Comments will be gladly received by white_collar@hotmal.com Note: Any resemblance to real people is strictly coincidental. No real people are depicted in this piece of fiction. This story contains explicit male to male sex, domination and bondage. If you don’t enjoy reading this sort of material or are under the age of 21, DO NOT CONTINUE READING. If you regard this type of material as depraved then flee from here and don’t look back! And be sure that you practice safer sex. Don’t become another statistic in the rising HIV/STD rates. Don’t be barebacking: it’s your LIFE you’re playing with. This story is STRICTLY fantasy and I DO NOT espouse or endorse unprotected anal or oral sex!
Be careful and be alive—White Collar
Executive Stress Relief—Chapter 36
Master held himself against me, our bodies heaving and trembling with the aftermath of our orgasms. As our breathing slowed, He pulled out me, leaving a void in my cunt and making me whimper from the loss. He released my hands and feet and stood before me, His hands at His sides, waiting. i collapsed to the floor and crawled to Him, wanting only to worship this man who had subjugated me. my mind was still filled with the lust and need that had pushed me into this degradation. i placed my forehead on His boots and wrapped my arms around His ankles. Then i kissed His feet murmuring my obeisance.
“Thank You Master. Thank You for fucking Your boy. Thank You for the gift of Your cum. Thank You for possessing Your boy.”
“Clean me boy!” He commanded.
i raised myself and took His firm cock in my mouth, sucking at the remnants of cum in His urethra and licking the mucus and shit from the flesh that had taken possession me. my eyes were closed as though in prayer and i cupped His heavy balls in my hands, as if they were a chalice. i celebrated my own service of worship, kneeling there on the floor at His feet, ministering to His dick. I laved His heavy penis, cleaning and adoring it, lost in the feel of its weight, heat and girth on my tongue, stretching my lips. He took my head in His hands and tilted it so that my eyes looked to Him like a suppliant kneeling before his Maker.
“you’re a good boy, a good slave,” He said and my eyes must have lit up with pleasure in the knowledge that I’d pleased Him.
Then he said something that sent a shiver through me.
“you’ll obey Me in all things boy.”
“Yes Sir,” i whispered.
“you’re never to see your faggot boy friend again. Is that clear?”
Patrick? I was never to see Patrick again? And I remembered what Patrick had told me about Sir’s message. I shuddered as a chill swept over me. I couldn’t obey that order: I couldn’t! I might be on my knees worshipping His penis but I couldn’t agree to never see Patrick again! I loved Patrick! I started to shake my head and he gripped my face so hard it hurt.
“What was that boy? Did you start to say ‘no’? Are you going to disobey me? You’re mine and you won’t be topping anyone else ever again. Remember, I’ve got your option; lock, stock and barrel!”
With that He kicked my cock, stiff, pierced and padlocked.
“Yes Sir,” I murmured. “I’m sorry Sir. I will do as You command.”
I had to play for time; Patrick and I would figure something out. How? What? When? I didn’t know. But I knew I had to see Patrick. I looked into His eyes.
“Yes sir,” I said. “Never again.” In my heart, I knew I was lying. In my heart, I felt ashamed that I’d worshipped this selfish, cruel man. In my heart, I felt dirty because he’d used me this way and I’d allowed it.
“Good boy,” he said, sneering at me. “I knew you’d see things my way. That’s why I’m the Master and you’re the slave.”
“Yes sir,” I said quietly, just wanting him to go.
He ordered me to get on my hands and knees and then straighten my legs, raising my butt. When I had, he removed the ball weight and gave me a hard slap on my ass, forcing a grunt from my throat and sending my cock and balls bouncing back and forth like a paddleball. I could feel the print of his hand on my cheek and knew it would be red.
“I’m leaving now. You can spend the night alone. Soon I’ll be moving in with my boy. You’ll like that, won’t you boy? Having your Master living with you?”
“Yes sir,” I answered, keeping my head down so that there was no chance he’d see my lie.
“Good,” he said. “Well, sleep well boy. I’ll be in touch. Soon!”
Leaving me with my ass in the air, he went out, closing the door behind him. I went down on my hands and knees, my eyes filling with tears of shame. It wasn’t the shame of humiliation; it was the shame of losing my bearings and allowing myself to be subjugated by this terrible master. I felt ashamed that I’d betrayed Patrick by complying so easily with Sam’s rape.
Feeling old and stiff, I rose from the floor and went into the bathroom to wash myself and cleanse my body of the taint. I gave myself an enema before climbing into the shower. I wanted to remove as much of Sam’s marking as I could. Then I showered, lathering my smooth body. No need for shampoo, I realized, smiling grimly. How the hell was I going to explain this?
I dried off and once again, caught a glimpse of my body in the mirror. Smooth head, no facial hair, no body hair anywhere. Cock and balls hanging there uncovered and looking huge. A ring through my right nipple and a padlock through my piss slit. The sight was humiliating and arousing. I flushed from head to foot and my cock began to rise again. I felt the need to avoid that response, so I quickly finished drying, slipped into some pajamas and went to bed.
I didn’t sleep well because I kept waking up, thinking of Patrick and how I was going to explain this to him. Finally, sometime after 3:00 I dozed off.
I was standing in front of a lecture hall filled with people. I was supposed to be giving a talk on the Stockholm Syndrome but couldn’t find my notes. And I was nude! I tried to hide behind the lectern but couldn’t reach it. Then I looked up and saw Patrick sitting in the audience. He looked shocked to see me with no clothes on and I was doubly embarrassed. I didn’t want Patrick to see me like this. Sam came down the aisle and lifted me over his head. While he held me, someone tied a rope around my genitals and hauled me into the air. I dangled there while Sam grabbed Patrick. He pulled Patrick’s clothes off him and dragged him to the window while Patrick screamed for help. But there was nothing I could do. I called for Sam to stop and cried for Patrick. Sam put his cock into Patrick’s hole, fucking him. Then he took my lover and tossed him out the window. Since we were in a very tall building, perhaps a mile high, Patrick fell a long way and I heard his screams as he tumbled to earth.
Sam came back to me and cut me down. He laid me across the desk in front of the room and fucked me in front of all those people who laughed at my humiliation. I begged Sam to stop; I begged for someone to help me. But they just laughed, pointing at my expanding cock as Sam picked me up off the desk, his cock implanted in my ass, and forced me to ride him. My cock was flopping up and down as he thrust in and out, stretching my hole while he twisted my tits with his hands. All the time, my cock got harder and harder until we both shot.
When I awoke, I found my belly had a crusty patch on it: I’d had a wet dream. That I’d had a night-time emission over Sam’s brutalizing of me and Patrick made me feel even more ashamed. What was wrong with me? Why was I so obsessed with this?
I considered some self-hypnosis to re-program my thinking but realized I didn’t have time; I needed to get in for office hours. So I hurriedly got ready. I had to sit to pee because I was concerned my PA would leak and make me dribble on the floor-an additional humiliation I wasn’t in the mood for! The lock clicked and rattled against the front of the bowl as I sat down, reminding me that even my own cock was locked up. After I finished and dried the excess urine, I showered, taking care to rotate my tit ring and move my PA around so that the holes formed scar tissue and didn’t bind to the metal of the rings. Then I got dressed. My shirt pressing against my new nipple ring was uncomfortable, so I pulled my shirt tail up some to make more room. Then there was the padlock on my dick. I decided that boxers and slacks with a generous cut in the thighs was the best idea. Even then, feeling that lump of metal trapped between my pants and my leg, holding my penis prisoner, was an odd sensation that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. I got a few looks from people on the subway but folks in this city see everything and there isn’t much that fazes them. I got into my building and took the elevator up without anyone I knew seeing me. I just wasn’t quite ready to go public with this look that Sam had forced on me.
While riding the train, I decided that the story I’d use is that I wanted to try a radical new look just to see how it worked. After all, chrome domes were very much in these days, so why not? Saying it was just a matter of personal taste made it impossible to challenge.
When my nurse, Paul, came in, he pulled the files for the patients with appointments, brought them into my office and placed them on my desk. Then he did a double-take, his eyes wide, as he stared at my shiny head.
“Mark? What did you do? My god, you scared me. What happened?” he stammered, obviously having a hard time taking in what was sitting there in front of him.
“Oh,” I said, trying to sound casual, “I just thought I’d try it to see how it looked. Sort of the Vin Diesel thing, you know? What’dya think?”
“I-I- I don’t know. It’s going to take me a while I think. It’s just so… radical!”
“But cool?” I ventured, flashing a smile that attempted to hide my churning innards.
“Yeah… I guess so. Oh,” he said, catching my joke, “yeah, I bet it is cool.” He laughed and went out to man the desk.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d passed the first hurdle. Now I had the story and approach pretty well down so I could just build on it during the next couple of weeks until my hair grew back or people got used to it, which ever came first. Then I had a chilling thought: what if Sam didn’t let me grow my hair back? But surely that wouldn’t be a problem: Patrick and I would figure out some way to get out from under Sam’s domination. Somehow. We had to. I pushed the idea of remaining bald out of my mind.
Naturally, I had to explain to everyone I saw that day. After the second or third time it became almost natural. What bothered me was that every time I recited my fabrication, I remembered how it had actually been and my cock stiffened against my trousers, reminding me of the piercing with which Sam had robbed me of my manhood. The humiliation wasn’t visible to others but that didn’t lessen its impact on my psyche. Several times I blushed in embarrassment and could only hope that either it went unnoticed (yeah right! A completely bald man blushes and it won’t be noticed!) or that the person I was talking to attributed the flush to other causes.
I was starting to feel a little better by noon and sat down at my desk to go through some papers and scarf down a sandwich when Paul buzzed me.
“Yes Paul,” I said.
“Mark, Patrick Wolfe’s on the line.”
I froze. I saw the link blinking and knew that my Patrick was on the other end. I felt a terrible pang shoot through me. I didn’t want to talk to him yet. I wasn’t ready to tell him what had happened. And in that moment, I also knew that I was still deeply ashamed of my complicity in my rape and subjugation. How could I talk to him without giving him an inkling that there was something wrong?
“Tell him I’ll call him back,” I said.
The blinking light went out and I felt a weight in my stomach. I threw my sandwich in the wastebasket.
I hurriedly finished my paperwork and left the office at what, for me, was an early hour. I saw Patrick everywhere and I just wanted to get away for a while. When I arrived home, Sam was in the lobby.
“If you haven’t played my message boy, you’d better do it. Understand? I expect obedience!” he hissed quietly when I approached.
I did my best to appear respectful but not in an overt way that anyone coming by would notice.
“Yes sir,” I whispered. “As soon as I get in the apartment. Thank you sir.”
Executive Stress Relief—Chapter 37
I went into my apartment and locked the door, needlessly afraid that someone might walk in while I was listening to Sam’s orders. Why, I don’t know, since no one ever entered my apartment without my admitting them, but somehow, I felt ashamed, like a boy caught with his hands in his pants. I didn’t want to be seen or heard listening to his demands. I went to my machine and found only a couple of messages. I located Sam’s and began to listen.
“First of all boy,” he said gruffly, “if you’re dressed, get naked now. Then play the rest of the message.”
I wasn’t going to countermand him or resist, at least not yet. Time would come for that, I was sure. So I hit the pause button and stripped off. With my hands brushing against my now denuded flesh and the breeze from the air conditioning playing over my shaved head, chest and crotch, I felt particularly vulnerable as I dropped my clothes on a chair. Finally, I was naked and I hit the pause button again to continue playing Sam’s orders.
“Now that you’re naked, get on your knees. I expect you to be on your knees when you’re under my control, whether I’m in the room or not. Now here’s the way it’s going to be: Between 8:05 and 8:25 tonight, I’ll be coming to see you so you’d better have the door unlocked. I expect you to be on your knees in your entryway, naked and waiting in the proper position. I hope I don’t have to review that with you. If you’re not in the proper position when I come in, you’ll be punished: that goes without saying. I expect you to have a leather collar and a leash on. Your leash will be in your teeth for me to take. I’ll knock on the door twice. When you hear me knock, you’ll say ‘Master, your boy is waiting. Please enter Sir.’ I’ll see you sometime after 8:00.”
It was now just after 6:00 so I had some time. But I also knew that I needed to be completely ready for him if I was to escape with less punishment. I knew, of course, that punishment was a given. Sam would do his best to beat the shit out of me. But if I could keep him from getting angry, it would go more easily for me. So I fixed myself a light supper and had just a little wine to take the edge off. Then I went into the bathroom and climbed in the tube with my razor. There wasn’t much likelihood that any of my hair had grown in yet, but I didn’t want to take chances that there might be some stray, over-achieving stubble that might cause me extra grief if Sam felt it. I was experienced enough to know that he would be looking to break me during the next few days and would use any excuse to abuse me. So I carefully went over my body and my head with my fingers, making sure that any straggly bits were cleaned up. But 7:15 I was satisfied that I was entirely smooth.
I took my enema bulb, filled it with warm water, lubed my hole and injected the wash. I held it for several minutes before evacuating it into the toilet with the usual sounds of wet farting. Then I repeated the procedure, making sure that the ejecta was clean. That would ensure that when Sam fucked me, which I was sure he would do, he wouldn’t have a dirty cock when he’d finished, again, giving him an excuse to beat me some more. I dried my ass and considered whether or not to lube myself. Sam hadn’t ordered me to so I’d be making an assumption if I did and he’d punish me for that. On the other hand, if I didn’t, I knew he’d fuck me anyway and I was risking the torture of a dry fuck. I weighed the choices and decided to use lube. Being fucked dry was not something I particularly relished, especially since the pain lasted several days due to the tearing of the tissues in the sigmoid colon and the friction against the sphincters of the anus. Any beating might be painful for just as long but was less of a long-term health risk. I smiled wryly to myself. Sometimes, being a doctor had its disadvantages because I knew too much. I used a commercial lube and stroked the insides of my chute with it, greasing myself up in expectation of Sam’s taking me again.
At 8:00 I was kneeling in front of my door. I unlocked it and waited. I had a leather collar around my neck with a chain leash clipped to the D ring. I placed the leather handle in my teeth, holding just enough of it to have a firm grip but leaving most of the handle available for Sam to take. My legs were spread, leaving my cock and balls free-hanging and my hands were clasped behind my back. After a while, my legs wearied and I sat back on my heels, my locked dick resting on the floor. At 8:11, by my clock, I heard the elevator door open and I knelt up. After a few moments in which I imagined Sam waiting outside just to throw my timing off, there came two knocks at the door. I lowered my head.
“Master, your boy is waiting. Please enter Sir,” I said, my stomach flipping over inside.
The door opened and I saw Sam’s boots on the floor. He closed the door and stood in front of me.
“That’s acceptable. I’m glad to see you haven’t forgotten the proper position for a slave. I’d have been very disappointed if you’d forgotten because I know how thorough your training was, even though I didn’t agree with your former Master’s techniques.”
At this dissing of my first Master, I felt a flush sweep over me. How dare he insult my Master? I’m sure Sam could see it and must’ve chosen to ignore it because he said nothing more about it.
“Leash!” he commanded, holding out his hand.
I leaned forward and placed the leather handle of the leash in his hand, taking care not to get saliva on him. He took the leash, set off for the living room and walked toward my large coffee table with me following behind on all fours.
“Up boy!” he ordered, pulling me toward the table.
I climbed on the table and knelt up, spreading my legs. How ironic, I thought, that I’d had Patrick in the same position not all that long ago. The thought of Patrick made me once again flush with shame; shame at my own betrayal.
Sam proceeded to inspect my body with his hands, running them over every inch of my naked skin checking for stubble. I’d done a good job and he didn’t find any which was a great relief to me. Then he pushed his fingers into my ass crack.
“You’re lubed!” he said angrily. “I didn’t tell you to lube! What’s your excuse?”
“Master, I have no excuse,” I ventured, knowing that whatever I said would earn his wrath. “I thought possibly my Master would want to fuck his slave and wanted to make it comfortable for him.”
“Well you figured right on one account and wrong on the other. Yes, I’m going to fuck you but I wasn’t looking for it to be comfortable; at least not for you! I have an idea that that’s what you were thinking of; your own comfort and not mine. Am I right pig?” he demanded.
I figured there was no point in dissembling.
“Yes Sir. Your slave was thinking of his own comfort. I have no excuse Sir.”
Sam pulled back and back-handed me across the face, knocking me off the table, scattering the magazines. I felt a surge of anger and started to get to my feet but remembered that I had to cooperate to protect Patrick, so I fought down my urge to strike back and got back to my knees as best I could, considering that I could barely see because of the stars swimming across my field of vision. I resumed my position on the floor.
Sam took the leash and yanked me down the hall to the training room. He pulled me up onto the raised bench and shackled my wrists to the frame. Then he wrapped wide leather straps round my thighs and hooked them to the bench. He wrapped cuffs around my ankles and hooked them in place, immobilizing me. He walked around my exposed, vulnerable body, trailing his hands over me, seemingly enjoying the feel of my smooth skin. He went to the counter and picked up some tissues, which he brought back and used to wipe my ass, pushing deep inside me.
“You didn’t think I’d let you get away with that did you dog?” he sneered as he pushed the paper in and wiped me as though I were helpless.
“No sir,” I answered. “I’m sorry sir.”
“Not half as sorry as you’re going to be by the time the evening’s over. I might have considered giving you some lube before, but since you stepped over the line, there’s no chance of that now!”
I breathed deeply. This was not going to be a pleasant encounter. Why was Sam being so brutal? I didn’t understand it; he’d never shown this side before. I knew he was tough but had never seen him like this. And what I found even more upsetting was that my cock was responding to his brutality and the humiliation. As he wiped me, treating me like a messy puppy, my cock rose stiffly, pushing hard against cross-braces of the bench. That filled me with shame; I didn’t want to be aroused by this kind of treatment, especially, not from Sam. Patrick was the love of my life. But the humiliation and degradation reached something deep inside me that my body refused to deny and I found myself aroused in spite of how I felt about Patrick. My body wanted to be used in this way and that was humiliating. It was doubly humiliating because Sam knew it too. He grabbed hold of my oozing cock.
“Well, it looks like my doggy finds all this very exciting. I never doubted that you were a dog at heart and this proves it,” he said smugly.
All I could do was admit that he must be right and hang my head. Sam went to the cupboard to retrieve his tools for the evening’s session. He returned and ordered me to open my mouth. As I did, he placed my wide leather strap between my teeth and ordered me to hold it. Then he ordered me to raise my trunk off the bench as far as I could. There was enough room under me for him to apply a pair of black-tipped nipple clamps to my tits. Then he told me to relax and lie on the bench again. Doing this pressed the clamps into my chest and flattened them under my body, bending my cones down and causing a jolt of sexual pain to shoot through my body, making me shudder and whimper.
Sam now moved around me, dragging the strap across my body. He teased my hole with the end of it and tapped my balls and cock with the stiff leather. I tried to get my breathing in rhythm, preparing myself for what I knew was coming.
“You will submit to me boy. You will be begging me to punish you and to fuck your ass. You will be begging me for permission to come; you will be begging me for permission to kiss my feet and clean my cock after I’ve fucked your cunt. Trust me boy, I will break you for good,” he said menacingly.
I prayed that he would be proved wrong but my cock gave lie to my hopes.
I was just swallowing when I heard the whoosh and my world erupted in a flash of pain as he struck me across my back. I inhaled abruptly and tried to scream but my sudden inhalation had pulled the saliva in my mouth down my windpipe and I chocked. Coughing, I was trying to recover when there was another whoosh and the strap slammed into my butt cheeks, leaving a searing strip across both buns. I jerked forward and my hard cock smashed into the cross braces of the bench, sending a reverberation of pain up my spine and exploding in my brain.
Sam was an expert with the strap and he proceeded to lay stripe after strip up each side of my back, my thighs and butt. The pain was becoming unbearable and I couldn’t find the way to integrate it and transcend it. He’d started out catching me by surprise and I never had a chance to recover. Stroke after stroke he laid on me while I screamed out helplessly. He paused a moment and I could hear his heavy breathing. What was he waiting for? Why was he pausing? I felt a sense of dreadful expectation as I waited for whatever he had planned. Then I heard the whoosh of the strap again and the tip snapped against my balls, licking them like a flame on the tip of a bull-whip. Fire and impact. I howled as I heard the next blow coming and it caught me at the pucker of my ass chute, the most tender flesh on the human body. My howls rose and I bucked violently against my restraints. All I wanted was to get loose and end this torment. My backside was on fire and a hot poker had just been applied to my balls and my hole. Tears streamed down my face and mixed with the saliva drooling out of my mouth, forming a puddle on the surface of the bench. When I heard the strap whipping through the air as it went into another cycle, the muscles in my body all clenched involuntarily in expectation of another blow. This one was perfectly aimed at the head of my cock, which hung down below my ass hole, catching the swollen flesh through which my new PA passed. The impact was like a shot. I screamed with what little voice I had left and partially lost consciousness.
I slumped on the bench, unable to force my body to respond. Sam unhooked my wrist shackles, removed the cuffs and straps from my legs and ankles and unbuckled the gag, taking it out of my aching jaws. He pulled me to my feet, bracing my wracked body. Then he knelt in front of me and, taking one of my arms, pulled me down across his shoulder. He rose, picking me up in a fireman’s carry and went into my bedroom where he flung my limp, tortured body down on the bed. I cried in anguish as my flaming backside hit the bed and would have writhed had I the strength to move. Sam pulled me into position so that I was lying in the middle of the bed before tying my shackles to the headboard. Then he took more rope and, pulling my feet up over my head, tied them to the headboard. My fuck chute was now available for whatever use he wanted to put it to.
Sam lay down on the bed next to me and began stroking my red, bruised ass and whispering in my ear, humiliating and exciting me, reminding me that it was my own need that made me helpless to stop him.
“Yes, you like this don’t you boy? I can tell,” he said, giving a flick to my hard cock head with his fingers. “You want me to take you, don’t you boy? You want me to fuck you and make you completely my slave don’t you? Tell me what you want boy.”
I was insane with need and desire.
“Please Master. Please fuck me. Please take me and make me yours. Please Sir,” I begged, barely aware of what I was saying.
“That’s my good boy,” he cooed softly. “You’re my good slave and I’m going to give you what you want. I’m going to make you mine.”
He moved into position and pushed the tip of his thick pole in to just part my outer sphincter.
“Tell me how much you want this boy,” he teased.
“Please Sir, I want it so bad. I need to have you in me. Please fuck me Sir,” I pleaded.
“Good boy,” he said and pushed into me.
I gasped at the invasion and its combined pain and pleasure. I could feel the tissues ripping as he began to thrust into my dry chute. He’d promised he’d punish me for lubing myself without his permission and he was delivering in spades. My only recourse was to following my learned behavior, which was to take refuge from the pain by seeking the arousal. My cock, which had withered during his initial entry, began to fill with blood, lengthening and rising. Master smiled when he saw it stiffening in salute to his brutality. After a couple of minutes of dry fucking, the mucus from my guts began to coat his dick, making his assault less painful for me. Each of his thrusts pushed against my prostate and stretched the walls of my anus, taking me higher and higher. My cock was leaking pre-cum onto my bare belly. The ooze slid toward the depression of my navel and collected there. Sam gathered some of the slime on his fingers and painted my titties with it. Then he pinched and twisted them, making me shiver and moan, pushing me even further up the hill. He held his pre-cum slicked fingers to my mouth and I greedily suckled them, licking the sweet saltiness away. He gathered more of my slickness and painted my lips with it, making me feel like a slut.
He picked up his tempo, his breathing coming fast and ragged as he grunted and groaned his way toward orgasm. Then just as I could feel his raging cock begin to throb inside me, he shouted to me.
“Come boy. Come for your Master!” he yelled as his pelvis jerked in the spasms of orgasm and he shouted in an animal howl.
My breathing had sped up as well and as I came, my tongue locked against the roof of my mouth and my palate slammed back against the back of my throat, cutting off my air supply. The waves of my orgasm swept over me, blanking out my awareness of anything but my own cock and the flesh that jerked in my fuck chute. I grunted loudly as each wave passed over and my vision began to fade from the lack of oxygen. Still I refused to breath, prolonging the ecstasy. Finally and at last, I released my vocal mechanism and drew a welcome breath, drawing much needed air into my bursting lungs. My heart was pounding, blotting out all other sound and my head throbbed with each beat. Semen was spattered across my belly and chest and some had even hit my face. I hadn’t had an orgasm like that in years; not since my first Master had died.
“Thank you Master,” I gasped.
“You’re mine now boy,” Sam gulped, doing his best to catch his breath as well.
Ever so slowly, we descended from the heights of our orgasms. I felt Sam softening inside me and moaned slightly at the loss of that wonderful feeling of being filled. He laid down on top of me and chewed on my tits, savoring the pleasure of having my body completely his.
Finally, he rose and pulled out. He came and sat on my chest, placing his slimy dick on my mouth.
“Clean,” he ordered and I hungrily took it in my mouth, licking away the mucus and semen that coated it, sucking the cum out of his urethra like a puppy nursing at its mother’s teat. When he was satisfied with my work, he arose from the bed and left me there bound to the bed. In a moment I could hear the water running as he cleaned himself up. Several minutes later, he came back fully clothed. He untied the ropes that held me to the bed and I groaned as my legs fell back down, releasing my spine from the stress of being bent almost double.
“I’m going now boy. For tomorrow, your preparations will include drinking a couple of quarts of water at least an hour before I arrive. I expect you to hold what you drink or you can count on being punished,” he said.
“Yes Sir,” I answered. “Thank You Sir.”
Executive Stress Relief—Chapter 38
Tuesday was a little better, as I became more accustomed to my new “look” and those around me grew more accustomed to seeing me this way. I was feeling like I might be able to pull this charade off. I made a concerted effort to push all thoughts of last night out of my mind. I didn’t dare let thoughts of Sam intrude into my work or my cock would get hard and I’d feel the humiliation all over again. During one of my examinations, I had a patient who looked a bit like Sam and my dick rose, making my slacks tent. I had to find an excuse to leave the room for a few moments to let things flag. Other than that episode, things were going pretty well. Then at noon, Patrick called again.
“Tell him I’ll call him back,” I beseeched Paul, feeling like I wanted to cry because I really ached to be with Patrick and have him hold me. But I couldn’t; not like this. The light stayed lit a little longer than it had yesterday before going out. Once again, I threw my lunch away: my appetite was gone, replaced by a knot in my belly.
I finished my rounds and consultations and went to my apartment, arriving around 6:45. As Sam had ordered, I stripped immediately. I’d completely forgotten Sam’s order to drink the water, so I’d picked up some bottles on the way home and started drinking as soon as I got there. It was tough to swallow that much water in a short period of time, but I knew I’d better or face a beating worse than I’d received last night. I ate a little food and continued to drink. I had to be careful or face the possibility of water poisoning. People don’t realize that too much of anything, including water, can cause problems. So I drank as much as I dared, figuring it was probably better to be punished than end up in the hospital or worse. Around 7:45, feeling a little light-headed from all the water, I went into the bathroom and grabbed my razor to clean away whatever stubble there might be on my body. The sight of my denuded body with its mature muscle mass and genitals contrasting with the nakedness of my flesh was still arousing and reinforced the sense of my being a “boy” for my Master, as did my belly, swollen with water. At 8:00, feeling very water-logged, I was collared, leashed, on my knees, awaiting his knock. At 8:20, as my knees were aching and my thighs were singing in the key of G, there were the two knocks on the door.
“Master, your boy is waiting. Please enter Sir,” I said, my stomach tightening.
Sam came in and locked the door behind him. He stood there a few moments, surveying me. He moved closer and I felt his hands on my naked scalp, feeling for leftover bits. Then his fingers moved to my ears, tracing the whorls and pulling at the lobes. Most people have no idea how erotic and demeaning it can be to have someone playing with your ears. Although they’re in plain view for the world to see, they’re actually one of our most private parts, I suppose because we take so much in through them and they connect with our inmost being. After sex, the highest levels of intimacy are achieved through our hearing more than any other sense. Sam bent down to feel the rest of my body, running his hands over my once hairy chest and belly, pausing to twist my tits.
“My boy has always had such nice titties,” he said softly. “I never could figure out why your previous Master didn’t have you pierced.” He flicked the ring through my right tit upward, bouncing it off the upper portion of my nipple.
He continued his inspection, feeling my belly, my cock and balls, my legs, my ass crack. As he bent over me, I smelled his sweat and his manhood and experienced an intoxication from his odors, making my mouth water.
Finally he seemed satisfied. He took my leash from my teeth and jerked me down the hall. This time, he motioned me onto the examination table. I climbed up and lay on my back. He shackled my wrists and ankles and hooked them to the table over my head, spread-eagling me. Already, my cock was standing straight up and beginning to leak, the pre-cum dripping over my cock head and dribbling down the shaft.
He left me lying there and went off. My bladder was beginning to ache as it continued to fill with the processed fluids from all I’d drunk. I squeezed my muscles to keep from pissing, sure that he’d punish me severely if I pissed on myself before he gave me permission.
When he came back, he was wearing a leather harness, a leather jock and boots. He was also carrying several things, which he laid on the counter.
“Now slave, it’s time to see if you follow orders!”
Saying that, he slapped my belly hard, right on my bulging bladder. I cried out and some piss spurted out the end of my cock. Instantly, I clenched my muscles to prevent any further loss. The effort made me groan. At this, he smiled.
“Good slave. I’m glad to see you do what you’re told. Now let’s get you ready for tonight’s induction. You see boy,” he explained, “I’m taking you over, bit by bit. Soon you’ll think of nothing but what I want you to think of. Your only pleasure will be pleasing me and you’ll be happy for that. Bit by bit, I’m taking over your mind and your body.”
As he was saying this looking down into my upturned face, he was stroking my erect pole. He let go of me and picked up the items from the table. He had a catheter and a clip and I had a shudder of humiliation.
He unlocked the padlock and gently pulled it from my piss-slit. I’m sure he wasn’t concerned about whether or not it hurt me; he just didn’t want to mess up the piercing. Then he opened the cath pack and took my penis in his hand, grinning wickedly at me as I lay there helpless and bound, powerless to prevent what was going to happen. He took a cotton-tipped swab and applied some lubricant to it. Then he took my cock and parted the lips of my piss-slit with his fingers, inserting the swab into my urethra. The discomfort was sharp and erotic. He swabbed my tube, getting it prepared for the catheter. He inserted the catheter between the lips of my meatus and pushed it down my urethra. I swallowed hard and breathed deeply, trying to ease the discomfort of a catheterization. When the end of the tube hit the sphincter, he stopped and placed the clip on the tube.
“Don’t want an accident,” he snickered. “Wouldn’t want my slave peeing all over me.”
When the clip was in place, he pushed the cath in the rest of the way, breaching the sphincter of my bladder, which made a valiant attempt to expel the fluid that stretched it. But the clip prevented any urine from escaping. To keep the catheter in place, he slid a plastic collar over the exposed end of the tube and slipped it down until it rested against my cock head. Then he pulled down the wings of the collar and snapped them together behind my cock head. That eliminated any chance that I might expel it the hated tube.
Master went to one of my drawers and pulled out a bag of clothespins and a gag. I lay there, bound and helpless with my hands shackled above my head, watching what he was doing. Watching him, knowing what he was about, made the degradation all the more powerful. There’s something very compelling about being forced to observe your own humiliation. He turned back to me and pulled my mouth open, inserting the gag.
“Raise you head slave,” he ordered.
I had no choice but to comply. Again, my sense of degradation was deepened. There’s further humiliation in being forced to cooperate in your debasement. He buckled the gag behind my head. It was a bit gag with a rubber bit that fit between my teeth. So I could breath and make noises but couldn’t speak.
Master dumped the clothespins on my belly, some of them falling down each side of my body. He picked up a handful and went to work. He started with my nipples, placing a peg on each point. Then he pinched up a fold of skin along the bows of my pecs and lined each fold with pins. Next, he pinched a line of skin down the left side of my abdomen, outlining the curving plate of my muscles. He lined this fold of skin with the wooden tools of torment. That was followed by a matching line down my right side. He placed a line down the tender inner skin of each thigh sending pain messages like flames licking at my legs. His next target was my scrotum, which he turned into a hedgehog hanging between my splayed legs. He added a line of pins down my perineum and, picking up my cock, added a line along the underside of my dick and then in a line down the topside. He finished with a row of pins around the little flap of skin left circling my cock head, the leftovers from my circumcision. This row bristled around the collar holding the catheter in place like a picket fence around a yard. Always wanting his bottoms to have the benefit of a full view of what was being done to them, my first Master had put a mirror on the ceiling over the table so I could see my body stretched and bristling with clothes pins like some bizarre body armor. My cock strained in its erection, pulling against the pins that gripped it and shooting jolts of pain up my spine.
Master seemed pleased with the torture he was inflicting on me and stood there smiling, his arms crossed on his masculine chest. Then he went to the pegboard and stood looking at the various punishment implements to choose from. He selected a cat-o-nine-tails and tested it by snapping it in the air. The crack made me blink my eyes and I knew he’d found his instrument of choice. I’d met the cat many years ago and I knew what was in store for this slave. He brought the flogger over and held it above my mouth.
“Kiss your teacher slave,” he ordered.
I swallowed and reached up to place my lips on the leather as best I could, considering I had a bit between my teeth.
“Thank You Sir,” I tried to say, knowing that only gibberish would come out. It sounded more like “annh uuhhh iiiiihhhh”.
“Oh yes, how forgetful of me,” he said, pretending at a memory loss as he retrieved a leather blindfold from the cupboard. “Raise your head boy,” he ordered and buckled the blindfold over my eyes.
I lay my head back on the table and concentrated on controlling my breathing, waiting for the torment to begin. I didn’t have long to wait. I heard the whoosh of the leather through the air and the crack as it slammed into my flesh and pins on my chest, striking the pins, bending them flat against my ribcage and sending some of them flying. I shouted an animal cry and tried to breathe deeply to absorb the pain. Then came the next blow; another to the chest, knocking more pins off and exacerbating the bite of those that remained attached. A third blow whipped my thighs, the tips of the cat’s cords catching the pins lining my sensitive skin and snapping some loose, leaving others clipped to my crying flesh and quivering, sending ripples of pain through me.
Again and again he whipped me. So far he’d stayed away from my cock and balls and for that I was grateful. But I also knew they wouldn’t be left untouched. Pin after pin was whipped from my body, which felt like it was being licked by tongues of fire. I could feel the heat as my skin reddened. As the pins snapped off, they sounded like an automatic cap gun, each giving a sharp crack and then falling to the floor. At some point, I began to feel the rush of endorphins flooding my brain and I left the pain behind. The strokes of the flogger turned into pleasure and I moaned and garbled my arousal. I knew that all the pins but those on my genitals and ass had been whipped away. Then came the first strike at my column of flesh that stood pointing at the sky. Master succeeded in wrapping the tails of the cat around my erection, inflicting a stroke that was magnified in its impact as pins separated from flesh, leather struck skin and pain and sex were combined. I nearly came. My pelvis jerked as my muscles began their contractions. Master paused a moment.
“Don’t you dare come, boy. Do you understand me? If you come without my permission, I may cut your balls off,” he threatened and I believed him.
I fought the urge and sought retreat from the arousal by moving into the pain. That helped to quell my urgency. He worked the cat on my genitals, taking away groups of pins with each blow. I thought my scrotum would catch fire, it hurt so badly and I was sure my penis would be bruised after this assault. Finally, my body was free of clothespins and the whipping stopped. Master unbuckled my shackles and pulled me to a sitting position on the table. My body flamed and I was exhausted from the pain. But it wasn’t over: the sharp pains in my bladder reminded me of that.
Once again, he picked me up, throwing me across his shoulder, carried my wailing body into the bedroom and threw me down on the bed. He’d planned ahead and the bed was covered with a plastic sheet. Master removed the blindfold and the gag and I looked down at my body. It was bright red, as though I’d gotten a bad sunburn. But the twin pinched lines where the clothespins had grasped my skin looked like some sort of tribal markings in a brutal initiation. My chest, belly and thighs were outlined in raised knots of pink flesh. Even my hard dick was red and indented from the pins. I slumped back on the bed and groaned. Master had yet another treat in mind for me. He took a pair of tit clamps and affixed them to my sore nipples. His slave was now properly prepared.
“Now boy,” Master said, standing at the foot of the bed, his hands on his hips, “It’s time for you to complete your journey. I want you to beg me to give you what you’re hungering for. Show me how much you want it.”
I knew what he expected and I knew I couldn’t say no. My fuck chute was too needy of his filling it. I rolled onto my back and lifted my legs, taking them in my hands. I spread my legs and pulled them toward my head, exposing my pulsing hole.
“Please Master,” I begged, “please fuck your slave. Please make me yours. Please fill your slave with your presence and your gift. Please take me and make me yours,” I begged shamelessly. I wanted him in me and I wanted it badly.
“I’m not sure you mean it,” he taunted me. “I think you still have a thing for that faggot boy you’ve been seeing. No, I’m not convinced.”
And he turned around as if to walk out the door. My ass twitched in need.
“Please Master,” I cried out. “Please don’t leave me like this. Please fuck your slave. Please,” I pleaded.
“How much do you want it?” he asked me.
I had a lump in my throat. I wanted it; I needed it. I was ashamed of how much I needed it. I was ashamed of my betrayal of Patrick. But my ass only cared about being filled and fucked.
“Please Master. I need to have you fuck me. I need you in me. I need to give myself to you. I need to submit to you. Please fuck me Master,” I begged, tears rolling down my cheeks. “Please….” I whimpered.
He looked down on me, smirking.
“Now I’m impressed with your sincerity boy. Now I’ll give you what you want.”
He knelt on the bed and, placing his swollen plum against my eager hole, he pushed it home. I cried out, throwing my head back and breathing in moaning gasps as my sphincters stretched to accommodate his girth. He, of course, didn’t give a shit whether or not it felt good for me. His goal was to possess my body and seize my soul. What he didn’t know was that I’d hidden a part of my soul away where he couldn’t see it.
He pushed my legs down even farther, pressing my knees into the clamps on my tits before he began thrusting in earnest. At first it was like he was ripping me open. My anus hadn’t recovered from last night’s rape and I was sure I’d have blood in my stool the next day. I bit my lip and whimpered under his assault. My cock, ever my betrayer, throbbed with need.
He fucked away, shoving his pelvis against me and pressing vibrations through my aching bladder. I could feel the piss surging against the catheter. Then he reached down and removed the clip.
“Ahhhh!” I shouted as the piss spurted out the end of the tube and onto my belly. The piss flowed steadily, covering my body and pooling around me on the sheet that covered my bed. But with each thrust from my Master, there was a surge in the stream that pushed it harder, making it spurt up onto my face and into my mouth. He was using his own pleasure to further degrade me, forcing me to piss on myself and drink my own waste. I started to cry at the utter humiliation as my dick throbbed.
When the piss was almost drained, he reached down to take my cock in his hand.
“Come boy,” he ordered and I obeyed.
My body contracted and I felt the orgasm rising from my loins. But there would be no ejaculation, not with a catheter in my cock. So my muscles jerked and spasmed, squeezing the last bits of piss from my bladder into my open mouth as my Master filled my anus with his spunk, marking me as his slave.