Officer Sven hadn't contacted me in 5 days, so I sent Marcus to Sven's address with a DVD burned just for Sven.
I could only imagine his reaction when he watched the 5-minute preview of the hour he'd spent in my bedroom, most of it eating another man's ass hole.
I rarely resort to this tactic. In fact, it'd been more than a year since the last time I'd had to coerce a man into a return visit. Each man on the receiving end of this tactic was much too timid for the lifestyles and careers they'd chosen, but in the bedroom, they were timid dogs, shy about flesh and desire, unsure of what they wanted and needed, and how to change that.
CEOs, adventurers, sportsmen, a hit man, a doctor. All used to making life and death decisions for themselves, others and their businesses, but totally clueless in the bedroom, or whatever room sex may occur. Single, married, divorced, widowed, partnered, whatever their relationship status, they were lost and needing direction, and like Officer Sven, unable to ask how.
When Marcus returned, he said Sven had not been home (although I knew he wasn't at work), but he'd slid it under the door, as instructed.
Marcus was a good dog, able to deliver and fetch, and having performed well, he was rewarded with my cock, upon which he could suckle for an hour or more for my daily business was done and Marcus had no classes nor football practice the next day.
As the hairy, beefy college boy nursed my cock, I thought of how best to handle Officer Sven.
The former Marine would not enjoy the DVD, of him eating another's shitter, touching a man's ass in lust and enjoying the ways of man's flesh. I hated using this tactic, but Officer Sven's ego needed adjusting before another woman worshipped him with no hope of their affections being returned.
I don't attach notes. Sven could appear now, or later, but the response of men in his position is usually immediate, before they actually weigh their options.
Sven proved no different.
Marcus was in his doggie bed at the end of my mattress when the phone rang.
"What do you want, `sir'," Sven snarled.
"A better attitude, boy," I answered. "For a military man, you've forgotten some of your training. For a policeman, you've totally forgotten manners. And for a man, you are clueless, in need of training and use, well and proper, at my hand or another's, but needed all the same."
"And?" he asked, his voice an icy neutral, but with more respect.
"And I know you don't work Saturday, and you get off work Friday at 11 p.m."
"How the fuck do you know that?" he demanded.
"Strip."
"What?!?!" Confusion and annoyance rang in his voice. He was a man not used to anyone, let alone a man his physical inferior, talking back to him and telling him what to do.
"Strip. I didn't think I'd been vague, Officer Sven."
"Why?"
"Strip."
"And if I don't?"
"Then the DVD you received will make appearances...full-length...at work; your mother, Anise' house; and the union president's wife's mailbox."
He was almost silent for too long.
"How do you know my mother's name?" he whispered, and I could hear tears in his voice.
"It's amazing what one can do with a phone number in this day and age. You must know that as a policeman, Officer Sven. Questions are done. Strip."
I heard the handset go down and the rustling of clothing being shed. T-shirt. Jeans. Something else that I wasn't sure of, and then, "Done, sir."
"Really, boy?"
"Yes, sir."
"You wore no underwear today?"
"I seldom wear underwear, sir."
"I see."
I let the silence bother him. He was being too cooperative, but the DVD would ensure his cooperation for what I needed.
"Is your dick rock hard, boy?"
"How--How do you know?" he pleaded, his voice asking questions with answers I would not provide; he must find those answers himself. But this question I could answer.
"You are a man, Officer Sven. Your dick is hard. Although you did not like the sight of yourself eating another man's ass, it made your dick hard and it has remained in that state since you saw it. I'd even hazard a guess that it's on now, but you've used your TV's mute button."
"What do you want, sir." This time I heard partial surrender in his voice, a sound of a man who knows he can't hide the truth, but isn't sure what that truth is.
"Answer my questions true. Obey my words. Enjoy. Be."
"Are you some zin master of sex? This is all bullshit!" His anger came through clearly, but it was the anger of someone trying to understand, but unable to; it was not the anger of a man being forced into something he didn't desire. That was the difference here; I wasn't forcing a man to have sex with another man against his will. Sven desired man-sex. His macho-attitude didn't allow him to want it, but in his mind, he knew.
"Yer dick's awfully hard if this is bullshit, Officer Sven. Loose the attitude, boy. It's tiring."
"Here is what I require of you. Friday you will come to my house, straight from work. Don't make it a day you decide to wear underwear. Do not eat anything after breakfast or after 8 a.m.
"Do not fuck anything between now and then. Do not jack off. If you desire sex, stick a finger up yer ass."
"That won't happen, sir." He was somewhat light-hearted in his reply, not really that serious, but making it clear to me that a finger up his ass just wasn't going to happen.
"Obey. Enjoy. And be here. Earlier is fine, but late will not be well-received, regardless of the reason."
"But what am I to do now, sir?" he asked. He was standing in his apartment, buck naked, rock hard, and alone.
"Go to bed. Watch TV. It matters not to me as long as my other directions are followed," I said. "I will see you Friday."
I hung up.
I turned my attention to Marcus.
He'd consented to be my dog while he was in college, with an option to become my personal dog upon graduation. We'd talked about this a long time, with me making it clear that the agreement would not be altered under any circumstances.
Tonight, Marcus would be shaved, head to toe, and a more decorative collar placed upon his neck.
It was one of the things we'd discussed for a long time; Marcus had assured me he would be ready for this when I decided.
While I like my furry dog, the shaving bare of a man's hair is a much needed symbol of his loss. A man has hair. A man without hair by shaving is another man's man. For Marcus, the shaving is presented as something of permanence, something he'd be doing after this first time, but as I said, I like my dog's furry. But Marcus needed to think it wasn't temporary.
One man I'd kept shaved permanently while in my stable. It'd taken away all his arrogance, all his resistance, all his bravado.
His wife had thanked me 3 months after his first shaving; she'd noticed a change for the better, and he had revealed all. Oddly, she was thankful, not upset, at what he'd been doing. Their marriage had improved in those 3 months. She and I talked for a few days and I gave her the skills to keep him in order, then released him to her.
Every year I receive a Christmas card of him, still shaved head to toe, and she in full Christmas attire.
Marcus bathed in hot water, soaking his body, preparing for the ritual. He'd cut his own hair as short as possible with scissors, leaving patches and the rest to be shaved by me.
I'd turned up the heat in my over-sized bathroom to ease his transition from water to air. He lay on his back on towels spread across the floor as I lathered him, starting at his feet. I lathered a few inches, then shaved. I worked up his legs in this manner until I reached his crotch.
I paid carefully attention around this region. Marcus made it easier by remaining hard through the entire process. I worked my way up his torso, his armpits, his arms and then his head. I shave them bald, which let's others know something is different with them, but it is when I shave their eyebrows that most men cry. I leave them with NO hair.
But the head is not the last area.
Marcus rolled onto his stomach and I lathered and shaved his back, down to his buttocks. I always leave the ass for last.
I enjoy the site of ass hairs clinging to my cock as it pistons in and out of their hairy puckers. And so I make the sacrifice for the relationship in this way.
Shaving the ass last also positions the man for his first shaved fuck, as his ass is sticking in the air on the last stroke of the blade.
So it was with Marcus.
After the shaving, I placed Marcus new collar around his neck, a chain collar with his name engraved on a name plate, clasped with a small lock to which only I had the key.
"Thank you, sir," he said the next morning as I ushered him out the door.
"Yer welcome, boy. Good luck with the games this weekend. I'll see you Monday evening," I said.
Right now, Marcus was spending half his time at my place, and half his time in the dorm. We'd discussed that changing with the next semester or the next school year, and discussed the summer as well. A man in Marcus' position couldn't just drop all commitments as many masters would expect and demand. But Marcus wasn't my slave, my property. He was my dog. He was collared and tagged, potty trained and freshly groomed.
I turned my attention to Officer Sven.
Friday at 11 p.m. I was prepared. Friends had come over and cleared the living room and we'd converted it into the dungeon it was. Hanging plants covered the fact that the ceiling could support a sling. "X" beams on the ceiling were actually a pair of St. Andrews crosses disguised as architectural features. And the window bench converted into a bondage bench. It was also storage for all the toys.
One of my stable members is a man from Topeka, KS, who crafts hand-made wood adult toys. He'd made all my wooden equipment -- the crosses, the bench, some spreaders, a humbler, and more.
I set up the full dungeon. Officer Sven wouldn't even experience a fraction of this, but he wouldn't need to experience it all. And there would not be enough time for it all anyway.
Officer Sven needed one thing tonight. He needed to loose his cherry ass to me. Along the way, he'd loose his virgin mouth, and he'd learn for himself what he needed.
The living room converted, I sat and relaxed in the only piece of furniture not struck from the room. My brown leather chair with the over-sized arms. I sipped my soda as I enjoyed the feel on leather on me, and the smell of leather in the room. I don't partake of alcohol. I like to be in full command of my senses while enjoying the pleasures of the flesh. The smell, feel, taste, sound and sight of sex.
At 11:15 p.m. there was a rap at the door.
I wore my leather hat, torso harness, wrist guards, jockstrap, and sandals, all covered with my leather trench coat, except the hat.
I opened the door and invited the office inside.
He was still in uniform. I removed his hat without comment and hung it by the door.
He held the DVD in his hand. I had the full length version already running, the volume turned low.
"Strip."
He did, leaving his clothes in a pile below his hat. I was curious when he'd decided to shave his body. It was shaved on the other visit and my sources informed me it was always shaved at the office. "Into the living room, boy," I ordered.
"Yes, sir," he said, heading that direction.
He stopped at the doorway when he saw the set up. A bondage bench with a sling hanging behind it and a St. Andrews on each side, a television playing his image to the right and a table full of toys to the left. It's always a great site, especially for the guy who's viewing it for the first time.
I single rivulet of sweat meandered down between Sven's shoulder blades, following his muscled spine, and darting between his taut butt cheeks.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"I don't know," he admitted.
"What don't you want?" I asked.
"I don't want to get fucked."
"But you need to, Officer Sven."
He kept his head high, his shoulders proud and spoke. "I know that now. I've been thinking about it all week. I did enjoy eating that guy's ass, but it's not right, man. Sir. I'm not a fag."
"Who said you were? Again, you're hung up on labels. Sex isn't about labels. It's not physical either. It's mental."
"If it's not physical, then why do you think I need it up the ass?"
"If you're asking the question, you won't understand the answer," I replied and applied pressure to his backside.
I steered him forward, to the bench, which he instinctively bent over.
I secured his hands to the legs, then went around and secured his legs to the other end. I grabbed a spread bar from the toy table and attached it about halfway between his waist and knees.
His ass appeared freshly shaved, and well shaved. I wondered his Sven did this from years of practice, or if he paid for it, but either way, I could tell it had been done in the last few hours.
Sven was a bodybuilder, a gym bunny, a muscle jock. His legs were shaved, his arm bare, even his pits showed no stubble, let alone long hairs. The only hair on Sven was his head.
It was his ass hole that commanded my attention now. I massaged Sven's ass cheeks, trying to remove the tension that was there. His virgin ass was to be taken, but neither of us would enjoy it if I had to use great force to get inside.
The bench is a true work of art; it's a shame society can not embrace art at every level. This bench, on this end, was narrow enough for a pair of spread legs to frame it, and for a concealed shelf to be pulled out between those legs. I pulled Sven back about 6 inches, so his cock and ass were hanging over the edge of the table, but above the special shelf. The shelf had a hole in the center of a concave area, making a shallow bowl. I attached a drain hose below it and reached for the bottle.
"Have you ever had an enema, boy?" Again, I knew this answer. Officer Sven was not the first military man with which I'd played.
"Yes, sir. Routine physicals in the military, sir." The answer was more military sounding than subservient.
"Any other time?"
"No, sir."
"As they say, there's a first for everything," I said, and with little else, shoved the bottle up his ass and started filling his hole.
To be continued.
Men and boys, thanks for your comments. If you send something, remember to put something in the subject line, or I think it's spam and delete it. Master Terra D masterterradil@yahoo.com