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CHAPTER THREE
Rusty's came back, only this time he doesn't sit down with me. He stands over me holding one of the cuffs. He just keeps staring at me holding the cuff, coaxing me.. I'll never forget how it made me feel knowing that he wanted to make me his slave. There's just something so definite about handcuffs, about what it would mean to be locked up that way, more permanently than I had ever been before, how those cuffs would make me His possession and there would be no escape. Sure. No escape as long as we're here. Let's face it, it's all really make-believe. The question is, do I want to play make-belief and make it real?
The third click does me in. I take a big hit of poppers and then my fate is sealed. I hold up my trembling wrist. He nods as he closes the cuff over my wrist and locks it. Then He points to the other wrist. Terror arises within me. A caustic voice says within me, "Do it!" (I can feel my blood pounding even as I'm writing this.)
A last I surrender. I hold out my wrist. He looks into my eyes and I feel like he's fucking my brain with those goddamn eyes. He locks up my second wrist, click by agonizing click. I swear I almost cum. The cuffs feel hard against my wrists. They tell me I'd lost my freedom. Then He nods to the floor. I slide off the couch and onto my knees. "You belong down here," I say to myself. "All the time, not just with him." After all, everyone here already knows what I am. There's no need for me to have to walk around and pretend I'm just an ordinary guy. I've already proven I'm not that at all. Not in any way.
He looks down at me with those intense eyes of his and says said, "Few bois need to be trained as much as you do, Terry. You have a lot to learn. You'll be safe with me. I give you my word, boy." I tremble when he said my name. "Look up and open your mouth, boy. When you're wearing my cuffs your only name is boy, at least for now. Later I'll have another name for you." He leans over and kisses me then starts drooling into my mouth and it drives me crazy. He puts his lips to mine and all I could do is suck His mouth and swallow as his spit flows into my mouth. "A man's spit is a good drink for boys like you. It's a drink for all faggots but a lot of them don't realize it. My spit is a drug for a faggot like you, Everything I give you to drink is a drug for you, boy. Don't forget that."
It doesn't escape me that he's begun to call me the f word in addition to boy. And what the fuck? He has me in handcuffs and I'm kneeling on the stone floor before him and I willingly let him lock them on my wrists. And oh yeah, I've been drinking his spit as he drools it into my mouth. So yes I must admit that I'm a faggot and probably the lowest kind of faggot. Little did I know at the time just what that would mean and how it would become the most important thing about me.
I'm meant to kneel before him and probably for most other men as well. I guess I'm warped, but the truth is that I want to have my freedom taking from me, that I NEED all this. I'm meant to show my humble respect for all the males in the world who are superior to me—and that means most of them, to tell the truth.
He puts his thumb to my lips. I automatically open and start sucking on it as if he gave me a nipple and I'm a baby boy. He uses his fingers to pry my mouth open a bit more and uses them to explore inside my mouth as if he's inspecting me at some meat market. Then his two fingers try to find out how far down my throat they can get before I start gagging. Once he finds out, he keeps withdrawing his fingers then drives them in again and I alternate from gagging to trying to catch my breath and the longer he does it the less breath I have to live on. I really begin wondering if he'll keep on doing this until he gets me to pass out. Not this time . . . He has so much more in store for me.
He takes his hand off my mouth, grabs a nipple, and uses that to pull me up off my knees. Fortunately it wasn't the nipple that got tortured a little while ago. Obviously I get up very quickly. "Follow," he says, and walks away. It takes me a moment to come to my senses but then sure I'm following him and some guys are looking at me and they know something's going to be happening to me soon.
He leads me through the main floor and into a back office. It's a lovely room, paneled and carpeted with nice furniture and a large desk in one corner. One man is seated behind the desk and another is on a chair off to the side. They're both older than the crowd here—I'd estimate in their 50's. They're both dressed in expensive suits.
The guy behind the desk says, "Ah, Rusty, you've hooked a new one I see. Good for you. You haven't brought us any new boys for a while now. It's good to see you're back on the prowl for them, or should I say the "hunt?"
"That's Mr. White, the owner of this establishment," Rusty tells me. "You will call him Master White if you have need to speak with him. And this is O'Brien, his manager. Now that I've taken you, O'Brien will look out for you and see no harm comes to you. That is, except the harm I want to have happen to you. I'm putting you on display now, boy. Whenever I take a new boy under my wing, so to speak, my associates here like to inspect the merchandise. So I'm offering you to them as an act of courtesy so they can check you out. You will take whatever they want to do to you.."
This seems ominous and I'm not sure what it all means. "The kid look puzzled," O'Brien chuckles. "He doesn't realize that he's the fucking merchandise, does he?" he asks, and then comes over and slaps my ass and I gasp. I'm still so fucking sore. Now I'm quivering from what this all might mean. I lower my head.
There's some kind of platform in the middle of the office about 3 feet high and covered with a thick green pad so it almost looks like a pool table. Rusty comes over and puts his hand on it." Think you can hop yourself up here by yourself or do I have to lift you up and put you there myself?' he asks in a somewhat snide way.
"I can make it, Sir," I say and manage to get on top of it without too much trouble. What makes it hard is that my wrists are still in the handcuffs. "Good boy," says Rusty and I actually get pleasure from being praised by him like I'm some kind of pet. "Now It's time for us to find out what you've got when you're completely naked. You can still use your hands, so I want you to pull off your boots and socks while i watch you do it."
Fuck. It takes quite a bit but I manage the first one then the second one is a lot more easily. Rusty wasn't aware that my socks got taken from me when I was stripped down to my jock and boots. So now I'm sitting on the platform barefoot and in my jock. Rusty's now leaning up against the wall by the desk so all three of them are now facing me.
"Lie on your back now and take a little rest." He can see that the effort to get my boots off has me breathing a little heavier than usual. "Catch your breath, fag. Don't rush it,' says Mr. White Then, after a while, the command comes and it almost makes me giggle it seems so goddamn stupid: "bend your knees up towards your chest and show us the soles of your feet."
Holy fucking shit. This is weird but I'm still buzzing from the joint so I just do what he tells me to do. I can't believe these grown men are checking out the bottoms of my feet!
Rusty gives more orders. "Okay, boy. Now show us your toes. Wiggle them. . . . Spread them so we can look between them too. . . . There you go, boy . . . . White sighs. "I fucking love it when you make them do this," he tells Rusty. "I am to please, buddy." Then he addresses me. "not one inch of that body is private any longer. It belongs to every superior man who ever wants access to it. Keep that in mind, boy."
This is like being more naked than naked. I can't believe these men are getting off looking at the spaces between my toes as if they're sex organs. And you know what? It's humiliating as fuck that they can make me display myself like this. The scary thing is that they're just getting started.
Rusty gives the next command: "The jock. Take it off, boy.". . . . no, don't stand up. Do it down there. You can get it off your body whilewei watch how you do it." I'm being forced to put on some kind of exhibition. I'm sure some guys make money doing this on Only Fans all the time, but I've never thought I'd ever be doing something like this myself. I finally manage to get the damn thing off me. Rusty takes hold of it and tosses it over by my boots. Now I'm completely naked and I must admit that I'm chubbing after having to strip myself this way.
"Can you get the slave up on all fours?"
Rusty quickly replies and snaps his fingers at me. "You heard the man. All fours now, faggot."
The other two men get up and actually start walking around me inspecting me as if I'm a new car or something like that.
Rusty comes over and taps me beneath my chin. Raise your head, boy. They like to see you looking proud. It gives them pleasure to realize they're humiliating a boy who's naturally proud. That's right. Hold it up. Present yourself as a nice specimen you young manhood and proud of it."
Fuck.
O'Brien puts a hand on my stomach and feels me up under there until he gets to my nipples. Each one gets a couple tugs and I yelp when he grabs the one that got worked over. "I see our friend Jeffrey has gotten started on the boy's nipples. He likes to do them one at a time because he says it extends the experience of pain much more than when he does them one right after the other. This way, he explained one day, "the slave forgets a lot about what it was like and then has to relive it freshly all over again. It always ends up with the slave down on the floor sobbing its heart out because it's just realized just how much power i have over him." He pulls on both of them again and I grit my teeth and wince, trying not to make a sound because I know they'll get off on it.
For some reason, they work my nipples until they're more pointed and hanging down.
Shit it hurts but I'm afraid to make any noise. At least not so soon. No sense fooling myself: this is gonna get real unpleasant real soon. O'Brien talks while he's milking my nipples as if they're teats on a cow. "So you just picked up this twink from the street completely unseasoned?"
"Not quite. It's only been around the last couple weeks. It just got legal tonight. I celebrated its twenty-first birthday by feeding it twenty-one hard cocks back in the main room. It never fought us off. It simply surrendered as if it had absolutely no say in the matter. It's got that kind of a submissive nature which, of course, can increase its value."
"You can't make that assumption, Rusty," says White. "Some clients prefer the boys to have some fight in them. They like the satisfaction of breaking their wills and getting them to obey despite their resistance. A boy like this would bore them. The important thing, you see, is to continue to look for specimens with all sorts of attitudes and behaviors."
Specimens? Candidate for what? Client? Value? Breaking our will? What the fuck is going on here. Is this still all just an elaborate fantasy? I'm beginning to fear that this is all too real.
O'Brien finishes his ministrations to my nips and fuck I couldn't help but moan and even cry out a couple times but they didn't react at all. He steps back crouches down a bit. "Perfect. Come over, buddy. Take a look at how nice the twink looks showing it little teats hanging down waiting to be milked. Very promising isn't it?"
White doesn't seem to care one way or another. "I'm more interested in hearing what kind of music it makes when we really get it going. I hope this isn't the kind of kid that gets built tough and thinks he's gonna take it without complaining. That never works out for our purposes. All we can do is sell the damn kid to a brothel and call it a loss. Well, not a loss financially. Just a loss of pleasure for us."
Sell me to a brothel? WTF? I'm still a college student. After all, I do have a life apart from all this. They're talking as if that part of my life is over. I mean, they're only playing here, right? But what kind of a fucking game are they playing here? I'm up on this table on all fours, bare-ass naked, they've even inspected between my fucking toes, and now three grown men are walking around looking at me as if I'm just some piece of merchandise they've acquired. Maybe that is really what I am. Shit! I've got to just lose myself in the experience and stop trying to figure out what's real and what's fantasy. After all, I could just quit this whole thing any time I want. Right? Is that still true or have i crossed some kind of a line here?
Soon they're all touching me. Rusty keeps pulling my nipples down and they make a fuss over me when I whimper. "That's right, boy. Sing for us," White says and then he slaps my ass and runs his finger down my crack. "Tiny little hairs in there," he says to O'Brien. "I want its hole bare like a baby's."
O'Brien comes over and adjusts my head. "I want you looking straight forward to the other side of the room," he tells me. "Keep it in that position. Hold it there. Don't let it drop or you'll be punished."
Rusty notices how I reacted to the "p" word. "Your Dad ever whip your ass, boy? Strip you bare in a woodshed and beat some sense into you with a paddle or strap or cane?"
I'm not sure if I should answer. He comes around the front, puts his hand under my chin and holds my head higher. Then he slaps me. Hard. Each hand comes at me knocking my head back and forth until tears from my eyes are flying everywhere. "I asked you a question, faggot. Did you ever get your ass whipped when you were growing up?"
"Nnnno, Sir," I answer, trying not to break down crying like a little boy.
White speaks up. "Well then you're way overdue. Rusty, you should make sure it gets whipped on a regular basis now."
He comes over and lifts my head himself. "I promise you, faggot, that from now on there will be woodsheds everywhere you go and you'll be kept naked so we don't have to wait for you to strip when we want to beat you."
I'm trying not to get turned on by all this but dammit, the things they're saying to me are really getting to me. Then I hear a swishing sound and realize that someone just pulled his belt from his pants. It's White. He brings his belt over to me and holds it before my mouth. "Hold this in your teeth, kid. Keep it handy. Get used to the taste of leather. Taste it in your mouth now before you taste it across your ass. I'm looking forward to seeing you get your first whipping."
"Should we have it shaved first then whipped to impress on it what it's become," says O'Brien, or whip it into submission so it won't resist being shaved bare while there are still tears in its eyes?"
White turns to Rusty. "So, Rusty, there are our options. Which do you think will be best?" asks O'Brien.
Rusty comes over and grabs my jaw, moving my eyes to where he can look deeply into them. "Shaving will be the perfect thing to top off all the humiliation this slut is experiencing. Once shaved it will be ripe for its first whipping."
He comes over to me and grabs my face. "You're gonna get punished tonight simply for being a submissive slut. You came to the Hunt tonight looking for some Dom to knock you around and play Master/slave games. Well, boy, we don't play here. This isn't a game. You see, faggot, you've manage to step into something that's a lot more than you were prepared for. "You're gonna get shaved and whipped and then given away to someone who's been waiting to claim you for himself. Us, we don't want your fucking body. We want to see you demeaned, subjugated and enslaved. This is the real world, boy. In a little while we're gonna sell your fucking ass to the man who wants to buy you from us. He sent Rusty to get you ready."
They make me get back up on all fours again. Rusty slaps my face. "You know how to hold that head, faggot. Don't fucking make me have to show you again."
O'Brien speaks up. "Let's introduce this slut to its new life as a true slave. A permanent slave We're only giving it a proper introduction. Turn its ass purple so it knows it should never dare disobey any Master. The whipping will turn it into the slave we want it to be." With that he pushes me to fold myself up I'm lying there almost in fetal position with my dick hard and leaking—all proof that I am what he says I am, that this is how my sexuality was put together.
He grabs hold of my hard dick and pulls it behind me, sticking out in back between my legs. This is perhaps the greatest shame of all, that I'm sexually turned on by the way they're treating me and by what they're planning to do to me. Rusty must have just read my mind because all of a sudden he spits on me while I'm cowering there.
I raise my hand to wipe the spit off the side of my face where it landed. THWAP THWAP THWAP! Some strap whips my ass three times and I cry out loud more from shock than from pain.
"I fucking told you NOT to move, boy. Get back into position, head held high. Next time you move you'll get five lashes." There's a delayed reaction to the ones I already received. Suddenly it feel like something if burning its way into my flesh. It's a different pain than being spanked by hand. More intense. More focused.
White picks up the phone and gives an order. A few minutes after that there's a knock on the door. Two men in medical scrubs enter and roll in a cart. There are two large bowls on the cart, one with hot soapy water, the other with clear water.
Rusty orders me to lie on my back again, arms over my head. The cuffs are chained down and I can't move my arms at all now. Each of the men takes one side of me and my pits are quickly shaved bare. Then my thighs are strapped down. My pubes are shaved first then scraped bare along with the few hairs on my dick (still hard) and balls.
"Now you're looking the way I want you: a bare smooth boy. My boy. Now turn over and let them get at your taint and asshole. That's it, faggot."
The straps are released and I'm ordered to turn over, get up and expose everything between my legs and all of it is unceremoniously shaved bare as well. "Spread those cheeks," Rusty orders and the razors get at my hole and crack and shave off hair I didn't even know I had.
Rusty takes a leather collar and locks it around my neck while those guys are shaving my ass crack and I hardly notice until they're done. Then, to my surprise, he takes off the handcuffs. I guess he knew what would be happening next. Sure enough, "Rinse it off good. Get all the hairs off it," says White.
Write me at subkodak25@gmail.com so I know I should keep posting this story.
I'll send a list of all my stories if you ask me.
I have pics of Rusty and Terry if you want to see them.