Grabbed by a Leather Glove
This story is fiction! It is of a gay authoritarian nature and should not be read by anyone where it is not legal for them to do so. So stop now!
There will be more chapters to follow. Comments if you wish.
Chapter Three
I had been dressed as a leather gimp, a full bodied one, for the past few weeks, with the tight neck collar chained to a post in some basement. Only my eye holes in my
hood allowed me to see where I was. My mouth had always been dildo gagged until they were using it, or I was being fed or watered, and then gagged again. And my ass always
had a plug in it, locked into place unless it was needed, or I whined enough until they understood I needed to go to the bathroom. My hands were always in bondage mitts, so
I wouldn't be able to turn knobs, answer phones, key pads, ot do anything intricate. And not only had I leather socks on, I was wearing boots. Sometimes they changed the
size of my buttplugs to see how I handled the pain. They liked to cause me pain, so that happened a lot.
All the guys had been training me, and using me singularly, in pairs, or as a trio in shifts. The leather had made my mind very confused and weak, like I always told people
it does. After the few weeks, I couldn't think at all, and had no strenth. With the mitts on, I couldn't untie a rope knot if they had them on me instead of this chain, and
I couldn't fight my way out of here. I could barely lift up a chair. The leather effected me that much.
But, the main thing the leather did, as it always did on my mind, was make me horny. The smell, feel, sight, sound and taste of it invaded my life 24/7. I couldn't escape it,
and it was slowly driving me mad, and yet, also driving my mind away. They were doing what they had set out to do. They had me faceless, in the hood. They called me the gimp
now, so I was nameless, and quite frankly, I didn't remember my full name anymore, where I lived before, or anything about my past life. I didn't remember their names either.
Just big Master, nice Master, and dirty Master, who liked to do anything with me dirty, kinky, or rauchy. I knew, if I could think at all, I would just call all three just
Master soon in my mind, since I was beginning to blur even who was who between them. They fucked me so often, I couldn't remember who had the longest cock, who had the fattest,
and who fucked the hardest trying to hurt me on purpose. I knew one of them did. He liked to lick my tears afterwards. It was a pride thing for him to make me cry.
In the middle of a long fuck session one night, with one of my Masters breeding my ass very deeply while another was breeding my throat just as deeply, making me gag and fight
to breath, I heard through my hood pieces of a conversation I didn't understand.
"I think he's ready to be trained."
"The leather will make it hard for him to retain the lessions."
"That will make the punishments and his crying even more enjoyable."
They both laughed as they bred me harder, and fell into a rythmn of fucking and impaling me at the same time. I think I passed out from either the pain, or the lack of oxyegen,
because when I woke up, my buttplug and gag was back in. But something new was going on. There was something different about my leather suit.
I felt around, and felt something sticking out from my butplug. Like outwardly, hanging down. And, on my knees and elbows, I had pads. It was had to feel them with the mitts,
for the mitts now were tougher leather too. But, I could sense the difference.
The next time the door opened, the three Masters came in together. I became alert, and stood up.
"NO BITCH!! ON YOUR KNEES!!!"
I instantly dropped to my knees, wondering what I had done wrong. I dropped my head, away the lashes.
"Dogs are always on their hands and knees. We have given you knee and elbow pads. And a tail. You will never, EVER stand up again. You will always be on your hands and knees.
and when we come into the room, you will wag your fuckin ass like you are happy to see us, or so help us, you will NOT BE!"
The second he said that, I frantically started wagging my ass, hoping I was doing it right. I didn't even bat an eye I was now a dog to them. I had been a gimp so long, in their
posession, I didn't remember being me. Nor being upset or mad about being grabbed by leather men. I just remember Masters, and their cocks, and how they gave me their protein to
keep living, and their piss to survive, and occasionally let me drink real water and eat dry dog food from a bowl.
I didn't even give it a second thought, as I was fucked doggy style by all three, and called a good boy, this was my new life now. Because, I didn't remember my old one.
As one of my Masters bred me very deep, making my head hit one of the walls, he said as an aside to the others, "If we get any other dogs, this one stays the lowest. All the others
can fuck it like us, any time of the night. He's our kennel bitch."
One of the other Master's like that a lot. "The other dog's won't be effected by leather. So they will be able to think. They will like having a bitch at night after we hurt them."
They all three laughed, and took turns with me again, then left me in the dark, chained to the post.
End of chapter two.
gothguy25@yahoo.com