How We Met

****************************************** How We Met Part 3 - 'Existence' ****************************************** contact sharper@inorbit.com ******************************************

The cold hallway. He unlocked the standard Council-type door. It had a large frosted glass window with net curtains visible behind. There was even a letterbox, though surely the postman didn't come all the way up here first thing in the morning? There would probably be a box downstairs in the foyer - had I seen any? Probably no one would ever need to come here... Pizza guy possibly, or tricks and so on, but no unsolicited visitors. Ever.

There were two other doors. Three flats per floor, did that make sense? Would they be at their peepholes trying to make out what their perverted neighbour was up to now? Crouching behind their net curtains in curlers and fluffy slippers? Cups of cocoa and biscuits waiting by the bed? Half-read copies of large-print romantic novels spread spine up in front of the TV? Window-boxes packed full of ancient dusty geraniums? Pet budgie twerping sleepily in a tiny smelly cage on top of the fridge? Yeh. I could just imagine it. The unopened special offer envelopes from 'Heritage Ceramics' companies? How had they got your address? Could it be your obsessive thimble collection gave you away? Your Lady Di tea towel?

The door opened. He entered.

I wasn't like them. The cold piss seeping further down my legs. Cold and wet between my arse cheeks. Squishing gently around my balls. My prick fully hard, aching and upright, pushed over to the left by the waistband of my tightening jeans. The slight ache in my balls where my Master - your neighbour, Mrs ...Bloody ...Whatever! - Where he put his boot in. You see I like that, Mrs Bloody Whatever. Fuck you. Go back to bed. No. Wait. Watch.

I stepped towards the door but did not go in. Some instinct possessed me. I stopped. He entered the flat and walked right in, leaving me there. He walked the length of a fluffy red carpet, past cream coloured walls with pictures, slightly 80's-looking framed art. There was a single lamp halfway down - yellow plastic lampshade edged with little tassels made of green and red silk. Perhaps he invited Mrs B.Whatever round for tea and a piece of cake on Saturday afternoons and entertained her with lurid tales of preternatural debauchery. Perhaps she giggled privately at his innocent harmlessness as - back in her own flat - she stood, tottering on tall black glossy stilettos, snapping rubber gloves up over her elbows whilst a lace-clad banker crouched quivering in the shower cubicle.

Did they have shower cubicles here? Or baths, and a mouldy plastic curtain? Where was he? It was so silent in this little concrete hole.

After a short time he came back. He had changed his clothes. No more leather jeans. No more jockstrap. No Jacket. No shirt. Just a pair of cruddy underpants, his shiny boots, and carrying a wide studded brown leather collar and thick chain. I now saw in detail the intermittent nature of his body hair and the way it stood up - like an inch into the air - as it passed over his shoulders and disappeared down his back. On his head his hair was quite neat, but it kinda joined up with hair advancing up his neck, and the droopy eye and ashen complexion still gave this part of him a dishevelled, fresh-from-the-grave appearance. His chest sagged down with pink nipples - they were quite large, quite tight. And his stomach - though thin - also sagged. His legs were veined and anaemic.

Very sexy. Wow! Me! I was going to look just so fucking horney in that gorgeous thick brown leather collar with white stitching and shiny little studs decorating it. And chain, really good quality links. Bet they were cold. My prik bucked.

• Kneel down.

My big fucking dick was so hard again it ached and ached. I wanted that collar on me. I wanted to be his bitch dog slave. Anything. I practically panted with excitement. I knelt down eagerly straight down in front of him and lifted my chin. "Put that collar on me now! ...Please" I begged, inside my brain, but I didn't say anything. I just looked at him with all the eagerness and excitement I could muster. "I want you to fuck me, Master", I thought. Then I thought, "or let me suck you or lick you or hurt me like with anything... piss in my throat like your public urinal. Do it here now, in public, in front of these doors. Let them see I'm proud." Fuck! I was rambling, and FUCK! He hit me! He bobbed down and held my face looking into his, spat a misdirected spray of spit all over my face. I was almost in tears again. And flooded with, like, gratitude. And my head insides had gone silent.

• And NEVER STAND at my door again. Is that clear?

He stood up.

• Sorry Sir, I whimpered.

I knew what to do. I knelt down further and leaned forward to lick his boot, which he slid towards me. It was difficult to lean forward without my arms to support me. He signalled me to stop by kicking me slightly in the teeth. It was even more difficult to sit up. Before I had done so he put the collar on me, pulled it tight and buckled it behind my neck. It dug into my collarbone and chin. I couldn't quite breathe so easily. Yeh. Fuk me! He attached the chain and pulled me into an upright kneeling position. Then he led me in.

I was like trying to run after him on my knees. Well, you try it. Thank goodness for the carpet.

He led me into the kitchen where there was a metal dog bowl of water on the floor. He led me to it and stood still holding the leash in his hand.

• Take a drink.

• Yes Sir. Thank you Sir.

I stumbled towards my nice new shiny metal bowl. My red face distorted reflected off the bottom. I drank carefully so I didn't fall over, and obediently so I drank as much as he wanted me to.

• Thirsty.

I could just see him as I buried my face.

• A little, Sir - and continued supping.

He came over and fondled my bum. Then he kicked the bowl. It jumped away scattering some of its contents over the green-blue marble textured floor covering.

• Clean that up. Kneel right down and Hoover it up.

This close you could see each groove and each printed dot of pigmentation down there. I dipped my tongue at it gingerly, put my lips to the water and sucked it up.

It was nearly all gone. He put his boot in front of me. I licked it again obediently. Great dog like tongue strokes wiped over its round black surface.

• Kneel up. Stand up.

He pushed my back towards the pale-beech effect worktops.

• Cute aren't you?

• Thank you Sir.

• Get you out of these wet jeans... Ha ha, you're a funny one.

What did he mean?

He undid my jeans one button, reached inside with one hand and grabbed a nipple with the other.

My mouth opened. Would he kiss me? He looked me in the eye and squeezed both my nipple and dick - hard - at the same time. I winced. Yeh, give it to me. We were both saying it to each other with our eyes. Yeh. Give it to me. He opened the rest of my buttons and pushed his hand behind my butt, creeping a firm finger into my ass. Yeh. Yeh. Give it to me. Give it to me. I opened myself and pushed on to it. He grinned and smiled and nodded slightly. Give it to me. Please Sir. The fingers on my nipple, biting and grinding it. Yeh. Further. Right in. Sliding.

Ooch, the finger popped out. He put it in front of my nose and I smelt it. My smell. Yeh. Give it. Then all his fingers in my mouth again like before, playing with my tongue and playing my dissolved smell and lick on my face. Yeh. Like. That. My smell. Your smell.

Both hands pulled my trousers down to my boots, and I absolutely couldn't walk now. I could only shuffle along awkwardly. Oh Man. Give it to me. Here was his face again, in front of mine. He stuck his tongue out but he didn't kiss me. I licked my lips for him and stuck my tongue out and tried to kiss him.

• Slut, he whispered.

He whispered, I'm going to turn round now. I want you to lick my ass.

His fingers stabbed at my nipples again.

• I want you to stick your tongue right into my asshole. Clean it right out. I want to see just how much pleasure you can give me. You've got great mouth skills. I want to feel your cunt lips cleaning my shit. Yeh? Be sure and do it properly.

Suddenly I thought 'What time is it?' and then I thought 'No. Give it to me. Give it to me.'

He put his hand between my legs - I separated them as much as I could to let him in - grabbed my balls and squeezed them, rolling them in his fist. Hard, like he was pushing the pain deeper in and in. And in. There was only one way to deal with it, I ground my teeth hard together and breathed deeply, controlled, slow, stared into his eyes as hard as I could, not thinking. Filled with aching, my prick kicked and bucked and hit up against his arm. He took it in his other had and squeezed. Yeh. He jerked it off slightly, but the pain continued.

He released me and smiled.

• What are you smiling about? - I said

• That hurt you didn't it boy? Said the man with the droopy eye.

• Yes it did.

• Now kneel, he commanded.

I did as I was bid. My eyes were in line with his prik, which was behind his rather dirty underpants. I could identify cum stains and urine patches amongst the grime. He put his hand behind my head and pushed my face into his groin. The smell made me want to puke.

• Smell that boy. Like that smell do ya?

• Yes sir, I said

• Don't seem too sure...

• No Sir, I am sir, I said, his cloth-covered balls pressing into my mouth. Warm. Soft. Enormous. Should I lick them? I breathed deeply of the smell and opened my mouth. I was sure. The warm pouch, like, fell in and absorbed the moisture from my mouth. I closed my lips on it slightly, like a big sphincter grabbing it and shutting it in. A tap on my head let me know he didn't want the kind of treatment I was by now getting used to receiving, so I released it gently, letting it fall down in front of me and again brush my face.

• I like you Sir, a lot, I thought to myself.

My entire horizon was occupied by his fat smelly packet, and I pushed my head forward to nuzzle it.

Again he took his boot and pushed me away. He put his boot in my stomach and put his weight on it so I was forced to fall slightly against the faux-teak cupboard doors behind me. I couldn't balance properly. The handcuffs were digging into my wrists slightly. My arms had been locked like this for how long? They were aching almost unbearably. Was it safe?

How had I got into this situation? I didn't even like dirty sex officially.

Well, I did now.

Man.

He pulled back, turned, pulled down his pants, bent over and presented his dark hairy ass.

Yeh.

• Show me what you can do.

Give it to me.

****************************************** How We Met Part 3 - 'Existence' ****************************************** contact sharper@inorbit.com ******************************************