THE HUMILIATOR
Chapter One
CONTACT
I shall never forget the impact his advertisement had on me when I first came upon it in SM Mag.
Among the "Good looking blonde submissive seeks . . ." and "Tattooed, brutal master wants . . ." and "Strict disciplinarian school master . . ." etc. was one that literally stopped me in my tracks. It read:
THE HUMILIATOR. Rigorous obedience-training given.
Are you man enough to take it?
Serious applicants apply Box no. xxxxxx
It said so little. It spoke volumes. My bowels seemed to melt and churn. In the strangest way I felt as if he was speaking directly to me and only to me. I urged caution on myself, remembering other contacts which had seemed to promise so much only to prove disappointing again and again. I told myself that he would turn out to be a fat, middle-aged business man with sagging breasts. Or a scrawny and impotent old bugger of 72. Or a meek little heavily-married clerk with a nervous fidget and fantasies of macho power. But it was all useless. I had to write to him.
"To; The Humiliator. 18/05
"Sir.
"Your ad. in last month's SM Mag made a terrific impact on me. So terse, yet as if every one of it's few words was precisely chosen to target me.
"Your name, to start with. "The Humiliator" It is like a revelation. I have knelt before men who said they were my master and before men whose slave I begged to be. I have explored the concepts of dominance and submission but suddenly you make me realise that these are only part of what it is all about. The real, deep need is for humiliation. And who better to exploit that than . . . The Humiliator himself!
"Could it be that here at last is a man who really understands how to make his victims cringe with shame? Then you use words like" obedience" and "training". Magic, potent words. And the idea of being trained to obedience, to automatic, unquestioning obedience like a well-disciplined soldier, yes, that excites me no end, Sir. But you are not satisfied with that are you? You go on to spell out that this obedience training will be rigorous. Oh God, just your choice of words makes me whimper and feel desperate to serve you.
"I once met a man, a taxi driver, whom I found quite exceptionally attractive, and who claimed to be a Master. We went back to my hotel and both stripped off. He had a most exciting body and I was eager to submit to his dominant demands. He said "Now, what would you like me to do?" My heart (and my cock) sank! How could I tell him that what I needed was a man who knew what he wanted - and took it!
"Somehow, I sense that is not likely to be a problem with you, Sir. The brutal brevity of your ad. suggests rather that you are the sort of greedy, selfish, demanding, arrogant bastard of a man who knows exactly what he wants and makes sure he gets it . . . or else. And the "or else" brings me to the one part of your ad which gives me some pause. You ask "Are you man enough to take it?" Oh but I hope so Sir. Certainly I take the business of obedience very seriously and have no doubt that you will find me responsive to even your most unreasonable demands. Certainly, too, I have a strong distaste for pansy behaviour and feel confident you will find me "man enough" in that respect. But that does leave the question of pain and punishment.
"I know that compared to some men I have a poor tolerance of pain. One master (the best I ever had) showed me pictures of another of his slaves with his backside beaten raw by over 100 lashes of tawse, canes, straps, quirts etc. Fortunately my master had the skill to realise that would be unacceptable in my case and never gave me more than 12 cuts of the cane at any one time - albeit bloody hard ones. He said he was prepared to limit the number but never the severity!
When I said that my inability to take a really savage beating worried me, lest he should find me unsatisfactory as a slave, his reply was interesting. He said that he got more satisfaction from giving me even just "six of the best" than from giving this other chap 100, because that one just lay there inert, soaking up the pain, whereas when he thrashed me, he could see how much he made me suffer. He used specially to enjoy stringing me up by the wrists to butcher hooks in the roof beam of his attic and whipping me about the body:- chest, back, ribs, shoulders, arse and thighs. This he'd do not for punishment necessarily but just for his own entertainment, using a variety of implements, though as I was usually blindfolded so that I'd not know where the next blow would fall, I didn't know what instruments he was using. Only afterwards in my bathroom mirror could I identify which two or three he'd used on that occasion by the welts printed in my flesh.
"He would invariably toss me off after such a beating but, bastard that he was, he'd bring me to within a single stroke of reaching orgasm and then stop. I'd plead with him to give me release and he'd start all over again - and stop again, and again, till I was practically a sobbing, gibbering wreck. Then when he started working me up all over again I'd sometimes rebel and decide to "switch off" and refuse to become aroused. I'd concentrate on a report I was preparing at work or something, convinced he would get bored with my lack of response and give up, which would be a victory for me - of a sort!
"But that was silly, of course, for he knew me so well and what turned me on, that he could play me like a fish. It was humiliating that he could manipulate me with such ease so that instead of fighting against him he soon had me begging him to milk me dry. And eventually he would bring me to one of those violent, explosive orgasms by which he kept me enslaved far more effectively than by any beatings or even by his brutish fuck-lust. So often men will lose interest after they have cum, but he never let me leave without draining the spunk from my balls, even after fucking me twice, though more for his own benefit than mine as he liked to make various disgusting uses of slave semen - but best not to talk about that.
"Anyway Sir, I hope I have said enough to persuade you that I do know something of obedience and servitude and that I might be of use to you. I enclose a recent photo for your interest and pray, most humbly, that you will consider me worth further investigation.
"I hope one day to be Sir, your most obedient servant,
"D"
I sent this c/o the magazine so knew that by the time it had been forwarded to him I could not expect a quick reply - but neither could I avoid waiting eagerly for the post each morning. But week followed week and my hopes began to wither into disappointment. After a month I decided it was dead, but once or twice I dug out the magazine and re-read the ad. and it still had the power to stir my loins and make me wonder what might have been, if only . . .
Then one morning came a thick, largish, brown envelope. Somehow I knew, even though it was six weeks since I'd written. With nervous fingers I ripped it open. It contained a printed questionnaire - six pages of it! - stapled together with a slip attached on which was typed this brief message:-
"Complete this questionnaire and return it within three days of receipt, as before to Box xxxx. I have assigned you the slave name of Fuckface for the moment. Use it in all future contacts.
The Humiliator
Well that didn't give much away, did it? Though "future contacts" sounded promising. Anyway, I settled down to filling out the form straight away and quickly became aghast at it. To say it was comprehensive would be a huge understatement. It started off with basics:- Real name, slave name, ("Fuckface" of course, and what a lot that implied,) safe address, age, height, weight, distinguishing marks or features, married, divorced, separated, single, living alone, if not with whom, age and sex of partner, did partner know of this contact? Nature of employment, income p.a., live in rented/owned accommodation, flat, house, give no. of rooms and description of location and so on and on. But then it got worse. How many times a week on average did I masturbate/ fuck/ get fucked. Describe a typical masturbation fantasy in under 250 words. Was I often/ occasionally/ never, caned/ whipped/ pissed over/ made to drink piss/ suck cock/ swallow spunk/ arse lick/ suffer bondage/ suffer tit torture. Describe (250 words max for each) two worst ever punishments, two worst ever humiliations, two most exciting ever sexual experiences, physical description of two most exciting sex partners. Was I turned on strongly/ sometimes/ not really/ not at all by leather/ rubber/ denim/ silk/ boots/ chains/ women's wear/ soiled jock-straps/ sweaty T shirts/ bondage gear/ belts/ straps/ chains/ gloves/ gauntlets/ uniforms, any other item of clothing/ equipment. . . Specify. Did I have any tattoos/ body piercing/ body hair . . . give details. Then came a section headed "Personal history" which asked at what age I first realized I was queer/ was turned on by SM/ had my first sexual encounter/ first SM experience (in 100 words max). Did I suffer from asthma/ heart problems/ AIDs/ any other physical problems? How fit was I -how many press ups/ sit ups could I do/ how far could I run/ jog? Did I go to the gym, if so, how often. Had I ever been in the Forces inc. Police, Fire, Ambulance or any other, giving experience of drill/ discipline? Give full details, length of service/ rank(s) held/ punishments undergone/given. What experience, if any, did I have of group sex/ gang rape. (another 100 words max).
All this and more took hours to complete, working into the early hours over three consecutive nights after work. At the end of it I felt as if I'd been stripped naked and stood completely exposed to this total stranger of whom I knew nothing but who knew every secret of my sexual life and fantasies. I felt angry and humiliated . . . exactly as he intended! The bastard! The manipulative bastard! He sure as hell knew how to make his victims feel like dirt. My respect and admiration for him grew even greater, so also my longing to be used by him.
I checked over my answers carefully, to ensure they were accurate, honest - and did not exceed the word count- enclosed two more photos as ordered (one naked and in chains) and posted it off with trepidation and excited expectation...