NOTES>> Safe sex doesn't appear in this story all that often, but I trust it appears a lot in your own lives. Sex does appear quite often though, sometimes quite graphically, and invariably of the gay and BDSM nature, so only read on if the law of your chosen land allows. The copyright is all mine, subject to Nifty's rules on the matter. Feedback always much much appreciated -- now I have access to email again - josh_armstrong2007@hotmail.com
CHAPTER ONE: How it started
I won't bore you with all the details of how I came to sign that contract, but perhaps I should tell you the basics.
I'd been pretty depressed for quite a few years prior to all this happening, certainly since my mother had died, which was just under three years ago when I signed the damn thing. I was an only child, as were both my parents, and my father had died when I was very young. Which meant that when my mother died I felt very lonely.
It was worse because, after my father had died, me and my mother had become very close -- we were not just mother and son, but best friends too. So much so, that I had not really forged any real lasting friendships with people I met at school or college, or with any of the people I worked with. Which meant that when mum passed away, there was no one for me to turn too.
And add to that, my sex life, or rather lack of it, really sucked. I had never come out, because my mother was very religious and I was always terrified how she would react if I told her that I was, and had only ever been, sexually attracted to other guys. Which meant my sexual experiences were restricted to two doomed relationships with girls -- one at school and one at college. Despite having realised I was gay at the age of 14, by the age of 25, I was yet to have my first gay sexual experience. None of this seemed to bother me while mum was alive. I entertained myself in the shower with a vivid imagination and my always able left hand. With hindsight those fantasies involved many things that are common in the so called BDSM scene, with me always cast as what I now know is called the sub. But, to be honest, I never really thought much about my fantasies outside the few minutes before I came in the shower. In fact, I rarely thought about sex at all in my every day life, save noticing the occasional cute guy on the bus.
After mum died, I inherited the family home. I sold it, bought a flash apartment in the city, banked the change, and tried to start a new life. I had such high hopes, but it came to nothing. Hence the depression. I still didn't go out, I still didn't have any friends, and I still didn't have a sex life. With much more time on my hands, and an unlimited credit card, I turned to the internet and developed something of a porn addiction. It fascinated me that so many of the things I had fantasised about while wanking in the shower were documented on these websites, and that people were there really doing the things I had only every dreamt about. To cut a long story short, after a lot of self loving, quite a lot of research, and lots of soul searching, I eventually hooked up with a rent boy called Simon, who I found on the net, and who, for an extra fifty quid, would tie up his clients and 'force' them to suck him off, before fucking them up the arse in something of a rough fashion (well, it felt rough to my virgin ass, with hindsight he was quite a kind lover).
I had six sessions with Simon in as many months. Each time I got a little more daring and asked him to do more stuff to me -- tickle me, flick my balls, smack my ass. Nothing more than play fighting really, but it really turned me on. During my fifth session, after Simon had told me that rope and playful slapping was as far as he went, I described to him what had become (and possibly always was) my ultimate sexual fantasy. Being completely controlled by a dominant man every day of my life, being at his beck and call, sexually especially. A man who would know what he wants, and knock me around a bit to get it. Simon said that he couldn't help me. But that he knew a man who could.
And that's how I met Justin. An eye-catchingly beautiful man, with blonde floppy hair and a cheeky smile to die for. I never actually knew how old Justin was, I suspect he was about my age (26 at the time), but he had a youthful charm meaning most people thought he was younger than that. He was cocky, confident and a little bit arrogant, you could tell that straight away. He knew he was good looking and made sure you knew he knew. But he did it all in such a charming way that, while every girl and gay guy would immediately lust after him, they'd soon love him too. And the charm seemed to work on straight guys as well. In fact, his bisexuality aside, he could really be one of the guys when he wanted to.
Justin was a dom looking for a new sub to be his full time slave. I would still have my own flat, and my own job, but I would dedicate every minute outside of my working day to satisfying his needs, sexual or otherwise. And for the six months we would spend together, he would have access to everything I owned, including my flat and bank account. He would shout at me, punish me, slap me around and pimp me out to friends. It was a dream come true.
I don't know if it was because the life Justin described to me, over the four meals we had together before signing the contract, was so close to my fantasy, or whether it was because I had fallen head over heels in love with him the minute I met him, probably both, but within a month of that penultimate session with Simon I had signed a subsequently devastating contract that I had hardly read. For a six month period I had signed my life and all my belongings over to this man who I barely even knew.
And so, after one last meal as equals, we made our way to my apartment for the first time. It had been agreed. I would take Friday off work, take Justin back to my flat, and on arrival, my new life would begin. Justin would have me non-stop for two and half days before I was due in work at 9am on Monday morning.
We entered my building and got into the elevator. "When those elevator doors open, that's it, everything changes" Justin said. "That's when it is going to start. Are you exciting?" I nodded frantically because I was, very very excited. More excited that I could ever remember being. Terrified also. But in an excitable way.
Floor four. My floor. My new life. The doors opened. We walked out of the elevator and, true to his word, everything changed. Certainly Justin's tone of voice changed.
"OK cocksucker, show me my new flat".
I paused. Partly because of confusion, partly because of shock.
I don't know why I was shocked. Justin was only speaking to me in the way he had promised he would speak to me. And he'd reminded me just seconds ago of how things would be from this point onwards. But, despite all that warning, I was genuinely shocked. Shocked at how radically his tone of voice had changed. Shocked he had called me "cocksucker". And more so that he had done it so loudly, so that if any of my neighbours were near their flat doors they would be able to hear.
The confusion came from Justin's use of the phrase "my new flat". Under our agreement all of my belongings belonged to him, for the duration of the contract. I knew that too. It shouldn't have been a surprise. But it still seemed odd to hear Justin referring to my flat, the flat I had bought with my inheritance, as his.
"For fuck's sake cocksucker, I don't have all day, where's my fucking flat".
His voice was even louder now. I went bright red, presumably because of a subconscious concern my neighbours could hear us.
"It's just down here," I responded, quickly, eager to get out of this public area now that Justin was talking to me in this way.
I pointed down the corridor. Justin waved his hand to show I should lead the way. We walked down to the door that opened on to the hall way that led to both my flat, and a neighbouring apartment Once inside the hallway Justin said "Give me my key, fuckface". He was still talking in that loud voice and, even though I knew the neighbouring flat was empty, we were still in a public area, and his words were making me very nervous. Though, as I retrieved my flat keys from my trouser pockets I realised this situation was also turning me on. Big time. My cock had become completely erect between the elevator and my flat door, and a definite bulge was now apparent in my jeans.
"OK," Justin continued, having got hold of my keys and put the bag he was carrying on the floor, "strip".
"What?" I replied, more to myself that to him, but I had said it aloud. I was thinking much more. In fact my mind was racing. Strip here? I mean, I know this was the hallway to my flat. And I know the other flat that shared the hallway was empty. But, firstly, Justin almost certainly didn't know that. And more importantly this was still a public area. No one was really likely to walk into this hall way, but they easily could.
"OK cocksucker, I'm going to do you a favour. But this is the last one, OK? I'm going to run you through the two most basic rules. You should have learned these by heart by now, but I'm going to tell them you one last time. Rule number one. When I tell you to do something, you do it, straight away, without question, without hesitation, whatever it is, wherever we are. Rule number two, you only ever speak when you are asked a specific question, and when you do speak, you're concise, you're polite, and you address people as 'sir' or, if it's me, 'master'. Break these rules, and you're going to suffer. OK?"
"Yes," I said quickly, pausing slightly, before adding "Master". I felt so small. Completely humiliated. Again, none of this should have surprised me, I knew what I was getting in to. But it did surprise me. No one had ever spoken to me in this way, not that I could remember. Possibly a teacher when I was very small, but not that I could remember. Yet, despite the humiliation, and the fact my face felt like it was on fire, I was blushing so much, I was even more turned on. I couldn't remember my cock ever being this hard.
"Good. Now strip".
I quickly took off my shirt and t-shirt and dropped them on the floor. I took off my shoes, then my socks, and undid by belt and jean buttons. And then I took off my jeans. If I'd felt embarrassed before, I was even more so now. My boxers, which were of the boxer brief kind, were tenting out to such an extent that my erect cock was pushing the elastic waist out giving me and Justin a good view of my pubes and cock head. The area immediately beneath my cock was damp, where I had been dripping pre-cum. And all this despite me having not actually touched my dick.
I hadn't realised that I had paused, though with hindsight I had. I think I was thinking about just how hard my cock was, though it was possible that I was subconsciously hoping that Justin would stop me at my boxers. I don't know how long I paused, probably a few seconds, but it was enough to piss off the newly irritable Justin.
"Look, shitface, when I say strip, I mean strip. Completely. I think that's pretty obvious, isn't it? Now, get rid of those fucking horrible shorts before I start to get angry. You don't want to see me angry".
I thought he was getting pretty angry already, but I wasn't stupid enough to argue. I quickly took off my boxers and dropped them on top of my other clothes. Once I'd done that, out of instinct I guess, I dropped my hands over my groin. It was a stupid thing to do. Firstly, we'd both just got a pretty good view of my dick as it poked out of the top of my boxers. And again as I took the boxers off. Secondly, given its current erect state, my attempts to hide it weren't very successful. I'm not that well endowed really, but even so, it's hard to hide a six and a half inch erection. And thirdly, and most importantly, I knew that covering myself in this way was going to be the last thing Justin would want. But, by instinct, I did it anyway.
"Do you really think that's an acceptable thing to do?" Justin sneered.
I quickly put my hands by my side, but Justin snapped "hands clasped behind your neck", so I complied.
Now it was Justin's turn to pause. It was probably for about 20 seconds, though it felt much longer. Here I was, completely naked, hands clasped behind my neck, full erection on show, and in a public hall way. Anyone could walk in at any moment. That still played on my mind, making my face ever redder but, I noticed, my dicker ever harder -- in fact it was visibly throbbing, I was so turned on. Justin had paused to check me out. He slowly looked me up, from my feet to my face, pausing noticeably at my cock and balls. When he reached my face, and made eye contact, he smiled. A smug knowing smile. I think I smiled back.
"OK," he said, adopting a tone more akin to that before we'd left the elevator, though it was still clear he was providing orders, not making idle chit chat. "Fold up your clothes, take them and your sneakers out into the corridor and put them into the garbage shoot".
Oh my God. Even more gutted. The fact that Justin was telling me to throw perfectly good clothes into the trash didn't even occur to me, I was more worried about going out into the corridor, where other people were much more likely to be, completely naked with a fuck off full on erection poking out from my groin.
"You're pausing again" Justin said, though without returning to his abrupt tone of voice. He actually seemed amused, probably because the look of shock that had been on my face for the last three minutes had now turned to one of genuine fear. Justin liked me to be shocked, but much preferred me to be terrified. I was about to question Justin, ask him if he was being serious, if I really had to do what he had just commanded. But, despite the smile, Justin's face told me he was bitterly serious.
I quickly folded up my clothes, piled them one on top of the other, and then opened the door back into the corridor. The rubbish shoot was barely ten feet from my door, and it can only have taken 20 seconds to get there, throw my clothes into the shoot, and get back into the hall way, and no one was around at the time, but I had never felt so terrified as during those 20 seconds. And this level of terror didn't seem to be quite so big a turn on. Certainly my dick softened slightly while I was in the corridor, though it rose to full size again once Justin had me back, standing outside my flat, with my hands clasped behind my neck.
"OK," he said. "I am going into my flat now. You are going to stand here and count to fifty. Between each number you're going to say "I'm a cocksucker" in a nice loud voice. When you reach fifty you can come inside. You understand?"
"Yes, master" I replied quickly and loudly, already learning how I needed to speak in Justin's presence.
"Go on then".
"One," I said, quickly, but in a noticeably quieter voice. And then, reluctantly, I added, "I'm a cocksucker". A one second pause, and then "Two, I'm a cocksucker".
"Louder" he demanded.
"Three, I'm a cocksucker" I said, after a two second pause, noticeably louder, and surely audible to anyone outside in the corridor.
"That's better," he said, "now, start from one again. And keep it at that volume".
With that Justin put the key in the lock, opened the door to mine or, rather, his flat and walked in, leaving the door open, and me in the hallway, butt naked, my hands behind my neck, my cock dripping pre-cum, and counting out aloud: "One, I'm a cocksucker, Two, I'm a cocksucker, Three, I'm a cocksucker, Four, I'm a cocksucker, Five". Whether anyone else in my apartment block heard me I'll never know, but in my mind everyone in this part of town had to be able to hear me. I'd never felt so stupid. Or so sexually excited. Everything that had just happened had been degrading, and mortifying, and terrifying, yet I really didn't regret any of it.
"You, stand in that corner facing the wall", Justin said, as I walked into my living room, having counted to fifty, entered the flat and closed the front door behind me. He was pointing to the corner of my living room behind the TV, next to the patio window that opened up onto my balcony. Fortunately when I stood in the corner I wouldn't be seen through the window itself.
"This is your corner", Justin said, having stood behind me and grabbed my hips. "Whenever you're in this house, and I haven't given you specific instructions of what to do, you stand in this corner, facing the wall. You'll be naked, because you'll always be naked in this flat. Whenever you come into the apartment, whether you're with me or someone else or on your own, you strip naked at the door, throw whatever clothes you've been wearing in the trash, then count to fifty in the way you just did with your hands behind your neck. Understand?"
"Yes master". I didn't really process what he'd just said, I just knew that was the right thing to say.
"Good. Now, when you're in your corner you need to bend your knees slightly" as he said that he nudged my knees forward with his. My legs bent slightly, forcing my buttocks to part slightly. "You keep your left hand up on your neck," he continued (my hands were still behind my neck from before), "but you put your right hand on your ass, with your middle finger pushed all the way up your hole". As he said that he took my right hand and inserted my finger as instructed. "Unless, that is," he continued, "there's something already up your ass, which there often will be, in which case, keep both hands behind your neck. Either way, I want you to bow your head forward and stick your tongue out as far as it will go. Oh, and you never, ever, turn your head". He pushed the back of my head down, and I stuck my tongue out. With that he squeezed my balls, and said "Good boy, I'm still exploring".
And so I was left there. Naked, legs bent, finger up my asshole, tongue out. I could hear Justin roaming around the flat, opening doors and cupboards, and generally going through my stuff.
My tongue got cold, almost immediately, and after a couple of minutes I started to drool. Saliva started to drip onto the wooden floor beneath me. Would I really have to stand this way on a regular basis, I thought? And for how long? My legs were already starting to hurt, as was my tongue. And not being able to turn my head was frustrating too. Normally it probably wouldn't bother me, but because I knew I wasn't allowed to look around I really really really wanted to. Especially when I heard Justin walk through the living room and into the bedroom area, and then back through the living room into the kitchen. In fact, once I knew Justin was back in the kitchen I did sneak a look backwards. I could see Justin through the hatch that linked the kitchen to the living room, and could see him opening each cupboard and checking what was in there. I can only have been looking for a second, and Justin didn't see me, thank God, but I immediately felt an incredible sense of guilt. And weirdly, that was worse than the pain of standing in this position. All in all, I really didn't know how long I could stand this way without moving, or crying out in mental and physical pain.
As it was, the ordeal was over a lot quicker than I expected. After about five minutes Justin came back into the living room, told me to stand up straight and stop sticking out my tongue. He then turned me around and ushered me into the kitchen. I still had my finger up my ass though. When we got to the kitchen table he yanked it out, held it up to my mouth and said "suck it clean". I didn't really have chance to see whether it needed cleaning before it slipped into my mouth, but I got a whiff of a really musky sweaty smell as it passed under my nose, and the taste, while not gross, wasn't great either.
As soon as I finished sucking on my finger Justin pushed me over the kitchen table, which was pretty small so that with my waist at one end my head just about reached the other, with my torso flat on the table top. He ordered I drop my arms over the side of the table, and before I knew what was happening he was tying my wrists to the table legs with a kind of nylon rope he'd grabbed out of his bag. Once again a sense of fear fell over me, making me realise I had relaxed considerably since entering the flat, despite the awkward standing in the corner. Nevertheless, I remained still. I was certain struggling would not be the right thing to do. Justin didn't speak. He simply went to the other side of the table, rearranged my cock so it poked under the table (so far it had been caught between my body and the table, so much so I had nearly cum as my dick slid slightly backwards and forwards, squeezed under the weight of my body). Then he tied me ankles to the other table legs, forcing me to part my legs quite considerably.
"OK, this is how it is", Justin said, having come back to my front side, I peered up at him from the table top. "Rules exist for a reason. When they are broken you must be punished. Some days I will have special ways to punish you. And more severe punishments for more severe rule breaking. But basic violations mean basic punishment". He paused while he rummaged for something in his bag. He pulled out what looked a little like a wooden table tennis bat, except it had a slightly longer handle and holes cut into the main bit. A paddle.
"Each violation gets you ten of these" he said, waving the paddle in front of my face. "I'll show you".
With that he disappeared out of view. Within a second I heard a sound I would come to love and loath with an equal passion, but which was entirely new to me that day. A kind of woosh sound, that was quickly followed by a loud slap and instant pain like I had never before felt. He had hit me in the middle of my ass, so that both buttocks were hit. It felt like they were literally on fire. I screamed, very loudly, for the best part of a minute.
When I stopped screaming, I realised Justin was back in front of me, looking down at me with the biggest grin on his face I had ever seen. Despite the continuing pain, and the tears that were now running down my face, that smile seemed to make it all worth it. I was in agony on one level, but on another I was in ecstasy.
Or at least I was for a moment, until I realised what I was facing.
"It's ten swats per violation" Justin said, after I had stopped screaming. "So, let's see. First you paused when I asked you where my flat was. That's one. Then you questioned me when I told you to strip. That's two. Then you paused before you got rid of your boxers. Three. Then you tried to cover up your pathetic little cock with your hands, when you knew I wanted to inspect you. That kind of thing would get you a complete thrashing normally, but we'll let it go as a basic violation today. So that's four. Now, the counting to fifty. It started well, but you went quieter in the forties. And I told you not to. I should count that as a violation for every number spoken too quietly, but we'll make it one violation, as it's your first day. And then ^Å oh yes. You snuck a look behind you when I told you to keep looking forward in your corner. So that's six. Six violations, sixty swats. Plus I'll add another ten, just in case there's something I missed -- that's the rule. So, that makes seventy. What do you say to that?"
I was distraught. This was by far the worse thing to happen so far. That one swat had been the worse kind of physically agony I'd ever felt. There was simply no way I could take seventy. He must have been joking. Surely.
"No master, no, please, no, I can't, not that, anything but that, I'll do anything". I continued in that vain for a while, until I realised that Justin was shaking his head.
"Wrong answer piss boy," he said, "and that's another violation. That makes eighty".
I was about to beg again, and probably would have done, even though I could see I risked adding even more to my pending punishment, except I realised he had asked me a question.
"Would you like me to tell you the right answer, shit lover?"
"Yes please master".
"Whenever I tell you how many swats you are getting you always -- always -- answer this way. You thank me for your punishment. You tell me that it is important I punish you, so that you can learn. And then you beg me to add ten more swats to your punishment. Is that clear?"
"Yes master".
"Well then?"
"Thank you master," I began, using all my energy to suppress my urge to beg for mercy. "Thank you for punishing me, it is important you punish me, so I can learn." I tried to use my normal voice, but I couldn't hide the panic and terror in my voice. But Justin didn't seem to mind. As I say, I soon learned that he was at is happiest when I was genuinely terrified. "Please master, please add ten more swats to my punishment, please".
"Of course I will, cock eater. Which makes ninety. And, fyi, whenever you reach ninety, we round it up to a hundred". He smiled an even bigger smile. "This is going to be fun. But, we don't want to disturb the neighbours, now do we?"
With that he started to take off his trousers. Suddenly I was fully aroused again. The terror of anticipating the seventy, eighty, ninety and now a hundred swats Justin had promised had made my cock soften a little again, like when he forced me back into the corridor to dispose of my clothes. But as I saw Justin start to strip my cock went full size again almost immediately. If it had still be trapped under my body I almost definitely would have cum.
As Justin took off his trousers he revealed the most dirty jock strap I had ever seen. It clearly hadn't been washed in weeks, and the front was covered in piss and cum stains.
"I've been working on this weeks" he said, pointing at the jock. He removed it, revealing for the first time his perfect uncut cock, four inches despite being flaccid, and sitting on two of the most perfect balls I had ever seen. And surrounded by neatly cut blonde pubes. He screwed up the jock, told me to open wide, and shoved it inside my mouth. "Should muffle the screams," he said, smiling, "and tastes divine, I'm sure". The taste of stale piss filled my mouth. Even though I'd never tasted piss at this point, I knew what it was. It was horrible, and with the jock fully stuffed into my mouth it was very uncomfortable. But the whole thing got me excitable again. Even though I knew agony like I could not imagine was coming.
And boy was it agony. "One" Justin counted as his paddle hit my left buttock even harder than the test swat earlier. To be honest I didn't really realise he was counting until the thirteenth swat -- before that the shear pain I was feeling took over my brain. Though he was right, although inside I was screaming, with the pissy jock strap in my mouth my agony was vocalised only as high pitched screeches. He did not lessen the power of the swats, alternating between left and right buttock as he went. Nevertheless, around the early thirties my brain seemed to adjust to the torture. It still hurt like hell, but I started, for the first time, to think I could get through this.
Then he stopped. At 45. I didn't know why, but couldn't ask, obviously, what with the jock strap in my mouth. He opened the fridge, got himself a can of Coke, and started to drink it. I could see the paddling had caused him to break out in a sweat. And I felt that weird guilt thing again. Guilty that I had failed, and that he had to punish me, and that that had caused him to sweat. Still, he was also now fully erect. His eight inch dick was sticking outwards from his body, almost straight up. Clearly he was enjoying this. That made me feel better. I would have done anything to have some of his Coke. My mouth was horribly dry, the jock having drained me of saliva and replaced it with a rank stale piss taste. But the fact that I had given him a hard on seemed to compensate for everything. The dry pissy mouth. The burning, aching ass.
After he had drunk his Coke he carried on, but started counting at 35. I didn't correct him. I couldn't, of course, but wouldn't have done even if I could have. This time he continued until 70 (or what would have been 80) and then came back round to the front. He took the jock out of my mouth and said "I think I'm going to give you twenty extra swats on top of the 100. Just for good measure. What do you say to that".
Even though I was actually less fearful of the paddling now than I had been at the outset, the thought of another twenty swats was gutting, especially as he had already added ten to my total my deliberately miscounting. But I knew what I had to say.
"Thank you master".
"And?" he asked. I knew what he was getting at.
"Please master, please can I have ten more."
"Of course you can". He put the jock back in my mouth and carried on -- swat, swat, swat, swat -- all the way to the 120th swat -- what he counted as 110. Twenty more to go -- and he came back round the front.
My ass was now numb with pain. In theory you'd think the numbness would have made subsequent swats less painful, but somehow it didn't work like that. Yet, my cock was still fully erect, and I was feeling levels of sexual excitement I had never imagined. And then Justin took the jock out of my mouth, went back to my ass, but didn't resume the swatting. Rather, he kneeled down, grabbed my aching cock, and started wanking it. Ferociously. Within six strokes I came, more violently than I could ever remember. Shot after shot of cum spurted through my dick -- I could feel Justin holding his jock over the my dick head, catching my juices. I lost count how many shots of cum came out of my dick, but I had never orgasmed on this level before. Not even in my wildest dreams. I moaned in my sexual high and then, once I was fully spent, and despite being out of breath, I started thanking my master for making me cum that way.
He didn't speak. He came back round the front, shoved his jock, now soaked in my own cum, back into my mouth, walked back round to my ass, and at that second, as I heard that woosh again, I realised what he had just done. With my dick spent, my cum unleashed, my sexual high at an end, the twenty swats that remained were going to be the worst. Everything that had happened since I left that elevator had been humiliating and terrifying, but throughout I had been turned on -- even when my cock had softened, it had never gone completely soft, because I'd never stopped being on my sexual high. But now. I cannot begin to explain how horrifying it was to experience 40 swats (needless to say, he didn't stop at 20) in that state. The pain. The humiliation. The taste of fresh cum mixing with the taste of stale piss in my mouth. It was horrible.
And yet, by the time he was done I was starting to go hard again. My post-orgasm sexual low hadn't lasted more than five minutes. And as Justin put his trousers back on, and walked out the room shouting "that jock better still be in your mouth when I get back, catch you later cum breath", I felt a sudden level of joy that I hadn't experienced in years. It didn't last that long. And certainly not the five hours Justin left me there. But for a time, despite being tied down naked to my own kitchen table, with my ass still on fire, and my mouth full of cummy pissy jock, I was happier than I had ever been before.
My new life was going to be humiliating, painful and, at times, terrifying. But it would be a long time before I'd feel depression again.