Date: Mon, 29 Jan 2024 14:42:19 -0500
From: Robert Halstead <subkodak25@gmail.com>
Subject: Breaking Me In 23

Chapter 23

I slept soundly and dreamlessly and only awoke at 10. Sunday morning, I
think. I take a shower but keep backing off the spray because my nipples
are still so sore. Warren is an artist, that's for sure. And what a happy
ending! No Dom has ever allowed me to cum like that before. There was a
text on my phone from Dad: "Call after your shower." I ring him.

"Breakfast food was put in your kitcheonette. Please eat there and stay in
your rooms until I send for you. I'm setting up a meeting for
later. Someone who wants to talk to you."

Interesting. My favorite foods and a new Keurig and fixings for coffee. Not
bad. The slave is getting spoiled, being groomed in a nice way for whatever
comes next.

Three hours pass and I get some good reading done but I'm restless as
hell. I decide to go downstairs despite the fact I was told to remain in my
rooms. Shit. The door leading from my suite is locked. Fuck. I start
realizing that Dad's keeping me prisoner for some reason. At least it's not
as bad as being locked up in Tyler's cage. Tyler! Shit! I hadn't been
thinking of him and it's like my stomach cramps up and I double over. I was
in love with that man. Dammnit, I AM in love with that man, despite
everything. What will become of that love now? Was it just another mistaken
fantasy of mine because I keep insisting that I want to fall in love with
my Master? Who made up that rule? Me?

Dad rings the intercom. "There's someone who wishes to speak with you. Come
down to where you were with Warren last night. Sit in the blue chair and
wait for him to come to meet with you."

"Yessir," I answer but he's already disconnected. I wanted to remind him
the door is locked, but when I got there is wasn't locked any longer. Whew!
I got myself downstairs. Dad came over and gave me a hug and some kind of
beeper. "I won't listen in on this conversation. If you get upset for any
reason, push this button and I'll be there immediately." He swats my behind
lightly and I head into the room and sit down where he told me to. I'm
facing into the room with my back to the entrance so I can't see who's
coming. Solid footsteps come near and the first thing I see are black boots
and well-worn jeans until he sits across from me and I gasp. It's Bobby!
Tears come to my eyes and I want to throw myself down on the floor and bury
my face in his boots. "Sshh!," he says quietly. "Stay seated, boy. Take
several deep breaths and then just gaze on my face the way you used to when
you were in my history class. Be still. Look at me. Your Dad has invited me
here to help you get back on track, so you know he approves of me being
here. Just look at me, boy. Look and remember what it was like when you
first started obsessing about me."

He says nothing else. As I stare into his eyes, all the early desires I had
came to the surface and I wished more than anything else that we would turn
back time and start all over again, even though I realized that could never
happen.

We just sat there for a long time. I could hear my breath and nothing
else. I could see his face and nothing else in the world mattered, and I
remember all the times he would watch me while I was crying or sobbing, and
tears betrayed me as they started to fall from my eyes again. I wanted to
run but I was afraid to move and break the mood.

His gaze intensified as he started speaking to me quietly, gently, like he
was teaching a little boy. "Your little dick is hard, boy. A hard dick
never lies. It gives you away. It shows you what you are, what you need,
what you're meant to become. And I want to tell you something I just
learned from a very wise man: that when a true slave like you becomes so
frightened or bewildered that it runs away, that doesn't mean the slave has
failed. It means the Masters have failed. They didn't understand what a
delicate thing a budding slave's identity is, as delicate as the petals of
a flower, a newly blooming flower, and a harsh breeze would easily cause it
to fly away. He taught me that even if a boy like you willingly submits to
the touch of my whip, there is so much more involved, so much more that is
more important than the pain, or the humiliation or the loss of freedom it
must experience. We couldn't see that deep tenderness within you that
needed to be cherished like the tenderness of an innocent naïve
child. All we could see was our own wicked need for the power to crush the
boy under our feet and under our discipline. This is important for you to
understand, pup. You did not fail. I am not upset with you, or
disappointed, and certainly not angry. I understand why things turned out
the way they did."

"But I look at your nakedness now and I see your need exposed once again,
despite it all, and I am resolved to find that tender core inside you and
touch it, care for it, help it help you become what you are meant to be."
"If you hadn't gotten hard, I would have simply apologized and then left
you to someone else. But your body is telling me that you still crave me to
take you as my own. So I will continue to sit here and gaze on your
bare-shaved hairless boy boner until you respond to my gaze however it is
that your inner submissive desire guides your behavior while we are here
together. Come on, pup. Show me what you need. I promise I will cherish
it. I promise."

And with that he grows silent. Still locked on his gaze, I feel a prompting
from inside and a pure desire drives me to admit my truth to him. Slowly, I
slip off the chair and cast myself at his feet and lower my face to his
boots. I weep on them and then begin to lick up the tears which have fallen
on the black leather whose scent begins to intoxicate me all over again. I
hear him breathe heavily and quietly say, "Perhaps you would like to remove
my boots and put your mouth to my flesh once again, sweet boy," and it is
exactly what I desire to do most of all. I take one boot and try to pull it
off. He raises his foot and slowly helps me, and then the other. He is
wearing thick socks which are just a little damp from sitting in his
boots. I lower my face to his feet and feel him wiggle his toes and I want
so much to taste what has dampened them. "Remove them, boy. Get to my
flesh. Show me your secret desire."

I do so, oh so very slowly, and feel the touch of the soles of his feet in
my trembling hands and I'm aware of the subtle scent and I find myself
growing ravenously hungry to devour it, to use my mouth and my tongue to
give myself the pleasure of serving his feet like the loving slave I need
to become so badly. I touch my tongue to his foot and suddenly lose my mind
and I plunder what is there, licking and sucking and tasting and
understanding that this is the only way I will ever be at peace, and this
is Bobby I adore.

He says words to me I've heard many times, but they've never so sounded as
sweet as they do now: "Don't forget to clean between the toes." And I obey
him and lick his feet clean slowly. He says "that's my good boy," and my
weeping intensifies and my tears wash his feet again. I suck off the
saltiness that comes from my eyes. Gradually, I fall into a deep sleep.

When I awaken, I am naked on my bed and he is holding me in his arms and
the softness of his shirt and the roughness of his jeans are rubbing
against my bare boy's flesh. He presses his groin into me and I realize
that my dick is locked into a cage again and it all feels so
right. "Sleepy-head comes to life again," he says in a cheery
voice. "Drink," he says, and he puts his mouth to mine, and the juices that
flow from his mouth to mine are sweet and tinted with mint, and I begin to
suck greedily. He backs off. "Oh, baby, slow down. I don't want you to
overdose. You are still too tender and your body still bears the marks of
brutality. I look forward to seeing your bare flesh smooth as a baby's
bottom. Until then, everything must be gentle and tender. Let my spit heal
you, boy. Let my caresses erase the fear and hopelessness you tasted during
the dark times."

I surrender to him, only this time there is only joy in my
submissiveness. He touches me everywhere, and I whimper because I am still
so sore, my nipples, my back, my ass, my legs. "You were trying so hard,
pup. Too hard. Rest, now."

I fall asleep again. I am alone when I wake up again, he's gone. That's the
first thing I notice. I'm flat on my back. There's a sheet over me so I
don't have a chill. The cage around my cock feels different from the cages
I used to have to wear. It is very snug, yet very comfortable. Dad is
sitting there, reading as usual. (That's where I got it from.) "Turn to
your right," Dad whispers. I do so am tears come to my eyes as I see it's a
nice big picture of Bobby in a platinum frame. He stands and takes the
sheet off me and my usual shame at being seen naked by my father still
courses within me. "Stand up, boy, so I can examine the cage he locked you
into." Damn, even more embarrassment. He is not shy in handling it, but not
rough either. Again, that notion of my father feeling up my genitals is so
humiliating, especially since it's another man who's locked me up.

"Shower if you'd like, then come downstairs. Warren and another business
friend, Nathan, will be here for lunch and you will serve us. The food will
be ready soon, and will be kept warm in the oven. Set the table for
three. You will eat when we're finished."

And he leaves. He's never spoken to me that way before and it really hits
me hard. He talked to me like I was nothing more than some naked houseboy
kept in chastity and here to serve them. The fact that there is obvious
evidence that I've been recently punished, perhaps even more than once,
considering the marks on my body. Holy shit! He's treating his own son just
like a slave. I hope this isn't permanent.

It was so awful that I don't want to talk about it. And that Nathan guy,
shit, he came across as the most anti-kink dude that ever lived, said I
should be institutionalized, not realizing that such a situation might have
been fun—see how sick I am!!!! So there's only one thing I want to tell
you about it. After they all left, Dad came in to help me clean up from the
meal, and we worked side by side just the way we've been doing ever since I
was old enough to help. And after everything was done, we stood back and
looked it over, he turned to me and gave me a hug and I collapsed in his
arms, tears flowing.

He kissed me on the cheek and said, "I've decided that some times I'm going
to see you not as my son but as a slave I'm training. But you know how you
live in my heart, even if I ever have to punish you still." My tears turned
to chuckles and I was going to say "Well, you're really good at it," but
thought better of it. I'm not going to encourage him. I need my Dad, to be
my Dad, not my Daddy. Shit, When I look into that picture of Bobby, I can
picture myself over his knee and calling him Daddy while begging him to
stop spanking me. Woof!

Later that night, after we sat up and watched a silly movie just to help
relax all the tension, Dad asks me to wait a second before going back to my
place. Bobby left something for him to give me at bed time. It was a nice
wooden box with a clasp on it, but the key was hanging in the
lock. Interesting. So anyway, I took it upstairs and right away opened it
up, taking the key and putting it on a long string so I won't lose
it. There were two black plastic boxes inside. One has a note that says
"open this right before going to sleep." The other says, "take a look. Put
it on when you need to. It's my collar. Only mine." OMG! He just told me so
much. He's himself. He's not the Tribe. Sounds awkward, but I know to trust
him. He'll work it out. I open the box and, oh my, it has a few gems in it
and hooks. It gets locked with a silver lock which also has the key in it
and is attached to a note by a string. The note says "Only I can lock this
on you."

I thought about trying it on, but shut the plastic box right away and
picked up the other one. "Right before I fall asleep," I turned off the
light and got under the covers and then opened the box. A strong scent his
my nose and I knew what was inside: his sweaty smelly socks from when he
made me take them off him. Holy shit. I kept the box over my face for a
long as I could handle it, going back to the time when he was slowly
awakening my desire to belong to him. Even though he could be a brat.

After all, he really learned something important from his mentor, whoever
he is. He overwhelmed me and immediately took away my shame and made me
feel safe and loved. Even as a slave. And slowly, he begins to train me to
serve him. And in my mind I keep begging for more. This time I won't run
away when it hurts too much.

Finally I close the box, put it inside the bigger box, and close it. I take
it and put it on the other side of the bed so I could maybe reach out and
touch it during the night and feel like he is here with me.  Right before I
enter the room of my morning class, a text comes to my new phone from
him. He and Dad are the only ones who have this number. "You are among
friends. Someone is always looking out for you." That's sweet, I guess, but
why?

I get into class and sit down. The guy in the desk next to me sneers at me
and gets up to change his seat. The another guy sits down and shrugs his
shoulders at me. "What the fuck was that all about?" I asked him. "Some
guys heard that you hang around a leather bar naked and sucking cock and
sometimes they beat you. I guess that's why he shunned you. Probably a
homophobe. Or a Bible-thumper." "Same difference," I said to him. "Thanks
for the heads up." And so NOW that text message makes sense. But you know
what? In my heart of hearts, I think it's hot that such a story is going on
about me. Especially because it's so true. Hey, maybe I'm drumming up
business for the club!

After class is over, one guy walks by me then turns around while holding
his hand over his junk and trying to wave it at me. "Do it here? You that
low yet, faggot?" I shake my head and try to walk away. "Catch you later,"
I say, squirming out of the wrist he's wrapped around my arm. I get away
and a different guy gets behind me and says, "you're okay." A text comes
through so I pull out of the line of guys leaving class to check it. "My
Mentor is inviting you to lunch. Science and Technology building, room
224. Noon. Get naked." Wow. Quite a day. And it's barely lunch time.

I hang out on a bench in the courtyard and pretend I don't notice the dirty
looks I'm getting. I imagine I'm being exposed here, naked and offered for
sale as a sub slave. (I think the fact that I'm already sub increases the
price). I get to the man's door. He's a chemistry professor emeritus,
whatever that means. I knock on the door and he calls out "enter." I open
the door. It closes behind me. "Lock it." I do. Then I start stripping
myself naked, right down to pulling off my socks. I go to kneel but the
command quickly comes "no need to kneel, come sit with me, boy. I have a
special lunch for you." So I approach him keeping my hands at my side not
trying to hide my caged dick, just being open.

"Turn around please," he says, and then inhales strongly when he looks over
my back. Ass almost completely black and blue, the other marks warm. "My,
my. Pain level at the moment, /10?" "3 or 4, mostly just a reminder, but
ass still 6." The he gently turns my around with his hand over my nipple
and he notes I'm also sore there. He motions for me to be seated.

"The problem with being a pain pig, which is what you are apparently,
slave—I will always calls you `slave'—is that you boys always push
yourselves too far and then get scared and run away because of the
brutality you brought upon yourselves by not setting a limit." Isn't that
so, slave?"

"Yes, Professor, it is what I guess I did to myself."

"Don't guess, slave. That's what happened."

"As you say, Sir."

He motions for me to be seated at a little table in the corner covered with
a black tablecloth. There is a bowl of some kind of gruel and a spoon
before me, a yogurt and a banana before him. That banana looks so good!
"I've prepared a special luncheon for you, slave, and it will do you much
good. I'm a chemist, don't you forget."

"Thank you, Sir." I pick up a spoonful and plunge in on it and get it down
my throat as quickly as I can.

"Don't choke yourself, slave, dammit! Take a small spoonful. Gently. Taste
it. You'll find it quite pleasant, I suspect." Ok, so I try it his way and
dammit, he's right. It's awesome. We both eat in silence, looking each
other over. He's quite elderly but in good shape, probably better shape
than me. "There are good fellows who are keeping an eye on you. No one will
harm you." "Sir, there is only one person I'm afraid of running into and
that is Tyler."

"There is no need to fear running into Tyler. His stay in Denmark has been
extended for the entire semester. By the time he returns things will be
very different for the both of you." I breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly
I found myself looking into the professor's eyes and couldn't look
away. Bearded. Intense eyes like Bobby's. "That's right, slave. Focus on
the eyes. If someone ever objects, quit that person quickly. We Masters
attract eyes like yours, slave. They call out to us, "please, take me,
please help me be good," and we take things from there. I am pleased to
learn that Bobby is pleased with your about-face with him. Like you, he has
a lot to learn. Like you, he's a good student. But he's a scientist while
you're a romantic. A hard combination for scientists. So easy to get lost
in the process and forget the tender boy who entrusting himself to you. I
want to make sure you grasp what I'm telling you."

"Sir, with all due respects, you make it sound like something that can't
possibly work out."

"I said it's hard, not impossible, slave. Listen more carefully to my
words. Let me say it a bit differently: You are a romantic. You can't
change that any more than you can change the fact that you're gay or that
you're meant to be a faggot slave. It is how you were made. Neither biology
nor chemistry nor any kind of spooky religious incantation or witch doctors
can change you because you are what was intended at that precise eruption
of divine creativity. Take that in. You must be what you are.

If you had succeeded in running away from all of it, even if you managed to
survive 10, 20, even 30 years without it, it would still be hiding inside
you crying out, looking to sneak out wherever it can. Someone has to hold a
container to keep you in and make sure you don't spill over. That's you,
slave. A scientist is different, because the more a scientist learns the
more he craves to continue learning, and if that involves learning to be a
Dominant, he will have to learn how to understand all types and find ways
to make use of those types without trying to destroy there essential
natures. The sad thing, slave, is that there are few true Doms who have
learned all this. That is shy so many subs get damaged or try to run away
from what they are."

"So the scientist has to take care of the romantic?"

"Better said that the Dom has to take care of the sub. The language used is
important."

"Okay, Sir. thank you for pointing that out."

"Good boy. Now there is one more thing that I want you to understand, and
it is the most important thing of all."

"What's that, Sir?"

"I want you to know that as far as I am concerned, Bobby is a gifted
scientist and still has a lot to learn. I suspect you found that out
recently when he had you for a while. I bet you discovered that something
important had changed and that Bobby knew exactly what he had to do to help
you stay. I think he did an excellent job."

"That all makes it sound so clinical, Sir," I dare object, because I
realize it's safe in here to say anything.

"Sorry. Scientist talk. What I mean is that Bobby found out that fear
hadn't closed up your heart completely, that he found a tiny opening he was
able to use to enter your story again in a way that made you pining for
more."

"Pining. You can say that, Sir."

"I have said it, you brat! Now come over here and lie on your stomach on
this mattress. I wish to tend to some of the marks on your flesh from
former punishments."

I don't hesitate to get into position. I close my eyes and things got hazy
but I can feel something pressing down on the spots the strap had hurt and
something tingly was being massaged into the cheeks of my ass.

A voice from somewhere, not the professor's voice, not Bobby's, not mine,
says to me, "You. Will. Be. His." over and over again. Damn! Talk about
witch doctors!


####


Please write me and let me know what you think of this new story.
subkodak25@gmail.com

I now have a pictures of BOBBY, TYLER, and the boy (narrator). Ask and I'll
email the ones you want.

Here are the other stories I have posted, with the dates where you can find
them:

The Alex Chronicles 9/25/2022
Sweet Subjugation 1/15/2023
Brandon's Bosses 4/3/2023
Brandon's Brothers 5/19/2023
Total Subjugation 5/25/2023
Tommy Loves His Sub 8/17/2023
Training Toby 12/31/2023


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