HUMILIATION
The door opened. He entered and stopped a couple of feet away. Silence, as he inspected the meat. Could he hear my heart thumping? See the nervous tremor in my right leg? What should I do? Drop to my knees? At least hang my head? Rather to my own surprise, I squared my shoulders and stood tall. If he wanted to see what he'd got, I'd put it on show. But I had never felt so naked.
He walked slowly round to my rear and again paused. I imagined I could feel his eyes licking my skin. Then I felt a leather collar slipped round my neck and buckled - just a bit too tightly. I felt claimed as his property, just as a collared dog is marked by his owner. It was a feeling I liked. To my surprise he unlocked the manacles and I let my arms hang at my sides. He moved again, completing his tour of inspection, to stand in front of me once more. Now he spoke. Just one word quite quietly, "Display". His voice deep and reverberant, suggesting a broad, deep chest. But what did the order mean? I felt I was on display already. Oh God, was I to fail at his first command? Panicky, I said "Sir?"
With an edge of irritation in his voice he asked if I had not been taught the 'Display' command. Shamefacedly I confessed not. He explained: hands clasped behind neck, legs braced apart, chest out, chin up, elbows back ("Back more" he commanded, as I followed his instructions.) He explained that this was "a drill command like "Attention" which meant that I had to hold that position no matter what happened until ordered "At ease". Only then could I drop my arms or move my feet. In a helpfully casual tone he went on to explain that "Display" left the entire body "entirely open and available". But I didn't need him to spell that out, I felt horribly exposed and vulnerable.
Suddenly there was a click/flash/ whirr. He had photographed me "open and available" for his records! And then again from behind. Even from the rear the flash could be seen through the goggles. He moved to the front once more. Pause. My "open and available" skin crawled in anticipation of - of - what? A lash? A slap? A crude grope? A spit in the face? A pinched nipple? The tension was hell. Then he did touch me. He put his fingertips under my raised arms near the elbow and swept them down, past my armpits, my sides, my flanks in a deft, light movement like an airport security guard frisking you. Then on up over my belly, ribs, chest to rest at my shoulders while his thumbs kneaded the base of my neck. At his touch my cock struggled to become erect within the constriction of that bloody jock. I was amazed that he should seek to give me such thrillingly sensual pleasure.
The thought no sooner entered my mind than I realised its absurdity. He wasn't giving anything. He was taking it! But if he enjoyed handling me, that meant he liked my body, and that thought thrilled me no end. He ordered "At ease" and as I dropped my arms he clipped a dog lead onto my collar and pulled upwards. I went up on my toes. Still he pulled upward turning the collar and lead into something like a hangman's noose. I teetered on tiptoe, gagging and alarmed. What the hell was he doing?
"Please, please" I gasped. Then the direction was reversed, pulling downwards. I bowed, bent over, went down on my knees, following the pull, down to squat on my heels. Suddenly it was up again. Up onto my feet, up, still up, to tiptoe and choking again. What the hell was going on? What did he want from me? What was I supposed to do? Then it was down again, and I realised he was simply giving me an elementary obedience exercise. I was his puppet, to go up when he jerked me up, down when down. A crudely simple lesson. Only this time when he dragged me down till I was bowed at his feet, he put one boot over the dog lead and bore me right down to the ground. He pulled the lead through, under his instep till my collar - and my neck - were pulled hard against his boot. Guessing what was required of me, I dutifully set about licking it. He raised the toe so that I could get right under to lick the sole.
I twisted onto my back so he could roll the sole over my face (all masters seem to relish that.) As I did so I embraced his foot. Smooth leather. No laces or eyelet holes. I slid my hand upwards. Dear God, he was wearing riding boots! I was being trampled underfoot by a man wearing riding boots! It blew my mind. With both hands I encircled the firm, leather-fragrant shaft of the boot and slid them down the length of it. At the heel I encountered cold metal. Spurs! Never in my steamiest masturbation fantasies had I ever thought of abasing myself at the feet of a master who was booted AND spurred! But here it was in real life! He raised the boot off my face and planted it firmly on my chest and ground his spurred heel into me. I sprawled beneath him in an ecstasy of submission, moaning "Master. Oh Master." If only I could have been allowed to toss myself off at that moment what a fountaining of semen there would have been! My ecstatic submissiveness must have excited him for he removed his foot and snapped "Get on all fours". I hastened to obey and heard the unmistakable sound of a zip being ripped down. He knelt behind me and tried to mount me as a dog mounts a bitch. He spat on his fingers and wiped my ring with it but had difficulty getting in. I assumed he must be using an oversize dildo, it was so hard and big and hurt so much. After all, no one was that big. I feared he might injure me with this damned thing and automatically clenched tight - which made it hurt more. He eased back and told me to relax. I did. That was a mistake because he nosed against my ring again, gently but relentlessly increasing the pressure till I could hold out no longer and he thundered into me. I collapsed under the impact and sprawled flat on the cold flagstones. "Bastard!" he said, as if I had done it deliberately, and grabbing my hips, yanked me back into all fours position.
He didn't fuck me so much as punish me with his cock. For it wasn't a dildo, it was indeed his cock. I didn't know men came that big. He bit my neck and shoulders. He gripped me in a half Nelson arm lock and scrubbed my face into the stone floor while he banged me and banged me and banged me with savage brutality. Fortunately it was quick. Just three or four minutes maybe? Short, but still too long. He bellowed and roared like a bull when his climax hit him. Then he collapsed on top of me, gasping and heaving and it was mercifully all over. Not my idea of a fun fuck, but obviously he had enjoyed himself and that was what I was there for, after all.
My only problem now was that I couldn't breathe under his collapsed weight. And what a dead weight he was too! I tried to wriggle out from under him but he was too heavy and anyway he was still inside me. I had learned from previous masters that slaves didn't break contact but patiently waited for the dominant one to decide when to do that. Eventually he bestirred himself and yanked it out. Why do all masters do that? Why do they all contrive to make the simple act of withdrawal into an act of aggression? Couldn't they just slide out? Is one more yelp of pain so important?
Anyway, he got to his feet and strode off down the corridor to the right, "Stay there" - as if I had the will to go anywhere. All I wanted was to be allowed to lie still and quiet on that cool floor, exhausted.
There must have been a bathroom down there as I could hear water as he cleaned himself up. Then he returned and picking up my lead yanked me up onto all fours and started off, dragging me behind him back to the bathroom.
There are two sorts of masters in my experience: those who, after a good fuck want to relax, and those who move into a period of hightened cruelty. Fortunately the latter type are rare, but as I padded along on hands and knees behind those striding boots towards that bathroom I knew, with a terrible certainty, that with this man the real horror was only just about to begin.