Change of Life

This is a work of fiction. It includes sexual acts between consenting adults. No resemblance to specific persons living or dead is intended. If you are underage, or if possession of this text is illegal in your area, leave now. Some of the activities described in this story may cause injury or transmit diseases, including HIV. Please play safe--I don't want to lose any fans!

If you're not a writer, you probably make enough to click the donations link at the top of the index and make a contribution to keep Nifty going!

Authors retain rights to and title to their submitted works. (Please consult Nifty's submission guidelines for more information.)

Change of Life

"Buy you a drink?"

Sidney shifted his gaze from the ice melting in his empty glass. The offer came from a pleasant-looking man in a denim shirt and a leather vest. "I'm okay," he replied.

"That's not what I asked you. Would you like a drink?"

Sidney straightened up and tried to pull himself together. He was, after all, a single man in a gay bar. He put on a smile and replied, "Sorry. No thanks. I think I've had enough."

The stranger turned and leaned back against the bar. "Name's Zach. You?"

"Sidney. Look, if you don't mind, I'd rather be alone."

"You picked the wrong place, Sidney. Victoria's on a Friday night is not the place to go if you want to be alone."

"Apparently not." Sidney stood up and had just enough time to think "I'm fainting," before he collapsed.

Zach grabbed Sidney's limp body and eased him to the floor. "Give us a little room here, guys," he ordered, raising Sidney's legs.

"Everything all right?" the bartender called. "Should I call an ambulance?"

Zach squatted next to Sidney, studying him. "He'll be all right, I think. How much has he had to drink?"

"Two Tom Collins's, I think," the bartender replied.

"He's breathing okay. I think he just fainted. He a regular?"

"Not sure."

Sidney moaned and tried to sit up. "What happened?"

"You fainted," Zach said. "Don't try get up, yet. You on any meds or anything like that?"

"No."

"You started to stand up and went over," Zach continued. "Probably moved too fast."

"I think I'm okay, now." With Zach's help, Sidney got to his feet. "I probably should go home."

"You driving? You think you're okay to drive?" Zach pressed.

"I'll be fine." Sidney's answer was unconvincing, even to himself.

"I could drive you, if you want. Might be a good idea." Zach smiled.

Sidney's gaze sharpened. "What fucking business is it of yours?" he snapped.

"Absolutely none. But you aren't ready to drive yet. How about we go next door and have a little something to eat?"

"If you're trying to pick me up, you're going to be disappointed."

"I'm not so sure," Zach said.

Fifteen minutes later, Sidney was staring at a bowl of chicken soup. "I was at the movie theater, and the kid at the snack bar asked what I wanted, and I didn't know. I just stood there. I didn't know what I wanted," he repeated, louder. "I didn't--about anything. I just suddenly realized I...It's hard to explain."

"Call it a mid-life crisis. How old are you?"

"Twenty-nine. For another week. Almost thirty and I haven't got any idea of what...what I want to do with my life. I suck!"

"That's a start," Zack smiled. "Always room in the world for a good cocksucker."

"That's not what I meant. I've failed," he said, staring at a spoonful of noodles. "I was going to be a novelist, see. I was an English teacher. High school English." He dropped the noodles back into the bowl, ferreted out a bit of chicken, and ate it. "Which was...the Assistant Principal said, 'We can always find a reason to let you go.' And they did. And I didn't challenge them." Sidney's voice sharpened and he leaned toward Zach. "Just because a guy's a fruit doesn't mean he's a chicken-chaser, dammit." He suddenly stopped and gave a sour laugh. "Except for this damn soup. They should call it chicken-less noodle soup."

"So then what? After the school let you go?"

"I tried writing something--anything. But it's like being a painter who knows all about how to do it, but doesn't have anything to paint. Turns out there's nothing up here." Sidney pointed to his head, then smacked himself. "Empty."

"I doubt that."

"What are you, a therapist--you're not some kind of religious nut, are you?"

Zach leaned forward. "No. But I'm pretty sure I know how you feel: like a guy who's lost in the woods, and comes to a fork in the path, and doesn't have the faintest idea which way to go. Maybe he's not even sure if he should go anywhere at all. How's that?"

"I'm not a woodsy type. But otherwise..." Sidney nodded. "Pretty much. Empty, as I said."

"I may be exactly what you need. How would you like to spend some time at my place?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I want to fuck you, Sidney. Believe it or not, I think you're hot. That's why I offered to buy you a drink, and you fell into my arms."

For a moment, Sidney just stared. The man across the table was sexy, he admitted to himself, a sort of solid, no-nonsense sexy. "You don't look gay," he muttered.

"I get that a lot, and it's a pain. It's like coming out, over and over. I am. Queer as they come. And I'm clearly not chicken."

"How old are you?" Sidney asked, then mentally kicked himself for being rude.

"Thirty-eight." Zach answered calmly, clearly taking no offense. "Tell you what. I'm taking you home with me, all right? And then I'm going to show you what you want."

Something in Zach's manner seemed to promise the answer--or at least an answer--to the question that had gnawed at him since the kid had paralyzed him, staring at the array of candy at the snack bar.

"Yeah. Okay."

Zach's place was the top floor of a small warehouse in an unfamiliar part of town. He guided Sidney out of the freight elevator. "Strip," he commanded, walking away. "I'll get the lights." A few seconds later, a lamp came on. Sidney watched Zach move to a second, then a third, and saw a mix of furniture, clearly chosen for comfort rather than style.

Zach turned to look at him. "I told you to strip," he said. "Go ahead."

Sidney began undoing his shirt. "What about you?"

Zach slowly crossed the floor until he was at arm's length. His voice was soft, but firm. "Sidney. I want you naked. I want you to do what I say. From now on, I'm in charge. Is that okay?"

Sidney nodded, not quite sure why. "Maybe because it's easier," he thought.

"Good." Zach stepped closer, took Sidney's head in his hands, and kissed him firmly. "For now, just forget everything outside this space. You're safe here. I'll take care of it all. All you have to do is obey. Let go and let me handle everything." Sidney started to speak, but Zach pressed his finger across the man's lips. "For the next twelve hours, you belong to me. I'm going to take care of you. You will be safe. Do you understand? That's what you want, isn't it? Someone else to take charge?"

Sidney nodded, staring at Zach. It was what he wanted. But it wasn't possible. He tried to say that, to explain his obligations, duties, responsibilities--but no words came.

"You have nothing to do but obey me, Sidney." He stroked the back of Sidney's head, rubbed his neck, leaned even closer and whispered into his ear. "For the next twelve hours, just obey. Understand?"

Sidney nodded again, vaguely surprised at his passivity.

"Say 'Yes, Zach.'"

"Yes, Zach."

Zach's head moved back. His hands slid from Sidney's head and neck to his shoulders. "Say 'Yes, Sir.'"

Zach's eyes were a piercing blue-green, and Sidney's last doubts fell away. "Yes, Sir," he said. Was he hypnotized, or something? Did it matter?

"Now strip. Take it all off." Zach walked away. A few minutes later, just as Sidney was starting to wonder what he should do now that he was naked, Zach said, "Come over here."

Sidney walked across the room and found himself standing next to a bed. "Kneel down, Sidney."

Sidney obeyed.

"I'm going to fuck you." There was no anger in Zach's voice, no threat. He spoke gently. "I'm going to tell you to do things to please me. All you have to do is obey me. That's all. No questions, no hesitation. Just do what I tell you as well as you can. Understand? Tell me you understand."

"I understand."

Zach tilted his head. "What do you want to call me?"

"Sir? I understand, Sir?"

"Good. Stay there." Zach turned to the night table behind him and opened the drawer, then turned back. "I want you to wear this. Put it around your neck." He handed Sidney a leather collar.

Sidney took the collar. It was thick, and obviously well-used. He put it around his neck and buckled it.

"Now I want you to follow me. Crawl on your hands and knees." Zach walked slowly toward an island of concrete in the middle of the warehouse floor. Sidney crawled after him. They went around the island to the opposite side, and Zach opened a door. Sidney followed him into the darkness, and heard the door shut behind him. He heard a match, and then Zach began lighting candles. "There's a cage in front of you. I want you to crawl into it."

Sidney crawled forward as his eyes adjusted to the dimness, and saw the cage, with its opened door directly ahead. He crawled in and waited. A few seconds later, he heard Zach close the cage and lock it.

"I'll be back soon. You're perfectly safe in the cage. Nothing can hurt you in the cage. There's nobody here but you and...Sir Zachary. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir." Sidney heard Zach--Sir Zachary--walk away, heard the door to the room close. The cage was small, only about two feet wide and no more than three feet high, but Sidney managed to turn around so he could examine the room. There was a large cupboard along the wall next to the door, and to his right, a long, narrow table. There were chains hanging from the ceiling to his left, and what looked like a huge letter "X" leaning against the wall. "Oh, my God! What have I gotten myself into?" he thought, and felt his heartbeat speed up. He started to call out, then stopped himself. Sir Zachary had said there were only the two of them there. And he wasn't sure he wanted Sir Zachary to hurry back. "I deserve this," he thought. "I'm just going to disappear forever, and it doesn't matter." But his heart was still racing. He grabbed the bars, tried to rattle the door, but the cage was firmly locked. He poked his arms through the bars, groping at the floor, to see if there was anything he could use to--to what? Escape? Escape to what? Sir Zachary had his clothes, identification, even the key to the drab room he'd found that he could afford, third floor rear, with one dirty window, a worn mattress on a single bed, a shared bath and a faint, foul smell. "Not so different from this," he thought, bitterly.

Sir Zachary returned, briefly silhouetted against the light from the doorway. He looked impossibly large, muscular, shining somehow. He shut the door behind him and turned on some overhead lights, red and yellow.

Sidney could see the room more clearly now: it was some sort of a torture chamber, evidently. And Sir Zachary was wearing black leather pants tucked into lineman's boots. He still wore the same vest, but the shirt was gone. His muscles seem to grow and shrink in the uneven light. And Sidney felt his cock stirring.

Sir Zachary unlocked the cage, then stood in front of the open door. "I want you to lick my boots. Lick my boots."

Sidney dropped his head, lowered himself to the floor, tentatively touched one boot with his tongue. He tasted leather. Or was it the smell? He licked the toe. Not sour, not really sweet. Salty, perhaps. But mostly it was the smell. He took a deep breath, filling his nostrils, licking his way around the toe of the boot. The leather on the side was a bit softer, not quite as smooth. He kept at his task, at first in hopes of delaying whatever Sir Zachary intended to do to him next. But gradually, the task itself took over. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. There was none of the frantic pawing he was used to, none of the desperate energy, the sense of racing against time. He struggled to lick as much of the boot as he could. If nothing else, perhaps he could do an acceptable job of licking Sir Zachary's boots. All he had to do was obey. Obey as well as he could.

Eventually, Sir Zachary led him from the cage. "Stand up," he said, and Sidney found himself facing the "X." In this light, he could see the cuffs attached to each end. Sir Zachary told him to lean forward against the polished wood, closed the cuffs around his wrists and ankles, then wrapped a wide leather belt around the bottom of his back. He was secured firmly to the wood, his cock and balls pressed against the middle of the cross. Sir Zachary began to rub his back. "I'm going to flog you." Sidney tensed. "Don't worry," Zach continued. "You'll like the way it feels. Just let yourself feel it. Relax. Accept it. Do you understand?"

"No!" Sidney thought, but he said, "I'll try, Sir."

"Good." Sir Zachary kept massaging him for a few more minutes, then stepped away, and the first blow fell.

Sidney was surprised. He had expected a cutting pain, but this was more like being slapped or shoved by...what? The next blow fell, and the next. It was like some sort of exotic massage. Sometimes the blows stung, just at the edges of his back. A strange warmth spread across him. The blows got harder, the feelings more intense. Soreness flooded him, all of him seemed to be under the flogger. He realized his eyes were closed. And then, the beating stopped and he felt Sir Zachary leaning against him, heard Sir Zachary whispering in his ear.

"Very good, Sidney. Very good, subject. You are my subject, my prisoner, my slave--my sub. You are my sub. Say it."

"I'm your sub, Sir Zachary."

"You want to be my sub. You want to be told what to do, to be responsible to no one but me, to have to obey no one but me, don't you?"

"No," Sidney thought, but he said, "I...I think so, Sir."

"Good, sub. I'm going to show you that you're right to think so, to pledge your body to me. I think that's what you want. To be guided. To know what to do, what you are. That's what you want, isn't it sub?"

"Do I?" Sidney thought, then heard himself say, "Yes, Sir. Please, Sir, may I call you my master?"

"You may, sub."

"Thank you, Master."

Master began releasing sub from the cross, ordered him to kneel. "Do you want to please me, sub?"

"Yes, Master."

"I like sex, sub. Do you want to give me sex? That would please me. Would that please you, sub?"

"Yes, Master."

"Feel my crotch, sub. Do you feel my codpiece?"

Sub reached up carefully, cupped the rounded leather pouch. "Yes, Master."

"It would please me if you would lick it."

"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master." Sub pressed his lips to the leather and began to lick it. This was different than the boots: softer, warmer. And he could feel Master's manhood underneath it. The smell of leather mingled with the scent of Master's flesh. Deep inside, Sidney watched, astonished, felt himself being split in two, and felt, despite that, at ease.

"Find the snaps, sub. Pull off my codpiece."

Sub didn't answer. His tongue had just encountered the head of a metal snap. He gripped it carefully in his teeth, pulled it loose, felt Master's hair against his mouth and nose, eagerly tugged at the opposite snap.

Suddenly, Master reached down and freed the codpiece, then pressed it against sub's face. "Does that smell good, sub? Do you like the way my codpiece smells?"

Sub inhaled deeply, felt almost dizzy. "Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."

"Would you like to smell Master's crotch?"

"Yes, please. Please, Master."

"You may."

Sub buried his face in the warmth of Master's crotch, felt Master's cock growing against his cheek, felt it slide along his face. Sub shifted slightly, so he was able to press himself under Master's cock, against his balls. "Master? May I lick your balls, Master?"

"Go ahead, sub. Lick my balls," Master said, softly. He braced himself against sub's shoulders so he could focus on the warm, slick softness of sub's tongue. His cock was growing stiffer by the moment. "You may lick my cock, sub," he whispered, and felt sub's tongue sliding along the bottom of his shaft. "Just the head, now, sub. Lick the head of my cock." He took a deep breath. His voice was soft, but it seemed to fill the room. "Forget. Forget everything before we met. Erase it. You are on your knees in front of your Master, sub. You are licking your Master's cock. That is all you should be doing. That is all that matters. Nothing else in the world is more important than your tongue on my cock, sub. My cock tastes good. Go ahead and worship my cock, sub. Let it into your mouth, feel it in your mouth, feel it sliding back and forth."

Master's voice slowed. "Feel the ridges where the veins run near the surface. Feel the edge of the corona. Run your tongue around that sharp edge. That feels very good, sub. You are doing very well, sub. You are doing what you're supposed to do, sub. You are doing exactly what you're supposed to be doing, sub. This is what you are here for, sub. This is your purpose, your mission. Worship the God, sub."

Master put his hands on sub's head. "Let me show you, sub. Let me take over. Follow my hands. Obey my hands. Obey, sub: all you have to do is obey. Do as you're told. Just do as you're told, sub. I'm going to shoot now, sub. Your Master is giving you his come, sub. Feel it filling you." He moaned.

Master's shaft filled his mouth, glided over his lips, past his teeth and the root of his tongue. Zach leaned forward, and the cock slid into his throat, where it belonged.