The Fourth Date [gay, authoritarian]
My friends would ask me where I'd met the guy I kept telling them about and I'd say, hell, come on, where do you meet anyone these days? Yes, it was an app.
I'd never had all that much luck in the dating scene. Hookups were easy to come by, what with me being a willing gay man in his twenties with a smartphone. But dating was harder. I liked to blame it on being a "cub" - plenty of guys out there limit themselves to the six-pack-abs type, or the lithe-and-blonde. But maybe I just wasn't good at playing the scene, who knows. Or maybe I should have been getting out more.
But you don't need a bunch of guys to be into you to date, you just need one. And a few weeks earlier I'd met Roland, and we hit it off instantly.
Roland was ever the professional type. Older than me, certainly, pushing forty in fact. But I'm willing to admit to having a type, and that type ripens well. A dense, jet-black beard cut close to his face. Tall, and always seeming to be leaning back, which made him look even taller. He wasn't big enough to make a convincing mall Santa, but the guy certainly had a soft middle and I wanted to lean up against it.
He'd used his extra few years well. I couldn't quite understand what exactly it was he did for a job, despite him explaining it clearly several times. It's not like he was flying a private jet, but whatever he did it was enough to make sure that his car was the newest model, his clothes were tailored, and I never paid for a meal.
Roland had a way of putting me, and seemingly everyone else, at ease. Despite his size I never saw anyone be the least bit intimidated by him, or threatened, or anything but delighted really. They just seemed to want to do the charming man favors.
We'd started out connecting easily through chat. Our first time meeting had just been for coffee. Followed by an honest-to-goodness date (the previous generation does have their ways) to dinner. It was a place far too fancy for me to ever afford. He ordered for both of us and we got to know each other. A week later another dinner was followed by a movie.
The following Saturday he invited me out to a formal event for our third date - a charity champagne party at sunset on a boat in the bay. Anticipating my... unpreparedness before I could even respond, he texted me an address. "They'll get you fitted for a suit. Don't worry, I'll cover it. You just be sure to look good."
It was a lot of fun, actually, playing arm candy for the night. Meeting his friends, drinking. Catching glimpses of him making sure that people would see me with him. Afterwards we sat on a bench on the side of the boat, talking for a long time, even after it had docked and most of the guests had left.
Just before midnight he leaned over to me and locked lips with mine, drawing in a breath and sucking the air from my lungs. Roland smiled and pulled back. I saw stars, and only sat there, staring at him, slack-jawed.
"Andrew," he said. "I know you've been waiting for this." And he was right - I was finding out just how forgiving suit pants could be of a straining cock. I looked around - how was he sure nobody would see us?
He stood. "Stay." He reached for his belt buckle and undid it, slipping it out of its loops. "Open your shirt and pinch your nipples." He said. It was the same calm, confident voice he always used. I paused a moment. It's certainly not the first thing I would think to do, but looking up at him, taking a deep breath in of his scent, I couldn't imagine doing anything but what he suggested. I undid the top four buttons, pulling them apart and revealing my soft chest. I took one nipple in each hand and pinched, biting my lip and quivering. I looked up to him for approval and he smiled.
I didn't know what this was, but I knew that I could feel it all over.
He looped the belt around my neck. Anyone else and I would have freaked out - surely that's not safe! But he just carefully slid the belt through its buckle. He stopped just where I could feel it, before it got tight, and notched the belt in place. He tugged on it, and my head followed. He led me down onto my knees, feeling the heels of my dress shoes poking against my ass cheeks.
His crotch was close to my face. "Open it up." I jolted into action, struggling with the complex suit buttons but managing to pull them down, along with his briefs. There I found his cock. Hairy around the base, thick, uncut and, shockingly, soft. I looked up to him and he nodded. "I decided that you would not be seeing it hard tonight. Not yet. So I took a pill." He chuckled. "Tonight you just lick."
I said nothing. He sat down where I had been and opened his legs wide, pulling on the belt to guide me between them. My hands had left my nipples, instead on all fours now. His hand on the back of my head pushed my face towards his cock and I opened my mouth.
And just like he said, I licked it. I felt every inch of the skin, tongue slipping underneath his foreskin, lapping at his balls, my lips pursing around his head. Breathing it, feeling it. It was impressive - bigger soft than mine hard - and I wanted it so badly. We stayed there an hour, my head between his legs, him stroking my hair and ears, occasionally jiggling the belt, making the buckle clank to remind me it was there. The sound of fireworks and a distant party from a few boats down the dock.
It was probably 2AM when Roland guided me back away from his crotch, my jaw numb and tingling. He lifted me to my feet, removed the belt and put it back on his waist, straightened and rebuttoned my suit for me, then took my arm and led me off the boat and into a cab, not a word but only a knowing smile.
I didn't care how late it was when I got home. I went immediately to the shower with my largest toy, groaning audibly as I slipped down onto it, suctioned to the tub. I began to bounce, thinking of him. I came twice before passing out, woken up not long later by the shower turning cold and my sore ass, finding a third load I'd shot onto my chest in my sleep.
It was a massive relief when I didn't have to wait a full week for the fourth date. Tuesday he texted me with the time and place for Wednesday, as well as another appointment at the tailor. No suit this time, but I did learn that there is indeed such a thing as "dinnerwear."
Wednesday came and as I walked into the restaurant I was guided by the waiter to a table in the back. There he was, relaxed as ever. The waiter pulled out the chair across from him and I sat down, wine and appetizers already at the table.
"Roland, the boat was... was really something else."
He smiled. "I'm glad you liked it Andrew. I knew you would, every part of it."
He checked my face and we each ate a dolma. He leaned forward. It was the closest thing to concern I'd seen on his face.
"Andrew, I need to be straightforward about my intentions here."
I swallowed.
"Andrew, I'm going on these dates because I have a very specific relationship goal in mind. I need to tell you about it because it's important that we're on the same page before we go any further. It has to be up to you as to whether you want to see me again, because if you do, it's going to have to be towards my goal."
"Like... you want to make a commitment? M... marriage? Kids?" I wasn't ready for those things but I supposed that wasn't too strange. How much longer did he want to wait, anyway?
"Sort of, but something else entirely." He cleared his throat and I ate, listening. "Andrew, you're a submissive. I'm sure you know that now. I'm not sure whether you knew it before, or if that's something I've revealed to you recently, but that's the kind of person you are. I can tell."
I blushed, but only a moment. He made it sound not-embarrassing. "I mean, I've seen some things online..."
"Well, I've very much enjoyed getting to know you, and it's clear to me that you're what I'm looking for. And I'll be blunt because there's no other way. I'm not trying to find a boyfriend, Andrew, or a partner. What I'm looking for is a submissive. A proper submissive. A slave."
I stopped chewing and looked at him. "A slave?"
He nodded. "That's right. I want to own you. I want to control your life. I want you to be my property."
This was... I didn't even know what this was. "I know I loved what we did... that seems so extreme."
"It does, doesn't it? But I should be more clear. I'm not expecting you to become a slave today. But what I'm saying is that if we keep dating, I'm going to start to mold you, train you, shape you in ways that will make you more submissive to me. You won't even realize all the time when it's happening. But it will.
Andrew, if we keep seeing each other, I'm going to take away the power you have over yourself, and keep it for myself, little by little. You won't be able to stop it. You won't be able to conceive of wanting to stop it. You're going to give yourself to me until you're all mine. It might take a year, two, but it will happen. And when it happens, anything other than slavery will feel extreme to you, unmanageable."
He leaned further over the table at me as he spoke. I could see the excitement in his eyes. He meant this. I was shocked. I thought back to scenes of deep fantasy I'd read... things sort of like this, but I had never even considered doing anything like it in real life. But here, at the table, even thinking about it, well, dinnerwear handled a strain well too. "How can... how is that even possible? Why wouldn't I just stop when it got to be too much?"
He flashed his brilliant smile. "Andrew, do you think that if I told you to do something, you'd have any ability to say no?"
I stammered. Maybe not. What a terrifying thought. Or was it?
"Exactly. And I would expand on that. I'd have no reservation about using the power I have over you to get more and more. Slowly making you more compliant. Easing down your will until you can't possibly even want to disobey me, because the only desires you have are the ones I give to you."
He paused, letting it swirl in my mind.
"And don't think it's not possible. You're not the first, Andrew. There have been plenty of others I've had a conversation something like this with. Quite a few of them doubted me, and I think went ahead because they thought they wouldn't be such pushovers. But deep down, they wanted it, and I made them want it more. They always ended up doing what I wanted. They'd spend a month as my slave, or just weekends, one spent a year, before I'd release them, give them back their will, let them go back into the world, the fantasies in their heads satisfied.
The only difference is that in the conversation with them, I'd be telling them exactly how long I'd be keeping them for. And once I had them I'd be sure to tuck their desires, their independence, somewhere in the back of their head to be revived later. Not with you. I'm getting on, I'm ready to settle down. I want a slave for life. I want you to be it. I'm taking it all. You'll forget independence. You'll be an extension of me."
It was ludicrous, of course, all of it. Nonsense, right? It couldn't possibly be true. I squirmed in my seat.
"Tell me exactly what you're thinking now." He said.
"I want you to hold me down and fuck me" I blushed and clapped a hand over my mouth. I suppose that was exactly what I was thinking.
He chuckled "Not that. About your slavery."
"I mean... what would it even look like? What does slavery mean?"
He nodded "A very valid question."
He took out his phone and opened up the photo gallery. I started looking through it. His house, supposedly, or at least the rooms full of bondage equipment. In any case, quite a nice place.
"In general, it would mean following every order exactly, carrying out whatever my will is. You'd be property, you'd be more than taken care of, no need to work, but you'd also own nothing, not even the clothes on your back. Slaves don't own things. That's how we'll know your training is complete, in fact - we'll find ourselves in some lawyer's office as you sign over your power of attorney and the title to your car."
I kept flipping pictures. One of some other sub, carefully cleaning, focusing more deeply on the dust on a shelf than I had on any exam in school.
"In public, at events, when you see your friends or family, you'd be trained to present yourself as normal. I'd of course be directing you; you'll hate having to think independently. At home you'd be a houseboy. Your chores would include keeping the place clean and preparing meals, when not otherwise indisposed. Clothes around the house would be an absolute rarity, and you'd be expected to serve me and my guests as I desire."
And his guests? I swallowed and flipped to the next picture. It was his cock again, soft. I might have fainted if it were hard. God I wanted to see it.
"Serving sexual needs is of course a necessity. I would use you at my whim, bending you over when I feel the urge. Your ass would be trained well and I'd enjoy having you put on shows of just how much you could fit. Your ass would be kept plugged at night and during your chores. Your cock, on the other hand, is not the right tool for a slave. It would be kept locked up in metal and out of reach, especially once you're properly trained. Slaves love anal orgasms. If I felt like it I might train another body part of yours to be extremely sensitive. Those brain cells have to relocate somewhere when your cock is locked up, no? Ever seen a man shoot cum out a tiny metal slit because someone blew air on his earlobes for a few minutes?"
I looked at him, realizing my mouth was agape. "N.. no, I haven't."
He smiles "I'll be sure to get you a mirror then."
I flipped another picture. Two indistinguishable figures, in black rubber, one on his knees, hands cuffed behind his back, clearly swallowing the rubber-clad cock of the other - Roland.
"I do like to keep things interesting. And that's one nice thing about having a slave - I don't need to check if you share my kinks. I'll be so deep in your head I'll be able to give you whatever kinks I want. Of course, you'd do it all anyway, but I prefer a partner weak in the knees for what they're doing.
Rubber suits, leather, we'll be spending time in both, that's for certain. And don't forget the bondage - you saw the dungeon pictures. One of my favorites is to tie you bent in half so you can't move, then smack your ass until you can see the red outline of my palm. I suppose it's not the most original but you have to love a classic.
You can expect to spend time as a pup, too. I've quite taken to puppy bondage recently." I flipped the next picture and there it was, a sub on all fours, collar around his neck - I could almost feel the belt still around mine - a pup-shaped blue mask on his face, leather mitts padlocked onto his hands, a black tail plug sticking out of his ass, wagging. The leash on the collar led somewhere out of frame, to Roland. The pup sat expectedly, at attention, tongue hanging out, waiting for the next order. "Don't worry about that puppy dish in the background" he said "that's person food in there. I have no interest in giving you dog-food breath." I hadn't even noticed it.
He took the phone back as I was about to swipe more photos. "There's more, of course, much more. But there's no need to worry about it now. By the time it gets here, I'll make sure you are programmed to love every second of it. There's a whole lifetime of more. And once I'm gone, you'll be a line item in my will. I'll be sure to find a good home for you."
I stammered and looked up to him. My cock hadn't thought about deflating for even one second, and I could feel a ring of sweat around the collar of my sweater. The waiter brought our plates. "This... this is all going to happen to me? Why tell me this now if you're just going to take it all from me? Take my will, my property..." I swallowed, my voice quivering. As bad an idea as I knew all of this was I couldn't help but be turned on. "use me for your own purposes?"
He shook his head "No, no, that's not what this is. I'm not telling you this to force it on you. I'm telling you so you can make a choice. I'm not taking it all just yet. I'm just telling you what will happen. If you see me again, I will feel free to take whatever I see fit, over time, making you my thing to direct as I like. And you won't stop me. I know you won't. You won't be able to. After tonight, I won't contact you. You'll have to contact me.
It's up to you if you'd like a fifth date. I hope you do. But if you do, it's the last real decision you'll ever make. Even the ones you think you're making for yourself will have me, in the background, pulling the strings. In a year or two you won't recognize your old life. But I can promise you you won't miss it, either."
I looked down at my food and around at the other tables. Was this all real?
"Now," he said, "let's eat."
Roland clearly enjoys his falafel. The rest of the evening passed, somehow, as though the conversation had never happened. He didn't bring it up again and neither did I. He kept things moving in other directions, and by the end of the night, when he put me in my cab, we knew each other even better.
I woke up the next morning in my bed. The alarm had gone off. Thursday was a work day. I didn't remember too much about what had happened after I got home, but I found that the toy had slithered out and sat next to me on the sheets, onto which I'd shot twice, the first of which had disappeared, saliva marks from being licked up where it fell.
I picked up my phone and swiped away the alarm. This revealed the app behind it, my texts, open to the messages between me and Roland. In the text bar I had typed "I want to see you again." But I hadn't hit send.
I lay in bed, staring at my phone. The only muscle moving was my heart. The sound of it beating drowned out everything else.