This is a partly fictionalised account of my recent blackmail experience. I am due to commence a 12-month contract of slavery with a Master who will use blackmail material to force me to submit. He has ordered I publish this account on nifty.
We had been talking online for years and met for coffee once, but I had never had the confidence to take things further. I knew he was a dominant and was looking for a submissive to control, but that was about all I knew about him. He was around 15 years older than me I guess, and shorter (which I liked), and I think he lived in the next largest city to me. I had definitely given him more information about me though. I had told him my name and age, my job, living arrangements and interests. I am an open person, and naturally submissive, so I didn't hold anything back when he asked me questions. Looking back, I should probably have been more careful. Let me explain why.
I spent a few evenings drinking with friends, then continuing to drink on my own well into the night. Each time I found myself on my own I began searching for this guy online, hoping to have some horny chat to get myself off. He wasn't usually online when I looked, but I would send him messages detailing how I needed to be controlled and owned by a dominant man, but by the next day I had passed these ideas off as mere fantasy. On the third evening following this pattern, he appeared on my chat screen, responding to my latest series of messages. He made it clear that he was very interested in taking me on as his slave and demanded some sensitive information in order to stop me backing out. Being drunk and daring, I agreed, and sent him the contact numbers of my father, my boss and another co-worker, none of whom knew about my submissive desires.
He disappeared from chat for a while after I sent this info and I decided he wasn't serious about exerting his control over me as he had suggested, but soon he reappeared and demanded I send him a copy of my most recent bank statement. I blushed as I did this as I am dreadful at budgeting and am always going well beyond my overdraft facility; however I printed a copy and provided him with the scan. Again he went quiet while I was left to wonder what he had in mind. I took the opportunity to open another bottle of wine, and quickly frank a glass to calm my fluttering nerves. After a while, he returned and asked me to check my email. I did so and found an email from him with an attachment which was entitled "contract of voluntary slavery". I quickly read it through while he waited, and responded that I would accept the terms included.
"How long will the contract run?" I asked, nervously. "For 12 months" he replied. I panicked, thinking I could never submit to such a long term of slavery. I told him this and was shocked at his response: "You have no choice now, boy. You have provided me, willingly, with all the information I need to control you. If you try to back out now I will send one of the pictures I already have of you to one of the people whose contact details you gave me. Do you understand?" I took a long drink and swallowed hard, slowly realising the situation I had placed myself in. "I am a bit scared" I told him, honestly. But I also felt incredibly turned-on and excited to finally be forced to submit. I knew I would never be able to make the decision to submit fully on my own, that I needed someone to take control rather than me handing it over. I acknowledged this to myself, even if I could not do so to him. "You will report to me when I demand in the next few weeks to sign the contract and for me to take many more photos of you. Until that time you are free to continue your life, but remember, you are provisionally owned, and nothing will change what will happen next." I read these words as I watched his chat icon go offline and found myself jerking off furiously, considering my future as an owned slave.
I saw him online several times over the next few days and always contacted him in the hope of getting more information about what he had planned for me. Our conversations were short and informal, but I always felt his dominance during each chat. I would ask him questions like "what do you expect of me?" or "do I have any say in what will happen?" but he would always respond with short answers: "that's for me to decide" or, more simply, "no". During one of these exchanges he posed a question which made me feel very scared and nervous:
"I wonder if I would make much money by selling you on."
At first I thought he was joking, and simply replied "you wouldn't make very much!" When he didn't reply I started to panic. "You wouldn't actually consider selling me to another owner, would you?"
"Of course, if I decided to." He replied.
The concept of being sold or exchanged as property has always been attractive to me, however I didn't think it was something people actually did! The idea got me instantly hard, but also very worried. "Would I have a say in that?" I asked, hoping that he would at least ask my opinion on such a thing.
"No," was his reply, "you are my property and if I get bored of you or think you can make me some money, I would sell you on without your input."
My head was spinning at this suggestion, and my conflicting emotions of terror and arousal made me feel very vulnerable. I have always been a strong submissive, never fully passive and always playing within my limits. Now I discovered that nothing I said mattered, that I was truly owned as a thing, rather than being a consenting submissive. As always seemed to happen, just at the point of my total submission, he went offline and I was left to ponder our conversation. Of course, as I was so horny, it didn't take long to relieve the tension with a swift and vaguely satisfying hand-job while I ran through all the things he could require of me in my mind. I didn't think it was a good idea to spend so much time considering what might happen over the next 12 months, but I couldn't stop myself. The fantasies and fetishes I have always desired came rushing to my mind, even the ones I had never considered attempting in real life. Would I be constantly monitored, constantly controlled, have my life micro-managed and my finances restricted? Would I be expected to wear a collar or other symbol of ownership? Would he demand a mark on my body such as a tattoo or brand to signify his control? And would I be able to refuse these or any other demands, knowing that he held such sensitive information and images which I would not want released? I sighed, knowing I had put myself willingly into this position and I needed to simply adjust and accept my new life as his slave.
I began to crave his control, but knew we would not meet in person again for perhaps many weeks as he was out of the country. This played on my mind and made me feel like I was living in some sort of limbo -- not completely owned, but not entirely free either. I begged him for more information each time I saw him online, but he refused every request, simply stating "once you have signed the contract you will find out". I asked if I could sign the contract now and send him a copy, but he insisted this had to be done in person. I could only hope this would be during a private meeting and not in a public setting, as I had never been so completely submissive to anyone before. I couldn't imagine the shame and humiliation of other people knowing about my desires to be looked on as nothing but property, and for others to witness me signing myself over for another man to control might break my spirit in ways I could not truly imagine. I hoped he would only ever require me to serve him in private or perhaps remotely, so that no one else would find out about my perverted desires. But of course, as he had clearly stated previously, I no longer had a say in this or any other matter.
The idea of having decisions made for me was an intriguing one. I have often considered this to be the ultimate in submission, however I also felt it would not be practical in real life. What would happen, for example, in the case of an emergency or when he was unreachable? I would have to be able to make some decisions based on my situation at the time. I would need to be able to keep in touch with my friends and family, and continue working at my job. These were things I didn't think he would interfere with, but I couldn't know for certain until after I had signed the contract. What if he explained that every decision had to be made by him, from what I wore to my diet, my contact with society, my internet usage, my spending, my free time... how would I react? Would I be able to protest, or would I more likely simply accept his orders? I would have to wait and see.
One of my favourite things to waste time is to surf the internet for porn and can spend many happy hours edging myself over videos and images of hot, horny men doing the things I wish I could do. When I explained this to him, he responded "enjoy it while you can."
"You can't seriously stop me watching porn, can you?!" I typed, disbelievingly.
He didn't respond, and I didn't want to push the matter, but I worried about his statement. Was he going to exert some control over my internet usage, or take away my ability to masturbate? Again, by not responding to my question he caused me to analyse and debate his motives and wonder what his choice would be on this and other areas of my life. I doubted anyone would want to exert complete control over someone -- this would surely be a massively time-consuming task for anyone, but I also knew the ways in which he could stop me jerking off to porn and realised this would be an easy task for him. I shuddered and hoped for the hundredth time that he was playing a game and would release me rather than force me to sign his contract.
The days crept past slowly. I knew he would be back in the country after the 3rd of the month, but that date seemed to float further away with each passing hour. I spent more time thinking and worrying about my decision than I did sleeping, eating or working. Every moment was filled with my thoughts of submission and objectification by this person and I flipped from moments of elation to aggression with the ever-present sexual tension maintaining a throbbing semi in my jeans. I would have to wait until he decided to call for me before I could truly accept my situation, and until then I imagined him telling me it was all just a joke, or that he had already found another master to sell me to. My heart pounded each time I thought of him and his control, and my dreams were full of images of his domination and my submission. I could barely think straight and my work suffered, but I tried to enjoy the brief period of freedom I had left. Although I checked online for him regularly, I went about my daily life with no one the wiser about my impending term of slavery, but deep inside me I felt the weight of his control forcing into my mind and causing me to submit completely.
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