How We Met

****************************************** How We Met Part 2 - 'Loss of Liberty' ****************************************** comments to sharper@inorbit.com ******************************************

It is often said that a loss of liberty can be accomplished most painlessly if it is taken in stages - little bits that everyone thinks 'oh, that won't do any harm, will it?' or they think ' well, that seems reasonable, I think' until there's nothing left and everyone is living as slaves and nobody is noticing. Try to take someone's total liberty all at once in a fell swoop and they'll squeal and shriek and squawk and make no end of hullabaloo... resisting until the last ounce of strength, against all reason, hurting themselves even more - perhaps - in the process of their defence than is truly reasonable compared to the actual scale of the threat......

But I wasn't like that. My liberty went all of a sudden in a way that I can now identify quite clearly and precisely. It was taken from me in one fell swoop, as I say, suddenly, without negotiation, and unconditionally, against my explicit consent and even - I can see now - without my knowledge. It wasn't until years had passed, and looking back repeatedly on these events, that I came to realise that what had seemed like a flirtatious, lustful evening - with erections galore and lots of warmth and horniness - had in fact contained the complete acquiescence of myself with my own surrender. Surrender of my mind, my will, my freedom to act, my freedom to choose, my ability to make my own decisions, my ability to ever again wonder if I was being myself and being genuine. From that day forward I was not my own man. And I didn't even notice.

As we crossed Tower Bridge the car slowed and drew to a halt. You shouldn't really stop right on the bridge because it is too narrow, but at this time of night and things being as they were, my Master - the man with the droopy eye - pulled to a halt and, hitting my head slightly, pushed the motor out of gear. He kept the car running.

• Sit up.

I did so. My back was aching slightly and my head had been hit several times by getting in the way of him driving. I couldn't have stayed for much longer like that with him driving and my face in his lap. There are practical considerations, and whilst it might seem horney to give some guy a blow job whilst he drives through the empty night time streets (the streetlights flashing on and off as we passed them), the truth is it's bloody uncomfortable and someone's liable to get bit, or break a tooth!

We sat for a moment and he looked straight ahead. It was like he wanted me to decide. He didn't say anything, and I didn't too, but I could feel this - like - question being floated between us there in the bright street-lit silence. He opened a window and the cold air blew across to my side of the car and my naked skin (I still had my shirt off - are you keeping up with this?). I don't know how long passed but I was cold, confused, and a little irritated before he turned to me and said 'Give me the keys'. I reached down between my legs where they had fallen and handed them to him.

• Give me the handcuffs.

I gave them to him.

• Turn and face the window... give me you hands.

I put my hands behind my back. I must have wanted it... He put the handcuffs on and clicked them into place. The ratchet device cranked shut. My hands were clamped behind my back and I felt a tremendous sense of relief. Was it a relief from boredom and discomfort or something great - like a sense of release, being rescued, or like one might be tied down to protect oneself if one were having a fit, or given water if one wre dying of thirst?

• Sit forward.

I faced the car dashboard. Now my arms were very uncomfortable pressing into me, bearing all the pressure behind my back. It wasn't very nice at all.

Again he stroked my neck and pulled my face towards his. I could taste his mouth. It was like I could taste his mouth ... forever (if I wanted to)! Mmmm I was tasting him and he was delicious.

• This is remarkable, I thought to myself.

His other hand reached across and pinched my right nipple, softly, then HARD. Fucking ..... what? But my tongue was still entangled with his and he smiled - which is difficult to do if you're kissing - and I smiled too.

• Like that.

• Yes.

• More of that later.

• Oh, I mumbled.

He put the car into gear and off we rode to his home, me handcuffed like this, I couldn't always sit up straight. Once we lurched to the left and I fell into him.

• Sorry.

• Sit up straight. Open your legs wider, it'll help you get a better balance.

I pushed my knee against the door, my feet down into the floor and my back hard against the seat. He stopped at a traffic light and reached over to my crotch. I think he could feel that I was quite hard.

• Not far now. Do you know where we are?

• Stoke Newington, I said.

• You know London well.

• Thank you.

The car pulled up outside some garages with tower blocks all around us. He got out of the car and opened opened one of the garages up. We pulled into it.

• Got to unlock you now, but I want you to remember, he said.

• Yes, I said not quite knowing what it was I was supposed to keep in my mind. I thought it must be just some general idea of his mastery over me or some such. I turned my back to him, but he grabbed my shoulder and threw me back into the seat.

• DON'T, he said, EVER DO THAT AGAIN.

• Don't do what? I asked, a little dazed, a little confused, a bit irritated, almost angry at his unfair behaviour. I thought he meant he didn't want me to turn my back on him, though how was he supposed to unlock me if I didn't turn?

He raised his hand as if he was about to strike me really hard and I was afraid. He looked at me - with that droopy eye of his - and said

• DONT

and he struck me with more force than I could have struck anybody, even had I been so inclined, given the enclosed space.

• EVER

and he struck me once again before I had had enough time to recover.

• DO

again he struck me. I was feeling kind of drunk. My shock, shame, surprise, horror made me bend forward to protect my face. I couldn't speak. I started to hyperventilate. "Jesus", I thought, "I'm going to hyperventilate, and I'm stuck." He pulled my head back and after a little struggle he struck me again, saying

• THAT

• AGAIN

and he struck me again.

• wwWhat? I quavered.

And he struck me again. Then he held me very very tight so that I couldn't move even though I was very angry and frightened and in a state of some panic, wondering - for the first time, believe it or not - if I had got myself into something I shouldn't have got myself into. I might wake up dead or something, for instance. Could I trust this guy?

I was thinking 'probably not' as he held me very tight and whispered

• There, there

in my ear and stroked my head. I was still breathing very heavily. We sat like that for several minutes at the end of which I was in tears and he was looking at me in the eye and stroking my nipples and squeezing my shoulder.

• All right? he asked me in a way that didn't quite strike me as sufficiently non-psychopathic.

My face was burning red and I was shaking.

• You realise why I had to do that, he said.

• I think I do... Sir, yes.

• Better be sure, because otherwise...

• Yes I am sure, Sir, I am sure.

• Right. Now lets get you inside.

He reached out and stroked my tear stained and angry cheek with a slightly weird smile.

• I like this, he said.

Then he stroked a knuckle down the centre of my chest.

• ...and I like this.

He hooked his finger into the top of my jeans.

• ... and this.... oh, not happy?

My erection had gone. He patted my balls gently and, though they ached, my dick started to strengthen. He felt it.

-...ohh..? Better.

He tapped my balls again, harder. My dick started pressing up. He smoothed his hand over it, all the while looking me straight in the eye, but with a certain coldness now that... well it turned me on because I recognised the slightly distant, glazed expression of someone who was becoming sexually aroused. It was as if he was looking through me, or into me. I stared back, unable to muster any verbal response but as he kept stroking and occasionally striking my balls, each time more robustly, I started to feel more and more aroused until I too was looking into his eyes like they were openings I could get into should I have the good fortune to get close enough, like they were vast protective caves on some craggy fleshy mountain cliff. I stared and allowed my lips to part and my breathing to get more heavy. I wanted him to know I was enjoying myself.

I pushed myself forward as much as I could, and opened my legs, so he could get a better aim at my balls. He hit them, held them, rubbed them, hit them again, and seemed to be whispering something to them like 'yehh' with each blow. 'Ohh yehh'. Gradually the hitting got harder, which didn't surprise me given his previous treatment - though I did wonder if we were ever going to get into his flat, have sex and then go to bed. If this had been a wank fantasy I'd have been asleep ages ago. I jerked with each hit, each time my balls hurt more and each time my dick, like, flinched and then got harder as he smoothed his hand over it and pushed his palm onto it. yehh. Ohh yehh. ... yehh. Ohh yehh. ... yehh. Ohh yehh.

I desperately wanted him to open me up and touch me, not just through my jeans, like he stroked my nipples. I tried to lean forward to kiss him but he pushed me back with his other hand on my chest. Ohh yeh. ... yehh. Just as it was getting too much pain to bear he grabbed my whole packet and squeezed it really hard - so hard I screamed out, to my embarrassment. He gave my face a little slap and seemed to come back.

• Right then, he said, removing the car keys and unlocking his door.

I felt proud, and exhausted already as he came round and opened the door for me and hauled me out. He picked up my t-shirt and gave it to my hands behind my back. Cold and shirtless I followed him out to the nearest tower block.

How many eyes could see me? After all, walking half-naked and handcuffed, it's not normal even in this part of town for your average midnight revellers to turn up thus attired. Would some insomniac granny phone the police or identify my body parts discovered in a black plastic sack on some rubbish heap? "Yes that's him. I recognise the ..." what? The skin? The hair? In this light? From right up there? How can you be sure Granny? "Well I'm not sure..." And so the crime would go unsolved. My disappearance put down to tragic misadventure. I was indifferent to the consequences, however. I looked ahead to where my Master walked. He didn't stride confidently, or slouch like Quasimodo. He simply walked, like any ordinary man, fingering his house keys in readiness for when we got in, glancing occasionally left or right.

He got to the entrance and put the security code in, pushed the door open.

• Go then. Ahead of me.

The foyer was brightly lit with one enormous mirror at one end between the lifts. There it was, the foyer, the lights, the lifts, the ceiling, the floor, the Master, and me. There I was and, boy, did I look hot!

• Stop admiring yourself.

How did he know? I'm usually so subtle inspecting my appearance, stealing glances in shop windows, passing glimpses in the glossy paintwork of Black Cabs.

He pressed the button and a door opened immediately, like it was waiting for us - well, I suppose it was. The mechanism was set for obedience. Later, looking back, I can see that I too was set for obedience. I was to do his bidding. Open when he said open. Be there when he wanted me. Wait quietly. Wank him off when he wanted it. Take his beatings. Take his fuckings. Drink what he gave me to drink. Eat what I had to eat. Do what I had to do. Go where I had to go. Say what I had to say. Be who I had to be. Own nothing - except what was inside of me.

He nodded at the open lift.

• Get in there.

He came in after me. The air was thick with the stench of urine. I breathed it in deeply.

• Kneel... Kneel here in front of me.

I turned and fell to the ground. The door closed. He pushed my face against one leg whilst he undid his trousers. He got it out.

• Suck my dick.

It was a reasonable size, but flaccid. I did my best. He held my head still at one point.

• Keep still, I need to give you a drink. He straightened and then jerked. A quick burst and then a steady stream of his piss filled my mouth.

• Don't spill any, you cunt, he said.

I almost choked. His piss filled my cheeks. Then he pulled out and sprayed my face and I swallowed.

• Hey watch out, you're spilling it.

I leaned forward to catch some more. It ran down my face, warmly over my skin and into my trousers. It oozed down my arse crak. I opened my mouth and supped some more of the sour liquid. I laughed.

He stopped, tucked himself back in and pushed one foot forward, hitting me in the groin.

• DONT laugh, he said.

I hung my head.

• Sorry Sir.

• You're what?

• Sorry Sir, I'm very sorry Sir, Sorry.

• Show me, he said.

I didn't know what to do. I panicked. I tried to get to his dick with my mouth... perhaps...

• No no no, you cunt face.

He pushed his boot once again into my groin. Christ.

• How do you say sorry?

I looked straight ahead, at his leg, bewildered.

• Sorry?

• How do you say sorry?

He kicked me again?

• Think. How do you say sorry? Think.

He kicked me again.

• I'm sorry Sir, sorry Sir, sorry.

I bent forward to avoid him hitting me again. My face was close to the dirt stained floor.

• I'm sorry Sir, I said, and there was his boot. The bright shiny toe cap of the boot he had had kicking me in the groin only a moment ago and instinctively I started to lick it.

• Sorry Sir.

Lick, lick lick. Lick lick. I licked and licked it and licked it until my tongue felt sore and my mouth was dry.

The lift door opened. We had arrived.

• Get up and follow me.

How We Met Part 2 - 'Loss of Liberty'

comments to sharper@inorbit.com