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Gay Uniform Slave
Part 11 End
Part 11
It continued on.
I must say I enjoyed being fucked by, and fucking, 34, he was just so enthusiastic, and produced a seemingly endless amount of cum.
Even though I wasn't much older, his youth was a reminder of my age, and I could somehow feel myself less and less able to perform as the days went by.
Where once, at the start of all this, I could orgasm and cum at least eight times in a day, and sometimes more, it had started to get more difficult, although I could always be sure of a raging hard-on whenever my scrotum started buzzing.
Our group had changed, and I had seen others, including lamentably 31, and everyone whose number was lower, given the fucked to death' send-off. We had gone to as small a number as four, and at one point there were nine of us. I had taken part in other interviews' for new guys and seen the same old routine of extremes of pleasure and pain.
One day the Slave-Master approached me as I was working, it was close to the end of the day -- too late I thought for another interview.
30, put your hands behind your back, he said. I did so, and suddenly the other Slave-Master handcuffed me. I was very confused, I had never disobeyed anything. I followed them back towards the body of the house, and as we approached the door, I could hear talking through it. It was the `medieval fucked to death' talk I had now heard at least four and probably five times. I wondered who it could be, and why they had started without me.
Then it dawned on me. I started to squirm and struggle.
No. No Sir. Not me. Not now. Please
Shhh, said the Slave-Master. You know it has to be.
I almost believed him There were no options to consider. All I had to cling onto was the euphoria in death that I had heard the Master talk of. I suppose I knew that it could not last forever. We were already well in the 40 number range, mine was just about the smallest number.
I was led into the room, just as the wall of dildoes was bought in from the other side. I saw the body shaped cage on the table and shuddered. The Slave-Master shoved a ball gag in my mouth and secured it tightly behind my head. He then removed my butt plug and started to force me into the cage. I had no choice but to comply and squeezed myself in. I guess I had accepted death and just wanted to avoid any more punishment that was not to their plan.
Once I was in the cage, in a dog-like position, my wrists, ankles and neck were secured and to all intents and purposes I could not move.
Then it started. Cock after cock was rammed into me and it felt like I accepted about a gallon of cum. I could not see who was doing what, although I felt sure I noticed the force of 34's young spurts. I could feel the girth of each of the Slave-Masters in turn, and then, I think, both at the same time. Each of the Masters, Jenson, and combinations of them. All the while the pain and electricity was shooting from my scrotum to every point on my body, it felt as though it was connected to, or through, the cage itself.
Then the dildoes on the fucking machine started and I was leaking cum as they drove further and further into my arse displacing anything that was there before. As my prostrate got repeatedly massaged I came myself, repeatedly, although only dribbles compared to the volcano-like streams I had managed once.
As I progressed up the dildo sizes it felt as though my arse would tear right open and eventually in a massive sting of sheer excruciating pain I came one last time.
I don't remember euphoria.
And then I passed out.
When I came to, I thought, is this death?
It feels somehow so normal.
I was in a ditch by the side of a road. Everywhere was green and fresh smelling.
I looked down and saw that I was wearing a smart white shirt, blue jacket and tan trousers.
Confused, I felt my neck. There was nothing there. No collar, no tight shirt collar, nothing. I looked at my wrists. Bare. I hitched up the trousers and lowered the socks. No ankle cuffs.
I realised that these were my clothes.
Had I been dreaming, I wondered? Had all this been some kind of dream? It felt so real, and so long, and so visceral.
My hand went to my head -- just a light stubble all over it. I looked down and undid the trousers. I was wearing underwear! I pushed it down and saw my cock and balls. Entirely hairless. It cannot have been a dream. But there was no cock ring, no rubber or metal, just my cock.
My arse hurt -- a lot, but there was an emptiness, a hollow feeling -- I realised that for the first time I could remember there was nothing in it. I almost wished there was.
I stood up and took off the jacket. Slowly I undid the shirt. Again no hair on my chest, but red marks in a straight line down and across, and my nipples were enormous and still sported two pairs of piercing holes each.
I was confused and I have to confess more than a bit disappointed. Not that I was not dead, but that I was alive and here. I also breathed a sigh of relief that the whole `fucked to death' thing had simply been a cover for getting rid of us, and that I had not taken part in anything so grisly, even though I hadn't really had any choice.
I put on the shirt again and picked up the jacket.
Inside the pocket was a wallet -- my wallet. And some papers. I pulled these out. It was a contract -- several pages long, with my signature at the end and a red stamp that said "Contract -- Completed', initialled with something illegible but which looked like a J. I opened the wallet and there was my drivers licence, and then a cheque fell out -- it was for $80,000, and made out to `Mike Wyatt'.
To me. This was me.
I wanted so much to run back, to find them, to beg to be naked, in my uniform shirt, bound, with my metal bands and my cock restrained to be erect. But I had no idea which direction, no way of knowing. And I knew that they did not want me.
I slung the jacket over my shoulder and started walking.
Just a few steps along a small and very pleasurable buzz went off in my scrotum. My cock stiffened, and a smile spread across my face.
Post-Script.
This was all some years ago. Even my body hair started growing back eventually and the marks all faded. But I have taken the trouble to put rings back through my nipple piercings.
I had come out as gay to my friends and family and I had managed to get a good job and I was happy, although I genuinely think I will never be quite as happy as I was for some of that time at the house.
I still have a thing for nylon shirts.
One night I was in a bar and someone sat down next to me. He was good looking and a fair bit older than me, but in really good shape.
Hi, he said. And then his eyes did a double take.
And so did mine.
It was Jenson. No doubt about it.
Er, hello Mr Jenson, I said. Er, Sir.
Ha, he replied. Please call me Paul. I know that I know you, but I'm afraid I cannot remember your name.
Or my number? I asked
Or that... sorry.
Mike, I said, and I put out my hand.
That night, for the very first time since I had met him, he tasted my cum.
End
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