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What Began Playfully Became More Serious_ PART SIX
LOCKDOWN
Light reflecting on the leather belt made it look like silk shining in the semi-darkness. He put it onto the table next to him as though it was there waiting for something, and took a breath. He had leather trousers that clung to his legs and shaped round his crotch protectively, and a shirt which he quickly removed, button by button. His cuffs. The rest. Once he was shirtless, I noticed his chest was visibly moist. When he swallowed his throat moved up and down beneath his unshaven skin. Sinues visible through the hair on his forearm, altering shape subtly as he moved, indicated real strength; his arms, chest and legs meant he could largely get his way in any physical contest. As he undressed ... I'm not big on struggle, but in a fix I can hold my own, nevertheless there was something about him, the way he stood, the way he flexed, the way he gripped a cup even, made me think I'd be the one would submit and him master in any situation where agreement might have to be negotiated. I don't know where he had been but I was glad he was back and looked at him like he was the man who had broken in to be my rescuer - which, under the circumstances ... He clasped his two fists together and ground the palms. The way he stood, as though I was a problem needing to be fixed. "Tell me if you want anything," he said. "Where have you been?" I asked. "You leave me alone but I ... need ..." He took another breath. "Can you stop that?" He stared at me, grinding his palms. "You can't help being beautiful, but you can help disobeying can't you?" He looked at me for some time, until I got scared of what he was thinking. Then he resumed undressing. He took some time to peel off the trousers. Then he removed his jockstrap (a grubby thing filled almost with the imprint of his junk). I stared at him, again filled with desire. I think he must have felt my eyes on him, because he completely ignored me.
I don't think he realised what it meant to not get his own way. I knew not to move. "So," he said, "I think we have to have a discussion," resting himself on the edge of the table so that his junk was propped into a seated position like a little man on a bulging purple sofa. He spread his legs to make room for it and played with it mindlessly as he spoke. "You've been jerking yourself off." I immediately knew where this was going and made a face. "Yeah. That. You jerking yourself off might feel ok, and I approve of you being excited." 'He approves?' I thought. He must have seen the thought on my face because he smiled again. "Yeah. I'm free with that if it gives you a payoff. But ..." he looked down at his soft, full junk, which he handled with fondling fingers, then he glanced back at me, staring at him. I was squirming a little because by now my hands bound above my head were beginning to hurt and the strain of keeping myself comfortable in an awkward position was begining to tell in my arms and back - and the strain in my legs was starting to tell. "You see," he continued, "I don't know if you realise quite how much of a difference it makes if you've cum it's like ... how can I put this ... it's like ... you've gone. And I've lost you. You no longer there. Cause if you are excited and onheat like before when you haven't cum yet and you're still this sex kitten," he smiled as though he had said something risqué, "yeah, sex kitten, completely, you know, there ..." "I know," I said. "Yeah. Let me finish," he said sternly, "cause if you masturbate yourself and you ejaculated and so on then it ..." he sighed as though this were the most difficult thing he had ever had to say! "... It's like you change and you're not yourself." "I do know," I said, twisting my wrists in the cords that bound them. "I ..." "Yeah. No need to speak. Yeah. I know you know. So you know what I want is for you no longer to masturbate. Yeah?" I thought about it. "Yeah?" he went on, as though nothing I said made any difference. "Yeah. That is so hot." He stared at me. "That you would do that. For me. That you would do that." "What, never masturbate?" I blurted out. "Could you? Could you just not keep jerking off?" He looked at me sternly, folding his fingers around his junk which was fat but not stiff and curled through his fingers like a slinky worm. I suddenly thought of him fucking me with that. "Could you do that for me? Just not keep touching yourself and playing with it? Cause the more you edge the more you're going to risk accidentally shooting off, aren't you? So you need to lay off. Can you do that?" "I - I need to cum ... occasionally ... Don't I?" ('Like every day minimum,' I thought.) "No," he said. Again, sternly. He was laying it down this new law, I realised, and I had to just either go with it or ... what? "No-body NEEDS to cum, you least of all. In fact you'd be better off. Cause you'd always be be you know hot. And obviously ..." "And what if ..." "Obviously." "What?" "Obviously I'd help." I looked at him, the pain in my arms really beginning to strain. "Yeah," I said. Though I didn't see how he could help, unless ... "Help?" "Yeah. Obviously." "How would you ... help?" He smiled. "Well, policing mainly. I'd check up on you, to make sure you haven't cum, without permission anyway." "And if I did cum?" "Punishment." He said the word simply, as if it didn't mean anything. "Restraint." What did that mean? "And like if I did let you ... even then." "Even then?" "Well I'd still need to punish you because we wouldn't want you, you know, getting any ideas." "Ideas?" "That if you just wanted to cum I'd let you. I wouldn't let you except rarely." "How rarely? "Look here," he said, even still more sternly, "I don't happen to think you ever need to cum ok?"
Trouble is, it was hot. The idea of it was hot. The idea of him not letting me get ejaculated, ever; him being the gatekeeper of my most basic and essential behaviour like that, and because he wanted me to be, entirely, at his disposal, always. I mean, you've got to admit. That's hot.
"So ..." I tried to think. "So that's it?" He examined me as though trying to understand my question. "I didn't not get you," he said. "Yes that's it." "So ... have ... I ... Was that the last time I'll ever cum?" "If it was?" I tried to think about all the times I'd ever masturbated myself and how I'd feel if I never, "... Ever?" "What if it was?" I already wanted to jack off. My balls were tight with sperm and my prick was throbbing and dripping precum. I already felt distracted by the need to ejaculate. "You need to cum?" he said gently? I nodded. "I feel ..." "Excited? That's good. Well done. You see, that's the whole idea. You'll feel excited like that all day everyday and it'll never go off and if I want you ..." "To cum?" "Uh uh. No. If I ever want you to service me in any way whatsoever ... you see?" I did see. I did see. I could see now that I was so fucking hot I'd be constantly wishing to find ways to, ways to, ways to serve him. I could see that. I could see that I was so hot I'd be constantly ... And that if I did cum then I'd instantly lose that and then ... But I did want to cum. Desperately. I did want to cum. I'd constantly think like this, like I am now, thinking about him, him, his cock, him fucking, me, him, his cock, fucking, my face, him, his cock. "I want to cum now," I said, apologetically. "Yeah. That's why I restrained it. I tied your hands. If you touched it now you'd cum instantly and you'd have the orgasm of your life but it'd take me ages to get you back here again to this state and this state, quite honestly, is where you really need to be. Permanently. Don't you." His questions, have you noticed, never were questions? I was so horney I would have cum if he had even touched my dick with the tip of a bird's feather. I was squirming in frustration but kinda grateful I couldn't do anything. Though it was agony. "Fuck. Man." I said. Joseph smiled wickedly. "Oh don't worry. Stop thinking about it." I was on the verge of cuming spontaneously. "Yeah," he said changing the subject swiftly, "look. I noticed that your hole's a bit shitty." "Is it?" "Is it. It is. I mean, a bit, you know, especially if you aren't ready or expecting to see any action, ok, I'd expect it, but don't you think?" "What?" "It's a bit disrespectful, an arse like that?" "Well. I ..." "Go and get it cleaned up. There's a hose in there," he pointed to the bathroom, "and it'll take you mind off things whilst I prepare ..." he paused and then said, "... something."
He released the cords around my wrists and I practically fell forward. He caught me, rubbing my arms vigorously. "You done well," he said reassuringly. "haven't you?" My erection came between us like an iron fence pole. He looked at me as if to say, DON'T touch it! "Off. Be quick." And then he said, "You do know, don't you?" Suddenly I was worried, "Know? What?" "You do know what you're doing don't you? You've done this before?" I nodded. "I should make you eat it, if it isn't clean, would I be within my rights?" "Er ..." "Yeah. So do it properly."
Washing out my own rectum did indeed take my mind off my own erection. I was quite soft when I came back feeling distinctly refreshed and ready for anything. He was sitting waiting for me. "We'll give it a go," he said, looking at my penis. "But if you need a chastity device, perhaps that something we'll need to try." I wasn't sure but I didn't say anything. I was turned on more than anything. The idea of him putting it on me ... The idea of him enforcing his rules. He smiled. "You've been used all your life to your little man being your little friend!" I must have looked lost because then he said, "Well you can say goodbye! Cause he won't be there for you!" Joseph smiled somewhat sadly. "Do you think you'll miss him?" "I might ..." "You will, until you get used to him being just not always there when you want a wank. You'll get used to it. You'll have to pee.differently. You'll get used to it. And the more you get used to it you'll start to forget what it's like to just have a wank when you want and you'll be ... you'll find yourself waiting for me all the time. That'll be your go to." I'm pretty sure I didn't understand. I thought, 'I already wait for you quite a bit!' "Lockdown," he said. I didn't say anything, but he had something else to say, "I want you to know that I have no intention of letting you escape from me." That took me by surprise because I hadn't been thinking at all along those lines. I didn't realise he had been thinking along those lines. So that surprised me. I mean, I hadn't been thinking along those lines. I hadn't been thinking I'd escape. I hadn't even been thinking of being caught. I thought I was there voluntarily and because I wanted it. So when he said, "And furthermore that if you ever try to escape ..." and he looked at the leather strap he had placed upon the table earlier, "... and there's that ..." I looked at the leather strap shining like a narrow sheet of polished steel on the table there, and shivered. "That would hurt," he said. "I know," I said. And I thought, 'I know,' but for reasons I cannot understand it, I also wanted it. And I love that he would use it. If he had to use it.
*** Now when he enters the home I kneel at his feet. I am ready to serve his purpose. Bound and blindfolded on my knees with my ass exposed, men touched me, spanked me and fingered me. I made a lot of friends that way. Joseph has me completely owned now. Joseph. I never knew it would end this way. There's no going back. Not cause I've signed some stupid contract. There's no contract. I can go, if I can work out how to escape in my head. He keeps telling me, if I want to leave all I need to do is stop. Which is what? To stop serving him and his needs and his friends and their needs. Stop being used. Stop being cum into. Stop satisfying him and his friends. Stop being his sex toy he shares around. Stop lying still when he fucks me. Stop. Stop swallowing his and his friends' when they want. Stop letting him beat me when that's what turns him on. Stop. Stop being that thing.
His friends have their slaves too and I have to be one of them, though I don't know how it happened and, by and large, they don't talk.
"I can't stop looking at you," he says. "I love to see my cum decorate your face. MY cum on YOUR face. I can't stop. When we were just kids I thought all the things I'd like but I never thought I'd get; I thought all the things I wanted but no one would ever let me have. Even then. Looking at you. Yes. Then I thought, 'He would do it.' One day would you? Would you be what you are? This perfect thing I have around and everything I ever wanted in one thing! It's incredible. It really is. And then I saw you again, in that club I couldn't. Believe it. All the things I want to do to you ..." He stared at me. "I can't stop staring at you can I?" He laughed.
I didn't laugh; I knew not to. But he did and I felt his laugh like a breath of cool air in a hot still breathless climate. "It's difficult not to want to touch you. Not to ... want to stroke you where ... I have hurt you," he said. I saw it. He was hard. I saw it. He was hard for me. He was hard again. He was hard for me. I saw it. He was hard. I saw it. "Where I have hurt you."
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END OF What Began Playfully Became More Serious - PART SIX