CHAPTER SIX
And then I wait. Finally, a man comes in and takes the other seat. What the fuck is going on now? This guy even has a cowboy hat on and I can see some of his blonde hair is sneaking out from underneath it. I drink in the beauty of his shining blue eyes and all of a sudden I realize that for the first time in a long time, I'm getting pleasure not from pain or humiliation but rather from the clean pure experience of enjoying something--someone beautiful for its own sake. The hat, the hair, the eyes . . . and the smile.
He smiles at me and begins to speak. "I know that you were given a name by the men who were trying to break you, but it's not a name I want to use. Just for now, while we're sitting here talking, I'll call you by your real name. Terry."
"Now tell me, Terry, So what are i doing here? And why are you chained to the chair? You're chained to the chair because that's the way those Masters wanted it to be. They wanted to make sure you realized that the only reason you'd ever be able to move your hands freely was because they allowed you that freedom for brief periods of time. They wanted to strip you of every notion of personal freedom you ever had. They wanted to keep you bound and imprisoned for the rest of your life, a life which would not last longer than another ten years at the most..
"They wanted you stripped of every trace of personhood. They were determined to turn you into nothing but an object, and then put you and your story on display for other men to enjoy, men who would get off on extreme tales of violent and humiliating subjugation." I sit there horror-stricken. I struggle to get my hands free but then just collapse back in my seat.
"Terry, you are one lucky son of a bitch, boy. For some reason, they decided you weren't a suitable subject. There was something about the way you were reacting to what was happening to you that they found disappointing for some unexplainable reason. Thornton put you to the test himself and, despite how absolutely miserable you ended up, he was simply not satisfied.
"There is no need for us to explore why you failed his test other to say that by failing his test you saved your life. To put it bluntly, Terry, you dodged a bullet, boy. Normally you would have been turned over to the men who would film you in agony so that others could enjoy seeing your demise.
"Did you know there are men like that, Terry? Men who can only have an orgasm by viewing video clips of boys such as yourself tortured and beaten until all you could do was cry and scream and sob, men who would shoot their loads over themselves while taking pleasure at the sight of your youthful face covered in tears and snot because you are beginning to realized that there is no hope of your ever being set free from the nightmare in which you found yourself. They get off seeing pain and fear and utter hopelessness in the eyes of a young fellow such as yourself once you realize that you are trapped and will never be released, never be rescued, that you will never ever to return to the ordinary life of a happy-go-lucky college lad such as you were when the biggest problem you ever had to face was whether or not you'd be able to pass the quiz you have to take tomorrow.
"You may have seen some video clips on sites such as the one that a certain despicable billionaire has taken over, but the subjects in those clips are all highly paid actors, and when the action is cut and the tears are dried, they go back to their ordinary lives somewhat richer for the pain they willingly endured. All of that is THEATER, Terry. It might very well turn out that you would actually enjoy participating in scenes like that somewhere down the road, and that will be your decision, your choice.
"What I'm talking to you about was of a different order entirely, a much darker order, something depraved and sick and demonic. That's what you were "auditioning" for, even though you couldn't possibly realize what was going on. But, like I said, you were spared all that and they were disappointed that you were not a suitable subject.
"Terry, they were hoping to see the look come over your eyes when you finally realized that life as you knew it was now over. Not only that, but when and if they decided they had all of you they wanted, they'd just turn you over to be delivered somewhere on the other side of the globe to work you in terrible heat under the lash until you finally would give up and die, most like long before you would ever turn thirty years old. You failed their test, Terry. And in failing their test, you saved your life. "Instead, Terry, you were delivered here to us, and while you were on your way here we met to decide which one of us would be interested in taking charge of you and possibly end up becoming your Master, you benevolent Master. I assume you know the meaning of the word "benevolent," son, correct?"
I nod my head even though my mind is still blown by all the things he's telling me. As for what will happen to you now, that is for me and you to determine. Right now you're still bound because you're the type of young sub who takes pleasure in being bound—which, by the way, is one of the reasons you disqualified yourself when they were testing you. You see, the fact that you've been put together in such a way that you actually enjoy the safe and cleaner bits of BDSM as much as you do actually disappointed those perverts. You see, Terry, they have nothing but disdain for those of us who live under the code of "safe, sane and consensual." They saw you struggling to consent to what was happening to you, and the more you succeeded in consenting, the more you turned them off."
"And so, Terry, this is what's going to happen to you now before I set you free and leave you to determine what will happen next. I am interested in claiming you for myself, temporarily, and begin to train you to become my slave. Soon you'll be set free, bathed, dressed, given something to eat and allowed to rest. But before that happens, there are some things I have planned as, let's say, your introduction to what it will be like to become the slave of yours truly, usually known as Cowboy Gabriel."
I will call you "sport." That will be your name for as long as I own you. But now I have an important question for you, boy. They've told me everything that's been happening to you since Rusty cuffed you. It's been quite an adventure, to say the least. Not only that, but at this point you're having a hard time trying to figure out if all this is for real or if it's just part of a well-constructed fantasy experience. But, Sport, you're not asking yourself the most important question of all."
He leans forward across the desk, looks right into my eyes, and slowly, word by word, asks me another questions: "Have you been enjoying yourself? Truly enjoying yourself?"
He sits back in his seat. "That is the most important, most essential question, Sport. In fact, as far as I'm concerned, it's a hard and fast rule, the first rule of all, the most important rule: Make sure the sub is enjoying himself. That's the hidden meaning of the word `consensual,' Sport. Not about you being turned on, or obedient, or a good boy, or a broken sub or slave. It's about you having a good time being trained as a slave. It's about you finding out your true destiny,. It's about you knowing who you are, what you are, and what makes the world go round for you, Sport.
"Are you having a good time, sitting here naked and bound, and needing to piss so much that you're afraid you're going to just piss yourself right there in your seat. It this right for you? Forget everything else that's happened so far tonight, Sport. Just focus on what's going on right now, you being bound and displayed before me, listening to what I'm telling you, listening to the way I'm talking to you and, I suspect, feeling quite attracted to the man sitting across to you trying to teach you something. Is this good for you, Sport? Are you having a good time right here, right now, with me—not with what they did to you but just now, here, sitting bound in that chair wile I'm gazing on your naked shaved body knowing full well just how desperately you have to piss. NOW, Sport, now. Are you enjoying yourself WITH ME, sport?
My mind is spinning as he just caused me to relive everything that's happened and I realize that somewhere along the way my freedom to assess the situation and decide whether or not I wish to choose it was taken away from me. Somehow I had become totally depersonalized. And I fucking hated it.
"What is it? Sport. By the way, this is a safe space for you. No one will punish you for anything you have to say to me. So what is it, boy? What just stirred you?"
"I . . . I couldn't . . . . I couldn't choose . . . it didn't matter any more . . . "
"to you or to them, Sport?"
"to them. Everything was to them, nothing to me. I was a specimen, an object, a thing."
"And things can't choose anything, can they? This table can't choose not to be a table, and when you were being inspected on that platform by well-dressed men who delighted in finding ways to humiliate you, could you choose to get down off that table and walk out of that room?" "I was wondering if I could, to tell the truth."
"And what did you decide?"
"I . . I . . . I dunno. I just forgot about it. Well, maybe I did choose: I chose to go through whatever they wanted to do to me. I wanted all of it."
"When did you stop wanting it, Sport? When did you hate what was happening but knew you were completely trapped and you did what you were told because you knew that if you didn't, you would be beaten far more than you have even experienced before, that it would be absolutely horrible."
Tears are in my eyes now. I knew the answer, and it was too awful to say to him.
"Come on, Sport. Tell me what you discovered. When did it get to the point where all you could do was obey no matter how awful it might have seemed? Tell me, Sport. Come on, boy. It will be so good for you to be able to tell me." He sits back and w aits. All of a sudden I realize something. There is something benevolent about this man. He's not like the others. Fuck, since Rusty first came over to me until right now, I've been under the power of men who are essentially malevolent, men who would take great pleasure in breaking me and destroying my will to resist by threatening, punishing and intimidating me.
"I was . . . when . . . he made me pick up the pen off the filthy floor with my teeth."
"Very good. You're doing fine, Sport. And what was going through your mind at the time?"
"That . . it was absolutely disgusting what he was making me do and how much I hated it."
"So why didn't you just refuse?"
"I couldn't."
"Why not?"
"Because I really believed and feared that if I refused he'd beat me so badly that I'd probably end up in some hospital emergency room somewhere."
"Were you enjoying yourself, Sport?"
"No, I wasn't."
"How about now? Are you enjoying yourself?"
"I guess . . . this is very interesting . . . . I like what you're saying, how you're talking to me."
"What else do you like about what's happening right now?"
I'm embarrassed to say this, but after all, being embarrassed is part of what I fucking enjoy: "I like that you're so good looking. . . . . . . . I like you seeing me naked . . . . . and shaved . . . . . . . . .i like being bound, that I can't get away . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . but I feel safe."
"I'm glad you feel safe. I want you to always feel safe, no matter what's happening. Do you hear what I'm telling you, Sport? Safe. Sane. Consensual."
I'm so tired. Tired of trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. "so let me tell you a few things about myself. First of all, my name is Gabriel. You've been given to me after some complex negotiations, let's just leave it at that. So anyway, I'm a trainer. I train boys like you to find what it is that will make you happy as a bdsm slave under the rule of a Master. For that reason, you may call me Master when and if it feels right for you to do so. Otherwise, Sir or even Gabriel will suffice until I tell you differently."
I feel so relieved. Wow. All of a sudden, the knot of fear in my gut is coming apart. "You're suggesting that it's possible to be "happy" as a slave. That's what I always thought would be possible. That's what I was looking for."
"I'm not merely suggesting that, Sport. I'm promising it. You'll be spending some time with a group of other boys such as yourself who've discovered what you're hoping to find. It's not just a fantasy or a daydream, I assure you."
"Please."
Gabriel smiles at me with that sweet smile I'm already beginning to love. "Yes?"
"Yes, Sir, yes, please, please show me, please train me, Gabriel. Please?" Tears of desperation are flowing down my face.
"Those tears are a good sign, Sport, a very good sign. They tell me you are feeling safe enough to start letting go. Good for you, Sport. You're a good boy. Let the tears flow. Let everything flow."
I know what he's getting at, but it's been so hard to even try to piss like this. I look into his eyes.
"Yes, boy. Let loose. Let me watch you piss yourself. Would you do that for me, Sport? Would you piss yourself for me, Terry?"
He said my name! He's talking to me---to me, Terry, not to some made up name. He did that for me—I can do anything for him. And all of a sudden, it starts. The piss. I'm letting go and emptying myself out and I can smell it already. Meanwhile he stands up and walks over to watch me more closely as I piss myself. At one point he even has to step back because my piss is running on the floor now and he almost steps in it.
"Why are you pissing yourself, Terry?"
"Because you asked me to, Gabriel, and I wanted to do it to please you."
"You are pleasing me, boy. Very much. You're being a good boy for me, already. I like seeing a slave willing to sit in its own piss just to please me. I'm am pleased. I've decided to take possession of you now." And with that he opens his fly and takes out his awesome-looking cock. I move my head to try to get my mouth around it but he says, "No. Not now. I'm just marking you as mine." And he begins to piss on me, mainly my chest and groin, up to my neck once but no farther than that. I'm relieved that's where he stopped.
If he wanted to piss in my mouth I would have let him but I'm relieved that I didn't have to do that yet. I realize that it's inevitable, but it's not something I'm looking forward to.
But then things change, and quickly. He calls out "come." Four naked boys, all about my age, that is, legal, come in. Each wears a mask and each is holding something in his mouth. They bring in towels and buckets, things like that. One of them dumps an entire bucket over my head and the warm soapy waters wash me down at least partly. A second bucket comes and this one is clear. One gestures for me to close my eyes, so I don't get soap in them. As soon as that's poured over me, they wipe my face dry so I can open my eyes again.
Three of the boys are down on the floor with the towels, cleaning up all the piss. The other one unlocks my manacles and I'm able to take my bare wrists up and massage each of them a bit. He helps me stand and turn around. The boys wash my backside.
Through all this, Gabriel is back in his seat watching the entire operation. "Isn't it nice to see eager, happy slaveboys at work and not complaining that all they're doing is cleaning up piss. Don't worry, Sport, these boys have learned to be very comfortable around piss, as you will in time. The gags in their mouths are penis gags but the penis is only about three inches. This prevents them from accidentally speaking when they're at work unless their Masters wish to have access to their mouths. Notice also, Sport, that these slaves are shaved bare the same way you are and that their dicks are locked into chastity devices. You'll get yours before I put you to bed, and that will be in just a little while, Sport, I promise."
Their job being done, the slaves leave. I have so many questions about them and about what kind of a place this is, but I'm holding my tongue. Wouldn't want to have to wear one of those gags so soon. As for getting my dick locked up, I knew that was coming. Most subs say it's not hard to get used to, so I'm hoping it won't be too bad except for the idea that I can't pleasure myself any longer. Fuck. That's no surprise either.
I'm standing there wondering what will happen next. "Let's go now. I want to bed you down for the night and let you have a good long sleep." He opens the door and walks out. I follow quickly. Once we're out of the building there's a black limo waiting at the door. "Open the door for me then let yourself in as well and shut it."
And so, a new chapter begins, and for the first time since Rusty put those handcuffs on me, I'm not feeling any fear. No, not at all. I'm filled with joy because I realize that Gabriel will be taking care of me now, and that he has already told me how much I'm pleasing him. Benevolent. A new all-important word for me.
And this is the end of this story. Terry's new life will be told in my next story, "Cowboy Gabriel's Sport"
Stay tuned.
Meanwhile, why not drop me a line and let me know what you think of how this story ended.
I also have a pic of Gabriel if you'd like to see it. Write me at subkodak25@gmail.com
A list of all my stories is available on Nifty's Author page.
Take care, everyone! thanks for reading.