Inexplicable Obsession 2 xx Vince Masters (vincemaster2018@gmail.com) Gay, Authoritarian
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Carl Jung said, "One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious." The dark aspects of our personality, our "shadow" is present in everyone. People often deny their darkness, repress their inner shadow. Becoming conscious of your shadow is a necessary step to becoming who we were born to be, free man or slave boy, sadist or masochist, bully or bullied, humiliator or humiliated, person or fag.
The shadow is the doorway to the one's true nature. Descend into its depths to become who you really are.
Chapter 2: The Shadow of Faggot begins to show me who I am.
After Tom left, I wiped up my cold jiz from the bedroom floor. I felt exhausted, nauseous, and collapsed into my bed fitfully sleeping. I awoke in a cold sweat crying out. It was one am.
Anna never called me after she went out with Tom, but then I saw a text. Her text was sent at midnight, it was simple, "Hey baby, what a wonderful guy Tom is. We had the best time. He certainly has a real hard slant on you, best not provoke him, he's all man, just what our school and team needs."
I was disgusted. What was my girlfriend saying, was I not all man, did she know something about me I didn't realize yet? What did Tom tell her about me?
I could not go back to sleep. I remembered that my car was still in the high school parking lot, parked before the team captain sign. I did not feel like a team confident captain just now, I felt like an anxious fool.
I jumped up from my bed defiantly unsure. "Fuck Tom!"
As I yelled out I noticed, to my surprise I was still in my school dress ware, school tie still in place hanging from my slender muscular neck, expensive preppy loafers still on my wide size eleven feet encased in a pair of my crazy print socks, pale blue dress button down dress shirt disheveled but still tautly stretched over my broad shoulder, my muscular pecs pressing a trace of my nipples into the tight shirt material. I tucked my shirt inside my waist, felt my thin brown alligator belt. I was so proud of my slender V-shaped waist. I was a hot teen, I thought it would be a pity to be a fag. Pity me in my naive ignorance. I would learn that fags must be the best they can be in body and mind to serve men as they should be served.
I grabbed my keys and wallet and began the one hour walk over to my school. I walked out into the street, as my legs moved at pace they rubbed against my tender cock and balls bruised on Tom's command when I jacked off before he left to see my girl Anna, pounding them without mercy, hard and fast simply because Tom told me to.
"Fuck Tom!" I yelled into the darkness, "Damn him No more of his bullshit!"
I jammed my right hand into my pale tan tight fitting chinos to adjust my sensitive moving balls and cock so they would not continue to be abused by Tom's command to walk. The bulge that I was so proud of now was not only a source of discomfort, it was also a source of shameful humiliation.
The walk was long, the night air had a wet chill to it as it had rained while I was sleeping. I felt damp and uncomfortable, conflicted, and horrified inside. Suddenly I had this terrible thought, before meeting Tom today was I not living my authentic life, was I simply trick or treating, wearing a costume until today when Tom and his dad began to rip off my disguise, could the high school straight team captain I knew as myself be no more than a Halloween freak in straight jock teen costume, a masquerade put over the real me, the faggot me? I felt disgusted seeing me as nothing more than a repulsion, what you feel when you discover you just stepped into warm fresh dog shit. This me can't be real; it must not be real. I began to moan repeatedly, "no, no. no, nooo, nooo, nooo, no, no, no." Three dots, three dashes, three dots, this was my SOS, my morse code begging to be rescued as I was sinking. All I felt was the pain of suffering panic.
Panic made me gasp for air. Instinctively I felt my left hand massaging my prick and nuts. At first, I thought it was because they continued to hurt, but in fact, a shocking revelation hit me, my suffering panic was also sexually exciting. These dark thoughts, my hurt, wounded, owned by Tom feelings were sexual. A fearsome shadow engulfed me, a disturbing shadow that knew me realistically, a menacing whispering shadow that welled up from the depths of my depraved repression animated by Tom murmuring, "Faggot," my Shadow whispered, "Faggot."
"What the fuck is wrong with me? I need to see a shrink!"
The puddles in the road soaked into my expensive dress shoes and my socks were wet. The crazy patterned socks that I chose to wear to make everyone at the school lunch laugh, to make me the center of attention made mocking squeaking sloshing sounds inside my sodden loafers making me the center of ridicule. Even my body mocked me.
This morning, I knew my friends would not laugh at me, the playful foolish me, tonight, in the few hours that had passed I was just as certain they would laugh at me, the pathetic, fool.
As I trudged along in the darkness of night, the blackness of the street, my invariant steps forward caused the unavoidable plopping into water puddles, the slushing, sodding, mulching sound of my wet feet destroying my expensive slip-on shoes I was so proud of sounded a choir of truth. Tom did not make me into a fool, I was born a fool. My own darkness surrounds me as I walk, obey, the darkness of this late night is no more than mine, my own fag shadow indicating who I am, giving me what I deserve, cold, wet, trudging, obedient to Tom's order to walk.
Surrendering to this moment of nonsensical sense, confusion replaced calm, indecision replaced confidence, disappointment replaced optimism. What made me certain of these replacement feelings, this simple fact, I never even considered calling an Uber, or changing clothes, or putting on a jacket. Tom told me to walk to our school and so I am walking. No additions, subtractions, restrictions, or discussion were needed, I was compelled, obsessed to obey, possessed inexplicably to satisfy Tom. In this night, my usual normal became my natural submissiveness.
Who am I? What am I? Shadow whispered, "weird, creepy, strange, bizarre, submissive, naturally unnatural, faggot." I had heard about Femdom and BDSM, about Masters and slaves, was that who I was fundamentally, a slave, but not to a woman, but to this man? Tom's dad would teach me latter the painful lesson that a faggot like me has no sexuality and no sexual orientation, born as I was to serve all, men, and woman, being the fag I am, this was my identity, my destiny, purpose, my calling, and I had no choice in how this me, the faggot was expressed to others.
My feet continued to make squeaking sounds, each step mocking me the faggot.
Meeting Tom today changed my world from supportive to ridiculous. Like a candle flame that was extinguished when oxygen was forcibly withdrawn, in the presence of Tom and his dad all the oxygen in my life, all that was necessary, sane, real was sucked out in an instant. I was left dependent on Tom. I must be naturally submissive.
"No, no way, never, even if I had this hideous, cruel, degenerate shadow inside me, the fag inside me will never be allowed to come out and be me," I screamed out in a panic, yelled struggling in the dark wet drizzling frosty night.
I felt my clothes sticking to me, binding me, restraining my resolve not to be who I was, Terry the teenage submissive. I was losing my own battle with my own shadow. "Faggots never win," my shadow nagged these words into me like rabid rat teeth ripping off bits of my flesh, "faggots never win." I was being digested by my own fag self.
What do you mean fags never win, I asked as I forced myself to continue my uncomfortable damp walk, what is my meaning of submissive?
Submission, that word, that idea rang inside my brain without pity, clanging, tolling fag, fag, fag, resonating as a hollow, empty sound of worthlessness, demanding a definition, and most frighteningly requiring a designation to my now pathetic new life. What does it mean that I am a faggot?
Last year I had overheard a conversation with the coach and the guidance counselor about a student that they were agreeing was a fag, meaning he was not gay or straight in their mind, this definition was too good for him the guidance counselor shared with the coach. The coach agreed stating that he was simply the lowest of all guys in the school and although he was being bullied, they would not stop it, in fact they would find ways to encourage it, to train the fag, as the guidance counselor called it, that he was a thing to be used, not a person to be respected, he was faggot. I remember the cold shiver I felt that moment when these two adults whom I felt safe with showed their shadow side. I understood then that there was a ravaged starving monster in my dark deep closet lurking waiting for me to devour my mind, body, and soul. That day I shrugged this feeling off, today I could not.
I distinctly, harshly knew, as I walked towards my school, the coach and the guidance counselor, my teammates, my friends, even Anna, none would not have any mercy on me, if, and this was my gamble, if I was a true, natural born submissive faggot. Each step made it clearer to me I needed to find out if I was.
As I walked all I felt was humiliation and fear, fear that somewhere inside me an alien thing was awakening that craved, even thrived on humiliation. My shadow creature was emerging as me, as my authentic self. I was a natural submissive, I was born to accept the actions of the dominant other, in fact my purpose was to obey without question real men, to yield to their superior force, accept as my own will the will and authority of my opposite like Tom, his dad, the coach, other true males, to accept their power, control, their greater strength over my own weakness, to surrender because of who they are, authoritative, unafraid, untethered to fearful limits like I am, surrender because of my obsession with an inexplicable need to surrender.
Tom, he is a free man, I am an owned faggot. Was that the sum of my parts?
"Please God, no, please no," I prayed aloud.
Finally, I saw my wonderful vintage 1969 mustang convertible, my pride and joy, a summertime's work of love, its beautifully restored chassis shimmering in tiny drops of rain glistening in the parking lots' harsh lights. I was so glad to see my car, I worked hard to buy and restore this, my pride and joy, this was mine, it had no part of Tom in it, no part of my shadow. I felt safe, in control again. I was ready to get in and drive home, to find a way to put what happened today, to put Tom and my tortured suspicions behind me. I would see a therapist, get help, avoid this shadow.
I fumbled to get my keys out of my tan chino pocket, making me notice a dampen cold body still shaking, trembling. I fought for control. The therapist will help me.
Defeated, out maneuvered, manipulated, I cried out. "What the hell? Son of a bitch! Fuck you Tom, you bastard!" My car key was gone. When I went to get his cold beer as he ordered he had taken my car key off my key chain.
"Fuck him, I yelled out." Even from afar Tom was humiliating me. I'll show him. I'm not going to call him so he can come here gloat and laugh at me, "damn straight," I continued to shout out into the empty school parking lot oblivious to the fact someone might here me. "I'll call the police and tell them I lost my key, and they can open the car door." I was screaming at Tom as if he were standing before me. Shockingly, although I was a consummate jock who yelled at many an athletic play gone wrong the sound of my voice tonight in the abandoned, desolate cold parking lot did not sound forceful or confident, it sounded hysterical and scary.
Tom was a true Master, training me to know myself as the fag I was born to be.
I doubled down, fighting with my shadow self like two Sumo wrestlers locked in an unequal full contact match, I was the novice anemic frightened opponent of a robust, massively built expert wrestler. I was out matched in every way.
"Looser," that is wat Tom would call me right now, and he was correct. Still, I hoped, I fought to remain the straight normal captain of the team repeating my hopeless idea, once the cops let me into my car, I would be safe, I would drive out of this nightmare. I knew every part of my mustang so hot wiring it to start was easy. Tom would not spoil this. I had this; I was in control.
The police cruiser came quickly. They were friendly. I joked with them about being a butterfingers misplacing my car key, and they said no way, they had seen me play ball and I was the best in their minds, no butter fingers on me they said patting me on the back man to man. My whole body soared. I felt like superman.
"Well team captain, please show us your driver's license and then we can open the car door for you." No problem, I grinned, feeling so high on their praise and optimism that whatever happened today I could put today and Tom behind me as others, even strangers like these two cops knew that I was a man.
I pulled my wallet out from my back pocket; my fingers felt the hard curve of my ass cheeks, and unfamiliar erotic twinge shot through me. Opening my wallet my world, no in reality my universe crashed around me.
"That son of a bitch! That fuck!" The police men were taken back, surprised at my yelling, they grabbed my shoulder, just like Tom and his dad had done earlier at lunch to suppress and control me, their touch, the touch of real men sent shivers up and down my spine, "Get a grip son, what the hell is wrong with you Why are you yelling?"
Grasping for control I took three rapid deep breaths and lied, how could I tell them their in-control football star was nothing more than a manipulated slave.
Calming my voice down, yet still loud I spoke. "My friend is playing a joke on me, first he took my keys, then he took my driver's license, in fact he cleaned out my wallet, see." I held up the naked black leather empty wallet. Id's, credit cards, bank card, medical insurance card, everything was gone, even the photo of Anna and I, my proof that I was loved, needed, and cared for, normal and straight.
The wallet was empty, and its emptiness mocked me. "Fucking faggot," I whispered to myself. The cops heard me, and I blushed, they looked concerned.
"You jocks, always playing tricks on each other," one cop commiserated. He could not imagine the vile creature Tom who was making me become the degraded slave that I was, am, and will be. I could not yet imagine it myself.
"Don't be too hard on yourself." The pernicious thought hit me square in the face, being hard on myself is what I deserved. Being hard on myself is what this was all about, what Tom's attraction to me was, to be hard on me.
The two patrol officers looked askance at each other as if they were considering helping me, but then the sergeant said, "Sorry son, the law tells us we cannot open the door for you without you license and a form of ID. Can we give you a ride home?"
A tear came down my cheek and I could not stop it. "Hey team captain, no sweat, this is no big deal, you will get you stuff back from your friend and get the car back in the morning, it's just a prank high schools mates play on each other," the other police officer calmed me. "Sure," I replied, "just a prank, not a big deal," to say another word I would vomit and begin to sob, I would have told them I was nothing, had no power, that Tom was not a mate, but my owner, that when I called Tom to come rescue me it would be worse for me than they could imagine or want to imagine. They could not know what had just been made clear to me in discovering that empty wallet, my life, my possessions, my world, now I understood it all belonged to Tom.
"How about that ride home son?"
"No thanks, I am sure my friend, my mas...mate is waiting for me to call him, and he will come over to make this right. Thanks officers, good night."
"Sure son, you two will have a good laugh over this, I am sure." The patrol car drove off and in the complete silence of the vacant parking lot I fell to my knees not laughing but sobbing. I knew Tom was waiting for me to call, and yes, he would laugh, he would have a good laugh over this, but not laughing with me, only at me. I pressed his number on my phone. It rang till it went to voice mail, then I rang him again knowing I was not worth being answered on the first try. This was my first penitential lesson in begging. I had much to beg for, much penance to perform for the rest of my life.
"Hey looser, what took you so long?"
"Tom, please man, this has gone way too far. It's too much, too deep, too sick, For God's sake, please I need my car, I need my id and stuff. Look, you want to be big man on campus, the only captain, fine, I'll tell coach in the morning I am out, I won't even play on the team if that makes you leave me alone. I'll even transfer schools, whatever you want to make this stop. What do you say?"
There was a long silence. My life hung in the balance, in his silent consideration of my offer to save myself, yet as I waited, fully aware of the humiliation I just heaped on myself, I would even transfer to another high school, what kind of low pussy had I become, and inexplicable my teen cock twitched inside my boxer shorts bizarrely indicating the answer I not only anticipated, but it seems I wanted to hear.
"No way out looser. You are not leaving; you are learning this is not about what you can give, take, or barter. A fag has nothing of worth to offer, no bargains, compromises, you can't offer a thing, an emotion, a sum of money, a thought, an idea that will can change who you are and what I am planning to do with who you are. I will be over soon. I have a bitch here I need to finish off first. It's her third fuck tonight and she deserve another cunting after letting me work her over. You wait by the car till I get there, understand?"
"Yes Tom. I understand."
"And no sitting or leaning, just stand there till I arrive!"
And he hung up. And I waited not slouching, sitting, or leaning, and I waited, standing for two hours. It was 4 am when Tom arrived.
My back hurt, there were tiny spasms up and down my beautiful, muscled gym sculpted back. I was cold, bone chilled. It had rained again briefly. I was soaked through. My feet were ice cold, numb not only from having walked them for an hour, but now I stood motionless on them for more than two hours, almost motionless, standing in soggy soaked loafer and icy wet socks. My body hurts.
Tom drove up next to my car, rolled down his window and grinned. There I stood upright, still, naturally straightening into a military at attention stance before this guy Tom. Was he, my owner?
"What a firkin' piece of worthless flesh you are," Tom snorted.
"Is this the fag you mentioned to me honey," the buxom blond bimbo with the unnaturally high-pitched voice next to Tom asked. Yes, this is my new play toy Terry. "He is soaked to the skin," she remarked. "Sure is, even God must hate him, a wet noodle, a limp fag, it is just what he deserves." Tom gloated triumphantly.
Although completely embarrassed, mortified before this girl and Tom I remained silent standing straight, still, rigid. He was teaching me not to be me, to be ashamed of me, and at this moment I was without pride, deeply ashamed.
"What is it that you want?"
This question stunned me, what did he mean, what did I want? My guts opened and I felt like I was about to be turned inside out. I was not ready or able to answer this question. He asked again, aware of my inner turmoil. What did I want from him, was it full ownership of my body, mind, and soul, was it freedom from shadows or maybe a perverse method where Tom could free me from being a fag instead of making me into a fag. Could his punishments make me atone for my shadow and thus free me? These ponderous spiritual life setting questions were not what he wanted me to answer tonight, he was playing with me, making me suffer delighted him. What he wanted me to answer tonight was pragmatic, physical, my surrender to him in exchange for the return of my keys, car, and ids. Shaking off a cold sweat I understood as he asked again,
"What do you want?"
His bimbo giggled and whispered, "make him dance baby."
Stammering, stuttering, fumbling, my trembling whispering voice answered, "The...the...the keys to my car and, and...... the stuff, my ids and, and stuff from myyyy wa wallet, peewee...lease, Tom, please."
"My stuff, my keys, my car? I took possession of these things, did I not?
I was stupefied, silent before the reality of Tom as owner.
"Didn't I take these things from you?"
My throat and tongue were so dry every part of their flesh stuck to the other parts making my words break apart just as I was being broken apart. I nodded "yes."
"Look babe, this is the mighty captain of the team, the hottest teen in the school, the A student with that very hot girlfriend......we had quite a hot night, Anna and I, and understand Terry boy, she is off limits to you from now on! Keys, cars, id's, stuff was not the only thing I took from you tonight, made my own......if I did not have a date to fuck this cunt, Anna would be sitting next to me now fresh fucked, but I think that is best left for latter when you can assist, watch, then clean us both up afterwards. How would you like that Terry boy, show Anna who you really are?"
Before I could answer Tom's night fuck sang out in a mocking sing song high pitched voice, "A looser, a disgusting freak, a faggot! If Anna could see you now."
Tom's girl cuddled up to him roared with ridiculing witch-like laughter. "What the fuck, is the captain of the team Gay," she asked Tom mockingly. "No honey cunt, Gay is too good for him, Gays have worth, self-respect, no this captain is a faggot, worthless, useless, no more than a couple of holes to be used by real men, even Gay men. He is too disgusting to be anything at all, just a pathetic hole, isn't that right hole?"
Tom waited for my answer. I felt my lips moving but heard no sound. Again, he asked, "what are you?"
"A...a...a hole?" He heard the indecision in my voice.
"Not sure yet fag?"
Something deep inside welled up, like a tremendous gust of burning hot air exploding up from deep inside a submerged sinking ship, a searing hot blast roaring up to the surface from a ship on the way to the bottom expelling all its stored air, and so, to my shock, horror, surprised I heard myself say, "Yes Tom, I am a hole, nothing but a hole."
Tom slapped his hands together making a sarcastic sound of applause. "Take out your phone and take a selfie, full body, I want you to remember this moment forever, the moment you lost control of you."
I obeyed. Seeing my wet soggy damp clothes sticking to my body reflected in the camara frame shocked me. I could see my face was dark red, a putrefied look of embarrassment permanently painted on my terrified face, my frantic eyes were bloodshot from crying, and my full plaintive lips were formed into an oval, like a hole, my own body mocking me in its own truth. "I am a hole, nothing but a hole," I announced again before Tom and his female passenger as I snaped the selfie.
"Show me the photo!" I walked over to his open car window and showed him the photo. Again, Tom just snorted and smirked. He took my phone and gave it to his recent fuck. "Pity, from the looks of his body he could have been fun to fuck, what a waste," she squeakily dribbled on, "I guess that is the way of it, all faggots are a waste. Why not tell him to send this to his girl Anna, just the photo, no explanation. Let her come to her own conclusions. He looks ridiculous, she will wonder why she is with him at all."
"Great idea, babe I love you because you are so kinky and warped. Send the photo now to Anna and to me. Do it!"
I hesitated, Tom waited, knowing I would obey, making mental notes on how to both punish me for hesitating and train me from hesitating.
Without any power to stop myself I obeyed. "Sent I whispered." I heard Toms phone ring briefly indicating a photo has been received. He opened his phone and he and his nightly fuck cunt laughed and laughed. "Anna will be impressed Terry boy, really impressed," Tom belly laughed hardly able to spit out his words.
"You have fuck him good honey," his cunt cooed to Tom.
"Not as good a fuck as he will soon get from me in front of his former girlfriend, I can tell you," Tom replied. "When you fuck him take some videos so I can see his destruction, which will be so hot," she implored Tom. "I will let you know when I fuck him and film the fun just for you babe." They kissed each other deeply, Frenching for over five minutes as I watched. At that moment I do not think as a straight boy I comprehended what was going to happen to me. I was in shock.
When Tom broke off his kiss he playfully drooled, `Car keys and wallet ids ready to be returned,"
I held out my hand and he laughed, a deep, self-satisfied amazed laugh that cut through me like sharp needles. "Moron," he spat. I dropped my hand to my side.
"Strip!"
The moan I let out was supposed to be manly, the interrogative "what," instead it sounded like a drowning man's limp moan, "waaaaa......a."
I stood there in silence. Tom watched me intensely, maliciously. His girlfriend moved, pressing into Toms side to see better.
As his eyes burned into me, my trembling fingers without my permission began to undress me.
"Make sure each item is folded neatly, carefully. Leave the necktie on jackass. You are a total lazy bitch. I am going to make sure you are never lazy again, you worthless prick. Be deliberate, careful, you are following orders, respect my power and position. Place each folded item of clothes on the hood of my car just above my head."
It soon became apparent that there was purpose in his command as each time I removed a piece of clothing I had to lean into his car door, pressing my exposed flesh into his open car window, then step back and repeat the shameful process. The two watched me get naked without protest. I was beaten by a power inside me and outside me that was felt as an inexplicable obsession to obey.
Finally, I was naked except for my school necktie dangling over my naked defined pecks and washboard chest. I felt a cool wet sheen of shaming despair cover my naked exposed flesh.
Tom observed me like a butcher assessing a prize bull for the slaughter.
"See babe, this was the mighty captain of our football team, look at him, naked, trembling, like an obedient silent sheep led to the slaughter. Amazing! My dad was right, sized him up only from seeing his photos. He told me months ago this fag would be mine and he was right." She giggled. Tom pushed his arm out the window, pointing.
"Looser, see that trash bin at the far end of the lot, take your shoes, one at a time, jog over there and toss them into the trash bin."
Dump my expensive new shoes. My brain hurt searching for resistance, for understanding, naively hoping for compassion. There was no way to resist, no way inside to find resistance. If I said "no" what would happen next, what was I prepared to do to enforce my "no." Instinctively I knew there was no way, no will, no substance to my "no," so I complied. Resistance was, in my case, futile.
I did as he ordered, realizing that I was in full view of both passengers in the car. They could see, view me for their amusement, gawk at my solid ass cheeks sliding back and forth, ogle as my ample cock and heavy balls swing, and bounce. They chuckled as they watched my strong well shaped jock legs earnestly jogging, as if I were at a track meet, examined with mock regard my stance, pace and use of my naked feet cautiously avoiding rocks and pebbles on the parking lot floor. They shouted comments, gibes, insults, derisive epithets sparing no part of my exposed naked flesh.
In the days ahead many new experiences opened for me, but being exposed naked, jogging, running, working out and practicing naked, an experience that I would come to understand, even in front of my teammates was my true natural posture as an athletic fag was the most difficult to accept and adjust to. Naked would become my usual dress code. I would be taught by Tom, his unforgiving strict dad, the unquenchable erotic coach, the perv school counselor, my greedy teammates, even my sadistic pediatrician that fags need nothing, fags are nothing, they need only obey and serve without question. My training, breaking was a revelation, pulling out of my insides the shadow creature I was born to be, feeding and nurturing it by training me in excruciating detail to serve, to accept, to crave breaking-training-punishment as naturally necessities for me, as my condition in life. Tonight, I began to understand and accept that my end goal, my only goal was dedication to the service of men like Tom, his dad, the coach, the team, and others.
You know, dear reader, what happened for the next hour. Each article of clothing, one sock at a time, then my belt, then pants, shirt, undershirt, me jogging back and forth to fatigue feeling utter embarrassment. Tom and his fresh fucked cunt egging me on, making obscene comments, demeaning me, correcting me, punishing me.
"No looser, that is not the way to open the dumpster, a fag never uses his hands, use your head to open the plastic top," Tom demanded. Tom's fucked pussy would screech out, "OK, now use your mouth to open it, now use your elbow to open it," and so it went for well over an hour, torturous exercises in opening and closing the dumpster lid, tedious instructions on how to dump my good dress clothes, how to place them inside the dumpster as Tom wanted, never as I thought they should be placed.
Between the two of them seated in Tom's car I was ordered to put in then take out each article of my former dress clothing more times than I could count. Lay them in, smash them in, drop them in, hurl them in like I was making a winning basket in basketball, kick them in as if I were making the winning kick in football.
When they tired of this I was ordered to take my naked body inside the dumpster holding an article of my former clothing of their choice and gently place the article of clothing in the trash, sometimes on top, other times I was ordered to dig with my bear hands into the garbage and place my lost clothing article in the dugout space then fill it in. Cunt girlfriend reveled in ordering me to hold up bits of the garbage and described it in detail to her.
Here I was, the most famous jock in town, the captain of my team, a nice guy to most people and I was being used like a perverted puppet.
Tom took joy in destroying my expensive shoes. He had me slam a shoe inside the bin, retrieve the shoe, bring it back to the car for inspection, be judged as "too dirty for him to touch, order me to lick it clean, then he would observe if it was damaged enough, then repeat my abuse of the shoes, kicking them, stomping on them, smashing them against the trash bin, slamming the trash bin top on each shoe. Each time he ordered me to let him inspect the slowly destroying shoes I had to "lick it clean, make it worthy of garbage," Tom educating me in the art of my own filth as he called it. "It touched you. You made it too "filthy" to even ben a part of common trash, lick it clean so it can become a part of the trash," Tom instructed me. All this abuse was of course useless instructions to demonstrate to me that I deserved no consideration, only torture, that my existence was tedious and all that I was Tom now made useless. I was useless until a real man used me.
On and on it went for more than an hour. Near the end Tom ordered me not to avoid the pebbles and stones on the parking lot pavement, but deliberately step on them. "Lift your legs higher, stomp on those stones you piece of shit," Tom called out.
"Jog to the right, now the left, run in place fast with your knees reaching your tits," his cunt of a girlfriend yelled out hysterically laughing. I obeyed till I miss-stepped and crashed onto one of my knees skinning it. Panting, I looked up, my eyes pleading for them to stop.
As I am near total exhaustion Tom ordered me to jog around the circumference of the large lot, and it was on my second lap around that, to his glee, I finally cut the sole of my left foot on a random stone, just as he hoped I would. Called back to the car I was ordered to lift my leg and show the small wound to Tom. "Now lift it again and this time every time you show your foot say, "I am a total dumb ass Sir, please forgive me and punish me, thank you Sir!" Say it respectfully, but snappy, and no gasping for air, that you are out of breath is not my problem, it is yours and you keep your problems to yourself because no one, no one cares."
I jogged around the car and lifted my leg again to show my punctured foot to his cunt. I gulped in air quickly wanting to please, not to sound out of breath then said in as calm yet snappy a voice, "I am a total dumb ass Sir, please forgive me and punish me, thank you Sir!"
"I'm no Sir you asshole. This idiot can't tell the difference between a guy and a girl, can you believe the pathetic dummy loser? He gets A's and yet he is a total failure." They hugged and shook with mocking sounds.
They made me do this repeatedly jogging one way then the other around the car as they laughed their heads off. I lost count of how many times I had to humiliate myself.
When they had enough of taunting me, Tom stretched out his hand and told me to give my school tie in his hand. "We will need that for school, won't we A student asshole?"
"If you think so, yes Sir."
I don't think you can be trusted to care for this school necktie seeing how you abused your clothes this morning. I will keep it for you, ok?
"Whatever you say Tom, Sir."
"Yes, that is right, from now on, no matter what it's whatever I say that goes."
"Yes Sir." It was at this moment I collapsed curling up on the wet pavement in a fetal position sobbing and begging and incoherently praising Tom as a man that I could never be.
I had willingly, after so much mindless absurd abuse called Tom Sir, told him whatever he wanted I would do.
I had said it, the term, the title, the moniker that naturally slipped out of my mouth without him asking for it, "Sir!" I had just given Tom the mantle of authority over me and my life, although that night I could not yet understand why or what that power meant. Tom would eventually explain myself to me, but tonight, I was a 16-year-old soon to be, in three months' time, seventeen-years-old, a teenager that had just dissolved in a trance of obedience, and I was crushed. Rocking on the wet ruff payment I felt as if I was having a nervous breakdown.
"Get up asshole!"
I uncurled myself and stood up standing on my wide naked cold battered feet, stupefied, unable to comprehend the world around me anymore, life was a blur.
Blinking my eyes rapidly, cleaning them of this blur I saw pieces of paper fluttering to the ground and then heard keys clattering on the wet asphalt floor.
The floor is wet I thought, damn my papers from my wallet, they will be destroyed. I immediately knelt to pick these necessities up before they were ruined, but as I knelt Tom commanded, "No looser, no kneeling, stretch out on your pathetic stomach on to the wet cold pavement and pick each up on your belly with your teeth, then rise onto your knees and place, gently, each item into my hand. Keep going till I have all of them in my hand."
I did, unaware I could say no, besides what would be the point of my refusal, as nagging inside me was the horrifying question, what if I wanted to do this?
When each piece from my wallet was in Toms hand along with my keys, he spit a wide greenish yellow glob into his hand splatting my keys and wallet stuff, then said, "here you go looser, you can have your keys and ids back, just take each from my hand, one by one with your mouth, use your lips stupid, not your teeth."
And I did, removing each with my lips, stained and dripping with Toms thick spit and placed them in my hand to hold. Finally, I had my keys and ids back.
Without any regard for me, without even a sound Tom and his girl fuck for the night drove away into the morning dawn leaving me standing naked, Tom's spit dripping from my lips holding in my still outstretched hand the somewhat destroyed necessities from my wallet. I was a faggot, although now that Tom was gone maybe, the maybe came back to me, maybe I can fight this, put this shadow back into my unconscious? Tom's absence, a teenager I did not know 24 hours ago, caused a vacuum in my life.
I suddenly felt exposed, left in an unfamiliar void. I am anxious, unsure. Should I wipe off his cooling sticky spit? What if he comes back? Should I stand here, did he give me permission to go? The vacuum of his non-presence foiled my thinking. For more than a little while I held my keys and ids in my outstretched hand. All of me felt unreal. My hand began to ache, so I finally lower it feeling fear, fear of acting without Tom's guidance.
I took a breath, my first real free breath since Tom arrived two hours ago. Glancing over at the distant garbage bin I knew I could go over and get my discarded clothes, but I also knew that I would not do this, would not disrespect an order from Tom.
Who am I, what am I?
Seeing the dawn light, I realized I could be seen naked, not remembering that all that took place in the last two hours happened under the bright garish glare of the high school parking lot lights. I hurriedly opened my car door. Jumping in, the leather seats squeaked, sticking to my ass and thigh flesh, even my low hanging balls and the tip of my uncut cock stuck, dragged then pulled uncomfortably against the leather seat. Another embarrassment, even when Tom was not present, he had the foresight, the power to show me my place at the bottom of life.
I slammed the door. Peering out the window I check to see how deserted the parking lot was and felt assured no one except Tom and his fuck date saw what happened.
As I drove back to my house in the safety of my prized loved mustang some of my old confidence came back. Tom was a sick fuck, he was a monster, and I would tell people what he had done, go to the police, report him. I know his dad is powerful, but what he was doing to me was too sick to be acceptable. At this moment deluding myself was all I had left, choosing not to remember Tom's dad was a part of my subjugation.
At home I crashed, sobbed, wailed, pounding the mattress, cursing, and finally exhausted in all human ways passed out into a fitful nightmarish early morning sleep. My last thought was, tomorrow will be better, tomorrow I will speak with the coach, tomorrow I will reestablish myself as me again. Tomorrow I will tell the police and the world what a monster Tom is, and the world will save me.
As I slept the early morning hours away tomorrow came, and on this bright tomorrow morning while I was still sleeping off the shame of a last night's hours spent demeaning my naked self in the high school parking lot, the coach, who was always up bright and early reviewed the parking lot camera footage as he always did, and his eyes were open to see me as the fag I was becoming.
Life for most of us is a simple unconscious dichotomy, good/bad, rich/poor, right/wrong, gay/straight, power/submission, weakness/strength, fag/person. In the parking lot security video coach did not see Tom as the monster, he saw me as a weakling. He saw Tom as a man, me as a fag, and coach was proud of Tom and disgusted with me. He called the guidance counselor and when he arrived showed him the video footage. They agreed I was the pervert, and that Tom had to be protected. They are enraged that I had fooled them for so long pretending to be a normal teen when in fact, as they could clearly see, I was a submissive faggot.
Tom came into the coach's office swaggering, and the three of them decided my fate considering that exposing me overtly would cause a school scandal, but that training me and keeping me under control would benefit all, all that is except for me.
The tomorrow I longed for; the salvation I expected dawned as today harshly announcing itself by the ringing of my cell phone. It was the coach. As I held up my phone to answer it, today I would find out that my tomorrows would be nothing but humiliating nightmares. Coach told me to get my ass into his office ASAP! The guidance counselor and the new co-captain were not to be kept waiting. I jumped out of bed naked, aching, unable for a moment to understand how this happened, then it came to me, surveillance cameras in the school parking lot. My life, I knew it, was over.
A text from Tom: Looser dress in practice shorts, no shoes, no socks, no t-shirt, no jock strap, or underwear, and get here in less than 10 minutes.
Tom is pleased for me to share what happened in the coach's office more about my breaking and training if you dear readers would like, let me know.