Warning: This story is about gay sex and domination between young adults. If this subject offends you, or if it is illegal in the country where you live, or if you are under 18, then read no further and quit this page now.
(c) Subtoy_Kimy 2004 - All rights reserved
Consented Enslavement (Chapter 2) by Subtoy_Kimy < subtoy_Kimy@yahoo.com >
CHAPTER 2: THE TURNING POINT
What I didn't realize then, is that a process, which inevitably leads to my enslavement, was on the rails, and it went out of my control to step back. My total submission was a matter of days, and the ball was in Kevin's hands. Among other things, I had reached a point where I couldn't bear not knowing where he was, or with whom he was, and this is precisely when he chose to disappear for a couple of days. Needless to say how mad I turned, and how I searched for him. Not even at the Speedy Gonzo's, someone had seen him, or could tell where he was. I went everywhere I suspected he could be, asking about him, but not daring to show how urgently in need and worried I was, and avoiding as much as I could to be turned in ridiculous. I even spent night hours on the street, wondering around under his window, desperately waiting for a shade behind the curtains, or a bulb to be lit.
When after a few days he rang me on the phone, I went like breathless. I thought I had no strength left to control my feelings, but God, I still had. I knew too much that the slightest blaming word would put an end to our relation, so I just listened to what he had to say, while he spoke as if nothing happened:
"Are you free to come over? I have some problems with a CS2 exercise, I thought you could explain it."
Of course I could... I could have done anything: I could have begged him never to disappear again like he did, and I could have even crawled at his feet, if only he had asked me to, but all I came out with was: "Sure, no problem," while my heartbeat was so strong, that all my body could feel it.
...
"I didn't expect you'd be here so fast," he said, with an ironic little smile, which obviously meant that he knew I would.
In his asking me to come over his place, though he was the one who sake for help, and in his taking it for granted that I would, I should have seen a sign of his increasing power over me. But I just wasn't used to take the meaning of such things in consideration, or react accordingly. Actually, I felt so released when I heard his voice over the phone, that I couldn't think of anything. It was only while he held the door opened, that I surprisingly read on his face how flattered and satisfied he was, to verify that I had rushed. He surely seemed to know all of what I had suffered during the past days, as if he had scanned my mind, and he was surely going to take advantage of it, and tease the hell of me with it. His face expression meant what he was just thinking, and what he was thinking was: 'it worked'. I definitely should have asked him to move himself, or at least, taken my time. But in the state of mind where I was, how could I? Now instead, I had to deal with the fact that I had blindly fell in his trap, and I tried to get out of it with this lie:
"It's just that I have lots of works yet to do, I'd appreciate it if we can finish with your exercise, the soonest."
"Ow, damm! you should have told me that," he said, with a fake embarrassment, "I feel bad to have brought you here for nothing, but..."
"Why for nothing?" I asked, "what about your exercise?"
"It's just that I didn't know you'd be here right now, and I really feel like having a good shower first," he said, while stretching his arms, with a charming laziness, " I've been training all day, you know."
Obviously, he presumed that I had lied about my being busy, and he was pushing me to confess that I did. I kept silent not knowing what to say, while he added what was enough to kill me: "You know what? Just don't worry, I'll surely find someone to help me with it, later..."
I could have fallen on my knees. Unwillingly, something in my eyes pleaded him not to do that, and I tried to save myself again: "It's ok... How long will it take for you to shower?" I asked.
"Should be something like 15 minutes," he said, "but really, I don't want you to wait ..."
"That's not a big deal. It's fine with me," I just said.
We finally agreed that if I couldn't or didn't want to wait, I just could leave and shut the door behind. But deep inside, I knew I would never be able to do this, and I guess he knew it, as well. While I kept on reading some magazines and watching TV, it took him more than one and a half hour to reappear.
At first, his making me that much waiting raised my anger. I kept thinking that I reasonably had to leave, for the least sake of preserving some of my dignity. But the last days I spent not knowing where he was, were so painful, and the pain was so fresh and alive, that I feared this happens again, and I felt I was like bound to stay. I never was that thorn, tangled up with my feelings. I gave myself tens of deadlines to leave, but whenever I reached each one of them, I placed a new one to postpone the hardness of my taking this decision. While waiting, I kept on wondering how I would explain that I nevertheless chose to stay. I had to come out with a plausible explanation, but every rolling minute made it harder to find. After that much time, only the truth remained believable, but was I ready for such a revelation? I never experienced a moral suffering like that. I exactly was like a prisonner, tied up in a cell which door was left opened. Those minutes were the hardest time I ever had, and I was perfectly aware of how crucial they were. Depending on whether he'd find me here or not, the way he would consider me, or deal with me, would never again be the same. Indeed, the whole future of our relationship was being decided, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Then the more I waited, and the more I felt I was being subjected not only to his selfishness, but also to his cruelty. How otherwise would it be possible that he takes that much time showering, or perhaps relaxing in his bath, while well knowing that I was there, and on his request, waiting for him, and that I wouldn't dare to leave? Viewing my status as a victim of his intentions, eased my anger somehow. As long as he was the author of my subjection, I not only didn't mind, but I confess that I even liked it. Obviously, having no doubt that I would stay, he probably was punishing me for having lied, by pushing me to reveal what I have always been aware to hide. Or else, perhaps he simply believed that his beauty is such, that one has to pay a price, in a way or another, when given a privilege such as to serve him. And the price I owed for that, was to keep waiting for him, as much as he needed or wanted, regardless of what I had to do. Putting it this way, did start to turn me on.
When he finally reappeared, he showed not a slightest sign of embarrassment or guiltiness. As long as he had given me the choice to leave whenever I wanted, he surely had nothing to blame himself of. On the contrary, I was the one who felt guilty of still being here, since the least of what it meant, is that I was not as busy as I had pretended. He slowly approached towards me, while stepping to the funky rhythm of a clip from Prince, that was on TV. He seemed not at all surprised to find me here, but of course, he didn't mention a word, about it. Obviously knowing that his silence was teasing me, he just kept on enjoying this funky dance, making like two or three steps ahead, then a turn around himself, then one step back, then forward again, while waving his spread arms with the music. While he danced, he kept on staring at me with a superior attitude, and a winner smile on his face. Though I didn't catch what the meaning of all this was, I only knew that he had something in mind. Locks of his wet hair almost covered his eyes, and a big white towel surrounded his slenderness, from his chest down to his thighs. He was so gorgeously divine, that I desired him, like never before.
I just noticed that he wore his training spikes, with the same white socks that were still covered with sand and dust, and this intrigued me. I wondered how come he showered without removing them, or if he did, then why he wore them again, but I was surely not in a mood to seek for an answer. I kept on watching him, trying to read what was in his mind, and not knowing what to say. Regarding his gain of power on me, he had just made a huge step forward.
He approached me closer and closer, till his bouncing legs entered between my knees. My face turned red, I bit my lower lips, and my eyes struggled to keep on watching him. The strength of my desire was such, that I felt I was loosing control. While waving his arms, he intentionally let the tips of his fingers brush lightly against my arms, and he did the same against my face, then my neck, then my cheeks, then my neck again. I kept turning my face to the left, and to the right, and away from him, trying to avoid these touches, but it was useless, since his hands could reach me anyhow. I had always been attracted to the graceful beauty of his long and white fingers, and it was unbearably hot to feel them touching me, this way. My breathing went deeper and faster, while my heart was beating like hell. While for him, this was just a funny teasing game, it didn't take much for me, before I feel my lower member getting hard. All I could do was to pray my erection wouldn't show.
"Stop it Kevin," I managed to say.
"You'd love it if I fucked you, don't you?" he said unexpectedly, while he carried on dancing, right between my knees.
He didn't seem to be kidding, and I melted like a burning candle.
"Stop it Kevin... please..." I reiterated, with a trembling voice.
"Answer my question," he insisted, with an authoritarian way, and a finger pointing straight at me. "You'd love it if I fucked you, don't you?"
Did I still have something to loose? Did I still have something to hide? Did I still have strength left to resist both his challenge, and his beauty? Wasn't it time for me to give up, and let him know that he had won over me?
All I replied, was a voiceless "yeah!" that could rather be read on my lips, than heard.
"Then you have to deserve it," he said, "you have to beg for it."
CHAPTER 3: SWEET AND SOUR CRUELTIES
I was like stoned, and without even thinking of what I was doing, I laid my hands on his belly, and lightly pushed him away from me. He opposed no resistance, and let himself back, wondering what I was to do. I kept on pushing him, till my arms stretched out, and there was enough space for me to get on my knees. Then I stood up while staring at him. I knew how precious this instant was...
(To be continued)
P.S. I apologize if my English is what it is. Readers who know French would probably guess that I couldn't get rid of thinking in French, though writing in English.
Names featuring in this story are fictional and totaly invented. If they happen to belong to existing people and / or places, it's only by pure coincidence.
All your comments (positive or negative), your corrections, and suggestions, are mostly welcome. < Subtoy_Kimy@yahoo.com >