First Entrance

The phone rang early and woke me from a delicious slumber. Groping to the surface of wakefulness I had barely mumbled my name when a familiar voice said, “I want you here this afternoon at 2.30. You will spend at least two hours with me.” I straightened myself and involuntarily tightened my body at the imperiousness of the demand. “I have the results of your tests and wish to check on some more aspects of your slave worthiness. Understood?” I could only answer, “Yes, sir,” without thinking clearly what I had planned for the day, and with a peremptory confirmation, he rang off. Suddenly I was awake yet dazed and my heart beat rapidly in the usual mixture of fear and undeniable excitement.

For a minute I sat up in bed and felt shocked. It had been three days since I had made my first visit to George and although I was hoping for a call I had not anticipated such a brutal summons. I was disappointed not to be asked how I was nor given any chance to express myself. Then the innate obedience and yearning in me took over and I realised I was excited at the prospect. I had said, “Yes, sir,” and that was my true self speaking. Time to get myself prepared and I ran a bath with shaking hands. I lay in the bath for a long time trying to order my thoughts and then realised that I really needed to concentrate on preparing my body. It was strangely coquettish and gratifying to soap myself intimately and indulgently. Under the soothing caress of the hot water, I rubbed myself all over, especially my thighs and arse, sensing with rising excitement that I was bidding ownership of them good bye. The thought aroused me and I watched my stiffened cock floating on the surface and longed to relieve my tension by wanking it. I washed my hair and cut my toe and finger nails, realising that I was doing this for HIM. Suddenly I felt like a woman getting ready for an evening and hoping I might “get lucky”. I wondered if my belly could or should manage food and settled for liquids alone. I drank fruit juice, milk and a cup of sustaining tea with plenty of sugar for energy, trying to recall if I had followed his dietary instructions as completely as I had been bidden. I knew I would be asked and knew I must tell the truth.

The time passed slowly until it was time to dress. I felt self-conscious as I put on a shirt and tie that I thought he might like and slipped neat light chinos over my naked legs. Carefully, I raised the zip over my half filled but unprotected cock. I dared not let my mind anticipate what lay ahead but I could not help but remember the last time it had “jerked” for him in such pent-up intensity.

On the tube, I glanced round at others in the carriage and wondered if they were going on a journey as belly churning as mine. There was a dark haired Goth girl opposite me. Did she notice the bulge in my pants? Was she a Dominant tyke with a whip under her long flowing plastic coat? Did she know that with a click of her fingers, I would kneel at her feet and kiss her high heeled black boots? I was so elated and supercharged with submissiveness that I wanted to confide in her. No, I wanted to shout out loud that I was a slave reporting to my Master.

But this was no cosy fantasy, I was going to a real meeting with a Real Man. I started to notice all the men in the carriage and looked at them with surrender and respect. An old grey labourer didn't look threatening but a young black man at the end of the carriage made me feel inadequate as he lounged easily in his leather jacket. Suppose he expected me to go down and suck his thick cock from his wide cut trousers? Suppose George boarded the train at the next stop and expected me to kneel before him on the floor and make my obeisance. Was this really me? Did I have the slavish abnegation to prostrate myself in public? Nervously I checked the stations and noted with relief there were only three to go and the time was not yet 2.00pm . I knew I could surrender myself in the intimacy of privacy and wanted to hurry to his feet for my own protection and security.

This time the pavement was surer under my hurrying feet. The gate latch was familiar and easier to open and I went to the side door with something approaching relief. The door opened to the buzzer and I let myself into the hall, eager to catch my breath and compose myself for what lay ahead. I stopped abruptly as I saw a young woman sitting in the waiting room, dark haired and with heavy make-up like the Goth on the train. I was unnerved by the similarity and thought this was some kind of unwelcome portent. We nodded to one another and I hastily moved to an empty chair and mechanically reached for a magazine.

“You here for a monthly check-up as well?” she asked conspiratorially with a nervous laugh, closely observing my discomfort. I was about to mumble a reply when the door to George's consulting room opened. He looked at me with a cool expression and then at the girl, “Miss Loren?” he enquired. She affirmed and he turned to me, “Go into the adjoining room,” he gestured to the other door. “Strip completely and wait for me. I will be a few minutes with Miss Loren. Come in,” he added to her in a much more welcoming manner recalling the tone of my first visit. George stood at the door long enough for him to observe me blush deeply and move across the room. I felt Miss Loren was watching me as well and knew exactly what my status was. As I opened the door and tried to hide my embarrassment I heard George start a friendly conversation with the girl before his door shut and I felt I had escaped further humiliation for a spell. Nonetheless, my mind was racing and I couldn't help but link my fantasy on the tube with the appearance of this woman in the waiting room. The way George had spoken to me seemed to brand me as “slave” but then I thought it could have been interpreted as the abrupt instructions of a Doctor. I was convinced that I had been deceived and would soon meet the girl again and I was shocked and scared. The thought of running away was uppermost in my mind but I hesitated before I tried to escape, wondering whether it was fear which made me stay or fear which fuelled my doubts.

The room was large, airy and tiled, without windows but an open overhead skylight reflected sun-shine and the sound of doves cooing outside. There was a range of medical equipment, a wash-basin and an examination couch with an adjustable chrome bar at one end, supported on two large metal feet. I regained some composure as I listened to the birds and took in the paraphernalia of a Doctor's consulting room. There was no screen but neither were there any obvious instruments of torture! As if driven by a force within me, I mechanically started to undress and before I had time to analyse what I was doing I had removed my clothes and was hanging them on a hook behind a door leading to George's other rooms. Strangely I felt more at ease freed from the conflict of being submissive in my every day clothes. Naked, I assumed the role with less doubts in my mind. I sat on the hygienic tissue which covered the examination couch, and my thighs came into contact with the cold vinyl exposed at the edge. I was acutely aware that through fear and chill exposure, my penis had shrunk to an acorn and feebly pulled at it to make it presentable. I don't know how long I sat there but I knew that I felt very nervous and in need of re-assurance and I wanted George to come in and explain what was going to happen to me. I had removed my watch and put in my jacket pocket and now I stood to get it and find out the time. As I did so, George entered in his vastly confident manner. “You shouldn't be standing, slave. Always wait for me in the kneeling position, bottom on your heels, hands behind your back, knees spread, back straight.” All this was delivered in an overwhelming tide which swept me to my knees and blew away most of my self doubts.

“And for goodness sake, get that miserable slave cock to attention when you greet me. Remember how I want it presented.” And my hands went instinctively to balls and cock head and I pulled it hard obtaining a ready response to his gloriously commanding manner and tone of voice. “Stay,” he added as if to a dog. “I have some papers for you.” Stay, I did, stretching my cock shaft like a begging cur and felt the sweet flow of surrendered lust energising my whole body.

“Your results were happily negative on both counts. That is no AIDS nor STD evident in your samples and here are the lab certificates for you to take away later.” He waved some papers in my direction and then produced another. “And this is my test result from two weeks ago which you should see. As a matter of routine I carry out tests once a month on me, you and any other slaves with whom I have contact.” He pushed a paper in front of my face, but all I could think of was the last part of his sentence. So there were other slaves as well as me. I shook my head and mumbled. “I have no need to see it Sir. I trust you completely.” It was, I thought a simple sincere act of respect. He held the paper before me for a moment and then said curtly, “stand.”

I did, hands behind my back and knew my roused cock stretched appealingly in the air before me. “Stand in front of the bar there, back against it and place your legs apart. Grip the bar in both hands, arms spread and don't let go unless ordered.” I felt the cold chrome in the small of my back and assumed the position as instructed, vulnerable and exposed, now achingly erect and proud of my display. From a drawer in a cabinet I saw him produce a tawse some 3 feet in length which split into two tails along half its length. My eyes widened in apprehension and I braced myself unflinching but with heart racing. With sudden spite he slapped my erect slave cock sharply, cleverly wrapping the tawse tails between my belly and the upper side of the shaft. I flinched in shock but my cock was so engorged with blood and stiff that although it bounded under the impact I felt no deep hurt.

“Whose cock is this?” he asked standing in front of me and looking coldly into my eyes. “Mine, sir,” I blurted in unthinking anguish. Again the tawse slapped down, brushing my belly and catching the glans. It sent hot waves of sex driven pain into my body. I hissed in fear more than agony but knew this slap was still only mild and that he could hurt me much more with the strap. I gripped the chrome bar in sweaty fists and arched my back to demonstrate my submission, pushing out my slave cock in gift to him.

“Whose cock is this?” George asked, his voice more insistent.

I bowed my head, “Yours, sir,” I corrected myself abjectly.

“Quite,” he replied with satisfaction. He reached forward and struck the inside of my left thigh hard, making me wince and whimper. “Split those legs right apart and bend at the knees.” He struck the inside of the right thigh as I adjusted my stance and I felt the soft flesh burn red at once. “And what's it for?” He was speaking with evident impatience and I tensed my legs apart even as I writhed in pain. “For your service, Master,” I offered through twisted grimacing lips, hoping I had the right words to please him.

“As is all of you, slave.” Unsure if this was a question or a statement, I confirmed myself. “As is all of me, your slave, Master,” finishing in a shriek as he expertly flicked the tawse between my legs to land the tails stingingly on my buttocks one to the left, then to the right and again left and right on my lowered cheeks. My legs weakened under the strain but I just held my position, hands gripping the bar, my groin proffered forward in abject surrender. I sobbed in shock and fear from the suddenness of the attack, becoming hideously aware of the growing pain to my testicles which had been caught by the strap as it whistled between my parted legs. The pain seemed to swell in them bruising up from the tender wrinkled nuts into my belly and then into my core sapping the once proud strength out of my shrivelling slave cock.

“And if you are to be of use to me in service, how must you always be, slave?”

In my suffering brain, I struggled to answer,” Always ready, always available, always obedient Sir” “And always clean and healthy slave,” he struck my outer thighs vigorously as I involuntarily flinched my legs inwards to protect my aching balls. “So when I tell you to look at a health certificate, you read it. Understand?” He stood over my cringing body and held the certificate before my tear filled eyes and I tried to read. “Out loud, slave.” And I repeated the words as best I could, although they did not convey much meaning to me.

“Once a month, you will be tested or more frequently if I think you have been dirtied. And once a month you will read your results and mine to prove you are still slaveworthy. I don't have contaminated slaves in my service. And once a month you will receive a slave thrashing to remind you what you are. One day, soon, I will give you a proper thrashing to make sure you know what to expect and know whose you are. I like to mark my slaves well, see them writhe and striped, hear them whimper and howl their abject surrender to me. But for now we will prepare you as a novice by confining pain within levels 1 – 5 with plenty of jerking to teach you to acquire the sweet strong bond that links pain to pleasure.”

He moved away and to my relief, put the tawse down before removing his jacket and meticulously hanging it on the door. The growling hurt from my balls seemed to subside and my cock revived and swelled a little as I reflected on his words. Still I hung onto the bar uncomfortably presenting my groin and tried to make my slave cock signal its appreciation. I saw him put on latex gloves and felt my anus clench and twitch immediately to the sight. Somehow, the slave in me recognised its role without my brain consciously processing the sights and sounds of events. He squeezed a tube of lube on the fingers of his right hand as he turned to me. “So how did you rate the tawse slave?”

“Six to eight, Sir.” I replied unsure. “It was the fear and vulnerability which

made me suffer more than the intrinsic pain, I think.”

“Right. Pain is a function of the mind, slave. A tap on the genitals can scar more in the mind than a good lashing on the buttocks.” He leant forward and cupped my balls softly in his left hand. “And how do these feel?” I winced in fear that he might squeeze but as he didn't, I relaxed and my cock leaped strong in blatant declaration of my relief and happiness. “No need to answer. I can see the state you are in,” he laughed. “Have you wanked?” “No, sir,” I answered truthfully almost protesting my obedience. “You ordered me not to, Sir!”

“Your slave cock says you are honest. Good. But you wanted to, didn't you?”

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled blushing in embarrassment.

“What stopped you?”

“Obedience to you, sir. As a slave I obey my Master's orders as best I can.”

“On the couch, nose down, arse high. I want to check your slave hole once again and make sure you know its mine, now.” He moved the bar to one side and I struggled onto the examination couch.

As before, my knees were strapped so my bum stuck out rounded and offered over the end of the couch. I reached for the handles, hollowed my back and hung myself out for his taking. God how I needed to please then and yearned for his use however brutal. The glow from my cock, balls and burning flesh made me flow with lust and my cock pulsed almost uncontrollably under my belly.

“Have you followed my rules on diet?”

“Yes, Sir, I have been obedient in everything. I have only taken in liquids today in preparation for you. Is that right, Sir?”

“Good. You will go on a full liquid diet over the next weeks to reduce defecation. I will give you details next time. You must also learn to use an enema stick before you visit for training but my assistant will give you a proper enema on arrival. Don't try it yourself.”

The words excited me although the mention of an assistant sent a wave of apprehension into my security. I stretched and rounded my bum, longing for his touch. Strapped and stretched as I was, I still writhed with anticipation and felt my anal ring clench and unclench in want for his claiming.

“You're an indulgent slut aren't you?” he said with controlled menace and I whispered simply, “Yes, sir. Please forgive me but I am utterly your slave,” and tried to still my body in wait for his use.

“Been playing with you arse?”

“No, sir.”

“And why not?”

“Because I am obedient, sir, and you ordered me not to.”

“And what is this?” He asked softly placing his finger at my anus.

“Your slave's fuck hole Master,” I mumbled, hardly daring to breath and stretching myself back to be impaled. I had perfect trust that he would use me firm and totally. It was a moment of extreme sanctity, the communion of Master and slave and I relaxed my muscles and felt his finger open my sphincter, easy and slow and possess me with inexorable control. The opening of me was so sensual, painless and smooth that without warning or self-control my cock spasmed in pumping thrusts but thankfully without cumming.

“Lovely,” he said, reaching for my slave cock with his left hand between my legs and tugging the head of it down in his enveloping fist. “You dry jerked didn't you, my slut?”

“Oh, Master,” I breathed with a desperate struggle to stem the raging want in my throbbing cock. “I don't know what happened but I am so near to bursting. Please forgive me.”

“No, that's good. Lovely to feel the jerk through your slave hole, clenching and welcoming me as I fuck your arse but don't you dare cum unless ordered.” He thumbed the slit of my save cock roughly, spreading wetness on my engorged knob. “There's naturally pre-cum when you are being worked but, God, I'll spank your little bottom if you burst.” He stroked my cock meat down the length of it with a tight grip that made me writhe. His voice was quiet, thick and intimate and betrayed his evident arousal. I could sense the lust in him as he gently but firmly stretched the skin of my slave cock in his hand. With his right hand, he began to slide his finger further into my anus.

“Master,” I breathed huskily. “I don't think I can contain myself with your hand on my slave cock.”

“Nonsense,” he replied briskly releasing it and slapping my upturned bottom sharply twice on each cheek so I glowed hot red. “I know what state my slave is in. I am working the shaft and over the back of the knob not on the jerk spot at the front. Do you feel the friction on the strap welt?”

“Yes, Sir,” I admitted as he gripped the shaft again, pulling the slave cock down uncomfortably. “It is so sensitive to you, though.”

“You know I could milk you at any moment, like a fuck animal giving cum. But I won't unless it pleases me. You have no power to deny me, do you? All of you is in my hands now, slave, and that is the way you will always be. What are you?”

“Your utter slave, Master”

“Whose are you?”

“Totally yours, Master.”

And with this he started the rhythm of fucking my slave arse with his gliding finger, pushing up strong and deep into my rectum and then withdrawing until it was so nearly free. My anal ring was stretched and contracted in continuous waves of delight, clenching and puckering to his control. All the while, he had me repeat the litany, asking, “What are you?” “Your utter slave, Master” “Whose are you?” “Totally yours, Master,” exciting me in word and deed in a way which raised my degradation to complete surrender. His left hand held my rigid cock shaft tight in his thrall, from time to time rubbing my swollen glans roughly and without mercy. I mewed pathetically, knowing I was overwhelmingly his in my want and submission, my whole body concentrating on the delicious working of my given hole and subject cock. I do not know how often I repeated earnestly and sincerely the words of my subjugation, but when he withdrew his finger,I had no freedom but his service and reached out my arse begging for his buggery.

He pulled harder on my slave cock tugging it down and into view between my parted legs. “Rate these for me, slave,” he ordered and strapped my buttocks with the tawse in his right hand. The slaps were brisk but not painful as they striped my taut skin presented for his marking. “Three” “Four” “Five” “Three” “Four” “Six”, I lost count of the quantity and the ability to rate them amid my squeals responding to the intense feeling in my flesh. The heat spread up into my chest and brain and then burnt along the length of my screaming cock, pumped hard between my legs in his unrelenting fist. All I knew was that the more the lashes hurt, the less I rated them as painful as my body reacted in unrestrained lust to his masterful treatment of my slavery. Four livid strokes on my arse echoed through my gasping body as he began to grip my glans wholly and fiercely in his fist and started to milk me, making the slave cock surge painfully and swell out of control. Valiantly I struggled to be obedient for I knew he was testing me until he ordered, “Jerk for me, slave meat. Let me see you spurt like the dog fuck which you are.” And his hand worked my jerk spot hard as if I needed further permission. And the finger of his right hand slid deep into my unresisting slave hole. “I want to feel you clench in desperation as you jerk your load for me. ” And I did, involuntarily my arse gripping on his finger tight and greedily. And in his fist, my cock jerked, bounding alive and wild but within his total control. With his powerful hold, he forced my cock down like an animal's teat as it spurted. I felt my cum pent-up and then bursting painfully through the slit viced in his grip, the glans throbbing as it swelled with difficulty and expelled my release. I jetted cum in fiery restricted gobs mastered by his pumping hand. Even in the climax of my lust I was controlled by him and growled and barked my surrender, “Massssterrrr,” my throat as constricted as my slave cock. He slid his hand up and down my shaft, measuring my jerks with his fist and squeezing every last drop of my spurt form the base up to the slit where he flicked the cum from the glans with his thumb. And then he cupped my aching balls in his hand and seemed to squeeze them dry, making me howl in an agony of humiliation. Again, he squeezed my now limping cock from base to the very extremity of its stretch and held it, the slit stretched open like some gagging lizard mouth to shake the last drops out of me. There was engulfing fire in my belly and my whole body ached from the struggle of the orgasm and I felt the strength utterly wrung out of me. His masterful hand relaxed its grip on my cock and I was left with the numbness of being totally spent. As I slumped forward I was aware of the enormity of his control of me and his finger still buried deep in my arse.

“Grip now, slave as I ream your arse.” And with the last grams of my energy I tried to grip his finger as it probed long and sensuously into my

weakened ring. Thrusting deep but not painfully, he opened me at will and within a few strong strokes my anus seemed to pledge its surrender by gaping wide for him as I mumbled my apology for losing the ability to grip him.

He withdrew his finger and said, “No, that's normal and good, boy. You will learn to control yourself better with training but it's a sign you have been worked well when you gape like a slut. Relax for a moment.”

I slumped for a moment breathing hard and feeling dreamily sated. Little by little consciousness of my well worked body returned. My cock ached and shrivelled from its handling, my balls were tight and bruised and my arse was slack and sore from being fucked. Splotches of heat emanated from my strapped thighs and buttocks and the skin tingled where it had been scorched in pain. I started when I felt something at my anus and braced myself for hurt. “It's only a swab to remove some of the grease,” he comforted me, hand on the small of my back. “Are you sore?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied quivering and highly sensitised from the finger fucking. “As are my slave cock and balls, Sir.” I added pathetically.

“Oh, you will be,” he responded in a matter of fact tone removing the swab. “but when you are sore, training can begin in earnest. Soreness raises slave response, heightens your experience of pain and pleasure, quickens eagerness and energy, reinforces obedience but it saps your stamina and must not lead to damage, so we have to monitor you carefully over the early stages. Well, at all stages of slavery, but you are fit and responding well, so you can take a few more stages today. Present your bum for me. I am inserting a butt plug for the next session. There are three rings on it which fit into you to prevent you expelling it by accident or when you jerk. In future you won't need greasing for this, but since it is the first time, I have left some lube in your slave passage.” As he spoke I felt the blunt end of something nuzzling at my anus and braced myself, sticking out my bum with the eagerness expected.

“It will feel large as it dilates you but you will soon grow accustomed to it. Tighten your anus as it enters even if it hurts. I need to feel the rings fitting into you and it's also important that a slave feels them register. Each one is slightly larger than the one before but they won't split you. Once inside your rectum, the plug lodges securely but you will feel it intruding where it rubs the rectal wall. That'll be uncomfortable but will help you get used to taking cock up your arse. The plug isn't as big as my cock so this is early stage training. You will have to take cock deep and hard to give me satisfaction.” As he spoke, he pressed the brutish plug home in one relentless motion. I trembled and bucked under the intrusion scoring into my bowels wider and deeper than I had ever imagined. I had had implements up my bottom before, but they had always been self inflicted and never at the command and pace of a Master who expected total surrender and obedience. I struggled to abase myself and accept the distending pain of the plug driving into me. At first it felt too big and I writhed pathetically as the hard rubber nose stretched the ring unmercifully. And then with an almost audible plop, the wider part was up and in me. “One,” said George with satisfaction. “Two to go,” and I felt the plug driving it into my sore hole without respite. “Push on it and spread that bum, you little slut.” His hands parted my cheeks, fingers probing into my crack to release the skin drawn in by the invasion of my anus. He pushed again hard as I braced myself against the core of rubber impaling me. This time it was a shade less painful but the plug was so bulging in my innards, I imagined I was being turned inside out to accept it. The pain built into a crescendo as it reamed my anal ring, “Two.” And without a moment's delay, I was skewered further and took the third stage weakly in my slackening and suffering arse with total submission. “Three. Clench. Feel the plug snug and right at home in your slave hole.”

For a moment, I breathed in relief trying to accustom myself to the enormity of this intrusion claiming my body. “Right, now, stand up and kneel on the floor. You have slave work to do. No more slutting on the bench, enjoying yourself.” He released my knees and I gingerly moved, feeling the plug move against my innards uncomfortably.

“Don't tart about like a wimp. Stand on your feet and show me how you move properly with a butt plug in your arse.” I stood unsteadily and he barked “Sit on it. On the bench.” l sat carefully feeling the plug ride up into me painfully. Although he was busying himself with something else, he eyed me and betrayed impatience.

“Kneel on your heels, slave. You had better get used to being plugged. It won't move nor do you damage.” He replaced the chrome bar at the end of the couch and raised it six inches above the bench height as I knelt on the floor feeling the intrusion moving in my rectum and trying to keep my bum from striking my heels.

“Now stand in front of the bar and then sit back onto the bench with your legs hanging over the bar. Keep your hands clasped round your balls and let your weight take you back to make sure you feel the plug go home. Ten times, stand and sit, and hurry or I might lose my patience with you.” And I did as I was told. As my parted buttocks sat heavily on the vinyl, I felt the plug hit the bench top and jar right into my rectum. It hurt and each time I grimaced pathetically while he watched my cautious practice. On the tenth sit he ordered, “Stay.” and approached me with a small plastic bowl in which there was viscous white fluid, which I didn't recognise at first. “What's this, slave?” he asked as he pushed the bowl under my nose and in my face. I inhaled the bleach odour of semen and mumbled with apprehension, “My slave spurt, Sir.”

“Exactly. I enjoyed milking my slave cock into this. As a slave, you don't jerk up like a man, you jerk down to give even your cum as an offering to your Master. You were allowed to jerk up once on the very first time you spurted for me but not ever again. From now on, you always jerk down and lay it as a gift for me. Every part of you is given, controlled and mastered now, even in spurting for me. Understand?” And I nodded in acceptance that I was totally his, repeating, “Yes, Sir, this slave is totally yours, Sir”

“And this was the finger which fucked your eager little arse.” He raised his index finger in front of my eyes before dipping it into my cum and hooking up a dollop from the bowl which he held just below my mouth. “Suck it in reverence and clean it well.” and I opened my mouth obediently and let him wipe the salty goo over my tongue and round my teeth as I sucked eagerly on his fucking finger. Energetically he doled out my slave spurt from the bowl, pushing his finger deep into my mouth so I retched. He spread my cum onto my lips and across my face, onto my cheeks and into my eyes where it stung. Within moments I was slimy and reeking with the smell of stale slave spurt all over my upturned face which I kept abjectly unmoving as he humiliated me. There was so much of it that when he seemed to tire, he emptied the last contents over my head so it smeared and ran down from my hair. “Good now you look sufficiently abject to leave. Kneel and present your cock.”

I was shocked by his words and tone of voice, but slid uneasily to the floor and knelt back on my heels ignoring the discomfort, trying desperately to appeal to him, pulling on my sore cock to make it show obedience. As I worked myself, naked, plugged, attentive and begging at his feet, he looked down at me and spoke slowly and deliberately in a way which swiftly gained my cock's swelling response.

“These are important slave lessons for you. First, slaves don't just enjoy being wanked and finger fucked. You have to work for your pleasures, by working yourself unstintingly on mine. We will start to train you to do that, next time. Second, you are nothing but a fuck hole to me and I have plenty of those. You have to be special to earn my attention. Special in skills, energy, stamina and obedience. Third, you spurt for me, me alone and only when I command it and you spurt as often as I command it. When you think you have spent and are drained that's when you learn to draw on all your slave strength and spurt again, no matter that your body aches and your cock is sore. A slave is always ready for sexual use no matter how bruised its balls, no matter how whipped its arse, no matter how its slave hole screams in agony from being buggered. When you are properly broken, weak from being reamed inside out that's when slaves learn to plumb the depths of their slavery. That's when you confront the meaning of service, of giving yourself utterly and totally to me as Master. Understand?”

I nodded and repeated softly and with fear, “Yes, Sir.”

“Jerk your slave cock, but don't you dare cum without permission.” And he left me pulling painfully and desperately on my cock, going into the next room. He returned with the Goth girl I had seen in the waiting room, Somehow I was not surprised but was terribly ashamed to encounter a stranger sa I was, kneeling on the floor, naked and pulling at my cock like an animal. I stopped my working fist with some relief and looked up at her, standing tall and elegant in a buttoned white lab coat that reached to just above her knees.

“This is one I have chosen to train,” Master said to the girl and turning to me, he began, “and this is..who told you to stop pulling your puny slave cock?” he barked. And immediately I jerked back to the humiliating process of making my sore cock stand. “You do what you are told and keep doing it until commanded to stop, cock slave.” And the girl smiled unsympathetically at my vigorous antics while I went deep red with the effort and shame of my situation.

“That's better. Now this is Miss Loren. You will address her as Miss, although she is a slave like you. Get that slave cock up so Miss can see if it's worth straddling. She wants to see the knob plum purple and ready to spurt before she will be the slightest bit impressed by wretched cock meat like you. Understand ?” And I pumped frantically, saying, “Yes, Sir,” in a voice vibrating with my energetic self abuse.

“Just look at it, wanking for all its worth to try and please.” He commented to Miss Loren. “Make it burn, slave, and tell me as soon as it's ready to spurt for us.”

“Nearly Master,” I grunted through clenched teeth, straining to summon up all my energy to obey, heedless of the pain in my cock and unresponsive belly.

“But don't you dare spurt until I give permission,” warned Master. “It has a plug up its slave hole, three ringed, six inch medium small. The plugs have the sizes marked on the bottom. Turn and show Miss your arse, slave, but don't stop jerking. Arse high and on your nose and don't stop pulling that spurt up for me.”

And I turned and fell on my face, bum high, legs apart with my hands still clutching my balls and slave cock like a machine, my mind whirling from embarrassment. I felt delicate fingers on my plug and through my legs I glimpsed Miss crouching behind me, moving the plug in my hole to check the markings. I nearly burst as I realised my humiliation but without permission I managed to control myself. On my nose, I called out, “Pleeease Sir?” in desperation. “pleeease, Sir, “ and dared not pump any more on my swollen needy cock.

Master made no response but continued to address the girl, “Mark its arse with the size of the plug inserted so you will know which size to use next. Use the marker in your pocket, its permanent and waterproof. Write the rings first, slash, then the length and then the girth.” I felt the marker on my buttocks heedless of the soreness of the strap marks, writing 3/6/MS in large characters on my proffered flesh. My almost overwhelming urge to spurt faded with Master's inattention to me and my loose grip on my cock. All I could think about was the degradation of being marked and discussed in this impersonal manner. “The most important elements in a butt plug are the rings and the girth. When we want to train a slave to take length we use a dildo. A butt plug serves to dilate and discomfort and give security to a slave. In many ways, especially for a cock slave, it is a sort of comforter and reminds it of its status, as with this one.” And in a different commanding voice, clearly addressed to me, he said. “Right on your knees and let's see that slave cock ready.”

I struggled back onto my knees and as I did do, I started pumping my slave cock but it was becoming irretrievably flaccid. As I knelt up, I felt more degraded and useless than I had ever felt in my life, pulling futilely at my unresponsive and slackening cock.

“You haven't much to show us, have you?” he taunted. “You no longer jerk and spurt for your pleasure, you obey and jerk and spurt only for my pleasure from now on.” I knew he was playing with me and felt utterly debased in his clever and callous Mastery of me.

“Strip, cunt,” he ordered sharply to the girl. And I watched as she swiftly responded and gracefully unbuttoned her coat and knelt totally naked at his feet to my side. “Crouch facing it and display your wonderful cunt.” And the girl rose and spread her legs apart and crouched as if to pee, hands behind her back with her shaved cunt lips puffy in front of my widening eyes. Amazingly, my cock stiffened almost at once and she smiled without embarrassment at my crude response. Master noticed as well, “Ah, I see you appreciate your new Mistress. You see, a cunt slave offers the delightful variety of three well trained cock slots for my pleasure. You on the other hand offer nothing special unless you have a slave cock standing strong and hard. I don't think we can call you a cock slave until you show that it has some size and stamina to serve us. I will grade you as a bum slave for now and you will answer to the name “bum” when I address you. A bum slave is only a hole for my amusement. It is of interest unless it has something special to offer. Understand, slave?”

And as my cock shrivelled once again, I began to realise my worthlessness and bowed my head and acknowledged him, uttering quietly and with total resignation, “Yesssssssss, Sir.”

“You will leave me now and reflect on this and your status and your need to learn the total obedience which I demand. Miss here will fit you with a thong bond and cuff your wrists to it. You will be unable to raise your arms above your chest but you will be able to strip and bathe yourself tonight and will return tomorrow at 9.00 am . At that time, you will declare whether you are capable of sustaining the training regime as you have glimpsed it today. The plug in your slave hole will stay in place and you will not remove it nor touch your slave cock even if you need to pee. Half a day plugged will be uncomfortable but do you no harm. Stand now.” And he turned and left me with Miss, who entirely naked, moved about me with coldly efficient attention. She fitted a broad leather belt tightly about my waist which was locked into place in the small of my back, pressing on my kidneys. She produced Y shaped leather straps joined with a ring, which were fixed so that the single section fitted between my arse cheeks and forked under my trunk to pass each side of my cock and balls. Without concern, interest or hesitation, she pulled my cock and balls up and over the join in the straps to ensure they were snug and presented over the harness. She buckled the ends of the straps through rings on the belt so the harness fitted tightly into my ass cheeks and pressed the plug firmly into my anus. Standing passively while this pretty curvaceous naked girl worked deftly with my body was terrifically exciting. As she adjusted the strap to lie snugly between my arse cheeks, my cock swelled and bobbed in uncontrollable response. It earned no attention from her and even when she lifted it to fit into the harnessing thongs running between my legs, she handled me with nothing more than medical detachment. She eyed her handiwork and then went to a cupboard from which she produced a tabard in blue cotton with a shirt collar and buttons sewn down the front. “Put this on over your head and button the tabs at the side and this,” and she threw me a light felted anorak with zips down the arms and sides obscured by the patterning. “The reasons for these will become evident when your wrists are cuffed to the waist belt,” she explained. “Work out how to get out of them as you put them on, for you won't have much movement in your arms. But you can still strip if you wriggle and contort yourself properly.”

She stopped to look at me, dressed from neck to waist in a fake shirt and anorak, with my cock and balls uncovered and proudly standing free in the leather straps between my naked legs. “I think I should kick you out like that and see how far you get,” she teased with sudden mischief and before I could respond in kind, Master returned and laughed out loud, “Very fetching. I think I might have it dressed like that as my butler.”

I stood very still in disbelief as Miss cuffed my wrists in straps of soft leather with a small padlocked hasp to prevent removal. Chains linked my cuffs to D loops sewn on the side of my belt, preventing me from lifting my hands above my chest and from reaching to my butt plug. She passed me my trousers and told me curtly to sit on the floor so I could put them on. Sitting bare arsed on the floor made me acutely conscious of the butt plug riding up into my bottom, but I managed to struggle into my trousers and draw them up to my waist and fasten the zip and buttons.

“Stand,” Master ordered and checked the wrist cuffs and chains. “You can have these removed, of course, if you go to a locksmith and explain your predicament. However, Miss will freely remove them tomorrow at 9.00 am . They are really symbolic but they help you understand the idea and practice of your future bondage to me. You have 16 hours to reflect on what you are submitting to as slave. You will remained plugged and restrained for all that time and free to think what a life of obedience and control might mean. Between now and tomorrow's appointment you will only drink two litres of milk and three of water. No solid food. If the plug and the restraints are not exactly as they are now, you will be instantly dismissed from my service. Reflect carefully and when you return tomorrow, you will declare your willingness to be trained or your desire to depart. Either you will sign for training on a regular basis or will leave here for ever. I am not expecting 24/7 until we see how you develop but from tomorrow, it gets serious and demanding. I will see you at 9.00 am prompt with your mind made up.” And he opened the door and ushered me into the side passage to the gate.

The pavement was much more uneven to my unsteady wobbling feet. The gently clinking chains were a constant reminder of my status and the plug caught at my anus with every step. I felt suddenly terribly aware of the cum on my face and in my hair but most of it had dried and a passer-by would have had difficulty noticing it. But to me it was the badge of slavery which I knew I was ready to wear in any state of dress or undress.