First, the basics:
This is a work of fiction. Those who are underage or for any other reason should not be reading sexually explicit material, close this window. For those who don't recognize the character of Mitchell, he was last seen in a previous story, "Fagboy and Fagdad," also here on Nifty. Copyright 2011. Any praise, criticism, or comments are to be sent to me: Not_your_Typical_Master@yahoo.com
Enjoy!
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August 2nd
Mitchell, as you have instructed, I am journaling my punishment. I have never been sorrier for anything in my life. I will do anything to earn the chance to be with you again. To not just exist in the same rooms, but to really -live- with you and be a part of you.
What I did was stupid and selfish. It was petty. You deserve so much better. But I will not focus on the crime i committed, because you've told me that's hot what I should do; I should instead focus on YOU. Completely and totally on YOU. The effect my acts had upon YOU. The betrayal YOU felt upon my confession. And, most importantly, the remedies YOU have suggested, or as I see it, commanded, to repair the damage I have done.
Because, Mitchell, anything YOU suggest is a command to me. I have never wanted anyone or anything the way I do YOU. In the months YOU'VE allowed me to house YOU in this home (I see it as YOURS, regardless of what the title says), the times that YOU'VE permitted me to inhale YOUR scent or taste YOUR flesh ... I've become addicted to YOU. When the cells of YOUR flesh, YOUR sweat, or YOUR cum touch the cells of my nose and mouth, my body responds to YOU like a narcotic. I crave more ... constantly more.
I know YOU can leave, move out at any time, and there's nothing I can say or do to change YOUR mind. So my only choice is to do whatever YOU say, fulfill YOUR every desire, and hope and pray that's enough to keep YOU here another day.
And so I am, I guess, becoming something like YOUR slave. Although I've never thought of YOU as a Master. YOU don't strut around wearing leather. YOU have never asked or told me to call YOU Master, or Sir, or anything besides YOUR name. But all you have to do is ask. Or, if you prefer, tell. Tell me and I will do so.
I face my punishment gratefully, as a chance to hopefully redeem myself to YOU and prove myself worthy to YOU. Not worthy -of- YOU, because I know that is a foolish dream; I am too old, in my mid-50's, to have the kind of body that is worthy of a beautiful man like YOU, even though I work out and try to stay in shape. I don't know how to describe YOUR perfection. When I've tried to do so to my friends, I'm literally speechless. YOU'RE handsome, of course, Mitchell; YOU'VE got to know that. Men and women both turn their heads when YOU walk into a room. But YOU'RE not exceedingly tall, or extremely muscled, or even that blond image of what we're told is a beautiful guy. YOU'RE very quiet, almost seeming to want to avoid any attention; but that's just not possible. YOU are just too handsome, a walking sculpture of grace and poise.
YOU appear to be in your mid to late 20`s, although I have no idea how old YOU actually are. YOU have a smile that lights up any room. YOUR amazing blue-grey eyes smile even before YOUR beautiful lips open and instantly everyone feels comfortable and relaxed. YOUR body is well-proportioned: lean, sexy, and nicely defined without looking like some gym rat. YOUR thick brown hair frames and caresses YOUR face like the work of art it is. People see YOU and instinctively want to touch YOU. I've seen it every day as women and men reach out toward YOU without ever realizing it. It's like YOU'RE a fucking god.
And then there is YOUR magnificent cock, Mitchell. The cock that I pray YOU will once again allow me to taste and inhale. The cock that makes my stupid mouth water, just at the thought. YOUR cock is beautiful. When YOU fucked my face or my ass with it, it filled not only the fuckhole YOU'VE chosen to enjoy, but my entire being. My soul became a sleeve for YOUR meat, Mitchell, surrounding and caressing every millimeter of YOUR erection, wanting ... no, needing, to shiver against it, against YOU, for as long as YOU allowed. I am now YOUR addict.
And so, YOUR punishment for me is simple. I am denied that access to YOU. I may not touch YOU, although I am at least permitted to remain in the same room as YOU (and I am very grateful for that, Mitchell). I may not speak to YOU at all, except once each morning, when I may tell YOU how lucky I am that YOU are still living here with me. And then at night, before YOU go to bed, to tell YOU how undeserving I am of a man l may never repeat myself. I vow to YOU that I will find 365 ways to illustrate that I understand my place.
Because YOU have stated this punishment will last for a year. Perhaps more. If at any time I disappoint YOU, in any way, the clock restarts. Or YOU may just decide YOU'RE done here and leave.
Mitchell, I don't want a life without YOU in it. So I am forced to make sure YOU are never disappointed. And so, without YOU ever being my Master, I have become YOUR slave.
YOU have suggested ... commanded ... that I keep a journal of this journey. I have no idea where it will lead, but I know I will be the better for it. I know this because YOU have demanded it.
Thank YOU, Mitchell.
August 19th
Today YOU forbade me to ever speak or write YOUR name again. I know that as this year of punishment passes, YOUR rules will become increasingly strict and cruel. YOU'VE told me about YOUR friends Duncan and Alexi, about how much fun the three of YOU had tormenting a slave YOU all owned, locking him in chastity until he had obeyed YOU perfectly for 30 days. And as how the end neared, he was desperate to not do anything to displease any of YOU. I am already desperate and wonder how I will be able to even breathe 300 days from now.
YOU have not stated any desire to be called Sir or Master or anything else. So I have no choice but to refer to YOU as YOU. Nothing else. No label or title to give YOU honor. And perhaps that is YOUR point: that anything else cheapens who and what YOU are to me. I can't help but think that in some religions, followers are forbidden to speak God's name. Now I have something in common with them.
Even though YOU have lived almost a year here in my home (which is now YOUR home, really, in everything but title), YOU have somehow remained a mystery to me. I know next to nothing about YOU. I don't know what YOU do for a living, where YOU work, or anything about YOUR family or friends. I've heard YOU talk on the phone with some of them, but often in another language -- Slavic? Russian? I once asked and YOU quickly changed the subject.
I, of course, am not given the opportunity to have any secrets from YOU. YOU have demanded a look at all my finances. YOU have not taken a cent; YOU merely wished to know my solvency and ability to keep YOU comfortable here. YOU know about my catering business, YOU have access to my clients. YOU have the password to my Mac and all my passwords for every site I might use online. YOU have decided not to lock me out from any of these sites, but YOU could at any moment. My life is an open book that YOU browse through at YOUR leisure. YOU can play with the power YOU have over me. YOU have chosen not to, at least so far, and I am very grateful for that.
So I have learned that YOU wish to remain anonymous to me; a stranger with whom I share the most intimate knowledge of my life. This helps to remind me just what I am to YOU. A plaything, perhaps ... or some lowly minion, a disobedient serf, a penitent. I watch YOU carefully, hoping to fulfill any desire you have. I hold the remote when YOU watch TV and change the channel as YOU instruct. I play YOUR favorite music on the stereo for YOU; YOU have never asked what music I enjoy, and there's no reason why you should care. I pray that YOU will show some mercy and allow me to service YOU sexually, but I doubt that mercy will be shown to someone like me.
I treasure the memories I have of YOUR body. YOUR tastes, YOUR scents, the light in YOUR eyes as YOU smile YOUR pleasure at me. Still being allowed to be so close to YOU teases and intoxicates me as I am now allowed mere whiffs of YOUR sweat as you walk by after working out. I have wondered about digging my nose deep inside YOUR shoes as YOU sleep, to get high off YOUR aroma. I have contemplated shoving YOUR dirty briefs in my mouth to clean them while I savor the tastes of whatever fluids YOU have left there.
The reason I have not done these things is that I am terrified that I will thoughtlessly start caressing my cock while doing so. That is, after all, what has caused this year of torment: my inability to keep my hands of my cock while pleasuring YOU. I was stupid and selfish enough to make the moment about my pleasure when the only pleasure that matters, to YOU or to me, is YOURS.
August 22nd
I am now positive that YOU are reading this journal. I hope YOU are enjoying it. I know YOU enjoyed YOURSELF last night by adding to my torments.
Before going to bed, as I was taking the clothes YOU had been wearing into the hamper, YOU told me to leave out YOUR briefs. YOU put them over my head, my nose at the crotch, and told me to get a good night's sleep. I slept on the floor as I always do, beside YOUR bed where YOU could peek at any moment, and spent the night aching to touch my throbbing dick as I inhaled YOU for the night. I stuck out my tongue to lick the crotch of YOUR briefs and cried at the hunger that gnawed inside me. I had soon pulled the entire crotch inside my mouth, sucking, chewing, aching for the smallest molecule of YOU. Proving once again just how deeply addicted I am to YOU. I am YOUR fucking junkie.
My dick throbbed and drooled all night long, but I was terrified to touch it. During the night YOU got up to piss. I ached to be YOUR urinal, but knew my punishment made that impossible. Instead I listened to YOUR piss tickling the john as I sucked YOUR briefs even harder and pretended I'd gotten a taste of YOUR urine. I sobbed at my frustration as YOU stepped over me and back into bed, not saying a word.
YOUR silence, that too is intoxicating. YOU have rarely ever spoken to me except to instruct me on how to better please YOU. There has never been any small talk, no conversation. No pretense of friendship. Nor should there be. YOU are so much higher above me, so superior to me, YOU should have no need or desire to lower YOURSELF to my pathetic station.
So YOUR voice has become like some ephemeral music, rarely heard and always remembered. I crave the sound of YOUR voice, even (especially?) if it is to order me around. I am becoming addicted not just to YOUR taste and scent, but also to YOUR sound and sight. And, of course, to YOUR touch.
I have never been allowed the joy of a hug from YOU. There has never been a need for such sentiment. Why would a man hug a lowly whore? Instead I had been allowed the caress of YOUR hands around my head while YOU brutally fucked my face, or their tight squeeze at my hips as YOU raped my ass. And now, not even that. As I served YOU dinner last night, my arm accidentally grazed YOURS. YOU instinctively pulled back, avoiding a whore's touch. As well YOU should. Although that brief brush sent shivers up my spine, I will work hard to insure it never happens again, out of fear that YOU would get angry and decide to let some other cumsucking whore be YOUR host. I now know I am not worthy of YOUR touch, not worthy of YOUR taste or scent, not worthy to even speak or write YOUR name.