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When Master Calls 7
There's a thrill, a tension almost like a hint of cool air on the back of my neck as i anticipate what may happen; on Master's cold tiled floor i am prostrate, my aim is to be at one with the floor, more than prostrate if that is possible, i need to show Master how far i can go to render myself as His, surrender my selfhood and become an extension of His world so i press my body into the hard tiles: my sweat; the moisture condensing from my breath; and my precum are all almost indistinguishable beneath me, they are the evidence of my bodily and mental desire as i writhe and twist in front of His feet, snakelike, approaching slowly but never daring to lift any part of myself. Hands and arms are stretched forward, palms flat, my head sideways, one ear on the ground almost dragging as i press down and slither forward; my hard-on is making every move painful and awkward but i dare not move to re-arrange what is between my legs; in Master's presence i have no right to touch these parts of my body -- a body which i gift to him today, His body. My obedience must be complete. I sense that Master is texting or using His phone to look at pictures, the knowledge that He may not even be watching my movements as i gradually advance is of no consequence. I am obeying His will, which is all that matters.
When Master called earlier today i was thrilled to be told i would be doing slave service; as soon as i had stripped i was put to re-arranging boxes, putting away groceries, tidying his house while He sometimes supervised, flicking the riding crop sharply across my bare buttocks, other times He ignored me completely, allowing me to relish the joy of pure service, knowing i was making His life easier. Suddenly my contemplation was over and i could hear Him on the phone, joking with a friend, "Yea, he's in the kitchen now, hang on I'll do a Whatsapp video call and show you, here, how's that for pathetic? Look at his little dick bouncing around. Oi! turn around and give my mate a laugh, smile and waggle your little willy!" No doubt his mate had already got an eyeful of the welts across my arse cheeks and my face flushed bright red, i'm sure, as i turned to face Master's phone. Now, my dick is not tiny but Master likes to remind me that compared with his real man's cock it is of no consequence. With the embarrassment and the stress of being asked to perform, it now seemed to have shrunk, hardly long enough to wave about or waggle at all. I was so humiliated when i heard his mate ask where it was as he couldn't even see it; this of course led to a loud guffaw of laughter from Master as i cringed, squirmed, felt my legs go weak and my head sink into my neck with hot, prickling shame. "O.K. You'll finish the work later, follow me into the living room but don't raise yourself above the floor boy. I want you to show me how well you understand your status." Thank goodness the phone call was over!
And so i continue to approach, slithering as best i can, hoping my show of obeisance is pleasing to Him. And my dick (or little willy as i must call it in His presence) is rock hard beneath me! Once i have reached the sofa i notice that Master has undressed; a pair of light blue boxer-briefs lies just by my right hand and it is an unbearable temptation not to reach out for them, i surreptitiously shimmy my body slightly more to the right in the hope of catching their scent, that wonderful musky mansmell drawn from day long closeness to His cock and balls. But Master notices, He knows my weaknesses! Flicking them up with a quick movement He drops them on my head. He's obviously in a playful mood and i quickly jerk my head like a dog trying to catch a treat in an attempt to get the crotch as near my face as possible, if only i can. To breathe through that fabric, to be where His cock and balls were only minutes before, to sense the man-sweat and cock-smell in that soft cotton and to have my breath filtered through it excites me almost to the point of cumming. With His briefs still on my face i am to answer a series of questions. This is a little ritual which Master sometimes uses to re-inforce the difference between U/us. To answer i am allowed to kneel up with hands behind my neck, His boxer-briefs almost comically flutter with my breath as i offer my answers, hidden behind them. It goes as follows:
"Why are you here boy?" "To serve You Master." "How have you tried to serve me well today?" "By obeying your every word Sir. By performing my tasks quickly and with joy; by accepting Your corrections and pain with gratitude." "But I didn't hear you thank me." Fuck! I had forgotten to thank Him when he thrashed me with the crop! Master is so calm and reasonable in His criticism and it sends me into a frenzy of anxiety and remorse, i can barely get my words out correctly. "I am so sorry Sir, i thought, sorry i... i thought i had ... but please forgive me mmMASTER" My words trip out any old way but before i can finish i sense that Master is off of the sofa and is behind me. An almighty thwack crashes across my arse and before i can gather any self-control i have screamed aloud at the shock and sting of it. Five more follow in record fast time so i am now reeling on the floor. Through my sobs i do what i know i must: i show Him my profound gratitude. "Master, thank You for correcting me, i am so sorry, please forgive me Master, sometimes i fuck up and need your guidance. Thank You for all Your attentions Master, i am so unworthy and seek only to serve You better. Please Master help me to serve you better and to realise my true place at Your feet." The briefs are now on the floor. I am next to them on my side, my legs drawn up beneath me but hands quickly placed back behind my head. Master reaches down and pushes two fingers into my mouth and I suck on them, so grateful for the sweetness of this gesture, I suck greedily, licking their full length, concentrating on the action as a means of taking focus off my burning arse. As soon as He withdraws His fingers with His other hand He puts the riding crop on the briefs and i immediately know what i must do. Gingerly i lean to the side and kiss the crop, the instrument of my correction and an instrument of Master's pleasure. As i do so the sour musky man smell of Master's briefs is my reward. Master can be so gentle at times like this, He often says that i live for the times He gives me comfort after correcting me, and maybe He is right. Of course He is right! I should never doubt His wisdom.
It is late now and Master sends His dogs outside to piss. When they are done He points to the back door and sends me out too. The yard light is on and i am acutely embarrassed but i want so much to please Him. In a pathetic attempt to imitate His dogs i scamper to the far wall on all fours, raise my left leg at the knee and try to piss. At first it's a paltry dribble but eventually i manage and crimson with embarrassment come back inside where Master pats my head and calls me a good boy. For once i am allowed in Master's bed and soon am greedily licking His armpits in thanks for this privilege, completely absorbed in His sweat and masculine odours. He flicks me over and i feel His weight on my back, His skin hot and sweaty, slick over my flesh, slipping and covering me - now i know why mares are said to be covered by stallions; soon He's fucking me, His breath hot on my neck, His hands grasping my nipples, balls everywhere and His seed is all i can think of as i wait to sense its pulse inside the condom. My service will be done until Master next calls.