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 3) by Subtoy_Kimy < subtoy_Kimy@yahoo.com >
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. He opposed no resistance, and let himself back, like wondering where I was to get to. I kept on pushing, 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. I knew this was the last time I could face him from our equal height. After a few seconds of a hard hesitation, I bowed my head, and knelt down before him.
"Kevin... please..." was all I said.
Then I looked up at him, inquiringly. From his dominating position, he also was looking down at me, obviously proud to have achieved his final win over me.
"Kevin... please..." I repeated, and I meant every bit of the feeling that was in it.
With no hesitation, he spread his right arm, with his fingers straight open, and instructed: "From now on, you address to me as 'Master', is that clear?" And he hadn't yet finished saying it, when the palm side of his fingers went slapping across my face.
"Uhhh!... Yes Master."
"Hope this will help you remember," he said, while holding the topside of his hand straight to my lips. "Now kiss, and apologize," he ordered.
I held his hand in mime, while perfectly aware that this was the one of his hands that he had just slapped my face with, then I closed my eyes, and with an enormous respect, I kissed the top side of it.
"I apologize, Master," I said, just as he ordered.
"Now, c'mon! Stand up!... And get rid of your clothes! Harry up!" he said, and turning his back on me he added: "I'll be right back."
Just as he walked towards the rooms, he let his towel drop down, and I had enough time to admire the backside of his naked body. From his broad shoulders, where the sun had tanned the skin, and drawn the stripes of his training I-shirts, and all the way down through his milky white tall back, the V shape of his slim body was unbearably gorgeous. God! If he meant to take advantage of his perfection on me, then I had to prepare for a hell of suffering.
He walked without hurrying, almost like exhibiting, as if he had no doubt I was in admiration, and I was. But at the same time, I was also trembling with fear, to think that he was aware of it. Just before he passed through the door, and without even turning back, he addressed to me again, ordering: "Get my towel... And you drop it in the laundry basket."
Not even minutes had passed, since I knelt down before him, and yet, he was already treating me as if I had always been his own private houseboy. Deep inside, I felt awfully offended by this superior and anonymous authoritty in which he addressed to me, along with this offhand manner of keeping his back turned, taking it for granted that I will execute. Because of his way to order it, bending down and picking up his towel felt more degrading than anything else, including his slap on my face. I wondered how much of those tasks I would have to bear, before I deserve the right to worship his body. All I knew is that it surely won't be given.
...
It didn't take a minute before he was back, and all of what he had instructed me was done. I had removed my clothes to the underwear, but beside that, I was trembling with fear, like a piece of paper. He just laid the cell phone he had brought out with him on a shelf, near the TV set.
"See this?" he asked, with half a smile on his lips, and while raising his arms to display a bunch of belts he brought out with him as well, and that he kept holding. There were four leather belts, of natural brownish colors and slightly different width, and he held them by two in each hand.
"Yes, Master," I said, inquiringly.
"They're for the brits', you know. I just wonder how come they left them here, when they packed," he said, with an expression of a fake innocence that boosted both the charm of his face, and the cruelty of his intention.
"I really don't know, Master," was all I said, while starting to guess where exactly he was getting to. But he seemed to have not yet had enough with this teasing introduction.
"I understand they left a lot of stuff they wouldn't need, while in England," he said, "but I mean, belts are something one can use anywhere, right?"
On many occasions yet to come, I will have reasons to think that for him, teasing is not only a formal introduction to what he is about to subject me to, but also a source of pleasure, in itself. A sadistic pleasure. Among a teasing preparation to a subjecting act, and the subjection itself, I sometimes even wondered, which of both was for him the target reason, and which was only an instrument to reach for it. Of course, he often used teasing to just delay his own pleasure, so to make it even stronger, and more enjoyable, when it comes, while for me, teasing added to my suffering a moral dimension, to the physical one. It used to raise my hopes for a possible renouncement, and then make them drop down from their highest, when his final verdict of no renouncement comes to be announced. It will become more and more obvious to me, that he enjoyed any situation where he could spread his power over me, as long as he dominated the victim of his beauty that I was. Whether teasing me with his cruelties, or subjecting to them, as long as I feared and hated what he was doing to me, he just found his pleasure in it.
In this very situation, if I still had some wishful doubts about his willings or intentions, the double meaning of "belts are something one can use anywhere" left no place for any hope. It made it clear that he was going to whip me, and I just found it unbearable how he carried on taking his time preparing to announce it.
"Now, go to the bar, and surprise me," he said. "Execute by yourself what you think is my next order."
I only nodded, because there was nothing I could say. I went to the corner of the living room, where the bar is, and I bent over it, laying my arms crossed on the top of it, and my head on my arms, face down. I could almost hear my heart beating.
"Good," was all he said, and disregarding my shyness, he grabbed my briefs, and slowly slid it down. "These cutie little buns seem like starving to know how fine leather belts taste like," he added, and the palms of his hands went stroking my bottom, slowly and lightly. I sighed.
"You like it, little slut" he said, while he carried on working me.
I could only figure out the graceful beauty of his gorgeous fingers, and how they were cruising around my butt, and the heat spread all over my body. My breathing started to get faster, and my penis to reach its hardest.
"You like this, don't you?" he asked.
"Oh! yeah! Master... but it's too much."
Indeed, after one or two minutes of this, the feeling of it has become even more intense than I thought it will. In my previous sexual relations, though not too many, I never had experienced sensations of that intensity, and never thought physical pleasure could reach such peaks. I was just about to grab his hands to stop him, or to just have a break, but I feared what this would cost me, so I dared not. His hands carried on slowly working my butt freely, making like soft and slow rotations, while my breathing was going faster, deeper, and mixed along with a continuous moaning.
After a few minutes of this, I felt my load could burst out anytime, but disregarding that I needed him to stop or to just allow me a break, his smooth fingers started to even seek for deeper explorations. On each one of their rotations, they threatened to slide between my buns, and this was electrifying. Whenever they moved away, it was only to come back again and threaten again. Accordingly, I was tightening my muscles as much as I could, to protect myself from a further entry of his fingers, and I could only release when I could feel it was safe to do it, but then tightened again, as the movements of his fingers was commanding. As he enjoyed this kind of a war game, where he was threatening to attack and I struggled to defend, all my body was jerking, under the unbearable magic of his finger touch. I drowned into the heat of the sensations he was bringing me, and I just couldn't say when or how it happened that the side of my face was directly laid the bar, with my arms fully stretched out, and my hands grabbing the far edge of the wooden top, so tightly that I could have broken it. I only realized that I was sighing and screaming and begging, all at once, and it went like: "Uhhhhhh, Kevin.... Uhhhhhh, Please... Kev, fff... Uuuuuuhhhhhh.... Fff uhhh, Kevin pleaeaeaeaease... Uuuhhhhhhhhhhh..." From where I was, I surely wasn't able to say what I was begging for, was it to stop, or to go on?
After some more minutes of this, intensity of pleasure was such, that it became nothing less than an unbearable torture. But disregarding how I felt, his unmerciful fingers kept on slowly cruising around, and working my butt, and using me. While I couldn't bear anymore of it, he kept on cruising around but also started to open and close his fingers, as if grabbing something, and this added a new variety of sensations to those he was already bringing me. It went from gentle scratching with the edge of his nails, to deep raw rubbing with the palms of his hands, through light brushing and stroking with his fingers, and back again, with no expectable order, nor rule... He was driving me mad.
When he decided that I had enough, I was totally done. He could have asked me anything, and would have got it. Indeed, I had no strength left to resist anything, and I guess this was precisely what he meant to make me reach for.
CHAPTER 4: THE BRITS' BELTS
Though I badly needed it, he allowed no break:
"Can't wait to see those cutie white bubbles blushing red," he said, while holding the belts high in his hands. "Now, choose the one you'd like me to start with," he added.
For Christ sake, who said I would like such a thing? I couldn't believe I was ordered to participate in choosing the tool of my own pain and humiliation.
(To be continued)
P.S. I address my gratitude to those of you, readers, who sent to me your beautiful motivating words, to help me going on writing, with more self-confidence. I namely thank Roland, Maxwell, J.David, John, Denis, Frank, for his clever analysis of the protagonist characters, and also Stephane (from France). I really hope to keep your appreciation and enjoyment same, till completion.
Then I mostly would like to address my special feelings to Jason (from NY), for his vibrating kindness, and securing care. I'll just say this, but with my eyes closed: Thanks Jason.
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.
Finally, and as usual, comments (positive or negative), corrections, and suggestions are of course, mostly welcome. < Subtoy_Kimy@yahoo.com >