Chapter 4: Deciding to Keep Going
Next day
You groggily come to in an unfamiliar room. A deep rumbling noise almost lulls you back to rest. But you got excellent sleep. The bf is cupping your little boy dick with his sleeping hand, which is so comforting and gives you a deep sense of security. You dare not move cause you don't want him to take it away. You survey the room, as much of us as you can see from your vantage, not remembering coming here last night. It's luscious, elegant, and distinctly masculine. Mostly grays and black with wood and red accents. But it doesn't look hard and mean. The bed is huge, bigger than a California king; a whole group of guys could sleep comfortably on it. It must be custom. And it's comfortable. Every one of your muscles is completely relaxed.
You were having a foggy sex dream. You can't resolve all the details, but it was an epic medley of skin and hair and leather, of moaning and restraints and struggle, of sweat and cum and spit. You're not exactly sure of the plot, but you definitely had a very strong feeling of eagerness and desperation, a willingness to do anything for it to continue, a need to submit.
The boyfriend's fingers twitch on your little boy dick, and it warms your heart. The way he owns you even in his sleep.
He mumbles and lets out a soft moan that goes right to your dick. As it gets harder, he tightens his grip, pulls you into him, and burrows his head into your neck.
"Is it morning yet?" He asks
"I don't know, sir," you respond, hoping it's not so you can stay there with him.
He moans again and pulls you into him tighter. You take a deep breath and ease back to sleep in his embrace.
You slowly come back to consciousness with your bf, you sir, enveloping you. As you lay on your back, his head pins your right shoulder to the mattress, and your right arm wraps under and around him to rest on his exposed back. His muscled arm crosses your chest and tucks under your left shoulder blade. The bulk of his torso covers the right side of your body. His bent legs clamp around your waste, pinning your legs straight out. His right thigh presses into your little boy dick, and his meaty junk presses against your right hip. You gently scratch his back, causing him to make soft appreciative moans and nuzzle into you more. Feeling his weight on top of you is one of your favorite feelings. The squeeze is comforting and calming, and the warmth radiates to your soul. It's also a form of restraint, and his restricting and controlling your movement, even from sleep, turns you on a little. The thought makes your little boy dick plump up under his thigh. He must feel it through his sleep because he responds by squeezing you tighter. Now you're making little appreciative moans too. Then he shifts his entire weight, like a large wild animal waking from hibernation. You fear he's going to roll away, and you feel an anticipatory sense of loss. Instead, he lifts up and slides over so he's even more on top of you, pulling the arms and legs out from under you so he can be squarely over you, chest to chest. You lay perfectly still because his eyes are still closed, and he may still be asleep. Then he collapses back down on you, releasing his full heft into your chest. All the air is paused out of your lungs through a sigh. With a few minor adjustments, he returns to stillness. You wrap your arms around him and clasp them together behind him. It feels so good you cry. You revel in the feeling as you slowly fade back to sleep... under your sir.
"You're so fucking beautiful," you hear as you wake again to him running his hand through your hair. He's propped up on one shoulder, looking deep into your eyes as you emerge from slumber. A gaunt grin comes across your face, and you lift your head to kiss his sumptuous lips. He presses your head back down to the pillow through the kiss with his lips before breaking away.
"How's my boy feeling?" He asks
"Fantastic, sir, how about you?" you reply
"Proud," he says through a smile. And you give him generous nuzzles.
After a little more romantic cuddling, he says, "I'm going to take this collar and the cuffs off so you can get cleaned up. Then I want to have that conversation that I cut off yesterday when you snapped back at me about not being ready to leave the house. So be thinking about it in the shower, boy."
You sheepishly nod in reply as he removes the leather shackles and collar. Then you head off to the shower as he makes a sexy whistle at your cute butt.
You're transported back to the previous night you step into the warm shower. You exposed yourself as a true faggot, and most of the men there used you in some way. It was an erotic gang bang with something like 30 men all focused on you, clamoring to use you. You took so much dick that your legs gave out and couldn't stand. That's when Sir Steve stepped in to be last to use you. You recall him claiming last dibs because he likes sloppy, used-up boys. By that point, you definitely meet his criteria; in fact, you had gone well beyond it. The men had come to see a spectacle, and you had delivered. Something like 30 men had passed you around. There were dicks everywhere. There were so many, and they swapped out so quickly that you couldn't keep track. You were worn out in the best way, covered in sweat, lube, and cum. This must have been what your dream was about. The memory teleports you back to the moment.
You were pounded into submission, dunk on cum, basically a ragdoll sex toy. The men knew exactly what to do and took control of your body as a well-organized group. Sir Steven laid on his back, and five men (one on each arm, leg, and behind the head) picked you up into a hanging seated position. You were glad they did because you lost the energy to stand. Then they lowered you down onto Sir Steven's glorious cock. They held you there in the air while he thrust his member straight up into your sloppy wet hole. You were a living, breathing cocksleve for them. They supported your entire body, but the only part that was of any use was your hole.
He fucked all the other loads out of you until your cavity was clean and empty, except for his massive dick. Even though your whole body was basically numb from exertion, you still felt his cock swell and pulse inside you as he buried his load deep. You had been thoroughly loosened up by all the preceding men, but his swelling stretched you even more. His thickness squeezed your prostate against your cavity wall. And his massive mushroom head pushed well past your second hole. He put his load so deep that no cum came out when he pulled out.
As the water shower water continues to flow, you recall a shower last night too. Wait, no, it wasn't just a shower; it was a golden shower. The men formed a circle around you and drenched you with their drunken piss. You had never been pissed on. But by that point, you were so degraded that it was a welcome occurrence. You had submitted to so much, lowered yourself so low that all you wanted was to keep going deeper. You didn't just get pissed on by a bunch of men; you thoroughly enjoyed it. You didn't take it resentfully; you bathed in it gloriously, showered in it, rubbing it all around, completely coating your skin and hair. The urinal slave was probably jealous as fuck. The memories make you hard, and you release your morning piss through your boner, the shower washing it down the drain. Relaxation and contentment wash over you, and you feel deep gratitude to your sir and the other men who gave you that fantastic experience.
As you start to lather soap all over your skin, your thoughts move on to your sir's instructions to reflect on leaving the house. Your misbehavior yesterday puzzles you. It feels so long ago; what were you even thinking? You weren't ready to leave the house, naked with that word scrawled across your chest, and you had defiantly told your boyfriend and sir "no." You reckon that it must have come from a place of fear. You give yourself some leeway because it was a big step, and you were afraid. But defiance isn't your normal reaction, so something must've been going on. Fear... You think to yourself. Was it fear, or was it doubt? Or was it shame? Emotional vocabulary isn't your strong suit. You continue to ponder rubbing your soapy hands, making sure all the parts of you are clean. Your thoughts about yesterday contrast your physical reality as you start to stroke your dick; you haven't touched your own cock in such a long time; it feels so lovely even though it's small. But you like that it's small because it reinforces your place below real men. And deep down, you don't actually want to touch your dick, even though it feels good. You were there for other men to enjoy, and your sexual satisfaction comes from pleasing them. Sure, you can get yourself off, but it's not the same. Maybe you're thinking about yesterday all wrong, and it's not about you, but the dynamic between you and your boyfriend, your, sir. Maybe the breakdown wasn't about your emotional state but about your emotional state relative to him. He gave you a command, and you didn't follow it. That's all that matters, not what was going on inside of your head. He knows you, knows what you want, and knows what you need, but you didn't trust him... Trust... That was the issue. Conveniently you come to this conclusion as your shower routine is wrapping up. You're not sure that you're ready to confront this with him. It's one thing to process it and accept it in your head; it's another thing to say it out loud. Being a good boy, and being right, are both very important to you, so apologizing for a mistake is very hard because it's admitting a failure on two fronts. But there's no way around this; the only way is to address it head-on. So you steal yourself as you dry off and head back to the bedroom.
Your boyfriend looks up from his phone as you enter the bedroom and kneel by the side of the bed.
"I'm ready for our conversation, sir," you say as your ass cheeks hit your heels in a kneeling position.
Your boyfriend swings his legs around off the bed, sitting on the edge to face you. He is fully nude, and his glorious man cock is right at eye level. He says, "we're on equal footing for this conversation. You're not collared, and you don't have to kneel. I want you to speak freely."
"Thank you, sir. I know. But I would rather be kneeling for what I have to tell you, " you say, then continue. "I was reflecting in the shower, and I appreciate your sternness with me yesterday as we were leaving the house. It's exactly what I needed, to be reminded of my place. It was re-centering for me at the time. And I want to apologize for the way that I reacted. I was afraid and doubted your direction and spoke before I thought." You continue as you place your hands on his muscled thighs. "Ultimately, my mistake was more than talking back. It was that I didn't trust you. It was a big step for me, and, like I said, I was afraid. But I know that everything you do is for me and that your orders are a way to develop me into a better person. So, I want to reaffirm that I do trust you 100%, and I will do better next time. And I'm sorry." You finish as you give his inner thigh a little kiss because you think kissing his feet might be a little much after he said that y'all were on an equal footing for the convo. He grabs your chin and pulls it up to look you in the eyes and says, "You're a good boy. I can tell you've thought this through. Now, why don't you kiss my feet to show me how sorry you are" like he was reading your mind. So you lean down and kiss each of his feet in turn. As you return to your seated kneeling position, you notice that his cock is noticeably more full. You held yourself together to get out what you needed to say, but now, a rush of emotions floods over you; you feel deeply in love, a deep connection with your sir. He notices and pulls your man for a big hug, holding your face against his abs and wrapping both his arms and legs around you as you take deep breaths and a tear rolls down your face for the second time this morning. He just holds you tight, rubbing your hair and calling you a good boy until you calm down and release the embrace.
Then, as he keeps petting your hair, he says, "You're so many things to me, my little chameleon. You're my love, my bf, my boy, my fem slut, my pup, and now even my fag. But most importantly, no matter what you are on any given day, you are mine." Then, grabbing a bundle of hair in his first, he playfully pulls your hair and shakes your head back and forth. He repeats, "Mine, all mine!" and gives your ass a little slap.
You giggle and reply, and with a smile on your face, say, "You're right, sir. I am, sir, I feel all those things; I'm most comfortable when I clearly understand your desires when I clearly understand my role."
As he rubs your back, he replies, "Ok then, I'd love it if your keeping being my fag until we go back home; it's so fucking sexy to see you struggle with your inner feelings of pride and see you choose to give in to the debasement."
"Yes, sir, I'm surprised how much I like it myself."
"I can see how much you like it," as he reaches down and taps your hardening little boy dick with the back of his hand. Then he grabs your chin and pulls your face up so he can look directly at you and says, "But I want to make you understand before you agree that we haven't even remotely found your limits. You've made a huge step by telling all the men here you're a faggot. But acting like one is still going to be hard for your strong-willed self. Much harder than that apology you just delivered. And you will be giving up a lot of control. You'll be ordered to do things, and expected to follow those orders, even when you don't want to. But obeying is part of your submission. Faggots submit."
You hadn't thought of that, and it makes you unsure again. He wouldn't be warning you unless he already had plans and knew it would be a problem. "Like what?" You ask
"Well, faggots aren't ashamed that they crave, that they live for, real men's dick. Implied in that is that they aren't real men. It's more than just submission. It's subjugation and humiliation, public humiliation. You know, that porn site that we watch all the time. Where the frat boys bring in a boy and haze him, humiliate him, and degrade him while laughing and getting off. That's how men treat faggots... and the faggots like it and want more. "
You're not sure you want all that. It's a lot, and like he said, you still have some pride. But as you've found that you actually enjoyed rising to every challenge that's been thrown at you. At first, you were always apprehensive, not sure if you could go through with it. But you let go of that each time. You got into the car naked with "faggot" scrawled across your chest. You followed Orion's commands while being led around on a leash. You were introduced as a fag, then kneeled in front of your boyfriend's friends. And ultimately, you were used as a sex object for a large group of leather sirs. And instead of feeling like you had to relinquish your pride to do all that, you found that submitting actually made you feel more pride in your descent into faggotry. You're not done. You want more. You want to go farther. You don't feel like there is any limit. Like he can read your mind again, he goes on to say, "Seeing you like that makes me so proud of you," and your alignment on this point brings a warm feeling to your heart. You've never felt closer and more secure with him.
You respond, "I'm really liking being your faggot, sir. I really appreciate how you've pushed me, and I want more. I'm up for the challenge and trust that you will take care of me, so I think I want to keep being your faggot"
"Good boy, but I think' isn't good enough. We're only proceeding if you need' this boy."
"I do need it, sir; I can't go back."
"I'm not convinced; you'll have to beg for it, boy."
"Mmmmm, siiiir," you wine, "The thought of not being your faggot anymore is really scary for me. I wanna stay your faggot sooo baaaad. Pleeese sir! Pleeese,
Pleeeeese! PLEEEESE!!!" You pathetically plead, trying to make the most desperate facial expression possible.
"What would you give to be my faggot, boy?" He asks
"Anything, everything, sir," you reposed eagerly
"No, be specific, boy. What would you give?" He says with a mixture of a stern voice and facial expression but a casual posture. Leaving back to prop himself up on the bed
This request stops you while you think to yourself what specially you would give. What do you have?
"I'll give you my body, sir."
"Go on..."
"I'll give you control of my body; if you don't like where it is, I'll move. If you don't like how it looks, I'll change it."
He makes a happy sir grunt, and his dick starts to plump as he seductively says, "Go on..."
"I'll give you my pleasure, sir."
He grunts again and says, "Oh? How so, boy?"
"I'll give you control of how and when I get pleasure. If you want me to suffer, I'll accept your agony. If you want to grace me with your pleasure, I'll bask in ecstasy. And if you want me denied, I'll retract from anything pleasurable while itching for its return."
"I'm starting to like the sound of this boy," he says in a husky voice as he starts to softly caress his fully erect cock right in front of your face. Your mouth waters with desire as he asks, "Do you want me to own you faggot?"
"You already own me, sir," you reply. "You found the faggot in me and showed me who I really am sir; I'm all yours, sir."
"All mine? Everything boy?
"Yes, sir"
"And what about your attention, boy? Your focus? Is that mine too? We had a mishap with that yesterday as we were leaving the house."
"Yes, sir," you reply, "my attention and focus are yours. I can keep it on you, sir."
"Say more, boy," he says in an authoritative tone, reaching down to stroke his massive cock.
"My default focus will be on you, sir, on your desires, sir, on your goals, pleasure, sir." Then the words came easily, tumbling out of you." In times of stillness, I'll be thinking of ways to please you, sir. And if not, my brain will be blank, sir. I'll work to anticipate your needs, sir. And when you address me, I'll listen attentively and obey."
"Good boy, how did I get to be so lucky?" He says, rubbing your head and pulling you into his lap.
He asks this question a lot, and it always confuses you. You feel like the lucky one. He makes you feel secure and loved. He does all the work, thinking of creative ways to challenge you and expand your horizons. He found this place and got you in. All you do is obey, and sure, that's hard sometimes, but you feel like you get way more out of being with him than you put in. And the thought makes you commit internally to double your efforts to make him happy.
But it must have been a rhetorical question because he interrupts your thoughts, saying.
"Ok, boy, let's continue this faggot journey you're on. But we need to put a bow on this conversation to close it effectively and transition you from this state of equality back to my faggot. How should we seal the deal?"
You really just want his cock in you, either pushing deep into your throat or stretching your hole open. But you know that now isn't the time, and it strikes you more as a reward than a conclusion. Then you realize that the musk coming out his crotch since he pulled your head into it has been having a strong effect on you. So you nuzzle your nose in deeper and say, "Your scent is a good trigger, sir," and that makes his bone pulse.
He says, "ok, boy, let's imprint you with my sir pheromones and get you back in the right headspace. Breath deep. Take it all in. Let that musk penetrate every cell." As he grabs your head and growls.
"More, boy, inhale as much as you can, get dizzy for me," he continues as he lets go of your head and reaches across the bed. "Go for it, boy, take in that manly bouquet." He encourages you, and he wraps the collar back around your neck and buckles it. "Your time to take it in is almost up, boy; make sure you get enough," he says as his stench takes its effect. Your inhibitions are falling away, and your willpower is waning. You bury your head in his crotch more, wiping his junk across your whole face, inhaling deep, hoping to smear his smell all over so you can carry it around with you. You're dizzy and lost in it. The pathetic display makes him chuckle.
He pushes your head away, saying, "ok faggot, I know you're needy, but that's enough for now. I have one goal for you for the rest of our stay here. All of your actions and tasks stem from this goal. And that's to let go of all those pesky thoughts that bring doubt into your head." Then he continues emphasizing the point with light slaps on the cheeks with each word, "You're my faggot." Then he grabs your head with both hands to look directly at you as he says, "And good faggots don't doubt their status... now tell me I'm right, boy."
And you nod and say, "Yes sir, your right."
He lets go of you while saying, "ok, boy, let's get going. After you bathe me, we can go down for breakfast. Set out a casual outfit for me and a set of cuffs and knee pads for yourself. Then eat one of those granola bars that I got for you and meet me in the shower," and he heads that way leaving you wondering why you should eat now if you're on your way to breakfast. But you obey.
You kneel as you enter the back of the spacious shower. He is facing you with the spray of water hitting his back. Small mist flows around him and settles on you, wetting your skin. His body is gorgeous as it towers above you with little rivulets of water flowing down the valleys between his muscles. A huge smile develops on your face as you take in the site.
He takes a step closer, asking, "Want my piss, boy?" And you nod excitedly. He releases it through his plump member, and his warm golden stream hits you in your chest as he makes a satisfied moan. You lower your head to coat your hair and let it flow down your back before looking up so it can hit your face. This is the first you've ever willingly been pissed on. The group of men showered you last night. But they didn't ask. Something about wanting it changes the experience. You revel in the power dynamic. It's a physical manifestation of power exchange. Him releasing and you receiving. The warm steam connects the two of you and washes over you, and it's glorious. You don't want it to end, but it must. As it decreases to a trickle, you move closer, so the drops fall on you. As you hug his leg, he says, "Good boy, doubly marked, first, imprinted with my scent and now tagged with my piss. We'll work you up to drinking it one day." And you take a dry gulp of air at the thought, not sure if you'd be able to drink it. But you'll try it if he wants. You nod yes against his leg, at a loss for words.
He cuts into the moment, saying, "ok, boy, shower time, I love this time with you, but I'm getting hungry," so you release and start to prepare his bathing ritual. Bathing him has been something you've been doing for a while as an act of service. It's surprisingly intimate. There is always a sexual edge to it, but it's not always associated with sex, like today. Over the repetitions, you have developed a routine so you both know what to expect. The ritual starts with shampooing his hair with an extended scalp massage. After that, you lather his body wash and lift each arm in turn, scrubbing everywhere, especially his pits, before doing his back, chest, and abs. You trace the contours of his body slowly and seductively with the lather, using the cloth in one hand and your other hand directly. You kneel again to bathe his lower half, moving from ass to crotch to legs, being sure to keep a generous lather and making sure you reach all the crevices. It's always a pleasure to feel his smooth skin and have access to parts that are typically covered by clothes. He stands fairly still through the whole process as you move around him and guide him back and forth into the flow of the showerhead. You're busy, so you can't maintain eye contact, but you glance up to check in with him often, and every time, he is already looking directly at you, watching, supervising the whole event, only commenting if you need correction or direction. You finish with his feet, lifting them one at a time as he studies himself with a hand on your shoulder, finally bowing to kiss each as the official end to the ritual.
He towels off as you wait, kneeling and wet for him to pass you his towel when he's done. You use his wet towel as a way to reinforce your position as second to him, then join him in the bedroom, where he is putting on the clothes you laid out for him.
As he pulls something out of the drawer, he says, "I had a thought after you talked back the other night, and now I want to try it out." You wait apprehensively as he proceeds to unroll what looks like a sheet of glossy paper. "This is Tegaderm." He says as he cuts off a piece about 3 inches wide and 10 inches long." It's a clear adhesive medical covering,'' he says as he peels a layer of white backing off it, leaving a floppy clear sheet in his hand. "You might have seen it on top of a fresh tattoo, but I have something else in mind," he continues as he steps toward you. He grabs the back of your head with his free hand, holding it steady. You don't resist. With the other hand, he places the strip over your mouth. It sticks on, gluing your mouth shut like a clear piece of duct tape. Then he unceremoniously lets go and resumes getting dressed. You reach up to feel it. It's as smooth as your skin and reaches all the way from one cheek to the other. You can still move your jaw, but not your lips. And you are keenly aware of the sound of your breath through your nose because you can't breathe through your mouth anymore. You try to talk, but your lips can't separate, so all that comes out is "mmmm mmmm mm mmm."
"Go take a look," he says, so you move to the full-length mirror on the other side of the room. You can't even notice it. You reach up again to feel and hear him say, "No more touching. You're not allowed to do anything that will draw attention to the fact that you're gagged. Think of this as a faggot training tool, like little faggot training wheels, to help remind you not to speak until you've grown enough not to talk back. I don't even want to hear you try to speak." You lower your head in sadness, wondering how you ended up here, and out of habit, you try to reply with "Yes sir," but you can't; only mumbles come out again. His head whips back to you, and he glares at you with a raised eyebrow. You attempt to defend yourself and explain that you weren't disobeying. That you were just trying to say, "Yes sir." But you've already forgotten about the tape again, and it's just mumbled... again. Your hands fly up to cover your mouth in shock and surprise.
He forcefully replies, "BOY! I literally just said that you aren't to draw attention to the fact that you're gagged, and you immediately disobeyed me... twice." And AGAIN, you try to protest and explain, but even though you're waving your arms emphatically, you still can't make your point. It's only muffled "mmm mm mmm" noises.
"WOW! Again!? You really need this lesson! Position four!" And he snaps and points to his feet.
Your first inclination is to continue to protest. You didn't know the rules. He wasn't being clear, and it's not fair that you're in trouble. But there is no point; you've already tried. You begrudgingly get down on all fours with your forehead and lips, or actually, the plastic, resting on his feet. You're having strong feelings of resentment. You had such a nice morning with him, and the connection was so strong. He accepted your apology. Then BAM, he starts spanking your bare ass with a stinging slap. "I'm disappointed in you already."
SLAP! "I know it was a big adjustment from your freedom in conversation this morning, but."
SLAP! "I expect better."
SPANK! "There are consequences for brattiness."
SPANK! "I expect you to obey me."
BAM! "Wait here."
and he drags his foot out from under your lips and steps away.
Your emotions swirl. Your ass stings from the impacts. You're pissed, but you're also ashamed. Being a disappointment to him cuts deeper than a physical impact. And you're honestly sorry. But you can't tell him that because of this tape, so you resolve to show him. You resolve to be a better fag for him and internalize this lesson. You decide to accept the clear muzzle as its intended purpose, training wheels, and promise yourself not to make that mistake again.
"Back to position 5, boy," he says, and you raise yourself back up to all fours, hands, and knees."
He returns with a curved wooden stick that looks a little like a bow and says, "This is a humbler, an apt name because I feel like a little humility is in order," and a sense of dread falls over you. You've seen humblers in some of the more intense BDSM porn, but you've never seen one in real life. You steel yourself for what's next as he shakes it in front of your face. "The next time I hear a sound from your mouth or see you draw attention to the tape in any way, I'm putting this on you." You don't make a peep; just nod your head affirmatively up and down.
"That's more like it," he says and smacks your ass, more playfully this time. "Now, throw on some PJs so we can go to breakfast. I worked up quite an appetite last night, and I'm starving."