The usual disclaimers apply. This is a work of fiction, and those folks who are prevented from reading such fictional works either by age, by moral preference, or by law should not read any further.
All of the characters presented here are fictional representations, including the narrator. The presentation here of events and characters in no way is meant to portray actual, historical persons and events. It's just a story.
All stunts were performed by professionals. Do not attempt these at home. This story is intended simply as a way of exploring, in the safe boundaries of a fictional narrative, some of the implications of an "authoritarian" lifestyle.
Since this is a work of fiction, it is a work of the imagination. I do not necessarily condone the actions and decisions made by the characters in the story. This is written for entertainment purposes only.
If anyone is offended by the premise of the story, or by explicit sexual acts, please do not read any further. Why, indeed, have you read this far?
You Obey Me
by eddy riha
Chapter 1: The Inspection
It is late afternoon on Friday. You arrive early at the mall, wearing exactly what I instructed you to wear: running shorts, tanktop, Converse hightops. No underwear, no socks. No watch, no wallet, no keys. For this weekend, you will become something else, someone else. You will become what I want you to become-and only that.
You are standing near the movie theater entrance, leaning slightly against the wall. Your small but desirable package makes a slight bulge against the front of your shorts, but no one notices except for me. I stand a few minutes out of your line of sight, admiring your youthful form. Your shoulder-length blond hair. Your generally athletic frame. Your thin fingers. Your dark hair, your brown eyes looking everywhere for me.
I let you wait a few minutes past the meeting time. Your don't seem too worried. If I don't show, you would be partly relieved, because you don't know what exactly I will demand from you. But I do show up, taking you by the arm without saying a word. I hand the two tickets to the young man at the entrance, and we go into the theater. Up to the back row. There are few people in the theater for the 2:30 showing. It doesn't matter much which movie is on the screen, because you won't do much watching.
We climb the stairs to the back row, at the very top. Since it is still a matinee showing, there are relatively few people here, none in the back. We sit in silence until the lights dim and the previews begin. Then I touch your arm, motion slightly. You understand what I mean, and you lean up a little and slide your shorts down. I explore with my hand, touching your cock, balls, butt. There is no hair, as I instructed. You easily become erect and remain that way-a good sign.
Then I tug at the elastic of the shorts, a clear indication that you should remove them completely. I do the same with the tanktop. You obey me because you know the consequences if you do not. In a moment you are naked, your clothes and sneakers on the seat on the other side of me. I can see your hands trembling as they hold the armrests. You are not sure what I want from you, and you know that we are in a public place. Yet public humiliation, or even the threat of it, is part of obedience.
I guide you off the seat and into the space between me and the seatbacks in front of us. You kneel in obedience to my gentle pressure, your face toward my lap. I undo my belt, and you understand, taking no time at all to unzip my pants, pull them down, and begin to nuzzle me with your cheek. I enjoy the warmth of your skin, and I let you caress me that way for a few minutes. Then I guide myself toward your mouth, which you open.
Your tongue slides along underneath the head of my cock, moistening gently and you taste me for the first time. You have a soft, wet, comfortable tongue. I feel the trembling in your tongue as you hesitate for a moment. I slap you gently on the side of your head to remind you of your duty: to obey your master without question. So you immediately slide your tongue further down my cock and take all of me into your mouth. My cock slides to the back of your mouth and into your throat. You begin to gag, but another slap on your head reminds you to fight against that reflex. You rest my cock in your mouth until it becomes a completely natural feeling to have your master's cock in your mouth.
Then, to your disappointment, I remove my cock from your mouth. At my suggestion, you crouch on the floor while I examine your ass. I slip on a latex glove because the last thing I want is to walk around the mall with my fingers smelling of slave ass. The glove is smooth and cool to the touch when a forefinger rubs around your sphincter. As instructed, your boypussy is already lubed, ready for my service at any time. Your ass is tight. It's clear you haven't seen much action, but the way you lift your ass to meet my fingers suggests strongly that you want your ass to be filled by me. I insert one finger and probe inside, making sure that you have cleaned yourself before entering my service for the weekend. I extract the finger, and it is clean, with nothing but lube on the latex. I insert two fingers, then three, watching your discomfort gradually grow as I violate your ass as you crouch head down on the sticky theatre floor. Satisfied with what I've seen, I insert a wide buttplug, intended to train you to deal with the width you'll encounter when I fuck your ass later.
Then I instruct you to lie across the seats so your chest and waist are directly in front of me. Your body is free of hair, as per my instructions, and as I run my fingers across your smooth chest, you tremble slightly with delight and anticipation. Under my touch, your body is an instrument, ready to be finely tuned and prepared to play the melody of my choosing. You have perfect flawless skin, tanned darker from the sun in the chest, arms, and legs than in the pubic region, but that too will change: I prefer my slaves to be one-toned, an equal amount of tan everywhere.
Your pits are hairless and clean. They smell a little of your musk, but on a warm summer's day, that is to be expected. You have a pleasant, masculine smell, and I am immediately aroused by it. But I do not let you know that fact.
I twist each nipple in turn, watching your face, as you feel the sharp pain. But though your eyes close and your face clenches tight, you do not cry out. Good. I apply a clamp to each nipple, then run my fingers across your firm, hairless abs. Nice.
Finally, I turn my attention to your cock, which is erect in anticipation. You are leaking some precum, but I ignore it. I clamp my hand around your cock and feel its strength. A nice, firm slave's cock, one that will accept anything I care to demand from it. I squeeze hard, and though you wince a little, you do not cry out. Good. The pain does not override your willingness to submit. That is a definite mark in your favor.
"When is the last time you masturbated?" I asked in a quiet voice.
"Last week. Not since you ordered me not to, sir." You respond equally quietly.
"Good slave," I said, slapping your cock lightly with the back of my hand. Then I slip a cockring around the base of the shaft, intended to keep you erect until further notice and to indicate to anyone who sees you on our way out that you are a possession, under control. Then I have you squat on the floor, put on your tanktop and running shorts, then your sneakers. Anyone who looks closely will see the clips under the shirt, the plug in your ass, the erect cock tenting the shorts. But humiliation is part of a slave's life, and if you want to serve me, you must be willing to go the whole way. I do not accept any halfhearted slaves under my control. You have not resisted or rejected anything I have commanded, even though we were in a public place, and even though you could have stood up and walked away at any point in the process. That's why I like to do a new slave's inspection in a place like the back of a largely empty movie theatre, as that kind of venue will allow a hesitant or an unwilling prospective slave the opportunity to leave, no harm done. I never bring any slave home who has not made it perfectly clear that he is committed to the entire process.
When the movie finishes and the theatre lights come on, I turn to you and say, "If you are committed to becoming my slave, then follow twenty feet behind me. I will lead you to my car, you will get in, you will strap on the seatbelt, and you will be from that moment forward my slave until I decide differently.
"If you have any doubts or hesitation, then you will go to the nearest men's room, go to the stall at the far end, enter, and remove the clips, ring, and plug, placing them behind the toilet, where I can retrieve them later. If you choose not to be my slave, then I wish you a good life. You will never hear from me again.
"However, if you do follow me out to the car, you are committing yourself to become my slave, to obey everything I command, to accept any punishment for your disobedience, and to do all of it without resistance or question. Is that clear?"
You say, "Yes, sir."
Without any delay, I begin walking down the aisle and out the theatre. I do not turn my head or look in your direction, but continue heading through the mall and out into the parking lot. When I place my key into the lock on the driver's side door, I see you standing on the other side, waiting to be let in.
Without a word, I unlock my door, then reach across and unlock the passenger side door. You sit down on the bucket seat, strap yourself in, and remain quiet, your eyes toward the erection in your lap, your hands on your knees.
"Good slave," I said. I reached into the glove compartment and pulled out some folded papers. "Sign these," You open the papers and see that it is a standard legal slave contract. You take the pen I hand you and sign at the bottom of each page. Then I place the papers back in the glove compartment, where I will retrieve them later and place them in my safe.
Without any further speech, I start the car and drive awhile. You remain looking at your lap. Good. You have begun your life as a slave by showing submission to your new master. That is another positive sign.
We arrive at the destination. I pull up to the curb, and unlatch your seat belt. "Go inside," I said, "and tell him that Eddy sent you. He will know what that means."
Without question, you open the car door, cross the sidewalk and enter the glass door. In a few minutes, you return, your hand involuntarily over your mouth. You open the car door and sit down, strapping yourself in again.
"Let me see," I said, and you open your mouth. A new silver ball stud stands in the center of your tongue. The tongue looks a little sore, as it usually does with a new piercing, but you don't seem to be in any pain.
"Good slave," I said, then I kissed you, working my tongue in to feel the new stud in your mouth. Definitely an improvement. Your kissing is good, slave, but the stud makes your kissing fiercer and more passionate.
I start the car again, and you look down at your lap, your hand occasionally coming up to your mouth. But you do not open your mouth, and you do not play with the stud against your teeth. One of the most annoying things is a slave running his tongue stud against his teeth. It is such an annoying noise, and it shows complete disrespect of the master.
We arrive at my house, and I pull the car up to the side door. On the other side of the driveway is a thick hedge through which my neighbors cannot see, and from where I've parked anyone passing out front cannot see you exit the car. I open my door, step out, and walk around to the passenger side. I open the door, say, "Unbuckle yourself," and you undo the seatbelt. Then you step out of the car and face me, though your eyes, still turned toward the ground, do not meet mine.
"Strip," I said. "No slaves may wear any clothing in my house."
You hesitate a moment, since we are outside. I slap your face. "Did you not hear me, slave?" I demand.
"I heard you, sir."
"Then why are you not naked, slave?"
You immediately begin shucking off your tanktop, your shorts, and your running shoes. I extend my hand, and you pick them up and give them to me. I walk over to the trash can and dump them in, a further sign that you belong to me.
I come back to you and take a good look at you, your body in submission to me, awaiting whatever I choose. Your cock is at full attention, your ass is filled with my buttplug, your nipples are clipped, and your tongue has a new stud through it. You have given yourself completely to me. And I accept that gift. Now you belong entirely to me, a free and welcome gift of yourself.
So from now on, I will no longer refer to you as "you." You are now my slave, my possession. As I open the side door to the house and the slave follows me in, everything he was ceases to be. Slave now becomes everything I choose him to be.