The Brothel Slave
Note to readers: Denny West is the narrator of this story. He has no connection whatsoever with the narrator of story called "Breaking Me In."
ONE
As this story begins, I'm 53 years old and live in my own private quarters in a large home I own on the West Side of town. One of the rooms in my quarters is sound-proofed and has been outfitted as a bdsm dungeon for times when a Dom comes by who is interested in using me as the submissive I've been all of my life. The first Dom I ever met decided to name me Denny West. As it turns out, Doms seemed to enjoy saying that name when they order me around, so I've been allowed to keep it. At least so far. Unfortunately, it causes some problems because the name has sunk so deeply into my sense of who I am that I sometimes get confused because my legal name is Robert Finnian. I'm openly gay but none of my work colleagues or friends know about my submissive activities. My three housemates who have their own quarters in the building I own would never guess about my kinky activities, nor do they know my "slave name."
Robert Finnian is a self-confident, self-assured and successful professional man. Denny West, the bdsm slave, looks quite different. In fact, my housemates might not even recognize me, so different our appearance when entering "under the spell." The transition is physical in addition to the emotional, psychological and spiritual "conversions" into the person I had become when I was much younger. That might all change some time in the future if a Master ever decides to shave my head, but so far that hasn't happened and, considering my age, I'm not sure it ever will.
So anyway, whenever I say "I" or "me," whenever I'm writing this tale, I am Denny West. Let there be no doubt about that.
So anyway, at work Robert has a lot of responsibility and over twenty people report to me. I'm very good at what I do, but I always carry my "sub identity" within me no matter where I am. Some day, perhaps, I will be an owned slave once again and my circumstances may change, but considering my age, I have given up hope that it will happen. Ironic, isn't it, that despite my professional success and acumen, this overwhelming craving to be humbled, disciplined, controlled, and used as a faggot slave is always an obsession? Quite a difference, isn't it? I've read that this is often the case with successful men, many of whom seek out prostitutes that can turn them into subs, gay or straight, in need of punishment and discipline. It kind of balances things out.
Although I must say that there must be many people my age who have a hidden identity strongly repressed which eventually manages to poke itself through the barriers and become part of the "Real World" until at last they establish themselves in the "Other Life," sometimes temporarily, sometimes permanently.
I got kidnapped and sold to a brothel when I was younger. Eventually I was taken from the brothel by a Master and was made to live on my own. I promise I'll bring things up to date eventually. At the time I'm opening this tale, my slave life only takes place in in one-time encounters, either in my own dungeon, or in the homes of those who saw my ads on a hook-up site asking for a "disciplinarian," and promising "obedience" and decided, maybe just because of boredom, to give me a try. If nothing else, they reckoned, "at least I'll get a blow job out of it."
It often used to end up that way, me sucking cock while parts of my body were very sore and glowing with pain. Me showing my gratitude that way. Some guys called me "cocksucker," some called me "faggot," and lately some have been calling me "slaveboy" despite my age. I was groomed a long time ago and at first I was forced to be obedient but eventually I realized that I got off on it.
I liked watching porn clips of guys sucking cock. Some of them got their throats worked over hard and just kept taking it. Ok, I would tell myself, they're making an awful lot of money doing that, but so what? I remember how someone else made a lot of money off my tender mouth and ass, back then, but those days fortunately came to an end. But by that time I'd been trained to become a cocksucking slaveboy on command, but more about that later.
Like I said, I'm older now. Not as desirable to most horny guys, but I do okay for myself. I can handle the rejections because I trust that sooner or later I'd meet someone willing to use me. I troll a lot on-line (who doesn't these days?) One night a Dom from Colorado wanted to chat with me face-to-face and I agreed. He actually got me to strip naked and put clothespins on my nipples and then, when he told me to spank my ass with a wooden spoon while he watched and kept telling me to hit myself harder until I cried. I did it and was sore for a couple days after that.
It was hot, but I decided not to do anything like that again. It was fun while it lasted, but after I spanked myself to the point of tears, I really needed a Master to lay His hand on my head as I sucked His cock and also offer a bit of affection, hopefully, after he'd been satisfied. Nothing like that happened with the Colorado Dom because we were just doing it online. I needed physical contact.
So I kept running ads, adding "IRL only, no cyber". I'd make up different ones like "slave needs to be trained," or "bdsm sub available" and things like that. Some of the ads said more about sexual service. Once a guy had me come over to suck his cock. He stayed clothed and didn't let me strip either. Opened his pants and I got down on my knees to suck him off.
Nothing else happened. Once he shot his load, he put his cock away and told me to leave. Fuck that! I needed pain. After all, I'd been groomed from an early age as a submissive slave needing a heavy hand.
I met one guy who lived in a walk-up apartment in a run-down part of town. He was older than I was, and really sketchy looking. He had a variety of implements lined up alongside his bed. He told me to strip, and I did. He had me kneel on top of his bed with my legs spread. He took a riding crop to me back there, hitting quickly from side to side until I couldn't take any more. One thing I'll say about him was that he always seemed to know when to stop.
I got to experience each one of the implements he had: paddles, crops, straps, floggers, and even a cane. In my horniest state of mind, I craved the unique pain of the cane, but unfortunately, it usually meant that the scene would come to an end more quickly than when I was disciplined with milder implements. It was always the same with this man. I got there. Got naked. Went to his bed. And then did what he told me.
I'd take as much as I could. Each time I found I was able to take more. And more. And the pain would bite into me and I'd fantasize about really being a punished slave until the pain would get so deep that I'd panic a bit and he'd stop and move on to something else. One thing I loved was that he would always take his hands and run them down all the parts he had whipped, and it felt so very good even in the midst of the pain.
He always knew when I finally needed to stop. He'd leave the room while I started putting my clothes on. Sometimes we would talk a bit, sometimes not. I saw him a lot, at least once or twice a month. I started thinking of it as real punishment. A couple of times, when I realized I had gotten too mean with one of the men who worked for me, I'd contact this guy and tell him I needed to be punished. He'd have me come over and he would push the envelope with me. A couple times he wouldn't stop when I safe worded but I always used "yellow," so he'd just keep going. I really felt punished once he got done with me.
Unfortunately he decided to pick up and move to Florida, so all that was over with. But he trained me to take a lot of pain, and he had me craving for more. Where was I going to find it? There weren't many Doms around, it seemed, and of course my age was a problem. One thing I did learn though, was the for a lot of guys involved in various aspects of the scene, age or appearance didn't really matter that much. Along the way I learned that cocks are cocks, and some of the least attractive guys have the most awesome cocks. From that time on, I never hesitated to go with anyone who wanted to take charge of me.
You know something interesting about the "Real World?" The more I got into this stuff, the more people started telling me (Robert) how good I looked, how relaxed and calm, how happy—more than ever before. I couldn't help but conclude that my clandestine activities had a lot to do with it. I concluded that it was good for me to serve as a slave for any man who wanted it.
If you've ever played around on line or in apps, you probably know that you have to put up with a lot of phonies, wannabes, and guys who would ghost you right before you were going to make plans to meet up. I never counted for sure, but I'd be surprised if one in five contacts was the real thing. Those of us who were desperate enough to be trying to hook up with a total stranger simply had to put up with the frustration. When I went back to posting ads, I had to learn all over again never to get my hopes up, that the person communicating with me might actually be an 80 year-old woman or some troll who just gets off on kinky conversations that never amount to anything.
Even if encounters were disappointing, there were frequently things I learned about myself, about things that really turned me on and things that I wouldn't put up with any longer. It was awesome to have to strip naked while the Dom just watched with his clothes on. One guy actually coached me exactly how to suck his cock the entire time I had him in my mouth and that was awesome, especially because he'd lay his strap down on my body if I didn't serve him the way he was coaching me.
I didn't like it when a guy was naked when I arrived. Takes away all the fun of my being stripped while he was still clothed. I also didn't like it when a guy would stick his dick up my ass and fuck me a few times then take it out and order me to suck it again. Ass to mouth. Not my thing. I told him so he started "cleaning it off" with something in his bathroom, but when he came back he made me take him in my mouth again, and even then it gave me a bad feeling. I stopped going to see him. At my age, I had become more cautious because I knew it wasn't the healthiest thing to be doing.
I also began to realize that I had a strong tendency to control the other guy from the bottom. Sometimes this would work out fine, but it took a lot of the excitement out of it if I know I was going to determine what would happen. I admit it: I'm a strong-willed guy. I needed someone to break that will, to break me in. Once I put it in an ad: "strong-willed man needs to have its will broken by stronger-willed Dom." No one seemed interested. As usual, I didn't know if it was because of my age or just because there were no committed Doms looking for someone to subjugate.
I wondered if I would ever find someone who had what it took to control me and make me let go and surrender to what he wanted, how he wanted, and so on. Maybe it was nothing but a fantasy. Just not realistic. I kept posting, but didn't really expect anything to happen.
One day, finally, it happened. That's why I'm writing this story.
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