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Warning: This erotic fiction contains sexual experiences between fictional males. If this is not your thing, leave now. Furthermore, any similarity to any person, place or thing living or dead is merely coincidental.
There is no safe sex in this story because it is fiction. Remember: In real life, play as safe as possible preferably no exchange of bodily fluids.
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Story codes: M, MM, SM, bd
Please check out my other Nifty.org stories, which can be found under the prolific author section at http://www.nifty.org/nifty/frauthors.html and then scroll down to Douglas Marx
Growing Up Naked http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/growing-up-naked/ Downward Spiral of Jim http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/downward-spiral-of-jim Naked Whore http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/naked-whore Put Out to Pasture http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/put-out-to-pasture Santa's Slave Training http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/santas-slave-training Special Product Design http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/special-product-design The Trunk http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/the-trunk
Born - Chapter Three
I got in the car service. There was a note attached to the back of the front seat. "Take your clothes off. Fold them neatly placing them on the seat. Put this blindfold on. Put on your seatbelt. The car will move when you are in your seat, naked, belted and blindfolded."
What was I doing? There is a driver sitting in front. He is going to see me naked. How can this be happening? Yet, my dick was as hard as it had ever been. I almost came. I did as I was told. Once I was naked, clothes folded, seat belt on and blindfolded, the car service started.
My mind raced. What was I doing? This was very inappropriate behavior on the part of Mr. Brown. He could get himself in serious trouble. What does he know about me that would make him take such a risk? He obviously knows I am gay. He obviously must be attracted to me. That thought was exciting; he is attracted to me. My cock twitched. I decided at that moment that something was going to happen between us. I was thrilled that he wanted me. That was what was important. He must trust me enough to realize that if something goes wrong between us, I am not the type to yell and scream and make a public spectacle of a situation. Yes, it was a risk for Sir, but the more I thought about it, the more it became clear it wasn't that much of one.
The car service drove a long way, probably over a half hour. I had no idea where I was. I even thought is this the final chapter of my life? I settled my thoughts with the fact that I was in a car service, which could be traceable. All I could really do was smell the very public leather upholstery. Thousands of people have probably sat in this back seat. I mused myself with the wonder if any others had sat on this seat naked. Then, I thought, it's a car service. I am sure someone has been naked before on this back seat.
We slowed down to neighborhood speeds. We must be getting close to a house or something. I felt I may be back in the `burbs. What an ironic twist.
Then, we moved to a crawl. We must be on a drive. The car stopped. Where was I? My dick was still hard. I was going to meet Mr. Brown naked!
The passenger door opened. "Get out boy." It was Mr. Brown's voice. His tone was so distinctive. I got out of the car. "Put your hands behind your back." I did and I heard the click of handcuffs on each wrist. "Walk with me."
I walked with his hand grabbing my tricep. I heard the car start making a beeping noise as it backed up. Then I heard the garage door close. I was in a house.
We walked a bit and then I was placed in a chair. The handcuffs were unlocked; however, a new set was attached to my ankles. Clearly, I wasn't going anywhere.
Mr. Brown took the blindfold off. I looked around. I was sitting at a dining room table. Dinner was in front of me. I was so high in thought I hadn't even noticed the smell of food.
"Glad you could join me for dinner, boy." Mr. Brown sat down next to me at the table.
I didn't speak. It was all too much.
"Boy, I have been eyeing you since the day you walked into the bank. I figured out pretty quickly that not only were you a fag, but you were a fag who wanted to serve. Is that right boy?"
"Yes sir. It is sir."
"We have a lot to talk about this evening, but first we shall eat. We don't want supper to get cold."
Mr. Brown started to eat. I was having a little trouble but manage to eat some. I kept looking at him. He was dressed in an expensive pair of silk pajama bottoms, with a loose silk robe that left a lot of his bare manly chest showing. His five o'clock ten am shadow was more like midnight at this point in the day. He oozed masculinity from every pore of his being. He ate well slowly chewing each bite perfectly. It was as if I was watching someone disciplined in the best of Miss Manners table etiquette. I tried to be equally appropriate in my decorum. It was hard. First because of the situation, I was attached to the chair by ankle cuffs and second, because this man was mesmerizing.
We pretty much ate in silence. Finally, Mr. Brown spoke. "Did you enjoy your dinner, boy?"
"Yes sir."
"Good. I don't like boys hungry. They can't concentrate and think clearly. You, boy, must think very clearly this evening."
Now I was scared. What did he mean by that? Mr. Brown got up from the table and took away all the dishes. Every detail was taken care of such as in a fancy restaurant. The final time he returned from the kitchen he bent down and undid my leg cuffs.
"Stand up boy. Follow me."
Naturally I did as I was told. What choice did I have? He took me to his drawing room. The room was dark, manly, leather chairs, lots of books, low lighting. He grabbed my arm and led me to a wooden chair placed in the center of the room. Obviously the chair was not part of the normal look of the space.
"Sit."
He walked over to a wall and hit a few switches and lights spotted on me. This made it difficult to see him well or anything else in the room for that matter. Mr. Brown moved over to an overstuffed leather chair, took out a pipe and lit it. This was almost Victorian in style or certainly "private men's club" style. He took a deep inhale of the tobacco and said,
"You boy are a born slave. You fantasize about men like me all the time. You leave work every night and jack off thinking about me. I know for a fact that you want me badly. Am I correct boy?"
"Yes Sir. I have lusted after you since the day we met."
"That's right. Lust. But that's all fantasy boy. You don't have a fucking clue as to what it would mean to be of service to a man 24/7/365."
"No Sir. I probably do not. I have no experience. I only know I want to serve."
"That is a decent start having that knowing. Most boys have much more ego and can't own up to their base desire.
"Here's the deal. I want a full time slave. You want to be of service. You have a fantasy. Here is your opportunity to make it a reality.
"Tomorrow is Friday. If you want to be my slave, come in to work tomorrow morning with a letter of resignation. I expect the proper two-week notice. I will accept it and wish you the best. No need to add an explanation to the letter, simply thank me for the opportunity to work for such a marvelous bank.
"Two weeks from Friday, leave work, go to your apartment, pack, bring everything. The car service will be at your front stoop at 7 PM with the trunk open. Put your things in the trunk, get in the car, take your clothes off just as this evening, put on the blindfold and arrive at my home for your new life."
"Yes Sir."
"If you do not give me a letter in the morning, the deal is off. We will not speak of it again and at the first opportunity I will have you transferred to another branch nearby and we will part company. No hard feelings."
"Yes Sir."
Sir turned the lights off. My eyes adjusted slowly. He walked over to me. Lead me to the garage. The car service car was there. I got in. He shut the door and the car backed out.
As I heard the beeping of the backup warning sound, I thought to myself, "Fuck. He is what I have wanted for years. Now are you going to do it, Jim, or chicken out?"
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