Storm Discovery, Part ONE "Revelation"
Bamaboi2serve@charter.net
After 9-11 people started calling anyone in a uniform a "Hero", and since I'm a paramedic, I got some of the praise too, even though I'm over a thousand miles from New York.
And truth be told, I was certified after the attacks. But what the fuck, right? I have such low self-esteem that any praise makes me sit up and all but stick my tongue out like a puppy.
A quick description: white, 20 years old, 148 lbs., 6` tall...yea, I'm skinny! Still, my uniform pants show off my ass nicely, and I get lots of looks at accident scenes, from women and men. Oh yea, I'm gay, and my absolutely favorite fantasy is being topped by a demanding Master. I've had a couple of encounters with wanna-bees, but no real Top Man.
Now that I've told you that, you're going to think this story is bullshit, but it happened. The storm happened. And my discovery happened. And...well all of it happened. I have the mark to prove it. If you were here, I could take you back to his house and maybe introduce you...if he'd let me through the gate and all. Probably not. But anyway it happened, whether you believe me or not.
Let me cut to the chase cause I know you don't care about anything except the hot parts, where I get trained and team-fucked and branded and all.
Like just about every paramedic in Central Georgia, I got called out the day the tornadoes hit that little town south of Atlanta. But my partner had an emergency, so I ended up driving my own rig alone, siren blaring and lights flashing like a bat out of hell. I guess most of the first responders came from other directions, cause I was all to my own when I pulled up to a farmhouse on the southern outskirts of town. It was almost flattened...a chimney was sticking up, and one end of the house had a weird kind of bump in the rubble, like there was a car under it that had not been crushed.
I got out and ran around the house, calling out to see if there were any survivors. I stopped every few minutes and listened. Finally, as I was about to get back in the truck, I heard a muffled cry...a kind of "mfffff" humming sound, I tracked it to that odd rubble bump and started pulling off roofing and two by fours.
It took only a few minutes for me to uncover the absolutely last thing I ever expected to find: It was a boy. He was naked, his legs and arms tied to a kind of sturdy four by four frame. It was that frame that had prevented the end of the building from collapsing. Ironic, no? The very thing that kept him from fleeing in the storm also kept him alive?
He was gagged with a cock-gag. I recognized it cause I had worn one myself lots of times during masturbation fantasies. More on those later! But that's why his voice was muffled. He was blindfolded by a brilliant red cloth tied around his eyes.
He was covered in little pieces of wallboard and leaves and other debris, but didn't seem to be hurt. The ceiling beams had been blocked by the frame. There was just a little blood. But on his chest was what looked like a tattoo. It was unlike any I had ever seen before...a thick black ring about twelve inches in diameter, just big enough for both of his pointy pink tits to poke out like periods through either side of the darkness of the ring forming the circle. Inside that circle were two words in bold red letters: Fuck Slave.
I tried to get past all of the fetishness of my discovery and make sure he was in fact OK, but I was already sporting wood as I cleared an area near his feet, put down a blanket from the truck, untied his hands and laid him on the ground. Then I un-strapped the penis gag and gave him some water. As he drank, I checked his pulse, noticing that his chest marking was in fact a tattoo, and not just a magic marker drawing.
He sat up, but immediately started wriggling around and frowning. He reached behind himself and slowly made a pulling motion, moaning as he did it. When his hand reappeared it was holding an industrial sized butt plug, about nine inches in diameter. I recognized it too...it was similar to another of my solo jack-off toys, but bigger.
He spoke, though his voice was not much more than a croak: "Thanks. Did He send you?"
He looked around as he said it, and before I could answer, I heard a vehicle pulling up in the driveway, maneuvering around the debris piles. It was one of those huge SUV's, with darkened windows and a shiny chrome brush-guard in front. Two floodlights on the roof came on and illuminated the boy and I.
"Are you OK?" came a voice from a loudspeaker concealed in the grill.
"Yes, Sir," replied the boy, looking down at his feet.
"Did he hurt you?" came another question.
"No, Sir," he answered.
"Take your clothes off!"
I looked at the boy, still trying to absorb what was going on. He was already naked. He looked back at me and nodded with his chin toward my chest.
"I said take off your clothes, nurse-boi!" came the command from the truck.
I realized the unseen person was ordering me to strip. I stood up and started marching away, towards my paramedic truck, excited by what was happening and yet unsure of myself...thinking I would get into my vehicle and consider what to do. I didn't get far. In seconds I was on the ground, jerking as if I were having a seizure. Through the pain and haze, I figured out I had been zapped with a Tazar gun. Then someone put a wet cloth over my face and everything went dark.
My awakening was slow and almost painful. I became aware of feeling in individual body parts before I put any of the individual sensations together, before realizing what was happening.
Some kind of leather mask was blocking my vision and my mouth, allowing me to breathe only by nose. There was a big plug inside my mouth, stretching it out and hurting my jaw a little. The leather scent was overpowering, and was one of the factors leading to the rigid state of my prick.
My arms were stretched taut...and so were my legs. Yet I was upright. I'm tall...6'2"...and lanky. But the stretching sensation made me feel even taller and thinner. I tried to move my fingers, but could not. Same with my toes. Next I became aware of a biting and pulling sensation on my tits, and a very full feeling in my ass. There was a breeze, and because of it I could tell I had no clothing on.
The next part to signal to me were my balls. They too were stretched, weighed down somehow. Just as I was acknowledging that fact the weight started shifting, first forward and then backward. It was like there was someone hanging on and using my now tender nuts as a swing.
At that point leather patches that were part of the mask were removed from my eyes and I could see. The room was candle-lit so there wasn't a lot to see, but I twisted slightly to my left and spotted another person next to me, also tied standing up. At first I wondered if it was a mirror image, if I was in fact looking at myself. But then he twisted toward me and I recognized the tornado-house boy. He was shorter than me, and that unique circle tat stood out on his pale skinny chest even in the darkened room. His pits were clean-shaven, while mine were still filled with bushy black hair. The big difference between our bondage setups was his mouth. It too was filled with a plug...but from the plug ran a rubber tube. I followed it downward and then back upward toward me, realizing it was connected to a rubber sheath that completely covered my cock.
I don't know if it was subconscious, but I suddenly needed to piss. I tried to delay, to put it off, but lost the fight. I watched the little hose swell slightly and slump down as the liquid filled it on the journey from my cock to the boy's mouth. He was staring at me, and I first though he was pleading with me to hold off. But then his cheeks bulged outward as my urine arrived I his mouth and I could see satisfaction in his eyes. If his mouth had not been occupied, I swear he would have smiled.
As he struggled to keep up with my huge shipment of pee, the silence in the room was suddenly broken by a sharp crack, and then a second. Looking into tornado-boy's eyes, I could see him cringe with each sound.
I must have still been feeling the effects of whatever knockout drug had been administered, because it was only with the third strike that the pain registered on my ass cheeks. Someone behind me was whipping my ass, and they weren't playing. I was feeling the fire of my new Master for the first time.
To Be, of course, continued.
I'm trying to work in suggestions from readers of the Masterman series, and will be glad to hear from you if you have a particular scene you would like included. We only just begun here, so please be patient...lots of nasty sex coming up. As for suggestions, just e-me:
Bamaboi2serve@charter.net.