Date: Sun, 16 Jul 2023 18:06:07 -0500
From: Pup Paws <aboyfromipanema1@gmail.com>
Subject: House Fag at the Leather Club -Chapter 1: Admitting it to yourself

Admitting it to yourself.

Feel that pain in your nip.
Enjoy taking it from him.
Feel the pinch of the clip and the weight pulling down.
Surrender to your sir. He enjoys your struggle, your submission, your
predicament. Give in.
Follow his orders as they ramp up the pain, shame, and humiliation.
The harder it gets not to tap out, the harder you get. Will it pay off
in the end? If you're a good enough boy, will he let you cum?
Stay still as your nip hurts more and more, as he inspects, corrects,
repositions, and adds more sting with his crop.
Feel the pain and pleasure. It reinforces the hardwire connection from
your nips, through your torso to your spot inside your hole, up your
shaft to the place under the head of your dick. Every word he says
stinks you deeper in sub-space. His instructions soothe your mind and
bring you back to your center, him.
Close your eyes and focus on your sir's pleasure from seeing you like
this, starting a pleasure feedback loop.
Listen to your sir's comments on your status, reinforcing your
subordination as he stands tall over you.
Follow his commands to crawl around on hands and knees, making the
clips swing and pull, guided by his voice and leash.
Hunt around for the magnets he spread around the floor. Bend over and
pick them up. The magnets add weight to the clips. Exposing yourself
even more as he smiles, laughs, and enjoys your increasing
humiliation.
Struggle for him. It pleases him to see you like this.
Feel the weight swing, pull, and twist. Feel it radiate through the
hard wire connection, opening your hole and yearning for pressure on
your spot. With all this pain and struggle up front, you won't need
poppers. All you seed is more.
As your desperation to get fucked climbs, Realize he has more in
store. Wonder if you can take it. You will, you'll do anything, and he
knows it.
Wine, moan, and even cry all you want. It makes him harder.
"Please, can I have more? Please, SIR, more."
Bend back down to pick up the little jingle bells he dropped on the
floor. Hear them ring with every little movement. Let his laughter
remind you of your place. He'll love telling his friends about this.
They'll all know about you.
You know better than to touch your little boy dick, but you're
desperate, so you crawl over to where he's sitting (his throne) and
bury your head in his lap, pressing your head into his manly thighs,
waiting for instructions huffing in his musk with deep breaths.
He pets your heads, calls you a good boy, and you melt as he pulls you
in tighter.
He straightens his leg as you whimper, pressing it along your belly
and involuntarily into your crotch. The slightest touch, even from his
legs, sends tingles of pleasure through the energy line, through your
spot, back up to your pinched nips. Maybe he will let you get off
after all.
You shiver, making the bells jingle. You had momentarily forgotten
about them in stillness. He clocks it, and it makes him giggle. "Did
you forget about your little bells for a second, boy?" He asks
"Mhmm," you nod back.
"Use your big boy words. When I ask you a question, I expect you to
respond respectfully, in complete sentences," he says, looking down at
you on the floor.
His disappointment, even this slightest amount, is deflating. You'll
do anything to re-earn your good-boy status.
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. I understand. I won't make that mistake again."
"Good boy, now let's try that again," he says as he runs his fingers
through your hair and presses your cheek against his thigh, triggering
a wave of relief and a giant grin. "Did you forget about your little
bells for a second, boy?" He asks.
"Yes, sir, I was distracted when your leg grazed my little boy dick,
and I forgot for a second, " you reply.
As he starts sliding his hand from the top of your head, past your
collar, down towards your pecs, you hear him say, "Well, I think you
know what that means."
And suddenly, you know exactly what it means, and his finger grazes
the tip of your right nip that extends past the clamp. But it's just
the slightest graze. His hand wraps under your pits as he guides you
up off your knees below him. Maybe you don't know what it means.
You stand before him, unsure what to do, fully erect and fully exposed
except for leather cuffs around your wrist and ankles, a leather
collar, and nipple clamps, still weighed down by magnets and little
bells. He's dressed in full leather, sir garb. Hat, belt, pants,
gloves, boots, all leather. He scans you head to toe as you feel a mix
of humiliation and pride.``
You hear "position 2" and immediately snap into place, making the
bells jingle again.
A smirk develops on his face. Then he leans forward as you realize
he's positioned you to align your now aching nips at his eye level.
You know better than to lose position by tilting your head so you lose
sight of him out of your downward peripheral as he approaches your
chest. You feel his tongue lightly flicking your nip. It hurts but in
a good way. Then you feel his soft lips encircle your whole nip, clamp
and all, swirling his tongue all over while jingling the bell with his
finger. He's laughing with enjoyment out the side of his mouth. As you
struggle to focus through the sensation and hold position, he opens
the clamps, and BAM, all thoughts and focus are lost. You jump and
yelp from the sudden rush of blood back into your nips. But he holds
you tight and starts sucking on your most sensitive nip as he drops
the clamps on the floor for their final jingle. You grit your teeth,
breathe deep and try to return to the position as he growls and
transitions from sucking to biting. He's marking you, claiming you.
The pain is excruciating. And on top of it, you realize everyone will
see the bite marks and know who was in charge and who wasn't. But he
has your permission to leave marks, as long as they aren't permanent.
And you wanted to be his submissive; at least, you thought you did.
It's happening so fast, and the effect is so strong. You moan and
twist, but he only holds on tighter. He catches your flailing arms and
pins them down, squeezing them tight to your sides. He's in complete
control of you; he has you pinned. You begin to surrender and, in
doing so, can regain composure. The restraint is somehow reassuring.
The surrender is liberating, and you transition from needing physical
restraint back to freely choosing to succumb to his will. He can feel
the shift and lets go of you, returning to his throne and making his
trademark happy sir noise.
"No shirt at the pool," he says. And you nod in response.
He's been slowly outing you as a sub to your friend group for a while,
and now even more people will know. It's scary, but you trust him, and
it's paid off by leading to playdates with a couple of them. You
secretly hope one in particular notices and says something about it so
you can have an opening to disclose your submissive status. Maybe he
could join your sir, and you could submit to them both.
You notice his gaze on your thigh as you're lost in thought. It's
shiny. And there is a long thick drip dangling from your little boy
dick. He chuckles. He hasn't permitted you to cum in days. Add on all
that stimulation, and this was bound to happen. It's a reminder that
you're not in control of your sex organ; you've willingly given the
power to him. The thought makes you almost instantly hard, and as you
raise, another small drop comes out and starts to slide down the
already stretched thread.
"We mustn't waste that," he says mockingly, collecting it on the
fingertip of his leather-gloved hand so you can suck it off. You know
not to swallow, even after he's deposited it into your mouth. He
follows up by joining his lips to yours, and his tongue probes into
your mouth, swirling your precum. It's salty and slick. He moans with
pleasure settling back into his chair, and you reluctantly swallow.
"Back on your knees," and you obey. You can't help but smile with him
looking down on you. Your favorite position is looking up at your sir
from your knees at his feet.
"Tell me who you belong to," he commands
"You, sir, I belong to you," comes your reply without any hesitation
"What are you?" He asks in his deep sir voice.
This time there is hesitation. At first, you aren't sure. You're many
things; a boy, a sub, a toy, a bottom, a trophy boy, bait, the list
goes on.
He sees the confusion on your face and slowly unbutton his leather
pants. Your mind goes blank, and you perk up on your knees.
"Do you want this?" He asks as he undoes the top button
"Yes, sir, I want it."
"Is getting this man cock a priority for you?" As he undoes the second button
"Yes sir, taking cock is very important to me sir," you reply
desperately, eyeing the top of his plump shaft.
"Are you a vessel for cock and a receptacle for real men's cum?" As
the third button pops
"Yes sir, I want to be used as cocksleve and be a place where real men
can drop their loads wherever they want, sir" you reply, "I'm a
cumdump sir," thinking you've found the answer to his original
question about your identity.
But no, he asks, "Do you want me to share you with all my friends, to
invite them over, or pimp you out when I see fit?" As he unbuttons the
final button.
His dick is straining now, bowing out, but it's too big to break out
by itself. It's at your eye level, the perfect height to slide down
your throat. It makes your mouth water. You gulp, and even though it
scares you to say it out loud, you reply, "Yes sir, I want you to pass
me around, I trust you to decide who gets to use me and when" Your
dick gets hard again, and he makes his happy sir noise in response.
"So I'll ask again, what are you?" He says, taking a step closer,
bringing his bulging meat to your face, and looking directly down at
you.
But you still don't know. You start to worry. Will he step back away?
He doesn't. Instead, he locks eyes with you, stretches his elbow over
his head, and flexes. You try to keep eye contact but can't help
looking all over you. He clocks your admiration and chuckles, reveling
in the power difference. You revel in it, too, and fall headlong
deeper into subspace. He grabs his phone, saying, "I'll give you a
hint. It starts with `f'." Now you know what he's after, and you nod
your head. He holds the camera over you, framing his bulging man Dick
and his kneeling boy. He grabs your chin with his free hand to tilt
your face up toward him. The camera clicks. You know to keep looking
up, so you hold your neck in the craned position as his leather-gloved
hand rotates around your chin and his fingers graze your lips, making
you shiver. Two fingers push in your mouth, then three, then four. His
thumb locks under your jaw, and he says, "You're mine, boy. You bear
my marks; I've claimed you."
You wonder if he's filming this or just holding the camera. You feel
the ownership strongly, and you hope he is filming. You secretly like
being filmed. It's a reminder of your submission, documented evidence
of your place. And you know he shares the videos with other people.
You like the idea of him showing you off, using you as bait to lure
other men.
You try to affirm that you are his, but his fingers in your mouth make
it all garbled. You start to get hard again as his fingers push
further back, more in your throat than your mouth, back where it's
rough and bumpy in your throat. They trigger a light gag. You can't
swallow because his fingers are too deep. You've been training your
gag reflex for some time so you can take it, but he likes to test your
limits. Your eyes water and your nose starts to run. Panic starts to
creep in, but you hear, "You got this, be a good boy," and his deep
voice calms you. Your breath is loud, and you gasp around his fingers,
but it slows, and you can eke out the slightest nod. So he continues
exploring your throat as you continue to resist gagging. You still do
a little, and when you do, you feel your throat tighten on his
fingers. It makes your hole clinch too, and your little boy dick
pulses each time. Your eyes are bloodshot, and tears run down your
face as he pulls his fingers out. You're so relieved, mainly to get
air. But at the same time, you didn't want to stop. You hear, "Good
boy! I'm proud of you," and beam with pride as he smears your thick
spit all over your face and cleans his gloved hand by rubbing it
through your hair. He snaps another pic and smirks again.
"You want more down there?" He asks. And you whimper back, "Yes sir;
please sir."
"Well, answer me, boy; what are you?" As he brings that camera lens
back to face you.
But you're too proud to say it.
"I'm a f..." you try, but it won't come out.
His man meat breaks free with the slightest tug on his leather pants.
It points straight at you; its weight and length keep it from pointing
up like your light, skinny little boy dick.
You plead, "pleeeease sir."
"Say it, boy, what are you?"
"Siiiir," you beg. Begging to both have his dick and not have to lower
yourself anymore. You're already at his feet, fully exposed and
wearing his bite marks. But he wants it all, not just your body. He
wants your mind, your pride, your identity too.
He says, "I know what you are, boy, but you have to say it."
"I'm a f...faggot sir," you say, in defeat and despair
He smiles and pets your head. "That's right, boy, you're a faggot,
you're MY faggot," and he grabs your hair with his free hand and pulls
your head to within an inch of his hard dick. "But you sound unsure.
If you want this dick, make me believe it."
"Siiir..." you protest
He tilts your head up and spits on your face. And honestly, you like
it. He spits again, and you want it even more. Maybe he's right. So
you try again with less protest in your voice and more conviction.
"I'm a faggot, sir."
"That's right, boy, look into the camera and tell all my friends what you are."
You forgot he was filming, and you're unsure what will happen if this
video gets out. But it's true; you're desperate for dick. Dick makes
you feel whole. You need it, and you'll do anything to get it. You
shouldn't have to hide it. More people knowing may actually be a good
thing. So you commit
"I'm a faggot"
"Louder"
"I'M A FAGGOT, SIR!!!" You proclaim loudly. And it feels correct
He tosses his phone aside and says. "Now be a good faggot and get to work."