This is a more or less true story. Some names and details have been changed. But in essence it is true. I plan on writing one part a week, so I'll get the next one up as soon as I can - do let me know if you like it. I can't `tailor' it very much, I really am writing up my own experiences. My Master will come into it properly in part 3 - parts one and two scene.
As always, let me know what you think - mattspank74@gmail.com. And I'll get the next part of the `Labour Camp' story up soon too!
I am a professional, educated, normal' guy. I have a good job, a partner whom I love very much. But I have another side as well. One which the rest of the world does not know about. I am an owned faggot slave. I know that the f' word is a difficult one for some, but that is what I am. My Master calls me fag, faggot or (if He is being kind) boy. I wanted to share what my life is like.
I have known my Master for about 10 years. He is very slightly older than me (we're both early 40s) and, like me, He has a regular job and a regular life. Until about 3 years ago, I thought I was a Man, a Master. I used slaves myself, never owned one properly, but enjoyed spanking and humiliating other guys. Then something changed in me and I gave in to what I had always really known - that I wanted to be the one serving, not the one being served. It started with a guy I met online. I don't know what it was about him that made me want to submit to him, but the fact that he was a complete stranger and seemed to know what he was doing made it easier. He is about 10 years younger than me, and quite an attractive guy. We chatted online for a few days and when I told him that I would be staying in an hotel in London for a conference in a couple of weeks' time, he suggested that would be a good time to meet.
I had told him what I found arousing - basically, humiliation of various sorts. I told him that I needed to be naked, that although I have no qualms about nudity normally, being kept naked around a clothed man was an important way of keeping me in the proper mindset. He told me I would be spanked. We agreed some basic limits - neither of us was interested in direct sexual contact, he would not leave any lasting marks. Beyond that, the session was up to him.
We arranged that he would visit the hotel after the first day of my conference had finished. I was to be naked in my hotel room at 5:30. The day of the conference passed quickly. I would like to say that I spent the whole day thinking about what was in store that evening, but I didn't - it kept coming and going in my mind, but I was caught up in the day as well. The last session finished at 5, and I headed back to the room, had a shower and shaved and then sat on the bed naked waiting to meet this stranger.
5:30 came and went and by 5:45 I was beginning to think that he wasn't going to come after all. At 5:50 my phone buzzed,
"I am just getting in the lift. When I get to your room I will knock three times. You will open the door wide and stand in the open doorway. You'll then do as you are told."
My cock became rock hard, and my heart started beating hard in my chest.
It was moments later that the three knocks on the door sounded. Even though I was waiting for them, they took me by surprise and made me jump. I took a deep breath and walked across the room. I did as I had been told, opening the door wide. My cock had softened slightly with the nerves, so it was now pointing straight in front of me, instead of standing to attention. I immediately felt silly. Standing in the corridor was this stranger. He was taller than I had imagined, just over six feet tall, with dark hair. He was dressed in a black suit, white shirt and black tie with smart black shoes. He made no move to enter the room. Instead he said,
"Come out here, boy."
I was immediately nervous again, but did as I was told and stepped out of the room into the hotel corridor. He moved into the doorway of my room, leaning against the doorframe.
"Hands on head."
I complied and my cock became harder again. My heart was thumping again as I worried about someone coming along the corridor or out of one of the rooms.
"Turn around"
I turned so that my back was to him,
"Not a bad arse, boy. It will look better bright red," there was silence for a moment or two before he said, "On your hands and knees and crawl in here."
I did as I was told, the rough hotel carpet uncomfortable under my knees as I crawled into the room.
The door closed behind me, and he spoke again,
"Nose and toes against the door, boy, hands on head, legs spread."
I stood up, and moved up against the hard wood of the door. It was uncomfortable to have both my nose and my toes against the wall. My erect penis was crushed between my body and the door. I don't know how long he kept me there. I could hear him moving around the room and heard a bag unzip and he was clearly taking things out. My penis deflated as I waited, but was still trapped between my belly and the door, so it did not become complete flaccid.
Eventually he told me to turn round and come over to him. The room was a decent size, and he had moved the chair from the desk into a space beside the window. He was sitting on the chair, and it was clear that he was about to put me over his knee. I'd not been spanked since I was at university (when I went through an exploratory phase and thought because I was young I had to be the submissive), so I was quite nervous. He patted his knee and said,
"Over you come, boy" I maneuvered myself over his knee, putting my hands on the floor to steady myself. He pushed my legs apart and made himself comfortable.
And then he spanked me.
There was no `warm-up'. He had told me there would not be. He wasn't going to mess about. He simply began to spank my bare buttocks hard. His pace varied, sometimes swift spanks to the same spot, sometimes a long while between each time his hand landed. From time to time the spanking stopped for a moment or two and he would either stroke my buttocks, or rest his hand in the small of my back, or gently explore my crack, his finger stroking and probing my anus. Then the spanking would start again.
It hurt. It started off feeling very humiliating, but not for long because all I could think of was the pain in my behind. He really was not messing about. I almost subconsciously moved one of my hands from the floor and grasped his ankle as he punished me.Throughout he said nothing, just methodically and unflinchingly spanked me. After some time he stopped and he moved slightly, clearly reaching to the table beside him. The next time my buttocks were assaulted it was no longer his hand that was landing on my unprotected and sore bottom, but a small hard implement, which I guessed was the hairbrush I had seen on the table as I laid myself over his knee.
I couldn't keep quiet any longer - the hairbrush hurt too much. And when he applied it to that sensitive place where the buttocks meet the thighs it was pure agony. I squealed and gasped and whimpered.
At last he spoke,
"This is what you wanted, wasn't it, boy?"
"Yes, Sir," I said, through gritted teeth as the hairbrush continued to batter my sore and throbbing bottom.
Finally, it stopped. He told me to get up and then, taking hold of my right ear between his forefinger and thumb, he walked me back to the door and said,
"Same position as before, boy."
My bottom was sore and starting to feel itchy, but I put my hands on my head and resumed the position against the door. My penis had subsided completely whilst he had been spanking me, and now it hung between my legs rather than between me and the door. Again, I was kept there for quite some time, and heard him moving around behind me.
When he told me to turn around this time he was sitting in the chair again, the hairbrush was back on the table beside it, and next to the brush was a bowl and a flannel. I knew what was coming. We'd talked about it and although I was dreading it, my subconscious mind had other ideas and my cock began to rise again.
"Over here and kneel in front of me, boy"
I did as I was told, keeping my hands on my head.
"Open your mouth, boy."
Heart thumping again, I obeyed, opening wide. He took his phone from the table and took a couple of pictures of me, before taking the bar of soap which had been softening in the bowl of water and rubbing it vigourously on the flannel. Leaning forward, he thrust the soapy flannel into my open mouth, rubbing the soap around my mouth, coating my tongue and the insides of my cheeks. The taste was revolting, and I gagged as he roughly scrubbed away. Taking out the flannel, he then put the bar of soap itself into my mouth, running it back and forth across my teeth. He told me to put out my tongue, and he rubbed the bar up and down it as I stuck it out, feeling like a complete fool as I gagged and spluttered. My cock was rock hard, which made me feel even more humiliated - I was getting turned on by this and I sort of wished I was not.
"Bite down," He ordered.
The bar of soap was clamped between my teeth, part of it sticking out of my mouth, burning my lips slightly, the rest of it inside my mouth, resting on my tongue. I was unable to escape the taste of the soap, and it was quite disgusting.
He took some more pictures, ordering me to look directly into the camera lens as he did so, before taking me by the ear again and marching me back to my position against the door.
It was worse, of course, this time. My bottom was still sore, and now my mouth was being tortured even whilst I stood still. More rustling and movement behind me for a while, before he ordered me into the bathroom.
He stood me in front of the sink and allowed me to rinse out my mouth. He watched as I tried to wash out the taste of the soap, but it was not really possible. No matter how much water I swilled around my mouth and spat out, I still had that acrid taste. And there was soap caught in the crevices of my teeth where I had bitten down on the bar itself, and that was not easy to get out. After a while, he told me I had had long enough to sort myself out. Taking my ear again, he pulled me back to the chair, where he sat down again and I knelt before him.
"Take my shoes and socks off, boy."
Taking my hands from my head, I leant forward and untied his shoes, carefully loosening each one before slipping it off. Then I pulled off each black sock in turn, before kneeling back and putting my hands back on my head.
"Just for you, boy, I have not washed my feet for four days. And I've worn the same socks for those four days as well. Aren't you a lucky boy?"
"Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir," I replied, my hardening cock giving me away again.
"Now you have a properly clean mouth you know what to do then, boy. Get on with it."
He sat back and picked up a newspaper which I had not noticed on the table beside him. I took my hands off my head and leant forward again, taking his right foot in my hand and then moved forward again. I closed my eyes and began to lick the barefoot before me.
It was quite ripe. There was black fluff between the toes and it tasted of sweat. I lapped at the foot, getting my tongue in between the toes, licking away at the fluff and the foot cheese. I worked my way around the whole foot, the instep, the heel and the top of the foot. I knew that he would tell me when I could move onto the other foot, so just kept licking and sucking at it. From time to time he would put down his paper and take a couple of pictures of me at work on his foot. Sometimes telling me to look into the lens with his foot in my mouth, sometimes telling me to just get on with it while he captured my humiliation. He could not have missed the fact that my cock was rock hard, but he never mentioned it. That's one of the reasons I find the sub in a scene being naked so important - the man can see what is really going through the boy's mind by watching the reaction of his penis.
After what felt like an age, he ordered me to change feet. Because I had been licking and sucking the right foot for so long, the sour sweat taste had diminished, so the `fresh' foot with its full ripeness was almost overwhelming as I started work on his left foot.
Again, it was quite some time before I was allowed to cease my lapping and sucking. But only for something worse.
"I need a piss, boy. Into the bath."
My heart sank. He had told me that he liked to have his boys drink his piss, but I had never done it before. I'd used subs as a urinal myself, and found it incredibly arousing, but the thought of being on the other side of it was a very different thing. Although I knew I could stop this at any time I wanted, I also wanted to see what I could go through with. My cock softened as he led me by the ear once more into the bathroom.
I climbed into the bath and opened my mouth. He undid his flies and took out his penis. It was soft and normal sized - in porn, of course, it would have been a rock hard 9" monster, but this was real life. It was a regular-sized, flaccid cock. He pulled his cock and balls fully out of his flies, the balls fairly large and hanging loose. He had a full dark bush of pubes - no manscaping here! He told me to take his cock in my mouth and to close my lips gently around it. It was warm and soft in my mouth - usually when giving head it is a hard cock in one's mouth, so it felt a bit odd to have this soft penis just resting there. It took a while for him to get going, and I felt the piss coming before I tasted it, as his cock tensed slightly and I could feel the movement of the liquid from his bladder. When it came, it was a slow stream - he was clearly trying hard to control the flow. It was warmer than I had expected, and was not very strong tasting. But it had a sharp, acrid taste. Not the same acridness as the soap had had, but a slightly `burnt' flavour. I was surprised that he did not get hard - whenever I had used a sub as a urinal I had got hard pretty quickly, which made it more difficult to piss! He was not having that problem. The piss kept coming in a slow and steady stream, and I swallowed as quickly as I could, trying not to miss a drop. I did gag a few times, as the stream went on the taste didn't become any stronger but became all pervasive - a bit like eating something with chili in it, the chili doesn't get stronger, but as you eat more of it the cumulative effect makes it feel like it does. He stroked my head as I swallowed until eventually the stream slowed and became intermittent. Finally, he pulled his cock out of my mouth and shook the last few drops off onto my face and into my open mouth. When he was satisfied that he had finished, he tucked his genitals back into his trousers and zipped his flies. Taking my ear, he led me back to the door. And yet again there were movements and rustling behind me.
After a while, he spoke again,
"Over here, boy."
I turned and walked towards him. My heart sank again. In the middle of the bed were piled the pillows from the bed. And beside them on the bed lay a cane.
He had set up those `under mattress' restraints at the head and foot of the bed, and once he had me lying over the pillows with my backside in the air, he strapped my wrists and ankles into them.
"You will get 12 strokes, boy. You will count each one and thank me for it. Behave and take them well and that will be it. If not, I will add extra strokes as I see fit."
"Yes, Sir."
I heard him move round the bed and pick up the cane. He rested it on my buttocks. I had never been caned, and I was quite scared. I was not aroused at all. And yet I knew that I needed this. I wanted him to cane me.
He lifted the cane and it came back down. I gasped loudly, but managed to say,
"One Sir, thank you, Sir".
The caning continued. Like the spanking, he was methodical and dispassionate. My gasps and yelps made no difference to him. And the cane hurt. It really hurt. I was amazed at myself for not begging to be let free. I'd never felt pain in my poor bottom like it before. But I counted each stroke and thanked him for them. And I meant it. I wasn't just going through the motions, I suddenly realised I really was thankful each time the cane lashed down onto my buttocks. But by the last stroke I was crying softly as I thanked him for it.
When he had finished, he left me lying there, crying quietly, feeling the ache and throbbing of my buttocks, the mingled taste of his feet and his piss in my mouth. I wasn't entirely aware of him unstrapping my wrists and ankles, and I only vaguely noticed as he pulled the restraints out from under the mattress.
"Well done, boy," he said, "Let's do this again soon."
He patted me on the head and then on my sore bottom. And then he was gone.
I came to as I heard the door of the room close behind him. I got up and went to the bathroom and looked at my buttocks in the mirror. They were a bright red with twelve angry lines across them. I was not going to be sitting comfortably for the next couple of days at this conference.
I had a shower, dressed, and went down to have dinner. It was only 7:30 - he'd been here about an hour and a half. But everything had changed for me. I knew from that moment that there was no point in my trying to be a Top anymore. I needed to serve. I needed to be used.
When I got back to the room, there was an email from him. In it were the pictures he had taken that evening. Pictures of me serving, my hard cock showing how much I was getting off on it.
Things had definitely changed.