He stood towering above me as I knelt before Him, and I smelled his chaps, His crotch, His asshole, intoxicated. His dick was half hard in front of my face, framed by His chaps and His balls and I heard Him speak and knew what I must do.
I took the meat in my mouth and held it there, waiting, and then it began to dribble, hot and salty, then as His dick softened the piss flowed, then shot out against the back of my throat, and I drank His dark yellow piss thirstily. I was His. His toilet. His dog. His whipping boy. His and nothing else, and nothing other than the knowledge that I was His invaded my awareness. Nothing but this knowledge had any relevance to me. Nothing but this knowledge made my dick hard and my hole wet. I was nothing but His and I drank, thankful that it was His Will that I taste his hot, stinking piss ...
I felt His fingers under my collar, pulling me to my feet. My collar. His collar. The thick black leather that marked me as his to use as He saw fit. The collar I could not, would not, would never remove unless it was His Will, the collar I wanted more than anything else to feel around my neck, wear around my neck, until I died.
I wore other marks, other badges of His ownership. The tattoo on my arm. The ring through my dick. And I knew that should He decide to keep me, should I train to His ultimate satisfaction, I would wear the ultimate mark of His ownership: the knife scar on my empty bag. I wanted nothing more than that, for Him to claim my sex, to seal His ownership, to permanently make my only sexual satisfaction His hard-on by feeling His glittering steel blade cutting me from my masculinity forever.
The men in the bar watched as He pulled me to my feet by the collar, some envying me, others Him. All knew what I was, what he was. He stopped suddenly and turned, looking around the room, and then His hand left my collar and He strode over to the door. He took the sign from the door and brought it back, and hung it from my collar, and all could see I was marked, TOILET, and He led me into the room and pushed me to my knees.
I knelt there, my dick throbbing from the smells of stale shit and piss and cum and beer and sweat and leather and one of the men came in, a man I hadn't seen in the bar. He walked up to the trough and started to pull out His dick, then saw me there on my knees, saw the sign, knew what I was, and turned. The buckle glittered in the dim light as He unfastened it and unbottoned His jeans. His hairy hand slid inside the open denim and withdrew, holding a thick, uncut dick, the foreskin long and loose and heavily veined, and His other hand pushed my head a bit backwards and the piss splattered as it hit the overhanging fold of dirty dickskin and He filled my gut with piss.
All night I was the public toilet at the bar. My mouth tasted like a sewer. My gut was full of shit. Full of piss. My hunger and thirst were insatiable. And as my lips fastened around the hairy shithole of the big burly cop who had just come in, as my tongue darted up inside and began to lick the shit out, as I felt the cop's hole gaped and pushed outwards, downwards and my tongue withdrew, as the shit, firm and hot, slid out and filled my mouth as I ate, as I licked His dirty, slimy hole clean, as He flushed his shit down my gut with His hot dark piss, my balls churned and I spewed cum all over the filthy tile floor.
i hung my head, ashamed, knowing I had not been told I could cum, and He was there by me, pushing my head to the floor, angrily ordering me to clean it up, and I put my lips to the pool of piss that had collected on the scummy tile and lapped up the piss and the cum like the dog, His dog, I was, and He held my head to the floor until I had cleaned it to His satisfaction.
He cuffed me over the horse the minute we returned. I knew I had to pay for what I had done, what I had not done. I knew He would whip me until my ass was solid purple, and perhaps more. I knew it would give Him a hard-on and He would then shove His big dick up my asshole and fuck me until He shot deep inside me, slapping the fuck out of my bruised butt the whole time, and I knew He would have me eat my own shit off His dick afterwards. And i knew He would probably take the razor strop to my butt again for my incontinence, if not immediately, then the next day. And i wanted nothing other than His abuse, His ownership. No beating he could give me could be worse than the removal of my collar. Nothing could be worse.
i existed only to worship Him, serve Him, all of Him. His tats. His dick. His shithole. His feet. His pits. His Leathers. Only I know better than He what I am and why I am here why I was born the only why. He is my Universe.
He sets my foodbowl on the kitchen floor. I look up at Him for permission to eat the dogfood. His responds by pointing His dick at the other bowl, the empty bowl, and filling it with His piss. He nods at me, and I lower my face into the dogbowl and eat, and when I have finished I will lap His piss up with my tongue. I am His dog. I am His toilet. I am His and nothing more.
He had beaten me again after plowing out my hole. His hole. i have eaten, and He has bound me spreadeagled, and I stand and wait. He has tied off my balls and weighted them. He puts the heavy Leather strap to my face and again I kiss it and my ass throbs from the two beatings last night and then the fire burns deep into my aching purple butt as the strap falls heavily, forcefully, across it and again, He beats me, stroking His dick slowly with the other hand ...
The cat leaves burning trails across my back and ass. He has never beaten me this much, not nearly this much, in twenty-four hours, and I am pouring sweat from every pore in my body, both from the beating and from straining, forcing myself to endure it, to not say it, please dear god anything but that, don't let me break and say it, no god, don't let the collar leave my neck, and only in one way can I endure it, and through gritted teeth, gas- ping, shuddering, "please Sir, harder Sir, please beat me harder Sir, please Sir" and mumbling and He mutters and His dick drips as He strokes it, and He makes LeatherLove to my back and ass, harder, and I beg again, almost sobbing, "harder, Sir, oh jesus Sir, harder fuckohpleasedeargodSir, beat the hell outtamedeargod Sir HARDER!" and I scream ...
He holds me, caressing me, loving me, and I collapse into His thick tattooed arms and drink His strength, His gentleness, His power over me, and as He holds me I sob into His neck and I want more, more LeatherLove, more ManLove, and I break down, I beg i tell Him between sobs what I am, what I want more than anything and He leads me to the bed, comforting me, rubbing lotion into my back and ass and tells me He is mine and I am His forever as He slides His stiff, throbbing dick up my asshole and sinks it deep into my guts and I arch my shredded back and howl like a cat in heat as He fucks me ...
I float in the air held up by the sling as He shaves my balls. He is going to take me, make me His forever. The cold kiss of the straight razor makes my dick throb each time it scrapes, removing hair the hot wax did not. It has been two weeks since I have been allowed to cum, and never before have I been so horny so hot. He has teased me all the while, for two weeks bringing me almost to the point of shooting, then stopping. My balls are sore. They ache, they hurt, they are full of my last wads that have been collecting for two weeks. The cool antiseptic does nothing but make me hotter, make them hurt worse, and my dick is jerking as He wipes them off, and I see Him sharpening the knife and see it sparkle. He feels the edge, looks at it in the light and puts it in the solution and turns towards me. Then He does something He has never done before, and I jump. His lips wrap around my stiff dick and He begins to suck, slowly, deeply, and at the point when I feel it swelling He stops, holding it deep in His throat ... over and over again He does this, and I am sob- bing and begging Him to let me cum, and then He takes my hand and spits on it and directs it to my dick, tells me to jack slowly, not to cum until He gives me permission, and I stroke it as He turns away.
He has given me permission, and I start to moan as I feel the cum boiling in my balls and then in the base of my dick, and I start to groan like an animal as I begin to shoot, and then just as it begins to spew out the cold steel sears my bag and I am cumming cummingcumminghard like I have never before, and then I feelthe sharpache upinside my gutuptomylungs as I shriekfromthecummingand feelingthebloodwarmrunoutandtheicybladecutoutmyballs ...
I am His. I will wear His collar forever, as I will the scar of His knife ... I have no sex, no desire other than His dick, His balls, His asshole, His pits now. He leaves more permanent marks on me. I have several piercings in my dick and my bag, and I wear steel nuts. He has had me tattooed, had the last one put on my dick. He plans to eventually have my body completely covered. I am proud to wear His marks, proud to be His toilet, proud to let every man in the bar know I am his in whatever way he sees fit. I treasure every stroke from His belt, every caress from His hand, every taste of His sweat or piss or shit. I live no lies. I belong to Him, body mind and soul and His ownership, His hard-on, is my only happiness ...
i existed only to worship Him, serve Him, all of Him