BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR PART 1 Date: From: civilwarscholar@gmail.com Subject: BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is work of fiction involving consensual gay sex Betweena twenty-year-old submissive and a veteran dominant, and includes underwear fetishism, bondage, discipline, spanking, edging/milking, and oral sex. It is intended for mature readers. The characters and setting are fictional. If this sort of material offends you, is illegal where you live, or you are under 18 years of age, PLEASE LEAVE THIS SITE NOW!
Otherwise, enjoy!!! Constructive comments are welcomed. And please donate to the Nifty Archives. I thank them for the opportunity to present this story to interested readers.
Danny civilwarscholar@gmail.com
The following adventure took place this summer.
I am a 20 year old gay college student and have had a fascination for domination and bondage and discipline scenarios for as long as I can remember. I have always been a quiet, polite, submissive boy who often fantasized about getting kidnapped or captured and tied up and gagged. I even recall reading the Hardy Boys detective stories when I was young with the intent of finding passages describing the Hardy brothers in predicaments in which the bad guys took possession of them and the young detectives found themselves bound and gagged. I am a virgin and pretended to be straight and restricted my sexuality to the level of fantasy, ashamed to let my friends know about my yearning to be put under another guy's control and be punished and disciplined.
I have an underwear fetish and have always sought every available opportunity to observe other guys my age in their underpants; as an only child, school and the occasional Friday-night sleepovers at a friend's house offered the only chances I had to do this (that is, before I went off to college.) I am athletic and like other boys looked forward to gym class in high school, but not just for the sporting activity; I loved the locker room scene before and after class. Of course, a staple expectation of gym-class protocol included the ritual of the students stripping to their underwear to get changed at both the start and finish of the period. I always took full advantage of those moments to take in the sight of my classmates going about their business in their undies, usually boxers or boxer briefs, with an occasional brave soul wearing rarely-seen briefs.
I was a shy and somewhat awkward kid in high school, and did not have many friends. When I was the recipient of the rare invitation to attend a Friday-night sleepover, of course I eagerly accepted. I was inevitably the quietest boy there but thoroughly enjoyed the teen-age camaraderie, the horseplay, the video games, the card-playing, and (if the host's parents were not particularly vigilant about counting their supply) the sharing of a couple of cans of beer snuck up to the room late at night from the downstairs refrigerator. But what I liked the most was the expectation that all the guys would naturally spend the entire time during the sleepover in their underwear. Every participant just seemed to know that once they arrived and arranged their bedding, it was time to strip down. Those rare nights of companionship with boys my age, everyone casually sharing the time in just their underwear, were among the most cherished memories I had of my high-school experience, along with gym class.
I finally explored my B & D fantasies in the summer between my freshman and sophomore college semesters. When I got home for summer break I settled into my routine of working my summer job at a convenience store and spending the weekends with my parents at their vacation home at the shore. One weekend in July I agreed to work on a Saturday morning because the store manager was short of personnel and thus I had to pass on going to the beach. After I worked my morning shift I suddenly found myself alone at home for the rest of the weekend with nothing to do; all my friends were away. I realized that I had complete privacy with the whole house at my disposal. I went to my room and immediately stripped down to my underwear; it was a hot summer afternoon, and of course I loved hanging out in my boxer shorts whenever I could. (It was customary for me to be stripped down to boxers at home; my parents were used to seeing me that way.) With rare free time and out of curiosity, I started up the computer and perused the Craigslist "men seeking men" postings. I soon stumbled upon a listing that immediately caught my eye.
The person posted his age as late fifties and wrote that he was seeking submissive younger guys to experience a bondage and discipline session under his control. He described his preferences in a very forceful and matter-of-fact way, which turned me on immediately. He was very insistent on the qualities he was looking for; the age requirement was 20 to 30, college students were a preference, and he wanted his "boys" to be attractive and smooth and slender of build. As I read the posting, I began to feel that familiar stirring under my boxer shorts that took place when I allowed my submissive gay aspect to surface. By the time I read the last sentence - "Novices are welcome" - my erect cock was tenting the boxers.
I re-read the posting several times. It appeared that I was a near-perfect match for his qualifications; I was indeed 20 years old and a college student, I had a mop of dark, wavy hair and a face the girls who gamely but unsuccessfully pursued me often described as "cute" and "boyish," I was athletic from years of playing sports and tanned from many weekend hours spent in the sun at the beach, and had a smooth, slender body with pubic hair that I kept neatly trimmed out of modesty. My biggest reservation over answering the ad was my innate shyness - I am by nature reserved and soft-spoken - and my complete inexperience in the actual world of B&D/D&S. But he did state, after all, that "Novices are welcome"?
I took the plunge and emailed a reply signaling my interest, telling him I was a complete novice but eager to learn the ropes (I smiled at the unintentional pun) and asking where he was located. That began a back-and-forth exchange of emails. He informed me of where he lived (which was about a 40 minute drive from me) and politely requested my physical statistics or a picture. I considered sending him the numbers (6 feet, 145 pounds, 28 inch waist) but instead snapped a picture of myself in my red plaid boxers, leaving my face out of it. He expressed his approval and then requested proof of age. I promised him I would bring my driver's license if and when we actually hooked up. He then asked my particular preferences for my "session," which he promised to customize for me since this would be my first D&S/B&D experience.
I told him the notion of being controlled by a strong, masculine, older guy appealed to me. (My father, whom I love dearly, has a passive and quiet nature, as I do.) I admitted to my underwear fetish and my secret desire to be bound, gagged, and spanked. He responded that all of that was naturally appealing to him as a dominant and asked if I would like to incorporate Angry Master/ Naughty College Boy role play; I replied that I had no experience doing that, but was intrigued by the idea.
He then asked if I had a desire to be edged or milked. I replied that I was not really sure of what those activities entailed (although I certainly suspected what they meant) and that I preferred to be dominated through bondage and spanking. He inquired politely about my servicing him orally; I responded that I had never done anything like that and did not think I was quite ready for it. He agreed to adhere to what he called my "pre-conditions" and break me in slowly as a submissive, out of respect to my being a first-time sub. He then asked if I had done anything naughty thus far today meriting punishment and if I was free to "report for duty" that evening. If I replied in the affirmative, I was accepting him as my dominant for the duration of the experience and he would send me his address and instructions, which he called my "marching orders."
I typed up my reply, sheepishly admitting that I had been naughty and masturbated in bed that very morning before going to work, which I fully realized merited punishment. I was definitely able to "report for duty" and was ready for my "marching orders." I prepared to click the SEND button, and then hesitated?
I thought long and hard about what I was about to do. It almost seemed too good to be true; he was willing to put me in bondage and spank me and somehow cater to my underwear fetish and teach me to be a proper submissive. He seemed genuinely willing to proceed at a slow, deliberate pace with me and adhere to my "pre-conditions." But I sensed that my acquiesance to accepting him as my dominant definitely meant a loss of control to a person I had not really met. I was nervous and apprehensive about the whole thing?
And incredibly aroused. I looked down at my boxers; the fabric was straining to contain a rock-hard erection, and a damp stain of precum was visible on the plaid pattern of the underpants where the tip of my cock was located?
I swallowed hard, looked down at my erection again, took a deep breath, and clicked "SEND."
After sending the email I decided to take a break from the computer and from my raging boner and make lunch. I changed into clean underwear and went to the kitchen and prepared a sandwich and was enjoying it when I heard the computer signal that a reply email had arrived. I quickly finished my lunch and went back to my room to open the email, aroused once again as I wondered what his "marching orders" would be.
My "marching orders," addressed to "Boy," were businesslike and meticulous and had obviously been drafted with attention to precision and detail. The tone of his message was forceful and commanding; I could sense right away that he was already beginning the process of taking control of me. He provided his address and indicated that the garage door would be open. He instructed me to park in the driveway and enter his foyer through a door in the garage that would be left unlocked. My arrival time was 7:00 and I was warned that lateness would not be tolerated. I was to put my driver's license and keys and cell phone on a table immediately inside the door. I would be given time to use a bathroom in the foyer as needed and was then to face the door I had entered with my feet together, stomach in, hands clasped behind my head, and await his arrival without making a sound. I was given a dress code to follow to "present yourself in a modest, young-boy fashion:" I was instructed to be hatless and dressed in a tee shirt, gym shorts, socks, and sneakers, with clean, modest white briefs on underneath. I was informed that the slightest disobedience of my "marching orders" would result in additional punishment, on top of the discipline I already had coming for foolishly having jerked off in the morning.
My heart was already racing as I neared the end of the email, and had to stifle a gasp as I read the last sentence: "Understand that reporting for duty signals your complete acceptance to surrender to me and serve me as my Slave. From here on, you will be my Slave and I will be your Master. If this relationship does not interest you, do not show up at the appointed time; otherwise, be here tonight at 7:00 sharp. And I know you will be; you cannot deny what you are and wish to be? Master."
I knew right away that my "marching orders" indicated a distinct possibility that my session could well go beyond the parameters we had already established. In a panic, I typed out a reply, addressing him as "Sir" and politely asking if we could again review the "preconditions" I had established and he seemingly had accepted. I told him I certainly meant no disrespect, but was understandably nervous about my first real experience as a submissive, and just wanted clarification about exactly what to expect. I sent the reply, nervously watching the screen and hoping for a conciliatory, reassuring response.
I did not have long to wait; the curt response came in a minute: "Slave - I have explained all of this to you before. I know what you want and need. You have your orders and instructions. If you are game, show up at 7:00, and expect to be in my possession for the night. It is that simple. Do not message me again with inquires on this matter. The decision is yours?Inform me of your decision in five minutes; I have another boy requesting training tonight who is showing more willingness than you are. Master"
After I read his reply I felt queasy in my stomach. My emotions were a jumble of contradictions. I was afraid of entering into a situation that might well proceed beyond my level of comfort. Yet there seemed to be a grudging admission that my limits had been established; I re-read the sentence, "I have explained all of this to you before. I know what you want and need." Perhaps that was his way of calming my fears and reassuring me, if I was intelligent enough to "read between the lines." I hoped?
I re-read the message and made the mistake of looking down at my boxers. My cock was at it again, tenting the fabric?
I looked back at the screen. "I know what you want and need." I reached down and took hold of my erect shaft and it involuntarily twitched and pulsed in my hand. He was right?"I know what you want and need." I glanced at the clock; my five minutes were almost up. I swallowed hard, and began to type. My fingers were trembling over the keys. "Yes, Master, I will be there. Slave"
Of course, I could always send it and change my mind later?But I knew deep down that if I sent it, I was surrendering not only to him but also to the desires of my cock, a surrender that I would not be able to force myself to repudiate? I looked down at my still-tented boxers, swallowed hard, and pressed SEND.
The rest of the afternoon passed surprisingly quickly. I decided to lie down on my bed and take a while to sort out my thoughts. Perhaps the anxiety of coming to grips with this situation had worn me down, and the sensation of the cool sheets covering me, stripped naked but for my boxers, was very comforting and relaxing in the summer heat?I drifted off into a fitful sleep. When I awoke, I realized it was now 5:00; I had only two hours to prepare myself, get something to eat, and drive to his house.
I quickly ate a light meal and hit the shower. I toweled myself off and sat down naked in front of the computer (save the towel wrapped around my waist) to review the dress code he had sent me. I silently cursed at myself for taking that long nap earlier when I was reminded of the requirement to be in white briefs underneath; my mom buys my underwear, and habitually purchased American Eagle brand boxer shorts for me. So I had no briefs on hand and did not have sufficient time to go out and buy them. (I thought with a momentary smile that Andrew could certainly help me out with this one!!!) Chagrined, I decided boxer shorts would have to do, and if I was to be punished for wearing them, so be it.
I hastened to my bedroom to get dressed; the time window was tightening, and I was already going to show up with the wrong underwear on. In five minutes I was ready; socks, a pair of freshly laundered, stylish blue plaid boxers underneath with the AE logo proudly stitched in the waistband, and on the outside, a white athletic undershirt and a pair of white gym shorts. After putting on and lacing up my sneakers, I was ready for launch, and with little time to spare; it was 6:15, and I still had to program his address into my car's GPS.
The GPS was ready programmed in five minutes, and I was on my way. The hurried pace of my preparation had left me no time to ponder backing out, and I was now committed. As I drove, sexual tension and arousal began to course through me; I knew that I would not be turning around that night.
Unfortunately, traffic was a problem. Try as I did, I still found myself entering his development (a tree-lined neighborhood of nice ranch homes) at 7:05. The house was dark inside and comfortably large and neatly maintained, and the garage (housing a handsome Cadillac sedan) was open as promised. I pulled into his driveway and quickly fished my driver's license out of my wallet. I then got out of my car, entered his garage, approached the door, and took a deep breath.
If I was backing out, this was my last chance. I pondered for a moment, took a deep breath, and took hold of the door knob. The door was unlocked; I opened it and stepped inside.
The foyer was nicely appointed and dimly lit. I quickly visited the bathroom and placed my driver's license and cell phone on the table just inside the door. I then faced the door I had entered a minute or so before, put my feet together, and clasped my hands behind my head. My heart was racing, and I could feel my cock beginning to harden.
I waited for what seemed like an eternity, although in retrospect it was actually just several minutes. Then I heard quiet footsteps coming down the hall. I could hear the soft sound of someone breathing just behind me and realized he was checking my driver's license for proof of age. I hoped he could not hear the incessant pounding of my heart.
He finally spoke.
"You are late, slave. Put your hands up." His voice was soft but menacing. I could feel his presence right behind me.
I dutifully raised up my hands and whispered a reply in a voice that was trembling. "Yes, Master. I am sorry. There was traffic?Mmmmmmph!"
A strong hand cupped roughly over my mouth abruptly cut off my reply. Another hand grabbed me by the hair and my head was jerked back to rest on his shoulder.
His lips were right next to my ear. His voice was the most menacing whisper I had ever heard. "Shut the fuck up, slave. You only speak when I grant permission. Understood?"
"Yes, Master," I slurred from behind his hand.
He released my mouth and shoved my head forward and down. "I will take care of that insolent mouth in a moment, college boy," he promised. "Put the hands back behind your head and look down. Now, turn and face me."
I did as instructed, careful to keep my eyes downcast. If he was trying to frighten and intimidate me, he was certainly succeeding.
"You are now in the inspection posture. Standing at attention, feet together, hands behind the head, eyes down, stomach in. Assume the position every time I snap my fingers." He snapped them, and I straightened up right away.
"Good boy. Now stay there. Don't fucking move."
I froze as he entered the bathroom. I heard a cabinet door open and close.
In a moment he was facing me again. "Head up, college boy!" he ordered.
I complied, and saw him for the first time. He wearing jeans and an athletic undershirt. He was of my height and was slender and muscular. His close-cropped hair was greying. He was obviously very fit and looked considerably younger than his age.
My eyes went wide when I saw what he had in his hands. It was a leather strap with a buckle at the end, rings on the side, and a very large black rubber ball in the middle. I realized that my mouth was about to have its first experience with a ball gag. I had long fantasized about being gagged, but had only envisioned a bandana or other fabric being tied into and over my mouth. This device looked medieval and harsh.
He read the fear in my eyes and smiled cruelly. "Come on, college boy, you knew I was going to gag you up. You expected duct tape or a cloth gag? That only happens in the movies. Cloth gags don't punish an insolent boy's mouth like this tool does. And when you begin to drool, I will know you are getting the message about who is in control here. Turn around and open wide, slave. Do it!"
Chagrined and frightened, I obeyed. He applied the gag roughly, forcefully stuffing the large ball in my mouth and buckling the strap very tightly behind my head. I was crestfallen as I realized my mouth would be in a state of extreme discomfort while at the mercy of that cruel device.
"About face." I quickly complied, and he snapped his fingers. I assumed the position. By now my erection was beginning to show under my shorts and boxers.
He looked down and took notice. With a smile, he nodded. "Let's get a look at my college boy. Shoes and shirt off. Do it!"
I kicked off my sneakers, shucked off the undershirt, and stood back at attention. He looked at his helpless prey, now stripped down to gym shorts, socks, and underwear.
"The gym shorts - Take 'em down. I want you in your briefs."
My hands dropped to my waist, and suddenly I hesitated?
I remembered his instructions to be wearing briefs, and suddenly realized I was in a very precarious position; I knew my boxer shorts were about to elicit an angry reaction. My fingers trembled as they fumbled at the waistband.
His voice was impatient and curt. "I said take 'em down. To the briefs. Do it!!!"
My face flushed beet red and I swallowed hard as I took the plunge and in one motion shucked off the gym shorts, dropped them to the floor, and snapped back to attention. I dared not look at him. I was standing before my captor stripped to socks and blue plaid American Eagle boxers, helpless to prevent a raging erection that was betraying my arousal.
"You insolent, disobedient college boy." His voice was an angry snarl. He reached down and ran his finger over the waistband of my boxers and seized the elastic and snapped it against my skin. "I told you to be in briefs tonight. What are these foolish things, and what are you doing in them? Answer me."
I tried to say, "Boxers, Master. I apologize. Please forgive me." I did the best I could; the ball strapped in my mouth muffled and garbled my reply. The humiliation of being taunted for my choice of underpants and being interrogated while harshly gagged overwhelmed me with humiliation. My face went to an even deeper shade of red.
"First you are late." He snapped the waistband of the boxers against my trembling skin once again. "Then you disobey me and refuse to swallow your pride and do not dress yourself to my standards. And now?" He abruptly grasped my engorged shaft, causing me to gasp audibly behind my gag. "And now, this!!!"
My eyes were wide with fear. I weakly mumbled a whispered, muffled reply. "I'm sorry, Master."
He released my erect cock and angrily slapped it, causing me to yelp in pain and surprise. "You better get this boy-cock down, and fast!" His voice was commanding. "Turn around. Hands up and on the door. Feet apart. Ass out."
I obeyed as fast as I could. I could only listen and tremble as I heard him unbuckle and remove the belt from his jeans. I was about to get belt-whipped over my underwear, which had never really happened to me in my life.
He slapped my butt hard with his hand. "I said ass out, slave!!!" I extended my butt as far as I could. "And get that naughty boy-cock under control real fast!!!"
He whipped my ass hard with the belt; I lost track of the number of blows after the first ten and began to squirm. I tried my best to think of baseball scores, vacation plans, work, school?Anything to divert my attention from the painful whipping my Master was administering to my vulnerable, cotton-clad ass as I tried desperately to get my erection to subside. He finally stopped, and ordered my to turn and face him.
"Look at me." I looked at him and blushed again. Tears were welling in my eyes and my face was bathed with sweat. My whipped ass felt as if it was on fire.
His smile was cruel and cold. I shuddered as he slowly reached down and placed his hand on my groin. My cock was only partially flaccid.
"Naughty college boy." The tone was matter of fact. "Still partially erect."
I gulped and swallowed hard. He momentarily vanished into the bathroom. I again heard the cabinet open and close.
He emerged holding a collar, a set of reins, and handcuffs. In seconds I was collared and the reins were clipped to the rings on either side of the ball nestled in my mouth. He spun me around, pulled my arms behind my back, and cuffed my wrists together. I was spun back around to face him.
"Let's take a walk, slave boy." He grabbed the reins and led me down the hall. We ended up at a door that ominously was secured shut with a padlock. He fished a key out of his pocket, removed the lock, and opened the door. I could see a set of stairs leading to the basement, which was dimly illuminated.
He pulled me close and looked long and hard into my eyes. "Well, slave." His voice was now a seductive purr. "You said you wanted to be dominated, did you not? To be put under the control of a strong, masculine, older guy? You have already been discipline stripped, collared, cuffed, gagged, and whipped, and I'm just getting started on you." My eyes teared up and I felt myself beginning to tremble. His voice switched to a mocking tone. "I told you I know what you want and need. And you showed up for it. I must have been right."
I blinked and stood there, breathing heavily. I felt like squirming. I was his, and we both knew it.
"Be careful what you wish for, slave." He winked slyly at me and took hold of the reins and pulled me close. "Follow me, and watch your step. Welcome to my dungeon."
With that, he marched me down the stairs.
End of Part 1