Date: Fri, 18 Aug 2023 20:23:05 -0500
From: Pup Paws <aboyfromipanema1@gmail.com>
Subject: House Fag at the Leather Club -Chapter 4: Deciding to Keep Going

Chapter 4: Deciding to Keep Going

Next day

You groggily come to in an unfamiliar room. A deep rumbling noise
almost lulls you back to rest. But you got excellent sleep. The bf is
cupping your little boy dick with his sleeping hand, which is so
comforting and gives you a deep sense of security. You dare not move
cause you don't want him to take it away. You survey the room, as much
of us as you can see from your vantage,  not remembering coming here
last night. It's luscious, elegant, and distinctly masculine. Mostly
grays and black with wood and red accents. But it doesn't look hard
and mean. The bed is huge, bigger than a California king; a whole
group of guys could sleep comfortably on it. It must be custom. And
it's comfortable. Every one of your muscles is completely relaxed.

You were having a foggy sex dream. You can't resolve all the details,
but it was an epic medley of skin and hair and leather, of moaning and
restraints and struggle, of sweat and cum and spit. You're not exactly
sure of the plot, but you definitely had a very strong feeling of
eagerness and desperation, a willingness to do anything for it to
continue, a need to submit.

The boyfriend's fingers twitch on your little boy dick, and it warms
your heart. The way he owns you even in his sleep.


He mumbles and lets out a soft moan that goes right to your dick. As
it gets harder, he tightens his grip, pulls you into him, and burrows
his head into your neck.

"Is it morning yet?" He asks

"I don't know, sir," you respond, hoping it's not so you can stay
there with him.

He moans again and pulls you into him tighter. You take a deep breath
and ease back to sleep in his embrace.


You slowly come back to consciousness with your bf, you sir,
enveloping you. As you lay on your back, his head pins your right
shoulder to the mattress, and your right arm wraps under and around
him to rest on his exposed back. His muscled arm crosses your chest
and tucks under your left shoulder blade. The bulk of his torso covers
the right side of your body. His bent legs clamp around your waste,
pinning your legs straight out. His right thigh presses into your
little boy dick, and his meaty junk presses against your right hip.
You gently scratch his back, causing him to make soft appreciative
moans and nuzzle into you more. Feeling his weight on top of you is
one of your favorite feelings. The squeeze is comforting and calming,
and the warmth radiates to your soul. It's also a form of restraint,
and his restricting and controlling your movement, even from sleep,
turns you on a little. The thought makes your little boy dick plump up
under his thigh. He must feel it through his sleep because he responds
by squeezing you tighter. Now you're making little appreciative moans
too. Then he shifts his entire weight, like a large wild animal waking
from hibernation. You fear he's going to roll away, and you feel an
anticipatory sense of loss. Instead, he lifts up and slides over so
he's even more on top of you, pulling the arms and legs out from under
you so he can be squarely over you, chest to chest. You lay perfectly
still because his eyes are still closed, and he may still be asleep.
Then he collapses back down on you, releasing his full heft into your
chest. All the air is paused out of your lungs through a sigh. With a
few minor adjustments, he returns to stillness. You wrap your arms
around him and clasp them together behind him. It feels so good you
cry. You revel in the feeling as you slowly fade back to sleep... under
your sir.


"You're so fucking beautiful," you hear as you wake again to him
running his hand through your hair. He's propped up on one shoulder,
looking deep into your eyes as you emerge from slumber. A gaunt grin
comes across your face, and you lift your head to kiss his sumptuous
lips. He presses your head back down to the pillow through the kiss
with his lips before breaking away.

"How's my boy feeling?" He asks

"Fantastic, sir, how about you?" you reply

"Proud," he says through a smile. And you give him generous nuzzles.

After a little more romantic cuddling, he says, "I'm going to take
this collar and the cuffs off so you can get cleaned up. Then I want
to have that conversation that I cut off yesterday when you snapped
back at me about not being ready to leave the house. So be thinking
about it in the shower, boy."

You sheepishly nod in reply as he removes the leather shackles and
collar. Then you head off to the shower as he makes a sexy whistle at
your cute butt.

You're transported back to the previous night you step into the warm
shower. You exposed yourself as a true faggot, and most of the men
there used you in some way. It was an erotic gang bang with something
like 30 men all focused on you, clamoring to use you. You took so much
dick that your legs gave out and couldn't stand. That's when Sir Steve
stepped in to be last to use you. You recall him claiming last dibs
because he likes sloppy, used-up boys. By that point, you definitely
meet his criteria; in fact, you had gone well beyond it. The men had
come to see a spectacle, and you had delivered. Something like 30 men
had passed you around. There were dicks everywhere. There were so
many, and they swapped out so quickly that you couldn't keep track.
You were worn out in the best way, covered in sweat, lube, and cum.
This must have been what your dream was about. The memory teleports
you back to the moment.

You were pounded into submission, dunk on cum, basically a ragdoll sex
toy. The men knew exactly what to do and took control of your body as
a well-organized group. Sir Steven laid on his back, and five men (one
on each arm, leg, and behind the head) picked you up into a hanging
seated position. You were glad they did because you lost the energy to
stand. Then they lowered you down onto Sir Steven's glorious cock.
They held you there in the air while he thrust his member straight up
into your sloppy wet hole. You were a living, breathing cocksleve for
them. They supported your entire body, but the only part that was of
any use was your hole.

He fucked all the other loads out of you until your cavity was clean
and empty, except for his massive dick. Even though your whole body
was basically numb from exertion, you still felt his cock swell and
pulse inside you as he buried his load deep. You had been thoroughly
loosened up by all the preceding men, but his swelling stretched you
even more. His thickness squeezed your prostate against your cavity
wall. And his massive mushroom head pushed well past your second hole.
He put his load so deep that no cum came out when he pulled out.

As the water shower water continues to flow, you recall a shower last
night too. Wait, no, it wasn't just a shower; it was a golden shower.
The men formed a circle around you and drenched you with their drunken
piss. You had never been pissed on. But by that point, you were so
degraded that it was a welcome occurrence. You had submitted to so
much, lowered yourself so low that all you wanted was to keep going
deeper. You didn't just get pissed on by a bunch of men; you
thoroughly enjoyed it. You didn't take it resentfully; you bathed in
it gloriously, showered in it, rubbing it all around, completely
coating your skin and hair. The urinal slave was probably jealous as
fuck. The memories make you hard, and you release your morning piss
through your boner, the shower washing it down the drain. Relaxation
and contentment wash over you, and you feel deep gratitude to your sir
and the other men who gave you that fantastic experience.

As you start to lather soap all over your skin, your thoughts move on
to your sir's instructions to reflect on leaving the house. Your
misbehavior yesterday puzzles you. It feels so long ago; what were you
even thinking? You weren't ready to leave the house, naked with that
word scrawled across your chest, and you had defiantly told your
boyfriend and sir "no." You reckon that it must have come from a place
of fear. You give yourself some leeway because it was a big step, and
you were afraid. But defiance isn't your normal reaction, so something
must've been going on. Fear... You think to yourself. Was it fear, or
was it doubt? Or was it shame? Emotional vocabulary isn't your strong
suit. You continue to ponder rubbing your soapy hands, making sure all
the parts of you are clean. Your thoughts about yesterday contrast
your physical reality as you start to stroke your dick; you haven't
touched your own cock in such a long time; it feels so lovely even
though it's small. But you like that it's small because it reinforces
your place below real men. And deep down, you don't actually want to
touch your dick, even though it feels good. You were there for other
men to enjoy, and your sexual satisfaction comes from pleasing them.
Sure, you can get yourself off, but it's not the same. Maybe you're
thinking about yesterday all wrong, and it's not about you, but the
dynamic between you and your boyfriend, your, sir. Maybe the breakdown
wasn't about your emotional state but about your emotional state
relative to him. He gave you a command, and you didn't follow it.
That's all that matters, not what was going on inside of your head. He
knows you, knows what you want, and knows what you need, but you
didn't trust him... Trust... That was the issue. Conveniently you come to
this conclusion as your shower routine is wrapping up. You're not sure
that you're ready to confront this with him. It's one thing to process
it and accept it in your head; it's another thing to say it out loud.
Being a good boy, and being right, are both very important to you, so
apologizing for a mistake is very hard because it's admitting a
failure on two fronts. But there's no way around this; the only way is
to address it head-on. So you steal yourself as you dry off and head
back to the bedroom.


Your boyfriend looks up from his phone as you enter the bedroom and
kneel by the side of the bed.

"I'm ready for our conversation, sir," you say as your ass cheeks hit
your heels in a kneeling position.

Your boyfriend swings his legs around off the bed, sitting on the edge
to face you. He is fully nude, and his glorious man cock is right at
eye level. He says, "we're on equal footing for this conversation.
You're not collared, and you don't have to kneel. I want you to speak
freely."

"Thank you, sir. I know. But I would rather be kneeling for what I
have to tell you, " you say, then continue. "I was reflecting in the
shower, and I appreciate your sternness with me yesterday as we were
leaving the house. It's exactly what I needed, to be reminded of my
place. It was re-centering for me at the time. And I want to apologize
for the way that I reacted. I was afraid and doubted your direction
and spoke before I thought." You continue as you place your hands on
his muscled thighs. "Ultimately, my mistake was more than talking
back. It was that I didn't trust you. It was a big step for me, and,
like I said, I was afraid. But I know that everything you do is for me
and that your orders are a way to develop me into a better person. So,
I want to reaffirm that I do trust you 100%, and I will do better next
time. And I'm sorry." You finish as you give his inner thigh a little
kiss because you think kissing his feet might be a little much after
he said that y'all were on an equal footing for the convo. He grabs
your chin and pulls it up to look you in the eyes and says, "You're a
good boy. I can tell you've thought this through. Now, why don't you
kiss my feet to show me how sorry you are" like he was reading your
mind. So you lean down and kiss each of his feet in turn. As you
return to your seated kneeling position, you notice that his cock is
noticeably more full.  You held yourself together to get out what you
needed to say, but now, a rush of emotions floods over you; you feel
deeply in love, a deep connection with your sir. He notices and pulls
your man for a big hug, holding your face against his abs and wrapping
both his arms and legs around you as you take deep breaths and a tear
rolls down your face for the second time this morning. He just holds
you tight, rubbing your hair and calling you a good boy until you calm
down and release the embrace.

Then, as he keeps petting your hair, he says, "You're so many things
to me, my little chameleon. You're my love, my bf, my boy, my fem
slut, my pup, and now even my fag. But most importantly, no matter
what you are on any given day, you are mine." Then, grabbing a bundle
of hair in his first, he playfully pulls your hair and shakes your
head back and forth. He repeats, "Mine, all mine!" and gives your ass
a little slap.

You giggle and reply, and with a smile on your face, say, "You're
right, sir. I am, sir, I feel all those things; I'm most comfortable
when I clearly understand your desires when I clearly understand my
role."

As he rubs your back, he replies, "Ok then, I'd love it if your
keeping being my fag until we go back home; it's so fucking sexy to
see you struggle with your inner feelings of pride and see you choose
to give in to the debasement."

"Yes, sir, I'm surprised how much I like it myself."

"I can see how much you like it," as he reaches down and taps your
hardening little boy dick with the back of his hand. Then he grabs
your chin and pulls your face up so he can look directly at you and
says, "But I want to make you understand before you agree that we
haven't even remotely found your limits. You've made a huge step by
telling all the men here you're a faggot. But acting like one is still
going to be hard for your strong-willed self. Much harder than that
apology you just delivered. And you will be giving up a lot of
control. You'll be ordered to do things, and expected to follow those
orders, even when you don't want to. But obeying is part of your
submission. Faggots submit."

You hadn't thought of that, and it makes you unsure again. He wouldn't
be warning you unless he already had plans and knew it would be a
problem. "Like what?" You ask

"Well, faggots aren't ashamed that they crave, that they live for,
real men's dick. Implied in that is that they aren't real men. It's
more than just submission. It's subjugation and humiliation, public
humiliation. You know, that porn site that we watch all the time.
Where the frat boys bring in a boy and haze him, humiliate him, and
degrade him while laughing and getting off. That's how men treat
faggots... and the faggots like it and want more. "

You're not sure you want all that. It's a lot, and like he said, you
still have some pride. But as you've found that you actually enjoyed
rising to every challenge that's been thrown at you. At first, you
were always apprehensive, not sure if you could go through with it.
But you let go of that each time. You got into the car naked with
"faggot" scrawled across your chest. You followed Orion's commands
while being led around on a leash. You were introduced as a fag, then
kneeled in front of your boyfriend's friends. And ultimately, you were
used as a sex object for a large group of leather sirs. And instead of
feeling like you had to relinquish your pride to do all that, you
found that submitting actually made you feel more pride in your
descent into faggotry.  You're not done. You want more. You want to go
farther. You don't feel like there is any limit. Like he can read your
mind again, he goes on to say, "Seeing you like that makes me so proud
of you," and your alignment on this point brings a warm feeling to
your heart. You've never felt closer and more secure with him.

You respond, "I'm really liking being your faggot, sir. I really
appreciate how you've pushed me, and I want more. I'm up for the
challenge and trust that you will take care of me, so I think I want
to keep being your faggot"

"Good boy, but `I think' isn't good enough. We're only proceeding if
you `need' this boy."

"I do need it, sir; I can't go back."

"I'm not convinced; you'll have to beg for it, boy."

"Mmmmm, siiiir," you wine, "The thought of not being your faggot
anymore is really scary for me. I wanna stay your faggot sooo baaaad.
Pleeese sir! Pleeese,

Pleeeeese! PLEEEESE!!!" You pathetically plead, trying to make the
most desperate facial expression possible.

"What would you give to be my faggot, boy?" He asks

"Anything, everything, sir," you reposed eagerly

"No, be specific, boy. What would you give?" He says with a mixture of
a stern voice and facial expression but a casual posture. Leaving back
to prop himself up on the bed

This request stops you while you think to yourself what specially you
would give. What do you have?

 "I'll give you my body, sir."

"Go on..."

"I'll give you control of my body; if you don't like where it is, I'll
move. If you don't like how it looks, I'll change it."

He makes a happy sir grunt, and his dick starts to plump as he
seductively says, "Go on..."

"I'll give you my pleasure, sir."

He grunts again and says, "Oh? How so, boy?"

"I'll give you control of how and when I get pleasure. If you want me
to suffer, I'll accept your agony. If you want to grace me with your
pleasure, I'll bask in ecstasy. And if you want me denied, I'll
retract from anything pleasurable while itching for its return."

"I'm starting to like the sound of this boy," he says in a husky voice
as he starts to softly caress his fully erect cock right in front of
your face. Your mouth waters with desire as he asks, "Do you want me
to own you faggot?"

"You already own me, sir," you reply. "You found the faggot in me and
showed me who I really am sir; I'm all yours, sir."

"All mine? Everything boy?

"Yes, sir"

"And what about your attention, boy? Your focus? Is that mine too? We
had a mishap with that yesterday as we were leaving the house."

"Yes, sir," you reply, "my attention and focus are yours. I can keep
it on you, sir."

"Say more, boy," he says in an authoritative tone, reaching down to
stroke his massive cock.

"My default focus will be on you, sir, on your desires, sir, on your
goals, pleasure, sir." Then the words came easily, tumbling out of
you." In times of stillness, I'll be thinking of ways to please you,
sir. And if not, my brain will be blank, sir. I'll work to anticipate
your needs, sir. And when you address me, I'll listen attentively and
obey."

"Good boy, how did I get to be so lucky?" He says, rubbing your head
and pulling you into his lap.

He asks this question a lot, and it always confuses you. You feel like
the lucky one. He makes you feel secure and loved. He does all the
work, thinking of creative ways to challenge you and expand your
horizons. He found this place and got you in. All you do is obey, and
sure, that's hard sometimes, but you feel like you get way more out of
being with him than you put in. And the thought makes you commit
internally to double your efforts to make him happy.

But it must have been a rhetorical question because he interrupts your
thoughts, saying.

"Ok, boy, let's continue this faggot journey you're on. But we need to
put a bow on this conversation to close it effectively and transition
you from this state of equality back to my faggot. How should we seal
the deal?"

You really just want his cock in you, either pushing deep into your
throat or stretching your hole open. But you know that now isn't the
time, and it strikes you more as a reward than a conclusion. Then you
realize that the musk coming out his crotch since he pulled your head
into it has been having a strong effect on you. So you nuzzle your
nose in deeper and say, "Your scent is a good trigger, sir," and that
makes his bone pulse.

He says, "ok, boy, let's imprint you with my sir pheromones and get
you back in the right headspace. Breath deep. Take it all in. Let that
musk penetrate every cell." As he grabs your head and growls.

"More, boy, inhale as much as you can, get dizzy for me," he continues
as he lets go of your head and reaches across the bed. "Go for it,
boy, take in that manly bouquet." He encourages you, and he wraps the
collar back around your neck and buckles it. "Your time to take it in
is almost up, boy; make sure you get enough," he says as his stench
takes its effect. Your inhibitions are falling away, and your
willpower is waning. You bury your head in his crotch more, wiping his
junk across your whole face, inhaling deep, hoping to smear his smell
all over so you can carry it around with you. You're dizzy and lost in
it. The pathetic display makes him chuckle.

He pushes your head away, saying, "ok faggot, I know you're needy, but
that's enough for now. I have one goal for you for the rest of our
stay here. All of your actions and tasks stem from this goal. And
that's to let go of all those pesky thoughts that bring doubt into
your head." Then he continues emphasizing the point with light slaps
on the cheeks with each word, "You're my faggot." Then he grabs your
head with both hands to look directly at you as he says, "And good
faggots don't doubt their status... now tell me I'm right, boy."

And you nod and say, "Yes sir, your right."

He lets go of you while saying, "ok, boy, let's get going. After you
bathe me, we can go down for breakfast. Set out a casual outfit for me
and a set of cuffs and knee pads for yourself.  Then eat one of those
granola bars that I got for you and meet me in the shower," and he
heads that way leaving you wondering why you should eat now if you're
on your way to breakfast. But you obey.


You kneel as you enter the back of the spacious shower. He is facing
you with the spray of water hitting his back. Small mist flows around
him and settles on you, wetting your skin. His body is gorgeous as it
towers above you with little rivulets of water flowing down the
valleys between his muscles. A huge smile develops on your face as you
take in the site.

 He takes a step closer, asking, "Want my piss, boy?" And you nod
excitedly. He releases it through his plump member, and his warm
golden stream hits you in your chest as he makes a satisfied moan. You
lower your head to coat your hair and let it flow down your back
before looking up so it can hit your face. This is the first you've
ever willingly been pissed on. The group of men showered you last
night. But they didn't ask. Something about wanting it changes the
experience. You revel in the power dynamic. It's a physical
manifestation of power exchange. Him releasing and you receiving. The
warm steam connects the two of you and washes over you, and it's
glorious. You don't want it to end, but it must. As it decreases to a
trickle, you move closer, so the drops fall on you. As you hug his
leg, he says, "Good boy, doubly marked, first, imprinted with my scent
and now tagged with my piss. We'll work you up to drinking it one
day." And you take a dry gulp of air at the thought, not sure if you'd
be able to drink it. But you'll try it if he wants. You nod yes
against his leg, at a loss for words.

He cuts into the moment, saying, "ok, boy, shower time, I love this
time with you, but I'm getting hungry," so you release and start to
prepare his bathing ritual. Bathing him has been something you've been
doing for a while as an act of service. It's surprisingly intimate.
There is always a sexual edge to it, but it's not always associated
with sex, like today. Over the repetitions, you have developed a
routine so you both know what to expect. The ritual starts with
shampooing his hair with an extended scalp massage. After that, you
lather his body wash and lift each arm in turn, scrubbing everywhere,
especially his pits, before doing his back, chest, and abs. You trace
the contours of his body slowly and seductively with the lather, using
the cloth in one hand and your other hand directly. You kneel again to
bathe his lower half, moving from ass to crotch to legs, being sure to
keep a generous lather and making sure you reach all the crevices.
It's always a pleasure to feel his smooth skin and have access to
parts that are typically covered by clothes. He stands fairly still
through the whole process as you move around him and guide him back
and forth into the flow of the showerhead. You're busy, so you can't
maintain eye contact, but you glance up to check in with him often,
and every time, he is already looking directly at you, watching,
supervising the whole event, only commenting if you need correction or
direction. You finish with his feet, lifting them one at a time as he
studies himself with a hand on your shoulder, finally bowing to kiss
each as the official end to the ritual.

He towels off as you wait, kneeling and wet for him to pass you his
towel when he's done. You use his wet towel as a way to reinforce your
position as second to him, then join him in the bedroom, where he is
putting on the clothes you laid out for him.


As he pulls something out of the drawer, he says, "I had a thought
after you talked back the other night, and now I want to try it out."
You wait apprehensively as he proceeds to unroll what looks like a
sheet of glossy paper. "This is Tegaderm." He says as he cuts off a
piece about 3 inches wide and 10 inches long." It's a clear adhesive
medical covering,'' he says as he peels a layer of white backing off
it, leaving a floppy clear sheet in his hand. "You might have seen it
on top of a fresh tattoo, but I have something else in mind," he
continues as he steps toward you. He grabs the back of your head with
his free hand, holding it steady. You don't resist. With the other
hand, he places the strip over your mouth. It sticks on, gluing your
mouth shut like a clear piece of duct tape. Then he unceremoniously
lets go and resumes getting dressed. You reach up to feel it. It's as
smooth as your skin and reaches all the way from one cheek to the
other. You can still move your jaw, but not your lips. And you are
keenly aware of the sound of your breath through your nose because you
can't breathe through your mouth anymore. You try to talk, but your
lips can't separate, so all that comes out is  "mmmm mmmm mm mmm."

"Go take a look," he says, so you move to the full-length mirror on
the other side of the room. You can't even notice it. You reach up
again to feel and hear him say, "No more touching. You're not allowed
to do anything that will draw attention to the fact that you're
gagged. Think of this as a faggot training tool, like little faggot
training wheels, to help remind you not to speak until you've grown
enough not to talk back. I don't even want to hear you try to speak."
You lower your head in sadness, wondering how you ended up here, and
out of habit, you try to reply with "Yes sir," but you can't; only
mumbles come out again. His head whips back to you, and he glares at
you with a raised eyebrow. You attempt to defend yourself and explain
that you weren't disobeying. That you were just trying to say, "Yes
sir." But you've already forgotten about the tape again, and it's just
mumbled... again. Your hands fly up to cover your mouth in shock and
surprise.

He forcefully replies, "BOY! I literally just said that you aren't to
draw attention to the fact that you're gagged, and you immediately
disobeyed me... twice." And AGAIN, you try to protest and explain, but
even though you're waving your arms emphatically, you still can't make
your point. It's only muffled "mmm mm mmm" noises.

"WOW! Again!? You really need this lesson! Position four!" And he
snaps and points to his feet.

Your first inclination is to continue to protest. You didn't know the
rules. He wasn't being clear, and it's not fair that you're in
trouble. But there is no point; you've already tried. You begrudgingly
get down on all fours with your forehead and lips, or actually, the
plastic, resting on his feet. You're having strong feelings of
resentment. You had such a nice morning with him, and the connection
was so strong. He accepted your apology. Then BAM, he starts spanking
your bare ass with a stinging slap. "I'm disappointed in you already."

SLAP! "I know it was a big adjustment from your freedom in
conversation this morning, but."

SLAP! "I expect better."

SPANK! "There are consequences for brattiness."

SPANK! "I expect you to obey me."

BAM! "Wait here."

and he drags his foot out from under your lips and steps away.

Your emotions swirl. Your ass stings from the impacts. You're pissed,
but you're also ashamed. Being a disappointment to him cuts deeper
than a physical impact. And you're honestly sorry. But you can't tell
him that because of this tape, so you resolve to show him. You resolve
to be a better fag for him and internalize this lesson. You decide to
accept the clear muzzle as its intended purpose, training wheels, and
promise yourself not to make that mistake again.

"Back to position 5, boy," he says, and you raise yourself back up to
all fours, hands, and knees."

He returns with a curved wooden stick that looks a little like a bow
and says, "This is a humbler, an apt name because I feel like a little
humility is in order," and a sense of dread falls over you. You've
seen humblers in some of the more intense BDSM porn, but you've never
seen one in real life. You steel yourself for what's next as he shakes
it in front of your face.  "The next time I hear a sound from your
mouth or see you draw attention to the tape in any way, I'm putting
this on you." You don't make a peep; just nod your head affirmatively
up and down.

"That's more like it," he says and smacks your ass, more playfully
this time. "Now, throw on some PJs so we can go to breakfast. I worked
up quite an appetite last night, and I'm starving."