank, he suddenly asked if I knew he was gay. "No, but I'd wondered," I said.
"What do you think about that?"
Before I could stop myself, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind: "I think I hope you're a top."
He smiled. It was a brilliant smile that took me aback. "I'm going to take you," he said. "Not tonight but very soon."
I gulped and stammered, "Yes, sir."
WHEN HE KISSED me in the parking lot, it felt like he was stroking my very soul. It was electrifying. The way he forced his tongue in and fucked my mouth was enough to make me swoon. I was disoriented within seconds, my knees weak and my dick hopelessly hard. I was totally breathless. Oh, my god, at that moment I would have done anything he asked, anything. That's how hot I was for this man. Instead, he sent me home.
"I like how submissive you are," he said softly, his eyes piercing mine. "You're never going to believe how dominant I am." It was hardly fair for him to throw this at me in the wake of that kiss, and then leave. I think I probably already belonged to him at that moment; that's how hot I was for it.
I decided to sit in the parking lot for a few minutes, try to recover. Instead, I took out my dick and madly jerked off and came within seconds.
A couple of days later, he sent me an email:
Here are the parameters: 1. I am a dominant man. It's not a pose and it's not a lifestyle. It is who I am. 2. If we begin a sexual relationship, you will submit fully to me, and fulfill MY desires and MY demands. 3. I will be gentle but firm. There are times I will be harsh. 4. This is for our mutual pleasure. I will push you at times and make you uncomfortable, but I will never break your trust in me. Before we proceed, do you understand and agree to these parameters?
I quickly wrote back with a simple but direct response: "Understood and agreed, Sir."
Did I know what I was getting myself into? Not even close. If someone had pulled me aside and warned me about everything that would happen to me in the very near future, I would have surely ran away. Don't get me wrong. He had me pegged right. I was absolutely submissive, but mostly in the abstract. The reality was another matter. He led me in patiently. But once we got there, he quickly turned up the heat.
The first thing he did was send me a sexual questionnaire:
"As you may have guessed, I don't view this as a pick-up. I don't pick up men. I cultivate them. If I go, I go for something meaningful and real. In order to do this, I need to know about you. You no longer have secrets from me. You will reveal yourself in full. You will be transparent before me. I will know what kind of experiences you've had. What gets you off. What turns you off. Your deepest and darkest fantasies, the ones you've never revealed to anyone. Even as you fear I'll make them come true.
"I will tell you upfront that I do have certain basic requirements. We must have certain compatibilities and there will be certain deal-breakers. However, I won't tell you what they are because I don't wish to color your answers. Your mandate is to be honest. In fact, you must always dare to be honest with me; that is the only way we can thrive. Answer these questions completely and without self-censorship. I want it filled out in three days. I also want you to take your time and to give me complete answers. Answer questions 1-17 tonight, 18-30 tomorrow night and 31-45 Tuesday night."
As I read the questions, I realized that I essentially would have to reveal to him every sexual experience and desire that I had, that I'd ever had. Everything. He was right; these were things I'd never told anyone. I spent hours each night answering his very detailed questions. And once I'd finished and emailed it back to him, he knew it all. He knew about my every sexual encounter. He knew who had whipped me and who had made me suck their cock. He knew that I'd been fucked in the ass by a female Domme with a strap-on, and that a man had once fed me his piss straight from his cock. He knew I'd never been fucked in the ass by a real cock even though I ached for it. He knew that I'd sucked my first cock when I was a teen-ager after being seduced by my best friend's cousin ... while my friend watched.
But all that wasn't the worst of it. I also had to confess every sexual fantasy I'd ever had that I could remember. Confess my insatiable need for cock. To suck cock. To get fucked by cock. To drink whatever it expelled, be it cum or piss. To have my ass used like a cunt. To so totally submit that nothing was off-limits. Even if it meant I was totally and completed degraded. Turned into nothing more than just a fucking pig faggot.
I had to confess that I'd fantasized about being sent to an X-rated bookstore to spend my afternoon in a video booth sucking anonymous cock after anonymous cock. That I'd fantasized being forced to spend an evening in front of a crowd of men as they watched me get turned into a real bitch - by a big dog that fucked me in the ass and then knotted up inside me. That I had a particular fetish for black men. That I longed to be gang-banged by a group of black streethoods with huge cocks. All the while being video-taped, and with full knowledge that the person behind the camera would now hold complete power over me because he had the ultimate blackmail material. That I ached to submit to a man to the point that I was nothing more than a full-time slave, kept chained and naked, nothing more than a complete sexual toy for my Master.
I confessed everything. At least everything I could remember.
It was all just fantasy; nothing I'd ever really want to live out. But there was no place on his questionnaire to tell him that.
Why was I so ... honest? Because I didn't have a choice, or felt that I didn't. If this was going to work, if it was going to go deep, then honesty meant everything. I had to be able to trust him without doubt, and he had to be able to trust me just as explicitly. And besides, he had ordered me to reveal everything. Refuse a direct order? Not on my life. Not now. That was what it was about, as well. The desire deep inside me to be owned so totally that I was a complete open book to the man I served.
And there it began. I sucked his cock on demand. I took his cock up my ass, re-christened as my "cock-hungry cunt," on demand. I drank his piss, French-kissed his asshole and called him "Master." I wore a butt plug for him at home at night. I wore panties (usually lacey and pink) underneath my clothes at work for no other reason than he knew it humiliated me. I had orgasms only when he allowed them; to insure there were no accidents, I wore a padlocked chastity device and he held the keys. And that was before he'd both put me through the ultimate indignity and turned the corner - he'd filmed me begging for his cock, and then demanded the names and addresses of the five people I most didn't want to watch my debut starring role in a gay BDSM DVD, as well as the five that I did.
The next time I saw him, he gave me a copy of the DVD. But not before he'd used me. And used me hard. This time, he'd bound me. Put me on a padded bench underneath a metal stand he'd built himself. He'd laughed diabolically when he pulled down two little metal hooks in front of my eyes that were tied to a thin piece of rope. "You're going to really like this," he said. And he'd placed the hooks in my nose and pulled the rope tight before tying it. I almost literally had rings in my nose, and he whipped me silly. My legs had big red welts, so did my stomach. He'd paid particular attention to my nipples, which were red and raw. And ever time I'd lurched from the pain, it had felt as if my nose was going to be ripped from my face.
He'd worked me over so that I'd be sure to remember it tomorrow, and he'd recorded it all. Then he'd sent me home, pussy and cunt full of his cum.
Even away from him, he consumed my world and I followed the routine he had set up for me. I stripped naked as soon as I walked inside my apartment, with the exception of the panties, the CB-3000 locked around my dick and balls, and the slave chain with a small padlock that was locked around my neck.
After I took my clothes off, I loaded the DVD into my computer and watched it as I sat down to write the nightly journal entry that he required. This was no typical diary. It was mainly me telling him about my lust for him and his cock. Anything sexual in my day and in my thoughts, I had to report. Every new fantasy, every casual glance. And most of all, my reactions to everything that happened with us.
Tonight, he'd sent me home with one command: he wanted me to review our DVD.