I woke up several hours later...there was no clock visible in Paul's bedroom but it was still dark. I guessed it was the middle of the night. He was lying on his side, and my left hand was trapped under him. Unlike the "Coyote Ugly" joke, I was perfectly willing to leave my hand there all night, but I did have to piss.
Looking around, I spotted one of the items he had pulled out of his canvas toy bag...a red rubber enema bag with hose attached. "Any port in a storm," I murmured...I pulled it over, unscrewed the hose and inserted the head of my soft cock into the bag entrance. I pissed for what seemed like a long time, half-filling the rubber bag as it lie on the bed next to me. Carefully I screwed the cap on and lifted the hose onto my chest to keep the pee from flowing out.
I was also thirsty, but the only thing within reach was the beer I had been drinking...and warm beer isn't my favorite liquid. But like Paul next to me, I was well trained by Masterman to serve as his urinal, so without hesitation, I lifted the end of the hose to my mouth and started drinking my own warm piss.
The motion or the smell apparently woke Paul up, and as he rolled over I was able to recover my arm. He quickly realized what I was doing and reached over to take the hose into his own mouth. I held the bag up above us, and soon we were alternating back and forth, sharing my piss until there was nothing left, also enjoying the bit that splashed on us in between gulps!
We kissed deeply. I was hard from the piss play and was getting harder still. Paul reached for some lube and slowly worked his half-hard cock into my very willing ass. Again, I was discovering that Paul had apparently developed some very "top" habits since his time as a slave. Once he was inside, instead of fucking, he stayed still. Then I felt him squirting into me, filling me with his warm piss just as I had filled his enema bag.
When he finished peeing, he started fucking in earnest, developing a speed that caused all of the piss to swish around inside me, some of it leaking out when his cock pulled back a touch too far before thrusting back into me.
I pulled myself up onto my knees, and offered my ass to him doggie-style. He may have been a bottom, but at that particular moment, with him in me and the piss and all, he was in charge, slapping my ass, torturing my tits, showing off his dominance in multiple ways...then he blasted his bottom-boi cum deep into me, and without even touching myself, I shot onto the sheets below me simultaneously.
I held my position for a moment, trying to catch my breath. Then Paul used a phrase I hadn't heard since my time as Masterman's boi: "You don't think you're going to leave that mess on my sheets, do you?" I was still facing the headboard, so he didn't see my look of recognition, but I scooted back obediently and licked up my own cum, leaving the sheet wet with my saliva.
He pulled out of me and we collapsed as daylight started peering through the windows. For a moment he looked as if he was going to kick me out of my own bed, to make me sleep on the hardwood floor, but eventually he rolled over and put an arm around me.
We slept for a half-dozen hours, and I woke to the smell of fresh coffee.
"Good Morning Master," I said lightly to Paul as I walked naked, my morning wood pointing the way into my kitchen. I had borrowed an old black leather dog collar from his toy bag and put it on. Somehow it seemed right.
He smiled back: "Hey slave-boi...didn't get enough last night?" he asked, gesturing to my hard-on.
"Never enough," I responded, grabbing a chair and pouring myself a cup of coffee. I noticed that Paul had taken charge here too, going through my kitchen cabinets and finding the coffee making materials. I glanced at my pile of bills and other papers on the table, and it appeared they had been inspected.
I dismissed the thought. I was feeling great. It had been a wonderful night of sex, the Masterman-connection somehow making us a great sex couple despite our dual-sub natures.
He walked over to his magic bag and pulled out some items, handing two to me. One was a pair of hot pink frilly girl's panties. The other a black butt plug. I knew immediately what they were and was not surprised to look up to see him holding identical items, then bending over to work his plug into his ass.
It had been a ritual for me with Masterman, and apparently for Paul as well. The plug was to keep me open and available during the day. The panties were to keep me humble when I answered his door to greet a guest or accept a package. Masterman had sat and observed me putting the plug in and the panties on every morning of my service to Him.
Paul handed me some lube and I inserted my own plug, no easy task...Masterman had intentionally selected a trailer-hitch sized one for us. Both of us then put on our panties, yet another tie-in from out shared-slavehood under Masterman.
Then we sat at the table and I started telling him how I had met the Master, almost a year to the day ago.
I had been invited to a party by a guy I'd tricked with a month earlier...he was a hot Daddy-type and said there would be more like him attending.
I cleaned up inside and out and got dressed in my best slut-slave gear, arriving with the party in full swing in the small house the host rented. He introduced me as "Dave", the name I used in the bars, and soon I was flirting with a few hot men, sharing a joint with them on the back porch, and then floating back into the kitchen. A half-dozen of them were playing poker, and I was urged to join in as a new hand was about to be dealt.
I know little or nothing about poker, just the basics, but I didn't want to seem like a wuss so I agreed to play, only half listening as the top dog at the table explained the rules and the betting. It was clear from the first hand that I was lost, and within a few hands I was out of cash and ready to walk away. That's when he walked into the kitchen and into my life.
Masterman was an artist's conception of what a leather stud should look like...not the old 60's concept, with a bulging dick way too big to be real and breasts like a woman...here was a modern clean-cut man of action. Six foot two, about 190 pounds, almost ever bit of it toned muscle, jet black hair he kept short, and a three or four day growth of beard that set off his nicely defined features. He was wearing tight black jeans, a plain white sleeveless Tee, a plain leather vest and engineer's boots. I could see he kept his chest hair trimmed.
A simple black collar and leash were sticking out of his pocket, the end attached to a loop in his jeans. He was smoking a thick cigar.
He immediately caught my eye, glancing up and down, giving me a fast and apparently appreciative cruise. One of the other players had had too much to drink, and the table agreed to let the new stranger (new to me anyway) take over his hand. Masterman (he was introduced as "Ace") sat down and proceeded to clean everyone's clock. But when I was about to be forced out, he grabbed a fist-full of bills and tossed them in front of me.
"That's a loan slut," he told me, "and if you lose it you'll pay me back in personal service."
I could only guess what "personal service" was, but he was so hot I was ready to lose intentionally just to find out! I almost never get hard just looking at someone, but "Ace" was the exception. Yum!
I didn`t have to try very hard to continue my losing streak, and when I was out, he took me to the side and explained: "Personal Service" meant I was going home with him, and his rules applied.
He picked up his winnings, attached the collar around my neck, and pulled me by leash through the crowd, but instead of heading to the street, he led me to the bathroom.
"Up boy!" he ordered, urging me into the claw-foot bathtub.
"Down boy!" came a second order, and I lay in the tub looking up as he unzipped and proceeded to mark me as his own for the first time. Apparently he wasn't the jealous type, because he left the door open and allowed half of the party guests to join him at tub-side, soaking me inside and out with their beer-fueled piss.
After a while he tired of that and gave me another order: "Kneel!" I did, and immediately had my mouth stuffed with his soft, fat cock. He grabbed my head with both hands and forced me back and forth, using me like a sex-toy for his pleasure. He got larger and larger and he kept the pressure up so I was filled with more cock with every thrust.
The other party boys were watching with envy. A couple of them were still pissing, wetting down my leather clad legs and ass even more. The stopper had been put in the drain and I was soon kneeling in several inches of piss.
My jaw was hurting from the constant cocksucking, but "Ace" wasn't slowing down any...in fact he increased the speed to the point that I could almost feel my eyeballs rattling around my head as he slammed his rod deep into my mouth over and over.
Finally I felt him tense up a bit and he forced the cock all the way in, deep beyond my throat opening, as he blasted his cum into my gut.
Some of the others were ready to take a turn, but Ace sensed I wasn't up for any more immediate action, or maybe he wasn't ready to share his new slave yet, but lifting me by the leash, he pulled me out of my piss-bath and led me outside, dripping all over the floor as I went.
From his back pocket, He grabbed a piece of cloth and fashioned a blindfold. Next I knew we were in a truck roaring down the Interstate. There was no talk about my own car...parked back the party...nor was there any permission asked. He had "won" me in the poker game and was now taking possession.
Paul recognized his own experience in my story, and asked just a few questions along the way. I had only just started to tell him about my months as a slut-slave-boi, leading up to my "escape", when I was distracted. Underneath the table, he had started using his foot to massage my naked crotch. The plug and the embarrassment of wearing the panties already had me elongated and fattening...his foot action quickly converted that into a raging hard-on!
I was ready for a break, ready to see how long Paul would keep up his dominant personality. Maybe the humiliating panties and plug would restore his slave-nature.
I got out of the chair, down on the floor, and started licking his bare feet...he inserted toes, one, two and three or more at a time into my willing mouth. As I gave him the footbath, I felt a belt striking my back and ass...over and over, harder and harder, the slapping sound that any of my neighbors would surely recognize immediately for what they were...the blows were raining down on me hard enough that I was in real agony. I put my hands behind me to block them.
So much for his slave side!
Paul grabbed my hands and handcuffed them in front of me, using cuffs from that endless canvas bag. He pushed my panties off, clearing the way for him to continue reddening my cheeks. If I had any doubt about what Paul learned about being a Master it was gone now. He was in charge, and I was a willing slave boi for him. He paused for a moment to pull off his own panties, stuffing them in the crotch of my matching pair.
My ass was bright red and I was in great pain, but I continued licking his feet as best I could. A kitchen towel became a blindfold. Then came the leash. He put a ball-gag in my mouth and tied the strap tightly behind my head.
I was dragged into my bathroom, but instead of the tub, Paul positioned me on the toilet and pissed on my chest, letting it run down to soak my cock and balls on the way to the bowl. Before he finished, he roughly pulled my mouth forward and aimed the rest alongside the gag, filling my mouth and making me swallow constantly to get it into my stomach. Some splashed onto the floor, and Paul manhandled me into position to clean it up, taking out the ball gag to allow me to do it with my tongue, of course.
When I was finished, he inserted a penis-shaped gag in my mouth.
Then it was shower time. I had installed tie-down bolts in the ceiling above my shower/tub, and he tied my cuffs to one of them.
He started applying thick pasty substance to my body. From the smell I knew is was a Nair-like product that was going to remove my hair...the Masterman ordered orange colored hair around my cock and the black hair everywhere else.
It was a Masterman-like event, and I started to mumble my objection around the penis gag, knowing it wouldn't make any difference. Paul had taken over, and I was there to comply, not to get in the way.
Remembering what Masterman had done to me in a similar scene, I started wondering how far Paul would go...how far he had gone with Masterman. But for the moment all I could do is remain on display in the shower, waiting as my hair was chemically removed. He had piled on the goop everywhere there was hair, and he started using a razor to hurry the process, stripping my legs of their signs of sexual maturity, then twisting me around, working on my ass. I could feel his gloved hands pulling my cock and balls this way and that, making sure to get every single hair.
I was still blindfolded and gagged, but I suddenly could smell a cigar being smoked, and recognized it as the brand Masterman smoked. "Paul certainly had gone to some extreme to work out this scene," I thought, "why there was even a slight scent of the baby powder Masterman sometimes used on me!" Then I remembered that we were in my apartment, and that Paul couldn't have known he was going to meet a fellow Masterman boi. Could he? Was he so Masterman-brainwashed he was driven to repeat the details of his scenes with the big guy?
Then came the revelation.
"Hi slut. Did you miss me?"
There was no mistaking that rumbling voice. Somehow, Masterman was there in the bathroom! In an instant, the details came rushing back to me. Months ago, fucking pitiful little slave cunt me had looked Masterman in the eye, said "no", had refused him and run off in the middle of the night.
Now, with Paul's assistance, Masterman had me again.
I was truly fucked.
--------------- To be continued...
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