Dream Master by Robert Halstead subkodak25@gmail.com
Note: This story if far more cerebral than my usual ones. If you're just looking for something to stroke to, this isn't the one.
I.
On our six month anniversary, I sent HIM a card and included a letter saying what was on my mind:
"I've given up trying to make any sense out of what's been happening these last few months. It's as if my former life had come to an end the night I met YOU. I was sitting at the bar having a beer and talking to my friend Sam. When I looked into the mirror behind the bar, I could see you watching me with a mysterious smile on your face. It looked like you were pleased with me for some reason I didn't understand. I had never met you before. I didn't even know your name, but for some strange reason it made me happy that you approved of me.
"I wanted to meet you, so I told Sam that someone was checking me out, and walked through the crowd to get to you. I felt like you were drawing me, like I was answering some kind of a summons, like I was crossing over some unseen line into a new dimension, that my entire life was about to change.. When I looked into your eyes, it seemed you knew more about me than I knew about myself. That was six months ago, and everything has changed or "evolved," to use the word you say so often.
"That was six months ago. Now nothing before YOU matters any longer, nothing I ever did, no goal I'd ever achieved, no accomplishment that once filled me with pride, no hopes I once had for the future. All of that has become insignificant, almost meaningless in the face of what you want for me. You've set new goals for me, you've been pushing my limits beyond what I ever thought I could handle. You've been teaching me new skills. You've been training me to be ashamed of things that seem normal for most guys my age. like acquiring self-respect, or wanting to chart my own course, to say nothing of the right to jerk off. You've been trying to get me to understand that my former desire for private sexual pleasure is selfish and disgraceful for a slave. Sometimes you use corporal punishment, as if that is going to change the way I think.
"You've reordered my priorities, given me new ways of understanding life, new ways of understanding myself. You've made me face the fact that I've never been truly happy. You've helped me accept the fact that pain would heal my soul, that obedience would be my greatest form of pleasure, that punishment would be a way for me to feel loved. How was it that you knew what I was meant to become and that you would be the one to break me free from my old ways? I'm not afraid to admit it, Master: you broke me then made me unbreakable. How can I ever thank you enough?"
Yours,
kid xo
So that is the letter I wrote HIM.
I'm really pleased with my concluding word and I know HE'll know HE already owns me for as long as HE wants me. I put the letter in an envelope with a card I had bought for HIM and left it under HIS door.
I'll never forget the night I first met HIM. It was unnerving. We spoke briefly, but then he said he had to leave. After he left, as I walked back to the bar, I couldn't stop thinking that my life was going along "creeping in its petty pace." Where did I get those words? Probably from some Shakespeare I'd memorized in high school. The toughest word was "petty." It was accusing me, saying I've been settling for too little. It was all petty: all my striving, all my searching, all the things I'd been pretending mattered so much. "Why," it was asking. "Why all the denial, all the pretending you're happy? Why are you climbing a ladder to get to . . . what?" Damn! Something had to change.
I shuddered. I wanted to turn my mind off the way I usually do when my thoughts get too heavy: rough sex. After HE left, I went right over to Madison, ready to beg the hot Alpha to take me where I don't have to think. Half an hour later I was in the back room on my knees and he was slapping my face. "Watch the teeth, bitch!" He shoved himself all the way down my throat and held me there with his hand on the back of my head until I started choking. He let me back off with phlegm dripping from my mouth and down my chin. "That's it, cocksucker. Again. All the way down. Choke on that cock!" He'd hold me then let me back off explosively. Then he'd push me down again. And again. And again, until I almost puked.
There had always been some dark chemistry between the two of us. I only went near him when I needed it that way. Dark. Masochistic black. Madison always acted like he despised me, used all the humiliating names. Maybe it was just an act, but it felt damn real to me. He could take me down the way I felt I deserved. Despite it all, I knew he would destroy anyone else who ever tried to bully me. There was only one person I had to be afraid of when Madison was around: myself.
Once he'd emptied himself down my throat, he took out a black handkerchief and cleaned the gunk off my face then had me blow my nose into it. "Keep it," he said, shoving it in the pocket of my jeans. "I got it for you. Keep it clean. Wear it in your right back pocket from now on."
Damn. I knew the code. Black right means "Pain. Smack me around. Use what you want on me. Push my limits." That'll make me vulnerable all the damn time, going around advertising my shame, the fact that there was something within me that was always crying out "enslave me." Shit—I don't need a hanky to advertise. Word had gotten around a long time ago about me. Too many people have seen Madison work me over or heard him curse me out. Still, Madison told me to wear it all the time, so I will. Even when it got me into trouble one night by these three guys who decided to work out a kidnapping fantasy with me as the victim. Trouble was they didn't tell me it was just a fantasy. I believed it was true. I was terrified and exhilarated. Damn thing was that I was disappointed when they let me in on the game. That night I realized that I really would like it if someone pulled me away from my life for real. Sometimes I really scare myself when I catch myself thinking like that.
Maybe that's why it was so easy to let HIM take over. Maybe that's why I just couldn't resist, even when Sam pleaded with me to get away from him. "Come on, kid, it's one thing to be a sub, but that's not what this is with him. I don't know what it is, but it really worries me." It was too late to try to talk some sense into me. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Sorry about that.
"Kid." That's what they all call me here because that's what they hear Madison call me when he's not calling me faggot or bitch or cocksucker or worse. Only here, though, in this bar, with this crowd. The tribe here is different than the rest of gay Victorville. Different folks have different strokes.
That's another thing that was so uncommon about that guy, the one who would take me over—not Madison, the other one I'm talking about---HE fit right in here, but something was weird: HE wasn't dark. I experienced HIM as an overwhelming light that blinded me so all I could do was stick out my hands and let HIM lead me wherever HE wanted. Like I said before. Unsettling. Whenever HE looked at me it was like HE was probing me, digging for something I didn't want HIM to find. Nope!
Madison left me with the black handkerchief. When I tried to get up off my knees, some guy with a white beard pulled me up by my armpits. I opened my mouth to thank him, and he tried to spit in it but missed. Now I had spit on my chin. He chuckled. "You look good with my spit on you, boy. Let me give you some more."
Oh well, I might as see where it takes me. I nod, keeping my eyes lowered. He takes me by the hair. pulls my head back and says to the guys who were watching, "here. Help me wash the kid's face." I'm 20, but here I'm still a kid. Now two guys are spitting at my face and one pulling my hair back is drooling on me until I'm soaking wet and trying to get away. Luck is with me. Somebody pulls my t-shirt off me and wipes my face with it. As soon as I can, I turn and walk back into the bar then right out the door. I had enough for one night.
Let me know if this works for you. subkodak25@gmail.com