I sat on my sofa, flipping through TV channels. I did not register what was appearing on the screen. It was impossible to focus on anything at all knowing Scott was bound, naked and struggling in the next room.
Even with the soundproof blanket over the door and my slave's mouth firmly gagged, I could still hear the occasional moan. He wanted me to hear it. Wanted me to know he could not bear it any longer. Not that he had much say in the matter.
I checked the timer on my phone. Only ten minutes since I last entered. Another five to go, then it would be time to punish him again.
Five minutes seemed like an eternity when you were rock hard and dying to nut like I was. I had to resist squeezing my hardon through my jeans.
If I expected Scott to endure the sexual torture I was putting him through, then I figured I could bear a little abstinence, too.
After all, the payoff would be much greater in the end.
Scott was my live-in sex slave now, had been for the past three months. That was when the lease on his apartment was due to expire. My lease would expire a month after that. It was such good timing that I made him a proposition.
Addicted as he was to being owned, used, and abused by me, his master, I figured maybe it was time to take things to the next level.
The deal was he would not pay any room or board. I would cover everything. Any good master knows he must provide for his own slave.
I would also cover the cost of any special devices or toys I brought into the apartment for our "sessions."
For his part, as long as he lived under my roof, Scott was to submit to me, mind and body, whenever I commanded him to.
He was to be naked at all times, save for when he got dressed in the morning to go to work.
But even when he went out into the world, he was forbidden to wear undergarments of any kind. A lowly slave like him was not worthy of such things.
If I ordered him to wear the plastic chastity device around his cock to prevent him from cumming, or a leather cock and ball ring, he would do so. He had no say in when they would be removed.
There was a list of rules Scott was expected to follow. He knew them by heart.
I made him recite them each evening after he stripped off his clothes and handed them to me.
"Repeat the rules, Scott."
"Yes, master," he cleared his throat and began. "Rule number one, I must be naked at all times when I am here. I am a mere slave who has not earned the right to wear clothing. Rule number two, my naked body belongs to my master, to use to his pleasure in any way he sees fit and however he sees fit. Rule number three..."
Scott sounded these off like a military recruit.
He would stand there with his back straight, hands behind his head, hard cock standing up like an elephant's trunk (provided I had not restrained it in some way).
Sometimes I asked him to recite the rules two or three times while I stroked him, simply because it turned me on hearing them barked out in his obedient, manly voice. I might occasionally give his cock and balls a hard smack after each one, just to hear the satisfactory "OOF."
Other times I asked him to recite the rules as we lay together in bed. Me in my pajamas and Scott blindfolded and handcuffed to the bedposts, my meaty bear paw wrapped snugly around his hard cock and squeezing. "Rule number three, only my master is allowed to decide when I cum (OOMF) I am forbidden to cum without permission. Rule number four..."
And of course, if he ever broke a rule, he had to call out again and again when I had him over my knee, spanking and whipping those succulent bubble buns of his. How I loved to make them boiling hot as they struggled and danced beneath me. I loved to break Scott and make him cry shamefully into the fabric of my jeans. Scott hated to fail me, but the pain of his punishment brought us both pleasure.
Apart from sexual tasks, Scott was also in charge of all household chores. He needed to make sure the apartment was spick and span and everything was in place according to my strict instructions. He was to make the bed in the morning, clean, iron, and fold my clothes, and prepare all meals we had at home.
Just watching my nude slave vacuum, dust, and wash the dishes could be almost as exciting as seeing him bound and gagged. I made him scrub the kitchen and bathroom floor on his hands and knees with a scrub brush between his teeth, giving me an excellent view of his well-fucked hole.
Holding the rod from the curtains like a switch, I would threaten him. "I don't have all day, Scott. You'd better move that naked man pussy of yours or I'll make it move like you wouldn't believe!"
"Yeth, maffer. I'mf forry, maffer," he would say, muffled by the scrub brush. His perfect, fuckable ass twitching and perking up at the very thought of the rod. It never failed to make his cock spring to attention, as well, and I loved watching him clean with a huge hardon nearly touching the floor.
I liked to hover over him while he was busy in the kitchen preparing dinner. I allowed him to wear an apron, the only article of clothing I ever permitted, because of the way his plump, juicy man buns protruded from beneath it, the strings dangling down between them and tickling into his crack.
"Your dinner is almost ready, master," he would say, stirring fast as he heard me approaching, "I apologize for the delay, sir. I hope it will please you and be to your liking, master." Towering over him, I would caress his bare shoulders with my large hands. He would swallow hard, his body reacting to my closeness.
When I tapped his thigh, he knew what to do. He spread his legs shoulder length apart and began swaying his bubble buns. Slowly, sensually as he stirred the pan. Never had I grown tired of watching that Mona Lisa of male flesh sway back and forth, clenching and relaxing, clenching at relaxing, the apron strings sliding in and between those fleshy globes as if they too were eager to make contact with his delicious hole.
Scott's ass was usually more appetizing than anything we might be having for dinner. The only thing that made it still more irresistible was when it was blushing bright red from a hard spanking or when his hole was plugged up tight and deep, either with a dildo or with my own cock.
I liked to unzip my pants and unleash my bare manhood, rubbing it between his swaying, naked cheeks.
There were times when I simply turned off the stove, put the food aside, and bent Scott over the counter, ass in the air. Scott would begin moaning in anticipation, trying to brace himself for what he knew would be a rough ride.
I would reach underneath the apron and seize a hold of his hardon as I slid my big, thick tube steak into him. He gasped in pain and surprise as his hole stretched and opened, adjusting itself to my girth. If I had whipped his buns that day, it added another level to the pain.
I positioned a mirror on one of the counters, just so I could watch his face as I entered him. Eyes clenched shut, sometimes bringing him to tears. I would plug up the O shape of his mouth with my own fingers.
...
Once the lease was up on my apartment, I decided it was time we moved to a bigger place.
Scott, for now, had put all of his things into storage. He would, of course, be free to move out if and when he ever tired of being my slave.
In the meantime, I found us a pricier, more comfortable two bedroom apartment. I felt that Scott needed his own room. Not for his possessions or privacy, of which I gave him none, but for all the "equipment" I bought for him. A space to serve as both a weight room and bondage room. A "dungym" as some bondage masters like to call it.
One of Scott's rules was that he work out every single day for at least thirty minutes, usually supervised by me. A public gym was sufficient at first, but I felt it was worth the expense to watch him exercise naked. It should have been a crime to put a man like him in clothes. So I wanted him to be able to exercise in the buff. I wanted to be in charge of every uncovered muscle and its development.
So I splurged on a bowflex, a treadmill, and a handsome set of weights. The increased exercise, combined with the white meat and shellfish diet I had him on, was turning him into a delectable beefcake.
"Ten more reps than yesterday, Scott, you can do it. Do it for your master. You want your naked body to please me, don't you, Scott?"
"Yes, master, yes more than anything I want my body to please you."
"Very good, Scott, ten more reps. Squeeze your buns together. Tighten your hole, Scott. Make it nice and tight for me to fuck the next time. After each rep, I want you to repeat these words..."
Scott did as he was told as he hauled the weights above his head. "I'm a good slave, one. I am pleasing my master, two. I am tightening up my hole, three"
It's unusual to see a man lifting weights with a huge boner, but Scott managed to stay hard through his workouts so long as I was his coach. The sexuality could get so intense that sometimes I had to suck him off or fuck him right there on the weight bench.
I personally controlled all pubic hair he had or did not have on his body. I kept the hair on his head crewcut short. I made sure his groin, ass, and now his legs (for he had amazing legs, too, it turned out) were hairless and smooth.
I decided to allow some of that heart-shaped nest of chest hair to grow back, though I kept it trimmed down to about half an inch. The dark brown shadow flecked with grey accentuated his puffy, pink nipples, making them look all the more vulnerable and all the more fun to torture.
...
At long last, those fifteen agonizing minutes had passed and it was time for another round of punishment.
I peeled back the soundproof blanket from the upper righthand corner of the door. It was music to my ears. The muffled whirring of the buttplug, wedged deep into Scott's ass. A soliloquy of choked grunts and groans. Sighs of agony. Sighs of pleasure, sometimes one and the same. I heard him pulling and struggling at his bonds, the knotted ropes straining against the metal frame.
I went and unhooked the rod from the curtains. This one was more effective than the one from the old apartment. It was shorter, thinner, and vicious as a wasp's sting. It barely bent on impact and bit mercilessly into Scott's flesh.
I went into the room, warm with the smell of exercise and sweat, closing the soundproof door behind me.
Anyone who came and visited my apartment would assume this was nothing more than my own private gym. By the window were the weights and the bench. The treadmill was stuck halfway into the open closet. On the far wall was the bowflex, and next to that, a power cage with a gym mat underneath.
The unusual thing about the metal frame cage, however, was that there were no weights with which to do power squats. I hadn't bothered with those.
Instead, I converted it into a bondage rack.
This was where Scott was now. His beautiful, muscled body oiled up and struggling. He was facing the wall, two lengths of nylon rope hung from a crossbar above him, keeping his arms suspended directly over his head.
Each of his bare feet were latched to the bottom frame on either side of him, forcing his legs apart a little more than shoulder length and keeping him perpetually spread eagled.
In place of nylon rope, I bound each foot with a double bungee cord. They were sturdy and tight, but with more elasticity. I liked to watch Scott battle with them. He was constantly trying to bring his feet closer together so he could stand more comfortably, but he had to tighten his leg muscles and squeeze his buns to do so.
Eventually, his muscles would get tired and the elastic cords would win out, pulling his feet apart once again.
I found this struggle incredibly erotic. It meant his hips and legs were in constant movement, his butt shifting and swaying uncontrollably. I no longer had to command him to keep them moving, for he could not stop them if he tried.
I had fitted Scott with the leather collar with the fur lining inside that held his neck up and made it impossible to hang his head.
The combination buttplug and cock and ball restraint, complete with remote-controlled vibrator, was the real source of his agony this day.
The buttplug looked fantastic, burrowing deep between his struggling red cheeks, buzzing away at full power like an insidious, black beetle. The two rings, one around his balls and the other around his hard cock, made it impossible for him to cum.
He was endlessly, achingly erect and had been for the last hour. His engorged, purple manhood was so taut he could barely flex it.
A steady stream of pre-cum cried a long trail down the underside of his shaft and dripped onto his bound balls, making them glisten. His cock looked almost like a foreign entity suctioned onto him. A leech absorbing all the focus and energy in his body.
At this point, it would have been impossible for Scott to think of anything other than how badly he needed to cum. I knew him well enough to know that it was driving him insane, which was exactly what I wanted.
Once Scott was aware of my presence in the room, he went wild. He thrust his hips every which way. He fucked the air with his obscenely hard phallus, trying to find something, anything to push it into and give it release.
He begged and pleaded, though his mouth was gagged tight with a rag and covered with duct tape. He made barely intelligible pleas of "I'm sorry, master, I'm so sorry, master! I need to cum, please let me cum, master. Please, please, let me cum, master. I'll do anything! Anything!"
I smiled. Now the fun could really begin.