FIFTEEN
Just to recount the last time I wrote: He requested that I be dressed when he came to me, and so I was. Nothing unusual about that. But when the door opened, and I realized who it was, I almost fainted from shock. Instead, I fell to the ground, fully dressed, and wrapped my arms around his legs and began sobbing.
In case you haven't already guessed, the guy who walked into my room that night was Clarence. The Clarence from of old. The Clarence who demonstrated Dom qualities even as a teenager. The Clarence who was the first to help me realize I was a submissive. The Clarence who once wanted me to give up everything I had and knew and just give myself to him as his total slave for the rest of my life.
The Clarence I failed to believe back then. The Clarence I never forgot. And damn, he looked better to me than when we were kids. He looked much younger than I, and he had obviously used a gym frequently although he wasn't a muscle-man. He looked clear and self-assured and more Alpha than ever before.
While I had my drama queen attack and sobbed at his feet, Clarence just stood there, quite still, and let me do what I needed to do. The next thing I remember was me on my knees, still completely dressed, rubbing my face into his long hard prick back and forth, up and down, and he began putting his fingers in my hair, the little that had started growing back in after the last time my head had been shaved.
Then I was naked, still kneeling. He'd pushed my legs farther apart so he could see my balls hanging. He lifted his foot and touched my balls with his boot, then gently knocking them back and forth, then tapping more and more until I started groaning from the pain in my gut. He put his foot down and then caressed my cheek with his hand, and the other cheek, and he held my chin in his hand and raised my head so I was looking up into his face. He let a large goblet of spit fall from his lips onto mine and, staring into his eyes, I licked his spit off my lips and then thanked him. I wasn't sure how to call him, so I just said, "thank you, . . Sir?"
"Master," he said to me.
"Master," I said, and lowered my head before him.
"I'll return soon," he said, and I was going to weep, sad to see him leave me so soon. "Be a good slave until I return. Practice surrendering to every superior who comes to use you. Be a slave to all. Do it in My honor, Denny."
He left. I got up onto the bed, curled up, and sobbed like a little boy. I've never done that before, but that is how much seeing Clarence again and being able to taste his spit . . . . I'd given up hope I'd ever see him again after we parted. No one has ever gotten so deep inside My psyche since he did. I would never cease yearning for him. No one else has ever helped me discover my true slave nature. And so, all of a sudden, there he was---no, there he IS, and he's promised to return. He told me to be a good slave and to practice surrendering. In a very real way, that helped influence my behavior, especially when I was serving a client I found distasteful for some reason.
I began to understand that the clients I found distasteful were the ones who had the most the teach me about being a true slave. Slaves like me are best broken and trained by distressing circumstances. I began to understand that better than ever before and so I forced myself to break through my own preferences and tastes and realize that I had no right to judge or assess anyone who used me, no matter how or why. As I made progress this way, I found a deeper sense of what I was and that brought me a strange peace even while being subjugated by the ones I would rather have refused to serve.
Barny was one of those superiors who liked making use of me. I don't know what it was about him, but the minute he walked into my room my mind was spinning faster than I could think and right away his fake superior way of acting did not help humble me but rather annoyed the shit out of me, and because of that I had to work very hard to surrender all my thoughts about him and simply obey whatever He ordered me to do.
He was about my age but He spoke to me as if I were a child. Of course, that's not necessarily a bad thing, but for some reason it was a real struggle to slip down into that role. He'd sit back and watch me strip naked as he directed me, then make me walk right up to him so he could touch me wherever he wanted—again not bad, usually, but he made me feel dirty when he touched me. So what? I'm a slave.
He'd take his own clothes off, boots and socks (didn't even want me to help) and pants and boring boxers. He'd leave his shirt on, just ordered me to my knees to blow him and he directed me all through the blow job how and where to move, how much pressure, blah, blah, blah. I was hoping he'd cum on my face and not in my mouth, but no such luck. "Go on, slut, drink me down. Let me become part of your bloodstream, let me even fuck your molecules." (He obviously had no idea what he was talking about.)
Once it was over, he made me leave the room, still naked, and go walk around until someone wanted me. Of course, the only place I could walk to was the lounge, and I usually didn't hang out there because everyone else was less than half my age and it was particularly humiliating for me to walk in there totally naked with signs of abuse evident on my old body. I always had to endure some derisive staring, but the worst humiliation of all was when one of the custodians would see me there and immediately rush me out of the room with slaps and blows and then push me into an empty room and order me to stay there and wait for the next client. Sometimes that took hours, and there was nothing in the room to help me pass the time.
One time they had apparently made an agreement about what they'd do to me if I went in there again. The first time since after they decided what to do with me, one of the studs walked up to me, grabbed hold of my balls and led me into a private room, shut the door and pushed me to my knees. He took full advantage of my mouth and throat—let me just say it like that. And he told me he liked hearing me gag. After he decided he'd had enough of me, he pulled out, helped me to my feet, and left the room. That was that. It's not often that I get to feel virile young cock in my mouth, so I considered this to be a red banner day for me, no matter how much my throat or nipples were hurting.
And so things continued the same as before. Sometimes days would go by with no one interested. Why want an old guy like me with so many hot twinks to enjoy? But some weeks I was surprised. 3, maybe even 4 during the week. I remember lots of outings with other guys, always me on some kind of electrical leash. And now they introduced office work. Stuff I could do easily and save them time. Usually 3-4 hours on days when no clients wanted my slaveboy services.
Also I'd get punished often. Some of the guys came there deliberate to humiliate and punish the old fag just for being a fag. They knew what they were doing . They played with my limits, but there were a couple clients who were brutal. Just brutal. More than once the management curtailed their activities. They were never allowed back. Once it took me a week to recover and that meant a loss of income for them.
Two, three weeks would go by sometimes and I'd get worried and frightened that Clarence would never return. He would continually reassure me that he'd always return. Once he lost patience when I had acted fearful and the entire time with him was spent with me over his knees while he thrashed me into the red zone . . . but he always seemed to know exactly when he had to lighten up . . . . . he played me like some kind of human zither . . . and he showed me that corporal punishment from someone who loved me was always more painful. . . . . yes, he used the L word . . . . while I was sobbing and crying out that I was sorry for what I'd done wrong. Yes, indeed. True punishment. And if you've ever been there, you know that there's a find line between punishment and brutality. Clarence knew how to walk that line without ever doing me any real damage.
After he left again, with promises to return!!!! . . . . I knew I would offer to take that kind of punishment all the time if only he decided to take me away from here and keep me to himself. And by the way, I'm well aware that he's getting me to think more and more like he wants me to. I couldn't help myself. All I kept hoping for was him to own me.
I mentioned this to my friend Linda one night and she started to laugh. "Why are you laughing?" I asked, a little put out by her reaction. "Because you fail to see the obvious, Denny. He already DOES OWN YOU. Right now. Ever since he first showed up here and spit on you. He owns you, honey, and this is the way he wants you to be living. Who the hell knows why? It's doesn't matter. A Master seldom shares what's on His mind with the slave He owns. He keeps telling you the same thing, sweetie: `Be a good slave. Practice surrendering.' That's what He wants you to be doing, right here, right now, with every person who walks through your door.
No, my dear Uncle Denny. What you're wishing for is for him to decide to keep you with him all the time and live with him. Hey! People own cars but they don't sleep with them. You're just a thing, baby. Just a thing. And He owns you. And apparently likes to share His property with others." OMG!!! She's so right. I can still wish to live with Him but what I wish doesn't matter. He already owns me. This is how He wants to own me. I have no say over that. Just like I have very little say over who comes to my room when I'm on duty (which is basically all the time because anytime they can make money on me they go for it).
And that very night young Harvey came by to make love to me and it really blew my mind. I'm practically being worshipped like a Dom and this is all part of my being a sub owned by Clarence, and he approves whatever is happening to me. Anyway, that turned out to be fun. And then Clarence showed up the very next night randy, and humiliation was His game that night.
If there were any way for me to just get under the floorboards under His feet, He would have found a way to drive me down there. I was sitting on the bed when He came into the room carrying a short whip. Right away I got on my knees before Him and He started lashing me, anywhere He could reach. I started trying to get away from His whip. He got furious because an enslaved slut like me should always be groveling to greet HHm that way. So he whipped me until I was groveling again. Then He ordered me to stay there groveling until he returned.
He came back forty-five minutes later and I could hardly move by then. He took care of me and waited until I was able to kneel up and suck his cock. "Learn exactly what it feels like to have my cock down your throat, boy. My cock down your throat because that's all you're good for any more. They should keep you caged up all the time. Keep working on my tool, slaveboy. Suck the precum out of me and swallow it down like the thirsty faggot you are. Drink the juices of the Dom you're in love with."
Yes. I realized that I'm still in love with this man's cock. I am in love with this man. Have always been, ever since high school. But now He is a true Master and a demanding one at that. There are already little welts all over my miserable body, and it's worth every bit of the pain to be with Him like this.
He cums and then pisses down my throat. He obviously saved it up for me for a long time. I don't think I've ever had to gulp down this much before.
And then He lay with me and kissed me. He didn't seem to mind that my mouth tasted like his piss. He took me in His arms and claimed me all over with His hands and I could hardly remember any other time I felt as good as I did that night in His arms with His fluids in my belly and the marks of His whip on my flesh. Oh, if only I could some day die in a state like that! In Clarence. With Clarence in me. In every possible way. I am the luckiest of all slaves, whores, pimps, pigs and gym boys alike.
@@@ back then . . .
That night when Sal thrashed the daylights out of me with all my father's friends looking on was actually the last time he ever thrashed me. I don't know what was going on with all of them but I do know that one of Sir's friends, a guy name Eddie, made a deal with him: they would swap sons when it came time to whip their asses. Sir was going to use a thick leather strap on Eddie's boy Frank. Eddie brought a large wooden spoon with him to my room. Not only did I get my ass beaten black and blue with that fucking spoon, but he also used it on my inner thighs and it took them the longest to clear up afterwards.
This was just as bad as what Sal did to me and the results were the same. Crying, screaming, cursing, begging for mercy, please, please, please stop, etc. None of it did any good until he decided I was definitely broken. All I can say is that it was a good thing y decided to leave Frank and me in our homes and they would come to us. They know we could never have walked back home after being beaten as severely as they beat us.
I mentioned the last time that once I flunked out of school. Since I had my days free, my father decided to rent out my services during the day as a houseboy or common laborer and he got several responses from men who are well-off with beautiful homes. I used to call them the "aristocrats" in my imagination. One of them had me spend the entire four hours polishing his silverware, and he inspected each piece and made me do some of them over. He counted twenty do-overs, and each would be punished with one lash of his strap.
Nothing formal. I just dropped my pants and bent over the back of a chair. If I let go, that lash wouldn't count. Damn did his strap hurt! By 20 I was screaming out. I think he enjoyed the sound of that. I hope I never have to go back there again. What, I wonder, would happen to me if I begged him not to send me there again? I decided to risk it when I'd just gotten a beating. Might be safer that way.
So when I got home, Dad wanted me to show him my ass, and while I was pulling up my pants I respectfully asked him if I would be allowed to ask not to be sent back to a particular situation. "Which one?" I asked him. I told him. He said that was fine. I'd never have to go back there. Fortunately, I just had to give a neighbor a blow job that night, and I know I really got into it more after a good thrashing, so the neighbor praised me for being "such a talented cocksucker." They should have given me a medal. The men who had seen me get thrashed by Sal played poker once a week. They worked it out with Sir that I'd go there, strip naked and crawl under the table so suck all four of them, each one a couple minutes at a time then move to the next guy and all around the table all night until they all got to cum. They promised they weren't going to hit me, but Sir let a guy come over and take his strap to my ass the night before the poker party to make sure I'd be truly submissive when they made me suck them all off. Once I was there, they saw my welted-up ass when I stripped but didn't think anything of it.
"Guess a boy like you gets whipped a lot," one of them said, but I didn't answer. "The kid's like a brothel slave now," said another poker player. I'd never thought of myself that way, but after he said it I realized that he was right; that's what I'd become. No other life other than serving men who paid my father to use me. And needless to say, those four guys got everything they wanted from me and they even let me cum while they watched. That was before someone suggested to my father that my dick get locked up for longer and longer periods of time.
My father eventually fell out of favor politically and also began to have some trouble with finances. I never knew what was going on until I'd been sent to a guy who lived up a hill and his house was like an art museum. He was only about 40, so double my age, and he was awesome, inside and out. Before he even had me strip, he had me sit in an alcove with him and we both had a glass of wine and he had me smoke a joint. So far, so good. He started speaking to me.
"So this is what I've been told about you, Denny. You're 20 years old, almost 21. Your father has trained you to be a submissive slut. (Not entirely correct, but I decided not to correct anything he said. Let him think whatever he wants to think.) You are an excellent cocksucker and recover quickly from gagging and choking. You are trained to endure breath control and also rough treatment of your nipples and balls.. You have been trained to serve as a domestic and you will serve me that way. You will also serve as my urinal. Finally, I may strike you at will in any way for any reason, even simply for my own enjoyment."
He looks right into my eyes and his are like spears. I lower my eyes and nod.
"Well, that's quite an exhaustive resume, boy. Inspiring as well. So now I want you to stand in front of me, and keeping your eyes locked on mine, I want to watch you remove everything you're wearing and stand before me totally naked. You may simply kick your clothing to the side. It will be cleaned and returned to you when I decide to release you from my control. Incidentally, I've leased you for an indeterminate amount of time.
"I travel a lot and I will bring you with me. You will be confined to my quarters wherever I bring you. I will also share you with others from time to time."
He was good to his word, dammit. We took a number of long train rides in sleeper cars. He loved to be balls-ass deep inside me as the train made its way over sometimes rickety tracks, letting the rhythm of the train bring him to orgasm. I in turn sometime found myself ejaculating as I lay hard upon the usually hard mattress. I had absolutely no freedom at all. The very first time I stood naked before him, he brought me inside where he could have me locked in collar, chains and manacles wherever he brought me.
He'd dine with friends and leave me bound in his room. He'd bring me some things to eat out of their leftovers. Instead of a "doggy bag" he brought a "slaveboy bag" to his room and I hungrily dug into it eating whatever scraps he had brought me. More and more I felt like some kind of chained bear, except I was never brought out to entertain anybody. Well, a few times, I was blindfolded and made to blow business associates of his and once an acquaintance of his fucked me and deliberately made it painful. He told the aristocrat that he actually wanted to rape me, and that's how it was arranged. Fortunately that was only once.
Major Tim, what I was supposed to call him, let me go two nights without getting fucked after he saw the state of my ass after the "rapist" got done with me.
We travelled by limo from station to lodgings, always as posh as possible. I was bound there as well, but was given exquisite food and as many books to read that I could manage. Often, however, my "services" were required by those who were given access to me. So basically, I was still a brothel slave, only in a financially lucrative brothel. I sucked and licked cocks and balls, feet and asses and sometimes even armpits.
Major Tim decided that he alone would fuck me after that first mishap, and that was a relief. Nonetheless, when we were in a scene he treated me like the lowest possible slimeball in the world. He constantly had me crawling and groveling, licking up spit and cum and piss, beating me with his bare hands frequently and anywhere on my body that wasn't already despoiled. He loved to have other men watch me drink his piss, although fortunately it was mostly only his piss. Things could have been so much worse, I know.
The worst thing I had to deal with, really, was the frustration and resentment because we took excursions to several American cities but I never saw anything that I couldn't see from the windows of the limos that took me from one place to another the entire time we travelled. When we'd get to a new destination, I felt like I was simply one of his belongings that had to be unpacked and put away—or, I should say, locked away.
I learned to prefer being at home rather than traveling because Major Tim was completely different towards me when we were home. In his own way he really cared about me. He straightened out the mess that was my academic life and even paid for me to take a couple courses in the local college. He told me that if I proved myself both in the classroom and in the dungeon, he would see to it that I eventually graduated from college and got set off on a career, although I would most likely still remain a slave.
He told me that as soon as I could support myself, he'd set me free. And that is what happened. Before he helped me move into my new residence as a free man he helped me understand that he had trained me to become the type of slave that any Master would consider owning full-time. Now, he said, I had to learn to live all my life as the submissive slut slave I was meant to be. Again he emphasized the words that frightened me: full-time. And he told me that I was to attend one of the bdsm clubs every other night from then on. @@@
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Here are the other stories I have posted, with the dates where you can find them:
The first five should be read in order:
The Alex Chronicles 9/25/2022 Sweet Subjugation 1/15/2023 Brandon's Bosses 4/3/2023 Brandon's Brothers 5/19/2023 Total Subjugation 5/25/2023
These stories are stand-alone
Tommy Loves His Sub 8/17/2023 Training Toby 12/31/2023 Breaking Me In 03/10/2024