Date: Mon, 10 Aug 2009 13:51:27 -1000
From: watertown@live.com
Subject: Punked Master

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This is intended to be gay male erotica involving BDSM.  Only read if you
are of age, allowed by law to do so, and personally interested in the
topic.  Do not duplicate this original work, unless authorized by the
author.

There is a lot of setup provided in this story provided in the hopes of
eventual sequels dealing with the aftermath of the punk's takedown of the
Master, where this story culminates.  Comments, feedback, suggestions and
encouragement are appreciated at:  watertown@live.com  (include "Punked
Master" in the subject line, please)

CONTENTS:
Author's Note
Contents
Summary
Cast
Encounter
Stable
In Store
The Takedown


SUMMARY:

Tall powerful Master, with stable of three slaves goes into an adult toy
store to make some purchases.  Short skater punk on the streets watches and
follows them in.  Master tries to show off to the punk (hoping to seduce
him into his stable of slaves), demonstrating various implements, binding
his slaves.  Master tries to put nipple clamps on the punk, but the punk
challenges the Master, until the Master, fearing to be humiliated in front
of his bound slaves, clamps himself instead... going weak...


THE CAST:
Punk, 20, 5'2", 110 lbs.
Master, 37, 6'4", 195
Slave1, teddybear, 34, 5'7", 200  (known 2 years+, live in 1 year +
Slave2, divorced, 28, 6'2", 185     (known 7 months, live in 5 months)
Slave3, newbie, 23, 5' 9", 145     (chat  intensely 3 months, first met 2 weeks ago, )
Punk's gang:  Beefy, 18, 5'8", 175
Punk's gang:  Studly, 18, 6'1", 185
Punk's gang:  Gangly, 18, 6'5", 165


THE ENCOUNTER:

I saw the shirtless punk on the sidewalk, as I was leading my growing
stable of slaves into the adult toy store.  His green eyes seemed to pierce
thru me in a glance.  For such a little guy, he carried a lot of attitude.
At about 5 foot 2 inches tall and 110 pounds, the shaggy blond boi held
court with three of his skateboarding street buddies.  Though, at a beefy
5'8", a studly 6'1", and a gangly 6'5", they were all much more physically
powerful than him, the punk was clearly in command of himself, his
skateboard, his buds, and his little world.  A first glance suggested the
rugged looks of an angelic choir boy growing into a bad boy teen.  A more
studied observation suggested the punk was probably 20, streetwise and
life-hardened.  His gang of thugs more like 18, having finished with school
this past spring, they appeared free and aimless.

On a mission to get my newest recruit, slave3, properly outfitted, I was a
bit preoccupied with my own little world.  I had parked my van behind the
store and led my three slaves down the alley to the front sidewalk.  Though
the skaters were seasoned by the sex shop scene, as I walked into view with
slave3 on a leash and slaves 1 and 2 obediently following behind, the
punk's gang began looking at us, and so the punk followed their gaze.  His
thugs looked a bit surprised by the site, but the punk simply got a quite
grin.

We paraded by and into the store.  The counter boy was familiar with my
business and my penchant for humiliating my slaves as I tried out various
implements on them.  My visits generally meant some serious sales for his
boss and a hearty tip for him.



THE STABLE:

I had first brought slave1 here more than a year ago, shortly before he
moved in, fulltime, to my woodland property.  Contrary to my usual taste,
slave1 is the essence of teddy bear cub.  A furry 34 year old, at 5'7", he
is a very chubby 200 pounds.  For such a subdued man, his intensity is
amazing.  He is completely submissive, extremely masochistic, and pure of
heart.  He possesses a subtle and often astonishing sense of humor and a
gift for insight.  He appears to have been born into the slave leathers and
hardware he's wearing today, most of which I had previously purchased at
this very store.

I had met slave2 at the XY bar in the city, about a year and a half after
I'd first met slave1 there.  I had played with slave1 for more than a year
before moving him in, but a month after I had started using slave2, the
pressure from his ex-wife to "move the Fu** out!" was getting intense.
They'd been divorced almost a year, their 3 year marriage giving way to
slave2's tormented, but true, nature and desires.  When I took him in, it
seemed fitting for all concerned that I keep him in the old kennel out
back.  Slave2's pent up angst had expressed itself well at the gym for
years, and so, at 28, his 6'2" frame carried 185 lbs. of lean muscle in
show-dog form.

It was slave3 that I was here to properly attire in his transformation from
lithe boi to slave.  I had been chatting with him online, extensively, for
more than 3 months.  His need is deep and dark and to the core of his
being, but he is also strung up with societal expectations and self
conscious fears.  I am uncertain if he is actually ready for enslavement at
23, though all indications are that this is his destiny.  I had decided it
best to try to hook him and reel him in now.  Either he will be molded into
a proper slave or he will flail and jump free.  In either case, the
encounter with true slavery will help him progress and spare him decades of
ever-nibbling but never embracing his true nature.

It was two weeks ago that I first met with slave3 in person.  Within 5
minutes I lead him into a toilet stall.  I turned his 5'9, 155 lb. frame
around, pressed my arm to his neck, pushing him against the stall door, and
instructed him to expose his cock.  Trembling with desire and fear, he
fumbled with his belt and opened his jeans, revealing that he had, as
directed, worn nothing underneath.  I placed a simple mask over his eyes
and sat on the seat as I began to manipulate his cock and balls.  As I had
hoped, the fear I instilled kept his cock shriveled and I impressed myself
with how quickly I had his cock encased in chastity as I clicked the small
padlock shut, securing his fate.  He continued to shake uncontrollably and
was beginning to sweat.  I stood.  Sliding my hand under his shirt, I
gripped his nipple and pulled him into my embrace.  As I whispered into his
ear, my breath sent a shiver down his spine.  I assured him how safe he was
to be, in my care.  Our online training was having its' desired effects on
my newly chastened slave.  I held his trembling body, speaking softly in
his ear, until his body completely relaxed and surrendered to my firm hold.

 We met 8 more times over the prior two weeks.  Despite a couple of
inspections of the slave's cock and balls, to ensure proper hygiene and
safety, his cock remained locked out of his reach for the duration.  He did
not realize, as I did, the profound effect this would have on his
overwhelming need to serve and comply with my every wish.  He was helpless
and desperate and eager.  He pleaded with me to accept him on a 24/7 basis.
I restrained my grin as I took full possession of him.  With slaves 1 and 2
in the van, I had picked up slave3 and his things, and headed to the store
to dress him properly for his new life as my 3rd slave.



IN STORE:

 In the store, I had slave1 attending to various fittings of slave3 for
nipple clamps, cock rings, butt plugs, slave collars and harnesses – an
extensive set of "the basics."  I was having slave2 trying on a new harness
while I examined probes for milking the chaste slave3.  I had not decided
when slave3 might next have an orgasm, but the idea of keeping him milked
and orgasm-denied for his first year caused my own cock to leak precum.

I noticed that two of the punk's crew (Beefy and Gangly, quite the odd
couple) had come into the store, seemingly to study us, while Beefy made
some purchase, before they walked out.  A few minutes later, the punk
walked in and observed us with that quiet grin on his exquisite face.  I
made eye contact, and again his eyes pierced me.  I was entranced by his
sleek beauty.  Our breaths seemed to synchronize as I drank in his
tantalizing torso rising and relaxing.

He approached with a cat-like grace and curiosity.  When he asked me what
we were doing in "his" neighborhood, I found his territoriality charming.
I explained the situation and proudly began to show off my slaves.  I could
see he was intrigued and I imagined I might capture this untamed cat in my
web as well, making room for slave4.  Like most hoodlums, he was,
doubtlessly, a lost soul, at heart.

He began asking questions about restraints and erotic pain.  I demonstrated
various implements on slave 3 and 2, and I could see this was having my
desired effect on the punk's evident bulge.  I wanted to taste him.  I
remarked about his perfect nipples.  I adjusted my own cock in my jeans and
saw him nod approvingly.  He continued asking specific questions about
various devices and I soon had all three slaves showcasing the store's
wares like full on dungeon slaves.  They were restrained, ball gagged,
hooded, clamped and plugged...and thru it all, slaves 1 and 2 sported
pulsing hardons, helplessly enjoying the attention.  Slave3's chastity
intrigued the punk greatly.  My cock throbbed as I teased him into the
conversation.  I spoke about the kinds of control and pain that can be
intensely pleasurable for "men like us," I said, employing my amateur
psychology to lure him in.



THE TAKEDOWN:

I held up a pair of nipple clamps toward him and declared "in your aroused
state, you will enjoy these."

"Show me..." he began to say, as I stepped closer to him, but he continued
"... on yourself"

I paused, only briefly, then continued with the gesture of my hands
bringing the clamps closer to his enticing nips.  "These are for you, my
boi..." I said as firmly as I could.

"Show me... that you are man enough to take what you inflict on your
slaves," he challenged.

"of course, I could,... but.. I...  "

"Show Me!" he asserted, "... or you'll never get a taste of this," he said
as brought his hand to his pec and stroked his thumb across his nip.  His
nips made my mouth water, but it was all of him that I wanted and it was
all of him that he meant by "a taste of this."

Taste?  Was he reading my mind?  I had so wanted this punk.  His raw beauty
had seduced me.  I had used my slaves to try to corral him into my trap.
And now he was challenging my authority to my face, before my 3 bound
slaves.  Even the counter boy was looking on keenly.

"Just do it," he ordered.  "Do to yourself what you so routinely do to your
slaves.  Show us if you are man enough to take a little pain yourself, and
maybe even enjoy it," he said with his quite grin.

My cock was dripping in my jeans, but my hands began to shake slightly.
His voice has a harmonic vibration with my very core.

Here I stood, 6'4", in full leather garb -taller still in my boots - I
towered over this 5'2" shirtless skater punk in his baggy shorts, and yet I
trembled before him.  I looked down into his eyes, pleading, but he glared
back up at me, piercing thru me with his laser vision.

He saw my hands quiver and move slightly away from their forward stance
toward his nips.  "That's it," he encouraged.  I was retreating, and he
knew he had me.  Even I knew I no longer had hopes of clamping his nips,
but as he pressed on, I began to realize he was, perhaps, going to have me
clamping myself before him.  "Show me..." he cooed.

My trembling hands held the clamps halfway between his nips and mine.  "
... noooo..." I weakly mumbled in protest, my resistance weakening, his
power growing.

"Do it," he ordered, adding, "If you are man enough to be what you require
of your slaves."  In my aroused and weakened state, I could not really
process the logic he applied, but my hands were obeying his direction, as
they slowly moved closer.  I gurgled slightly as I tried to mouth a failing
resistance.  In my mind, I realized the punk knew my nipples were my
Achilles heel.

The menacing metal teeth of the open tit clamps had been intended for the
beautiful pecs of my hoped-for slave4.  Instead, my mouth gapping in
disbelief, the clamps were moving closer to my nips, as the punk's strong
will overpowers me and controls my hands.  "That's it..." he purred, as he
reached forward to part the flaps of my open leather vest, exposing my
poised nips for his taking.  My cock oozing precum, my mind entranced by
his voice, my body held in his gaze, the open clamps came to rest against
my pecs, my tender nips in their clutch.  "Good... now release the clamps
onto those nips and take the pain as you should," he flatly instructed.

A stream of drool escaped my mouth, as my body shivered and my fingers
released the springs.  The clamps closed tight to my nips.  My body
convulsed in pain, my dick throbbed, and my arms fell weak by my side.

Our eyes locked.  His quite grin went broad as his laughter mocked me.
"That's it... That's it..." He soothed me with his words.  "Take the pain
for me,... like a man,...if you can."  He reached up to the nipple clamps
and adjusted them tighter.  I winced, but was held, trapped - suspended by
his fingertips.

And then his hand was at my crotch, opening my fly, he reached in and took
possession of my balls and tugged the sac out into plain view.  His thumb
pressed my rock hard cock still inside, and he chuckled at its' confession.
He flicked his fingers into my tender balls.  Helplessly, I could only
shutter in the sweet agony.

"Let's see..." he said as he surveyed some of the devices of testicle
torture I had laid out, intended for my slaves.  "This simple one will
do... for now!" he laughed as he backhanded my gonads.  He made full use of
my nutsac that he'd placed on display.  He buckled a leather harness around
my ballsac and snapped the ball divider in place.  I looked down in fear
and awe.  I started to look back up at him, as I tried to muster the
strength to declare "enough!"  Instead, I saw him swiftly reaching for two
large weights.

My cry of "Nooooo...," was cut short as he hooked the weights to the ball
harness and dropped them, taking my breath away.  I dropped to my knees.
The weights swung, inches above the floor.  Still my arms hung useless at
my side.  The exquisite pain in my nipples held my mind tuned on a
submissive wavelength.  The pain in my balls radiated thru my midsection,
and yet, my cock continued to throb and drip in pulses.

I heard the first CLICKing of the handcuffs, binding my right wrist, before
I was even aware what the punk was doing.  By the time I realized it, and
tried to draw my left wrist safely away, it was too late, and the second
CLICKing echoed thru my mind, as my arms struggled uselessly behind my
back.  My three shackled slaves looked on in a twisted eroticized horror.

Less than a half hour ago, I had proudly paraded my small army of slaves
into this store.  In a matter of minutes, this punk had fooled me into
restraining my slaves before him, and in my lost hope of making him my
slave4, he had made me his.  With a cunning agility, in a moment's time,
this 110 lb. punk had taken full possession of 725 lbs. of slave meat.

-watertown@live.com