Author: white collar Title: How did they know? (M/M, B&D, NC) Date: December 14, 2012
Any comments will be gladly received at white_collar@hotmail.com
Comments will be gladly received by white_collar@hotmail.com Note: Any resemblance to real people is strictly coincidental. No real people are depicted in this piece of fiction. This story contains explicit male to male sex, domination and bondage. If you don't enjoy reading this sort of material or are under the age of 21, DO NOT CONTINUE READING. If you regard this type of material as depraved then flee from here and don't look back! And be sure that you practice safer sex. Don't become another statistic in the rising HIV/STD rates. Don't be barebacking: it's your LIFE you're playing with. This story is STRICTLY fantasy and I DO NOT espouse or endorse unprotected anal or oral sex!
Be careful and be alive - White Collar
How did they know? – Chapter 1
It was well past midnight. At least it was the last time I checked the clock. Normally, I would have gone home long before this. I would have had my dinner, enjoyed a glass of wine and settled down to watch whatever was on the local public television. I didn't socialize much because, truth be told, I was sort of uncomfortable around people. Oh, I'm good-looking enough with handsome features, short hair and a body that shows the affects of years of daily runs. Funny: another solitary part of my life. I'd never dated much and, at thirty-two, was pretty well resigned to the idea that I would never marry. But that's OK; I'm reasonably satisfied with my life. I suppose I might say, as long as I'm telling the truth, that I really don't know what to make of women and they don't interest me much. Instead, I find my eyes being drawn to men. Not that I'm gay! I can't be gay! I grew up to believe that there's something wrong with gay people. I guess I've gotten a bit more used to them, what with the guys I meet in my work. But that's definitely not me! No way!
Anyway, I'd been at it since 5:30, beavering away at this report. I knew I was getting tired. I'd found myself slumping on the desk a couple of times and was having a hard time staying awake. Just a little more and I could call it a night. I could always finish it tomorrow if I came in early.
I guess I must have nodded off because I awoke with a start. Was that a noise? I listened intently, cocking my head to one side, then the other, straining to pick up any odd sounds over the hum of the florescent lights and the whispers of my PC's fan. Nothing. Rubbing my weary eyes, I bent to my work again. But soon, exhaustion overcame me and I fell into a deep sleep.
The next time I awoke, my body was flooded with adrenalin and fear coursed through me. There was a hand around my throat, another covering my mouth and two hands holding my feet from behind, bending my knees back and preventing me from getting out of my chair. I cried out against the hand over my mouth and struggled to break free. It was then that I realized that my arms were tied to the arms of my chair. A rope went around my chest and upper arms and was quickly tied behind the back of my chair. I felt ropes being wrapped around my ankles and soon, my feet were drawn up toward the seat of my chair. I'd been immobilized almost before I knew what was happening. I tried to look around to see who had tied me up but found that my head was being held between two hands.
"Take his tie and blindfold him," a voice said.
I tried to beg them to stop, to let me go, but my cries were smothered by the hand covering my mouth. Someone loosened my tie and slipped it from around my neck. Then it was wrapped around my head and tied in back, plunging me into darkness. Only then was the hand taken from my mouth.
"Please," I begged. "What are you doing? Why? Please let me go. I'll give you my money. Just please don't kill me!"
Why I said that last bit, I have no idea. I guess I've watched too many TV shows about murders. I heard a low chuckle.
"Kill you? We're not about to kill you. What makes you think that?"
"What do you want then?" I asked, struggling against the ropes. "Please let me go."
"No, I don't think so. That's not part of our plan," the voice said. "OK, enough chatter. Let's shut him up."
"No, please..." I cried out as I heard the sound of tape being pulled from a spool.
A hand went under my chin and another on top of my head. A smelly piece of cloth was shoved in my mouth and my eyes watered from the stink in the instant its taste began spreading inside my mouth. It must have been a jockstrap that had been peed in and left to dry. I wanted to retch but my mouth was forcibly close and duct tape placed over my mouth, from one jawbone to the other. I breathed frantically through my nose and made muffled attempts to cry out.
"Calm down boy, calm down," the voice said as his hand stroked my head. "We don't want to have to knock you out. You wouldn't want that now would you?" he coaxed.
I thought for a brief moment and realized he was right. I also realized I was in no position to resist them, whoever they were and whatever they had planned for me. I shook my head and said "No", which of course, came out only as a grunt.
"Good," he said.
I sat there in the office in which, not fifteen minutes earlier, I'd been alternating between dozing and trying to work in peace in quiet. Now my arms were bound to my chair, a rope circled my chest, pinning me to the chair back, ropes bound my feet, pulling them up off the floor, bending my knees at an uncomfortable angle and making it impossible for me to get to my feet. My mouth was taped shut and my eyes were blindfolded with my own tie. The voice stood over me, his hand cupped under my chin, tilting my head back.
"Now that we've ensured your cooperation, let's get started with your induction," he said, caressing my throat.
Induction? What induction? What was I being inducted into? Was this some sort of prank? I was well past the age of fraternity hazing. Yes, I'd started to go through that but when I realized that entering the fraternity would require me to be stripped and paddled on my bare bottom, I backed out. I was much to shy and too afraid of what that might awaken in me. Certainly this wasn't some fraternity rite. And no professional group I knew of engaged in these types of things. Unless it was some highly secret organization that stayed below the radar screen of all but those who belonged to it. But I didn't recognize "the voice" so how could any professional organization know or care about my work if no one I knew was involved in it? Calloused hands began stroking my face.
"This one's such a handsome boy. They'll be glad to have him in their stable. Don't you agree?" the voice said.
"Absolutely," his partner agreed. "Shall we get started?"
"Yup. Let's go. We only have a couple of hours before we have to be out of here," the voice said.
Hands were now unbuttoning my shirt, exposing my chest to the cool air. My shirt- tail was pulled out of my pants and my shirt pulled open.
"Nice!" said the voice. "Hairy chest. They'll really like that, if they let him keep it that is."
His partner laughed and I felt hands on my chest, rubbing my pecs with more and more emphasis.
"Oh yeah, he's a nice one," the partner said.
Suddenly, one of them grasped my nipples and pulled hard on them, making me groan in pain. He rolled my nipples between his thumbs and fingers then shook them like a dog going after a rabbit. Why was this making me start to stiffen up? He let go of my nipples and I felt him move closer to me. Then I could feel someone's breath on my tits. A tongue circled my right nipple and I groaned again, arching my back with pleasure. Then a mouth fastened to my tit and began to chew my nub as a hand started rubbing my filling crotch.
"Yeah, this boy likes this stuff. We'll have no trouble at all converting him," the licker said, momentarily releasing my nipple.
I wanted his mouth on me again and would have thrust my chest forward if I'd been able to move. But all I could do was squeal behind the jock strap gagging me and move my chest slightly from side to side. My wet nipple was cold and I wanted to have his mouth again.
"Let's pump him," the voice said. "They're looking for boys with nice tits and we're going to have to do a bit of development with him. None of these straight boys his age have decent nipples."
"I've got it," the partner said.
I felt a suction on my right tit, followed by a second pull, as though the suction had been increased. The same on my left tit.
"Good. With those on from now on, he'll soon be ready to graduate to the next larger size. In a few months, he'll have a nice pair of big, firm nubs sticking out from his chest."
The hand rubbing my hardening cock became more insistent and I shook my head back and forth saying "Noooo" into the gag.
"I think he's upset about what's going on in his pants," the voice laughed. "Maybe we should check it out and make sure he's not in discomfort!"
Hands unbuckled my belt and unhooked the waistband of my slacks before lowering the fly. My pants were pulled open and pushed down past my hips. The hand rubbing my crotch began lightly rubbing the tip of my stiffening cock as it tented my shorts.
"My, my, my, what have we here?" the voice chuckled. "Another straight boy who likes to have his dickie rubbed. You don't suppose the straight boy pose is a smokescreen do you?"
"What? No! How could it be? Just because he likes having his nips worked? Just because he likes being tied up and gagged? Just because he's hard?" laughed his partner.
"It's hard to understand isn't it dickie boy?" the voice said, speaking quietly in my ear. "We tie you up and you get hard. Makes you wonder, doesn't it boy?"
I vigorously shook my head no but my own body's responses were already making me question myself. My pulsing penis and the shivers running up and down my spine weren't lying; this excited me. I moaned and whimpered, wanting to feel those hands on my nipples again. A coolness against the tip of my cock told me I was oozing into my underpants.
"Listen to 'im; he's begging for it already," the voice said, twisting my nipples. "Don't worry dickie boy. You'll get plenty more. Soon you'll be begging for more than this."
"On second thought," his partner said, "maybe we should call him 'tittie boy'. He can't seem to get enough."
"I think you're right," said the voice. "How do you like that tittie boy? You want to be called that? Will you answer to it?" he said, flicking my points with his finger nails making me shudder and arch my back again as I whimpered.
He pulled back on the waistband of my shorts, which allowed my dick to stand straight up against my belly. Then he let go and the elastic snapped against the underside of my cock, giving me a sting and shock of surprise. He pulled my waistband down and hooked it under my balls making me feel extremely vulnerable and exposed. The cold air from the air conditioning made my tight ballsac huddle up even closer to my body, seeking more warmth but he wrapped a length of string around them and pulled them down, making several loops around my scrotum with the cord before tying it off. This only made my cock harder and I could feel the pre- cum pumping out the tip. He took my cock in his hand and gently rubbed the tip with his thumb.
"My, you are a leaky boy," he said. "If I didn't know better, I might think you like this sort of thing," he chuckled, smearing the head of my penis with my own slickness.
He painted my upper lip with pre-cum and the slight smell drifted into my brain. I licked my lips and was entranced by the new taste. Then he got more on his fingers and I felt his slick hands on my tits. The sensation was incredible: slippery and sensuous as he massaged the fluid into my erect nipples. Once again, I found myself trying to push my chest forward to get even more of what he was giving me.
"Let's get his brain started on his journey," said the voice.
A pair of earphones were placed over my ears and I heard a quiet voice whispering. I struggled to hear and understand the words. I don't know whether the volume was increased or it was my focusing and straining to understand, but after a time, I began to pick up the words.
"You are a faggot. You are a faggot. Your purpose is to serve men. Cock is your god. You are a faggot. Listen and become.." And on and on it went. There was little else, besides the physical sensations – the smell and taste of my pre-cum, my bound balls, the darkness and the sound of the Voice. I began to loose track of everything else.
I don't know how much time passed, but the one who seemed to be the leader told the other it was time to leave. He left the earphones in place, but I could hear him over the sound of the Voice and it's constant mantra:
"Now don't be stupid, faggot," he said to me. "We have a lot of experience doing this and we have several advantages over you, not the least of which is there are two of us and we haven't been tied up for two hours. You'll find, when we release you, that your arms and legs won't obey you for a while, so don't make it harder on yourself."
I paused, considering what he'd said to me and realized that it was true. My feet were asleep and my thighs were beginning to cramp. I nodded my assent. I would cause to trouble. They removed the gag and then the blindfold and I blinked I the light, even though the only light was the one under my bookshelf.
They untied my arms and bent me forward, pulling my arms behind my back, snapping a pair of handcuffs around my wrists. Now, even if my feet and legs had been capable of action, I was virtually helpless. There were supposed to be guards downstairs, but I couldn't have even opened the door to the stairwell, let alone summoning an elevator with my hands restrained behind me. Next they untied my legs and pulled me to my feet. My pants pooled around my ankles and they roughly pulled them up, fastening the hook, but nothing more. They didn't even tuck me in and zip me up: just left me hanging. My dick had, by this time subsided, so at least I wasn't sporting an erection.
They took my raincoat off the hook behind my door and draped it over my shoulders.
"C'mon," said the leader and pulled me out the door. They guided me down the stairs, one in front, the other in back of me, talking quietly as we proceeded down and down.
"They'll be happy to get this one," said the leader. "He'll make a good fag for them."
"Yeah," agreed the other, "He's a natural. Fag through and through. He just needs to figure it out and accept it."
"The Voice is already taking care of that," the leader said, chuckling.
I felt a hollow dread in my stomach, but my dick, once again, stiffened and rose.
We proceeded down to the garage and they led me to a van. Opening the side door, they pushed me inside and the leader climbed in after me. He put a blindfold over my eyes and earphones remained in place over my ears. I heard the engine start, felt the van move. Then I became lost in the Voice...
"A faggot has one purpose in life: to serve men. Faggots are not men's equals. Faggots must always obey men. Faggots must do what they're told. Faggots are meant to serve men..." On and on it went and there was nothing else to capture my attention but that Voice and those words. And I knew the words were true. I AM a faggot and I'm meant to serve men. How did they know?
Chapter 2
I lost all track of time, absorbed by the Voice. It filled my mind completely, seeming to have known the truth about me all along; the truth I'd never been able to admit, even to myself.
Suddenly, I was being lifted up, one man holding my feet, the other grabbing me under my arms. They must've removed me from the van because I sensed a change in temperature. Then I was placed on a flat surface and felt belts across my body at the chest, the hips and the ankles. Then the surface began to move. I realized they must have put me on a wheeled gurney and strapped me down to move me. Then they removed the blindfold and the headphones,
"Hold on faggot. We'll do this fast," said the leader, and rippled the duct tape off my mouth. I cried out, but my voice was muffled by the cloth still stuffing my mouth. Then he removed that as well, leaving me with a dry mouth tasting of piss.
"Hello faggot. Welcome to the rest of your life," smirked the leader, leaning over me. "What're you here for? What's your purpose?"
"My purpose is to serve men," I rasped out, stating the one thing I knew to be true.
"Good faggot," he said. "That'll make the rest of the job much simpler."
They wheeled me into a corridor and I watched the lights passing overhead as they moved me down the hall, then into a room. It was a very bright room with white, tiled walls and overhead light fixtures.
They removed the straps and helped me sit up.
"Stand up!" leader said, and I slid to the floor.
"Arms out." I did as ordered.
Taking a guarded blade, he started at the bottoms of my trousers and slipped the knife up, cutting through the fabric. He repeated the action on the other leg and in a moment, my slashed trousers lay on the floor. He did the same with my shirt, my underpants and my undershirt, leaving me with nothing on but my socks.
"Take your socks off," he ordered and I hopped in place, my dick and bound balls hanging free and bobbing up and down.
"Spread your legs and put your arms behind your back," he ordered.
Rather than putting my hands behind my back, I attempted to cover my genitals, since I hadn't been trained deeply enough in my faggothood not to be embarrassed in front of others. The leader smacked my butt.
"Behind your back!" he shouted. "A faggot never covers his genitals in the presence of a man. This is position one. Remember it. You will be instructed in more positions later and will be expected to remember them and assume them immediately when so instructed by a man. Are you a man, faggot?"
"Yes, I'm a man," I answered instinctively, moving my hands behind my back, but flushing from head to toe.
There was a whoosh and a leather strap made contact with my rump, forcing me to cry out in pain and surprise.
"You're not a man; you're a faggot. Remember that. You might have been a man once, or pretended to be a man,, but you aren't any longer. You're a faggot. So again, are you a man?"
"No," I barked. "I'm a faggot."
"Good faggot," he said. "And you will always address men as 'sir'. Is that clear faggot?"
"Yes sir," I answered.
"I'm thinking you were always pretending to be a man, from the looks of your dick and balls," he sniggered, beginning the assault on my mental, psychological sense of who I was. "Did you ever fuck a woman, faggot"
My flush deepened. "No sir," I answered, hanging my head.
"You never felt you were big enough to do that did you? A woman would look at that equipment and laugh and say 'get me a real man'. That's what you thought, wasn't it faggot?"
"Yes sir," I answered, deeply ashamed not only of my physical inadequacy, but of having my own secret shame laid so bare by a man. I'd never felt adequate "down there". Erect, I was maybe six inches. But flaccid, I was two or three inches at most, depending on the temperature, and my balls were small, high and tight. Yes, he'd uncovered my psychological nakedness, as well as my physical nakedness.
With that, he unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out. My mouth gaped. It was longer than my hand, even flaccid, and as big around as a corn cob. It only drove home to me my puniness.
"Look at it," he commanded, though I hadn't taken my eyes off it since he revealed it. "This is a man's cock. You want it, don't you faggot?"
"Yes sir," I whispered, in awe. I wanted to hold it in my hands; feel its heft and heat. And yes, I wanted to have it in my mouth.
"This is a cock," he repeated. "What you have is a dicklet, that's good for nothing but pissing. Do you understand faggot?"
"Yes sir," I answered, still mesmerized by it.
"Good. And we'll train you to give a man's cock pleasure. We'll train you to be a faggot hole. That's what you want, isn't it faggot? That's what your purpose is, isn't it?"
"Yes sir," I answered, instinctively sinking to my knees, my eyes held by the sight of his manhood.
"Good faggot. Get him prepped," he ordered his partner."
Chapter 3
"Complete stripping?" his partner asked?
"Yes, those are my instructions. Get to it."
He wheeled a cart over with various cans and bottles and equipment on it and ordered me to my feet. Then he placed goggles over my eyes that stuck in place without the aide of a strap.
"Feet spread, arms out," he ordered.
Then he took a spray can and, beginning with the top of my head, began to spray my body with a white fluid that rapidly turned to foam. It was cold and I began to shiver, but in a couple of moments, I felt warmth, which I took to be a menthol ingredient in the foam.
"Hold still and don't move," he ordered and picked up a clipboard and began to check off items on a list and write brief notes.
The foam on my body seemed to be boiling slightly as I felt chemicals interacting against my skin. After fifteen minutes, he put down his clipboard and stood in front of me. He reached up and pulled down a hose I hadn't noticed before. He pressed the trigger on the nozzle and a stream of warm water played over my body, rinsing off the foam. When he'd finished, I glanced down and flushed scarlet; all my body hair was gone. Since he'd spayed my head, I assumed that was gone too. My chest hair, which had been my one point of masculine pride, was gone. My pubes were gone. I couldn't help myself; I reached up and felt smooth skin on my head where there'd been a full head of hair.
"Position one, faggot," he ordered, but I was disoriented and failed to obey.
"Position one, I said," he yelled and gave me a hard slap to my balls.
Recoiling, I struggled to obey and get myself in the proper position, in spite of the pain in my balls. When I was standing in the correct position, he inspected my body, both with his eyes and his hands. His eyes never met mine, and he seemed as though he were inspecting an animal. He ran his hands over my head, my arm pits, my chest, my butt and inserted his fingers into my ass crack, insuring there was no stray hair remaining.
"Bend over," he ordered. "Hands on the floor."
I was still reasonably flexible, visiting the gym three to four times a week and participating in a stretch class to make sure I maintained my flexibility, so I was able to do as he ordered, though soon the blood was rushing to my head and I began to feel a little woozy.
He lubed a finger and stuck it into my rectum. After he'd lubed me, he inserted a nozzle and pressed the trigger on the hose, filling my gut with warm water. As the water flooded in, he massaged my belly. Then the flow stopped and he withdrew the nozzle.
"Hold it," he said, slapping my butt.
I jerked and felt a trickle of water squeeze through my sphincter and dribble down my legs, but clamped down quickly to prevent any further escape. In a couple of minutes, my belly began to cramp and my knees began to buckle. I moaned involuntarily and groaned as I struggled to hold the water in.
He moved in front of me and said "OK, faggot. Release."
I'd never been so relieved to relax as the water shot from my hole like a stream from a hose. I groaned again, but this time in relief.
"Nope, not clean yet," he remarked, and repeated the operation.
Two more enemas and he was satisfied. "Stay there", he ordered and picked up an object from the cart.
It was chrome and looked like a very large bullet with a base attached by means of a rubber tube. He applied KY lube to it and walked behind me. I felt the cold of the lube and the metal pressing against my hole.
"Push down," he ordered.
When I obeyed, he began to push the bullet inside me. I felt it pass my sphincter and the ring closed around it.
"Clench," he ordered.
When I did, I felt the base pull up against my ass lips. I was now plugged. I'd never had anything up my ass and had most certainly never had another man – I'm sorry – a MAN touch me there. I had to remember: I was a faggot, not a man. But being touched down there and having something inserted into my hole was profoundly embarrassing to me and tears sprang to my eyes as I considered my humiliated state: But my humiliation wasn't yet completed.
My preparer took another item from the cart as disassembled it. Then he put an acrylic ring from the disassembled parts around my dicklet and balls. He slid a yoke with three prongs through the holes in the ring and slid a matching piece in front of that to complete the ring. Then he lubed my dicklet and pushed it into a tube.
"Thrust, faggot, " he ordered and I pushed my dick forward, filling the tube. Then he put a padlock in, locking the device in place. My dick was now encased in a chastity device.
"That dick has only one purpose now, and that's pissing. It will never be used for anything else. We could cut it off, but our clients like the look of a faggot with a caged dick, rather than a missing one," he told me.
Now my humiliation was completed: I was hairless, my ass was filled, my dick was caged and I had no control or say in any of this. I'd been told over and over that I was no longer a man, if, indeed, I ever had been a man. I was a faggot and was beginning to realize the truth of this state and the rightness of it. How could I have ever considered myself a man? I certainly couldn't think of myself in that way now. I had only one purpose in life: to please and serve men. I could feel my inadequate dick throbbing and oozing per-cum.
My preparer took a slightly larger size of the translucent suction cups and applied them to my nipples, producing a delightful pull on my tits as they were vacuumed into the cups. Then he went to the wall and pressed a button. In a few moments, two more denuded creatures came into the room. I can't call them men, because I instantly recognized that they were the same as I was – faggots. No body hair, insignificant genitals and big nipples protruding from their smooth chests.
"Take him to his cube and put him to bed," he ordered.
"Yes sir," one of the faggots responded and they took my arms and led me from the room.
Chapter 4
The faggots led me to another hall that branched off of the corridor I'd been brought in through. This all was lined with doors, each about three feet square. The doors were stacked two deep and extended the length of the hall, which was about thirty five feet long. So all told, there were fourteen doors on each wall of the hall, making a total of twenty-eight. The faggots led me to one of the doors and opened it. Inside the door was a cubicle about seven feet long and three feet square. There was a pad on the floor and light from an LED strip along the ceiling.
"Get in faggot," one of them told me. I looked at them, disbelieving.
"In there?" I asked.
"This is your bed for the night. Get in."
"No, please. Don't make me sleep in there. It's like a coffin!" I blurted out.
"He'll need assistance," one said to the other, "get him 'the Voice'". The second faggot left the hall.
The faggot returned in a few moments with a set of headphones and placed them over my ears. There was the Voice again, reassuring me and telling me that my purpose was to serve men and be a good faggot. Immediately, I was calmed.
"Yes sir," I murmured. "I'm a faggot and my purpose is to serve." I slid into the cubicle, feet first.
"Faggots sleep on their backs," one faggot told me, "so that your nipple enhancement can continue effectively. Then the faggots closed the door. The LED strip dimmed and I closed my eyes, my only companion the quiet Voice, telling me over and over that my purpose and pleasure now was in serving men. A small voice in another corner of my mind cried out a desperate warning that this was the way the rest of my life would be. A competing little voice said that this was what I'd always wanted, but hadn't known. Somehow, they, whoever "they" were, had known.
Epilogue:
That all took place months ago, or so I believe. It's hard to monitor time now, no longer having access to calendars or time-pieces. Every day I was strapped to a post, leather straps above and below my pecs, around my waist and my legs. I was unable to move. Then they would begin on my nipples. First, they would prepare them for pumping, putting some sort of ointment on them, painting the aureolas and the points with the ointment. They told me the ointment helped keep my nipples soft and pliable and also helped to increase their size. Then they pumped them. Each pumping took place in three stages so that as the nipples expanded, they were pumped again to increase the suction. After the third pumping, they'd leave the suction tubes on, giving my tits ample opportunity to swell. They used progressively larger sizes of cups as my nipples expanded permanently, bit by bit. After they seemed satisfied with the length and girth of my nips, they tattooed the aureolas to make the appear bigger. Once my tits had grown as big as they wanted, I was graduated to being a service faggot and spent my days servicing men and assisting in the training and preparation of new faggots when they were recruited into the service.
I was trained to suck cock, to worship cock, and to take a fuck like a faggot should. Men would use me daily, chewing and abusing my nips and fucking me like a whore, making me grunt, groan and squeal with pleasure. At night, I was plugged with progressively larger plugs until my faggot hole easily accepted plugs as big around as my wrist. I'd been turned into the faggot I was always meant to be. How could I shave ever thought I was a man? And how did they know?