Date: Wed, 23 Dec 2020 12:09:57 -0500 From: thesevisions@gmail.com Subject: London Slave for American Master Chapter 1- I had met him online, and we hit it off straight away- he needed a slave to humiliate, I needed an Alpha to give my life a meaning. It was a perfect match. He put me through my paces, having me shave, stretch, even controlled my orgasms- but with the distance between us (him an American, me being a Londoner) there were aspects of slavery I just couldn't perform. So when, after a few beers, I proposed to his feet, I expected a flat refusal. I was jerked out of my perverse fantasy when he said yes. He told me about how lavish the reception would be, how all my friends and family would attend, all awaiting the perfect moment, "you may kiss the groom". I knew he was joking, obviously, but I hoped against hope he wasn't. We talked about dates, times, venues. I was so excited, I agreed to fly out the next month. In times to come I often regretted what came next. But more often than that, I knew it was the best decision I had ever made. He accepted, telling me he needed a bitchboy around to keep his house clean. He told me I would spend every night cuddled up to my new spouses, so long as I kept them clean and kept him entertained. I had dropped out of University at the time, I couldn't turn back to my parents, and I didn't really have any other options. So I booked a cheap flight to Detroit and packed a skimpy suitcase with my sluttiest clothes, and started the journey that would sculpt and define my life. Getting off the plane was hard- my body was resisting this move with every ounce of strength, I thought I would keel over with every step, but I took deep breaths and I kept myself moving towards my luggage. There he was. Maybe 5'11". Masculine build. Crisp shirt, dark hair, and a light but sophisticated beard. Of course, I'd seen a couple of his pics (I thought he'd be a little less impressive irl, most people are) but none of them did any justice for the full scope of this dominant man. He noticed me, furrowed his brow and walked over. "You took your time! I was starting to think you would be a no-show." Jesus, his voice was so casually masculine. It made me feel instantly ashamed of my camp twink-ish self. "No way Sir, I wouldn't miss this for the world." He grabbed my jaw uncomfortably. "Not `Sir', fag. Master." I apologised and he let go. I didn't want him to. A little further behind him was a second man, the boyfriend I'd heard so much about, I presumed. Sir Dustin was around 5'9", with a more slender body, and these striking eyes that instantly felt warm and humorous. He was equally impressive, but more withdrawn. I didn't think he cared much for me, but I knew I would change that with time. My new Master took me back to his car. I opened up the back and dumped my suitcase, then made my way to the back seat. "What the fuck do you think you're doing fag?" I was just getting in, I wasn't sure what he meant. "Don't give me that retarded puppydog look. You're my property, you go in the trunk." I didn't want to make a scene at the airport, so I did as he said, and resolved to bring it up later. It took a minute to work myself in- the boot was already stuffed, but the second I got my head down the boot was slammed shut. I heard the buzz of the electric lock activating. It was exiting, being tossed around with every turn, battered by bags, and it only felt like I was in there for a minute before the car dew to a halt. The lock clicked open again. I waited, eager to escape and get to know the property I'd be living in for the foreseeable future. Master pulled up the boot door, the sun was blindingly bright and I had to squint and let my eyes adjust. Fortunately, I was perfectly at crotch level, and sneaked an extended pervy look at his sizable bulge. I clambered out (reluctantly of course, there weren't many guys as good looking and well-endowed as he was back home), standing to attention in a mock-show of my submission to him. He laughed a little- a manly chuckle, like he was watching a child opening Christmas gifts. "Okay bitch, first rule- you stay naked in the house at all times, unless it's for my amusement or we're entertaining guests who might not... appreciate the sight." So, I stripped down, t-shirt, trousers, underwear, and folded them into a neat pile on the ground, stepping into a new life with my new Master and his boyfriend. Chapter four: arrangements, footrest, sleep "You can make yourself at home at my feet, fag." He said, propping himself up on the sofa, boyfriend in his arms. He flicked on what sounded like a classic film noir, wistful monologues, burlesque girls, dramatic confrontations. Obviously, I wasn't too focused on it. "Thank you Master"- just saying it made me shiver a little, but I keeled down like the bitch I knew I was, and pushed my face deep into his sweaty soles, the taste soaked right through the fabric, his muscular size 11s pulling at my lips, squeezing my cheeks. Something told me he really got off on humiliating me like that, working my aching face till I was kneeling there on all fours, covered in my own saliva and Master's sweat. I heard him chuckle, and it broke my focus. He kicked me softly in the stomach to make sure he had fully broken the spell. "That's enough, cunt, you'll have plenty of time with those thick size 11s later. Arch your back, I want to put my feet up." As I adjusted myself uncomfortably, I scoped out Master Mike a little more... intimately. He'd changed into a pair of thin grey basketball shorts, and staring up the leg, I could make out a mat of thick black pubes. Thick balls in the bush. Thick meat. The sweat-stained white jock he wore was hiding none of his colossal masculinity. Everything about this man, this God, was beyond my greatest sexual fantasies. As I was spying, I felt his feet rubbing up and down my back. I could get used to this, I thought. I rubbed back affectionately, bending my back to give his feet a better grip, and settled down a little. I lay there long after the film had finished. Master and Sir Dustin kissed a lot- I kind of liked being there to watch them, they were such a hot couple, but they were cute together, too. I felt a painful yearning in my stomach, a desperation to find someone I could love in the same way. But I knew deep down, that I never could- that kind of love was for Men, and I was only a fag. I cooked dinner (as all live-in fags should), roast lamb with red cabbage. I lay down on the floor and ate my helping from a doggy bowl. I was half way through my meal when I heard a grunt, and looked over to Master. Sir Dustin was on his knees under the table, half-way impaled on his godly cock. The huge shaft was throbbing and wet, I couldn't peel my eyes away. I was so intensely jealous of Sir, that I forgot all about my meal. I just stared, dejected and lonely, watching the repetitive motion of his expert oral skills. What I wouldn't do to suck that cock every night, what I wouldn't do to get my throat around it. They didn't break off until Master shot his load, pulling out and squirting Sir Dustin's cheeks. He squinted a little, went to the bathroom to wash off, and came back. He was out cold as soon as he sat down- I couldn't blame him, that was an incredible blowjob. Just the sight of it got me horny. Master Mike lightly gripped the hair on the back of my neck, holding Sir Dustin against his chest with his other arm, and pulled me over to the bedroom. The evening was over. He placed his sleeping lover on the sheets, and took me to a small sort of walk-in-wardrobe room. It was full of stylish clothes, with a small cage containing what looked like a hedgehog. He picked out two thick strands of rope, and hogtied me roughly. It was pretty harsh, I felt my wrists burning up, but before I could complain, he forced a pair of well-worn white socks into my mouth. That smell, the smell of Alpha sweat, was enough to sooth me. Pulling at my tight underwear, he teased my half-exposed hole- he was rough, pulling them higher and higher into a painful wedgie. I had always dreamed of a bully like him, but I thought my luck had dried up after high school. He picked me up without breaking a sweat, hooking my boxer briefs on the closet door, before he let go. As I dropped, I gasped in shock, the pull of gravity stretching them feet above my head, letting me dangle helplessly, my ass burning with friction and humiliation. Master laughed, swinging me around, pulling me down and watching me bob up and down by the hood of my underwear. He hit me with all his force, like a dangling punching bad, and I wheezed helplessly, stressed, stretched and aching. He snapped pictures; I saw flashes in the dark. I knew I would end up on his Tumblr page. When he had adequately humiliated me, he pulled up the seat of my underwear and pulled them, roughly, all the way over my head. I tasted my own ass sweat, nearly in tears, but with a few last flashes, the day was over. He left quietly, tiptoeing to where Sir Dustin slept, closing the door to leave me in the pitch black. I stayed up late- I wasn't used to sleeping like this, curled up on the floor. I guess I would have to find a way, though. Get used to it, or get the hell back to London. But the feet, the godly Alpha feet, and the way he laughed when I humiliated myself for him, the way he talked down to me, he was irresistible- the perfect man, the perfect Master. Chapter 3- choking, morning urinal spill (fail), punishment Kicked in the side- the only way to start the day. I groggily peeled my face off the floor, adjusted my eyebrows, frowned at the hypnotically throbbing lines of the small storage room. Master crouched over me, fiddling with the knot. With a triumphant "aha" he peeled it away, freeing my aching arms and legs into an untidy sprawl on the floor, before he pulled out the saliva-soaked socks. "Now, my faggoting 101 lecture begins: open up your mouth, bitch." Not quite knowing what to expect, I parted my dry lips a little and looked up. "Not like that, PROPERLY, fag. Like you're at the dentists. If you fuck this up, we might have to visit one to rearrange your teeth, so obey me like a good slave." I open my mouth uncomfortably, with a loud yawning "aaah"- I tried my hardest to sound masculine, but my powers of illusion were somewhat limited when he shot a steaming shower of golden musky morning piss in my face. I was covered completely. "Holy shit!"-Master couldn't control his laughter staring at my dripping face-"you're meant to get it in your mouth, fag." Then, looking closer- "Fuck! Look at that stain on the carpet. Stupid fucker." He raised his hand to strike, I whimpered and ducked, hoping to get away relatively bruise-free, but he was pissed off, and I couldn't get out of the way in time. He just kept wailing on me, again and again, every time coming in harder than the last, getting crueler with every blow. He pinned me by my neck, one foot tucked under it while his other leg bent down at a deep angle, choking the air out of me. While all this was happening, he reached for a belt in his top cupboard- long leather, black, creaseless. He pulled it tight and lashed at my exposed belly- leaving a violet-streaked mark as he lifted it over his shoulder again. It stung with bitter icy pain; I was certain it would swell into an ugly mark. Wrapping the belt round my neck, he pulled it tight, choking me hard. I grabbed and kicked and pulled at it, but I couldn't free myself- I was hot and sweaty, as was Master, and with his hairy torso, covered in sweat, pressed against my back, I couldn't help but get a soft erection. He eased up with the belt, letting it slack. I think seeing my boner told him that I was enjoying it too much; it lost its lustre, became too passé. His mind shuffled to the next frontier of my training. He smacked my ass a bit for good measure, then dressed and headed off to work. Sir Dustin gave me a list of chores to complete around the house, and I took a long shower before I started to work. Chapter 4- Laundry duty, sniffing briefs/jerk off, cock in cage I set to work on some of my chores for the day- the laundry first, as Sir Dustin was studying in the kitchen, and the master bedroom would be empty. I collected up a few t-shirts, yesterday's shorts, and then I saw it- draped over the cupboard, that straining, yellowing, neurotically erotic and sick-makingly aphrodisiac- his well-used jockstrap. I reached down to my cock and squeezed it lightly. I looked around, cautious not to get caught slacking, and lifted it to my nose. Ecstasy. I started jacking, my hand on my dick, slobbering a little with the piggish indulgence. I forced it deeper into my nose, into my mouth. To think I was this close to his godly nuts. I couldn't stop myself from dropping to my knees, pulling the strap unceremoniously over my face, tying the elastic in a shoddy knot, and forcing a spit-covered finger up my near-virgin hole. I was jacking so hard, fingerfucking my asshole harder than I'd ever done before, so close, tensing up,-- I felt a large hand grab my crotch so firmly that I cried out a little. "The fuck is this, retard?" He slapped my cock, it stung like sunburn. "It's my useless cock, Master" "No, faggot. It's a tiny, pathetic, feminine clit. You're a clitboy. You understand?" He slapped it again, harder this time. "Yes Master!" I tried to shout, but his tight grip was unbearable. He walked over to the dresser (dragging me by my aching clit) and pulled out a little black box. "This is a cage, fag. Your cage. You wear this at all times from now on, got it? I'm going to keep this key safe" he said, holding up a sleek steel key and a resin-cast chastity cage "If I ever catch you with this, if you steal it, of if you try to get it replicated, I'll punch your lights out, tie you up in the basement, and beat every tooth in that miserable cocksucking mouth down your throat. Are we clear?" "Yes Master, clear." With that threat, he pinned the cage in, pulled a little, spat on my dick (for lube, he explained) and twisted the lock shut. "That's what I thought fag. Look at that clit stretch the cage! God, you love it. Maybe I'll have to invest in some smaller models to move you into...?" I couldn't stand that teasing tone, it made me feel so small and timid, like I was staring up at this god of a man and he just laughed. Chapter 5- foot torture (I'm madly in love with this) It was later that day, early afternoon. I was outside hanging up the washing (briefs included) when I saw Master Mike on the horizon, coming fast down the street. "Hey retard! I've got a gift for you!" I could hardly speak, my co-- clit was throbbing in its tight plastic case. He was topless, covered in sweat, his thick Alpha manhood only hidden by a thin silver pair of basketball shorts. He was also, I noticed, barefoot. I didn't understand why until he was only a few feet away, he lunged forward and tackled me to the ground. Scrambling back up, he looked down at me and sent a thick gob of spit all over by cheek. "Look at those soles." He lifted his muscular right foot over my face. It was almost black with sweat and dirt. He must have been out for at least an hour to get that kind of filth. "You smell that musk, fag? That's what a man smells like. Now lick it." Nothing on this earth would have convinced me to lick those feet. I closed my mouth and tried to pinch my lips shut, but Master kicked down on my jaw. Once, twice, three times. I rolled on the floor, desperate and hurt, but had to give in. I opened as wide as I physically could, stuck out my slimy tongue, and lapped at his vile soles. He laughed at the visible disgust on my face, and the tears in my eyes, and I'll admit, I was ashamed of myself. I loved the taste of his sweat- it was so pungent, so masculine. "Why are you crying, footfag? Tears of joy, no doubt." I could only whimper a meek affirmative. I couldn't help but love it, it felt so natural, so completely right. Swallowing his largest toe filled my cheek with an ugly bulge. It was a little rough on the bottom, but choking on it felt amazing. He had eased up his attack, but began again with full force- two toes, then three. He slammed them deep, I rushed to try and lap at the toe funk building between them. The more toes he forced in, the more throat spit I produced, which lubed up his increasingly pristine feet. My face was covered in it, like one of those skin-rub face masks. Then he pushed me beyond my wildest fantasies. He ploughed in his whole width of his foot, deep into my mouth. Almost mechanically, he pushed it a little, deeper and deeper, easing until I couldn't even beneath past them. I tried to beg with my eyes, pleading him desperately to give me air, the room going fuzzy around my eyes as I tried to push his leg up-- I must have passed out from oxygen deficiency. When I woke up, I was indoors, on the couch, Master Mike next to me with a bemused smirk on his face. Shirtless, I was glad of that. He ran his fingers through my hair, softly, almost compassionately. I felt like a puppy stretched out over his lap, his warm breath on me was overpowering- there was no illusion of love, but I was his property. Whether he beat me, bruised me, of knocked me out cold, he would make sure I remained intact as long as he could keep me in a usable condition. "You took that pretty well. Most slaves don't last half as long. You've been a good boy today." I moaned a little, his palm firmly squeezing my plump ass. "Thank you, Master." It was only a shy mumble; I couldn't quite make the words come out of my mouth. "It's getting late. I'll put some dinner out for you." I didn't want him to leave me there. I grabbed at his shirt, I moaned- I was feeling, like, some kind of withdrawal. I was addicted to his ownership, to servitude. Suddenly I couldn't imagine living without his feet, this man I'd only know for a few days. Obviously, my pathetic attempts to keep him still weren't successful. He came back 5 minutes later with an open can and a bare plate. I shot him my most forced quizzical look, and he scoffed. Scooping out this thick, dense block, he explained: "You're my property, fag. Like I would own a dog. I'm responsible for you, and that's a privilege most faggots don't have. But obviously, being my little bitch has drawbacks too. So you're going to stuff your belly with dog food. I'll be back in a couple of hours; we're going to check out this new Chinese place on 1st. Enjoy it, and be grateful that I'm feeding you at all." I could only grunt in response, I knew I'd lost any will to fight him. I picked out my fork and turned around. "Nuh-uh. Dogs don't use forks, fag." I couldnt believe what I was doing. I wouldn't do it. There was no way I was going to bury my face in a plate of dog food for this guy's amusement. I licked the surface layer of the kidney and chicken flavoured mush on the plate. It was slick, it tasted like shit. I mentally prepared to take a bite- Master shoved my head deep into the muck with impatient fury. "C'mon creep, I haven't got all night." I imagined I was a pig, wallowing in filth. I might have even snorted once or twice, forcing the dogfood down one bite at a time, trying desperately to get through this humiliating command. When I was done, I lay down and took a minute to breath. "Lick the plate, piggy. Be grateful to your Master." I licked it clean, quickly, roughly. "Thank you Master, for the fine meal." "There's a good boy. Would you be okay with being locked in? I don't see any reason to leave the door unlocked while Sir Dustin and I are out. But if we had any burglars, you'd probably love to suck them off, wouldn't you fag?" I nodded grimly "yeah you would. So, do I leave the doors open?" "No; please, no Master." "Okay boy. Back later." Chapter 6: The bathroom 30 minutes after, Master sent me a text: "Hey fag. Last chore for your list, clean up the toilet." I was confused- I cleaned the whole bathroom earlier, polished, scrubbed- I checked the toilet bowl. It was covered in acrid yellow piss, Master's, no doubt. My phone buzzed again: "Show me how you clean it up. No cheating pussyboy, use your tongue." Fuck. I didnt know if I wanted to take my chances and defy him, I sat and twirled my thumbs for a minute. If I did this, if I made myself this low, this pathetic, I could never recover from it. I had a choice between a life of slavery or a life of risk. Simplicity or complexity. The choice was clear, I was his to own. I pressed my tongue against the sleek porcelain, licking deeply, feverishly, like a bastard mongrel. It tasted strangely aromatic, yellow flecks reminding me of the Godly Alpha who left me his glorious sample for his amusement. It made my mouth so dry, like sandpaper, deceptively rough. I did the natural thing for any pussyboy to do, and slumped up the toilet water. This stuff was much stronger, I felt my face contorted with disgust, like biting a lemon, but this was all I had, so I kept going, sip after sip after sip, until my mouth and my stomach were stuffed full of Alpha piss. Pulling out my phone I set it to record and went at it, hell for leather, slurping, blundering, desperate like a pig. I ended the video when the toilet was adequately clean and sent it off. I waited fifteen minutes, checked for messages, no response. Two blue ticks- seen. Fuck. Had I done something wrong? I flicked up to the command and picked through it word by word. I really worked myself into a kind of pining anxiety, I had forgotten about my filthy face. I slipped into the shower and let it run until it was scalding hot. I couldn't stand having his piss on me. I felt worthless, a rag tossed aside and left to fester and wallow in- I heard Master Mike's key fiddling in the lock down stairs, got myself dried and prepped to be confronted. I ran out of the fogged-up bathroom, still completely naked. Master raised a questioning eyebrow at me, all my confidence dissolved. Sir Dustin laughed loudly, seeing me for the first time in my tiny chastity cage. "I was wondering, Master, if- what you thought of my-" my voice trailed my thoughts rushed around in heavy winds, leaving my sentence in the dust. "You were a good boy. We're going to open up a bottle of wine, would you like to join us?" What. The actual. Fuck. In the short time I'd known this man, I'd been his sissy, his slave, his property, but not once did I think he'd make me a drinking buddy. Something was up. "It would be an honour, thank you Master!" He signalled me into the kitchen, pulling out a posh bottle of red wine, two glasses and a doggy bowl. He poured it out, told me to heel, roll over, play dead. I obliged, of course, he laughed lightly. That same handsome, casually masculine chuckle. When he was done playing with me, he told me I could take a break. And for the first time since I'd arrived, we talked, and they spoke to me like a man, and rare as those moments would be, I have treasured and will always treasure them above any others. Chapter 7: The Contract Woken again by a kick in the ribs, I kissed Master's feet with a rekindled passion. He let me sit there for a minute, tenderly cleaning all the night's sweat. He told me that I should get dressed; the lawyer was coming over in an hour. I didn't even think to question it, scrubbing myself up as quickly as I could and attempting to make myself look dignified (which took a considerable amount of effort). I threw on a tight t-shirt, briefs and was just pulling up a pair of shorts when Master walked in behind me. He grabbed my ass softly, and leaned into my ear: "Today's the lucky day, fag. You're going to be mine, and I'll own this pretty ass" he patted my ass "this stupid face" he slapped my face lightly. "this mouth." He pushed three fingers in to emphasise his dominance. I gagged lightly, not knowing what else to do. The lawyer arrived at 9:00 on the dot, I let him in and he pulled a large file from his briefcase, which he placed at the foot of the table. Master shook his hand, the kind of handshake men can give, but I had never managed in any satisfactory way. My hands were always too weak, or too clammy. We sat down, and the lawyer explained casually- "I'm here today for a transferal of property. I take it this is the object into question?"- he pointed at me with accusation. "Certainly is." Master said, uncharacteristically bubbly. "Can we try and make this as quick as it can be?" "Of course. I'll cut the crap with most of this stuff, it's just cursory stuff- signing for consent, and the like. You do consent to this, don't you?" he gave me a look and I knew there was only one answer. I nodded profusely. He had us sign several dotted lines, print our names, and within the hour he was ready to leave. "Can't thank you enough for this, David. Hey, what do you say to trying out my new official fucktool?" "Really? My wife has been a bit cold lately, I could use some action." He took me out to his car, forcing me over the jutting outcrop of the boot. He forced my shorts down by my ankles, and ripped a great gash down my pink briefs, giving him easy access. "Steady on, Chris, he's not that experienced. You're scaring my poor bitch." They both laughed. It felt incredible, having Master Mike talk about me like that, like I was just some cheap piece of furniture. And with that time, he almost cared about me- about how I was treated, at least. The lawyer wasn't hung like Master Mike, and he was thinner too. I took him without much difficulty, although I was a little worried my cage would scratch his shiny car. He lasted 10 minutes, and gave me a couple of good deep thrusts near the end. His load was huge, thick too. He rolled me down the hood and sighed with the release of his pent up scuzz. I was dripping from my cunt, so I reached down, gathered up the warm load, and pressed it to my lips, savouring the intimacy. It tasted old, sour. I hoped I didnt have to see him very often. I felt like such a cheap whore, I'd take any cock and all it took to convince me was a word from my new and Godly Alpha. As I shuffled humbly back to safety indoors, Master stared bemusedly- "Didn't you love that, fag? The feeling of a well-loved cock in that tight pussy?" "No Master, he tasted sour." "Listen retard, if- and ONLY IF- I allow you the honour of serving one of my superior friends, I expect you to love every second of it. You're a cheap whore. My cheap whore, and I'll tell you which cocks you live and which ones you suck for cash. We clear?" "Yes Master, I'm sorry Master." We headed back indoors, I set about my daily chores- cleaning the kitchen, washing the laundry (this time I knew better than to risk a sniff, though), and cooked lunch. Normally Sir Dustin cooked for Master, but it seemed like an easy enough chore I could take up to give them more leisure time. I'm not the greatest cook, but I always try my best to impress them- especially now that I was a full-time appliance, I decided to celebrate with a proper roast dinner. The two Men sat down to eat, I was given another can of dog food, this one was premium quality (I guess I was celebrating too). I was even given a fork to eat with, it was a complete shift it last night's experience. Afterwards I was left alone for the evening. Master was clearly hard for the whole meal, I was jealous of the incredible fuck I knew Sir Dustin was receiving. I was given 10 sheets of blank paper and a big pink sharpie. Master Mike told me to write out lines for awhile, to completely reinforce my being as an object. "I'm a slave for Master Mike. A slut. A urinal. An object." A painful 97 lines later, and my hand was giving up. Master saved me just in time, reviewing the admittedly rushed handwriting. "Not too shabby, fag. I think we need to work on your creativity, though. Pour yourself into your art." So saying, he picked up the marker and grabbed a tuft of my hair- I felt the wet felt on my forehead, scratching uncomfortably. I couldnt tell what he was writing, but I could guess. He kept going, moving down my cheeks, my chest, even across my ass, until I was covered head to toe in heavy pink writing. I felt so slutty, I made a real show of thanking him- kissing his feet, staring up at him from the floor, tears in my eyes. He loved to see me degraded, but I think what he really enjoyed was seeing me happy; happy as his slave, happy as an object. One last kiss to his right sole, and he interrupted "Good boy. I knew you would appreciate me branding you. Like my little pig. You're mine, and I take care of what's mine." I made some grunting piggy noises to show my appreciation. I think Sir Dustin even smiled, maybe he was finally coming round to the idea of having a house fag. Chapter 8: The Cellar Master Mike headed down to the cellar for his daily weight routine, Sir Dustin cooked breakfast, and for the first time since I'd arrived, I had nothing to do around the house. I felt a little bit lonely, a pang of regret in my chest, but I knew there was no alternative: this was my life now. I decided to slide down the basement steps and try to watch Master (it was always fun watching him get sweaty). I lowered my head down first, crawling on my stomach to stay low down and hopefully keep myself hidden. It was a dark room, and pretty cluttered- old furniture mainly, I guessed it was more for storage than anything else, and it was a wide space, stretching a few metres back. Near the bottom of the flight, attempting to pivot myself I saw exactly what I had hoped for. His Alpha body was hard at work, his powerful glutes tensed as he pulled violently away from the rowing machine. The loose shorts did nothing to conceal his godly body, his large cock, his well defined thighs. I got so caught up in studying his shape, I was caught off guard when he stood up, rubbed a towel around his sweaty neck, turned, and noticed me instantly. "Hey fag, is that you? No need to be shy, come down here. Were you admiring the view?" I couldn't meet his eye contact, I felt too ashamed of myself, spying on him, perving out like that. I stared at his matted sweaty chest hair instead. "Hey, its nothing to be ashamed of. Listen, I'm your owner now, and I understand that you want to see more of me. I want to see more of you too, fag. Just not in the same way." He patted my shoulder, I was reinvigorated, I remembered why this man was my owner- his soft masculinity, how open he could be about thing I thought were so embarrassing and private. Like showering naked in the locker rooms, I guess. I snapped back, remembering what was going on, and tried to tune in to his voice again. "But you know, boy, I'm going to have to punish you for being a little pervert and stalking me." "Yes Master, of course." He reached into a little draw in the corner, and pulled out a set of steel handcuffs. Playing with the hoops a little, he ordered me to stand with my back to the thick metal column by the stairs. When I had done so, he clicked the cuffs on, binding me to it, so I couldn't escape the beating I was about to get. Fuck. This wasn't what I was expecting. I thought it would be a slap on the wrist. But when the whip came out, I knew I was in major trouble. "How many lashes do you think you deserve, fag?" I couldn't think on the spot like that, I just sat their slack-jawed. "Word to the wise, if you go too low, I'll give you 100." My clit was stretching hard against my cage, I was painfully turned on by the brutal humour in his voice. "20, Master?" "I was going to say 10. But I guess we'll go with 20, because you're looking a little desperate down there." He nudged my crotch with his sweaty right foot, and I couldn't contain my little moan. Then he struck out, his first searing, painful lash right across my torso, instantly tears sprung to my eyes. He lumbered up, looking for a better angle, then again, like lightning, two more strokes- hard and fast, not nearly as hard as the first though. I think he saw how much he hurt me, and thought better of it. I tried to bite my lip, the blows kept coming, steady and heavy, the leather nearly burning me with the repetitive force of friction. I was more scarlet than white. I tried to take it like a man, but my balls were tightening up, and my squirming made my clit rub against the cage walls, soon my stomach was covered in long awaited pre. Seeing this, Master bent down and rubbed my belly- "Your enjoying this then, slut? Yeah, you're daddy's good little pain slut. Good boy." He pressed the salty fingers to my lips, one at a time, lightly pushing them open and forcing gradually deeper down my throat. He rubbed his saliva-covered fingers over his whip, and hit me again, with renewed force. Again at my throat, fingerfucking my throat pussy, I was so eager, so desperate to be filled with his beautiful round fingers. Saliva splattered down my chest to the floor. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. The hits were getting slower and harder, but I was nearly there I could see the finish line, even with my heaving purple chest, and then-- Eighteen. Eighteen collided with my crotch, narrowly kissing the cage, but I felt it take the wind out of me, and as I let out a puff of air... well, I let something else out too. Ribbon after ribbon of ball scuzz, all over my aching body. "Holy shit, that's amazing! We can call it a day there fag, you did great. I've never seen a pussy so utterly pathetic it could cum like that just from a little abuse." He ruffled my hair, I forgot how much pain I was in, because I was Master Mike's good boy. That was all that mattered to me, I knew today was a success. He headed out for a shower to clean up, and told me he'd be back in an hour to release the handcuffs, so I sat there wheezing. "Oh, and the other thing- if you ever want to watch me, just ask. No need to be a perv about it." And with that last word, he left up the stairs. Chapter 9: A Reward True to his word, an hour later Master was back with a clean steel key. He snapped it in the cuffs and I fell forward (dead legs and chest to the ground, still very painful). I looked up. Was he...? Naked. He was. His large balls swinging as he walked, his furry chest wide and warm. He got down on his knees, and picked me up a little. "Hey, hey. I was thinking about it, and I realised I might have gone a little too rough on you earlier. Not that you were complaining, but you're not as experienced as me, and I forget that. You'll learn though. That's for sure." He awkwardly cradled my head a little bit, between that beautiful slightly matted chest and his manly pits. It felt so homely, so natural, I wanted to spend every day like this. It was almost worth the beating. Needless to say, my head was spinning, I couldn't comprehend what he was thinking, but I loved it. He pushed his fingers through my hair again, stood up, and left. I sat paralysed in wanting, jealousy, shock. I heard him and Sir Dustin upstairs, in the kitchen, roughly breathing, heavy and fast. They fucked like pornstars, but they were so loving. I cried a little. I knew he could never feel the same way for me. But they were happy, so I was too. Chapter 10: Learning to be a sissy I finished up my chores for the day and tried to sleep that night. In the morning, I was the last to wake up. Master was out running errands, and Sir Dustin was in the kitchen. There was a package on the bed, a little white bag with pink paper handles. I checked the tag- To the fag. New training starts today! I pulled out the context in a little box, and folded the lid back. A lacy pair of pink panties, complete with suspenders and tights. Fuck, I was willing to do anything for Master, but this was too humiliating. I couldn't be seen dead in these. I fished out a second note- Have them on when I'm back. Fuck. FUCK. Okay. I put my first leg into the left loop, then the other to the right, I tried to pretend I wasn't doing it, but I knew I was going to see myself reach new lows, levels of stupidity I had never imagined. They looked good. I admired myself in the mirror, slender, smooth. I put on the tights next; the nylon was a little tight, but it slid on like a tight fitting sock- and oh my god, did I ever look so cute. I finished up my sissyfication, and admired my reflection in the mirror. I took a couple of photos of my newfound inner femboi, and sent the best shots to Master Mike for his amusement. I shaved my legs and cunt again, trying to keep myself as pristine as I could, devoid of any masculinity that might be left despite my humiliation. Then I started my morning chores, dusting every surface, hoovering every room, washing up the breakfast dishes. I was about to mow the lawn, when I realised I was still completely dressed up. Would that be a problem? No one round here knew me anyway, no one would really mind. The grass felt good on my feet through the sissy tights, and I prance out trying to maintain my feminine delusion, when suddenly I caught a guys eye, peeping over the fence. Screaming at the top of my lungs, I jumped back- "Jesus Christ fag, you scared the shit out of me." It was the lawyer (Chris, I think his name was) and he was stark naked, jerking his cock maniacally. I tried to make it back inside and scrambled to the door, but he pounced on top of me and started dry-humping my waist like a dog. I pulled away, I screamed, there was nothing I could do. He pulled at my panties, I heard them tear a little, his fingers made their way down to my cunt, he spat over his palm and tried to press past my thighs, pushed tense to try and force him away. As I gave one final scream, Master Mike rushed out of nowhere, punching Chris hard across the jaw and rolling him off of me, hitting him again, in the stomach, brutal and brilliant with sweaty masculinity. "What did I tell you Chris? This bitch is MY property. You come over here to try and misuse MY shit, without my permission, without even asking? Jesus." I had to lie there awhile, catching my breath. I realised, then, that Master had saved me. I couldn't imagine what would have happened if he hadn't arrived to save my ass, if he hadn't beaten that creep off of me. I felt cared for, even if it was only as his property, his live-in slave. I sat up, Master and I were alone in the garden, Chris had clearly got the message. He was quiet, so I reached out to rub his feet, but he shrugged me off. "You tore your gift, retard." He was so cold, so casual. "Yes Master, but it wasn't my fault, he---" Master slapped me hard across the face. "No excuses fag. You let it happen. You sat there and let it happen. I'm disappointed, I don't know why. I shouldn't have expected anything from a retarded fag like you." His words hurt me, I felt a pang of guilty pain, I lurched over, I couldn't hide my blubbering face. At the end of the day, I just couldn't stand letting him down like that. Chapter 11: Apology Master Mike and Sir Dustin were out for the rest of the day visiting some relatives, so I was left alone in the house. I knew I had to do something for Master, something to apologise, but I couldnt think- he had everything he needed, and he could already make me do anything he wanted with a snap of his fingers. I started by repairing the damage- one ugly tear in the laced panties. I looked around a bit for a needle and thread (discovering a small ant nest in the process. Mental note to delay with them before Master gets home) and started sewing. I hadn't really learned, but I did my best, and I have to say, the end result was impressive. Good as new, in fact. But I had the same problem. I couldn't think of anything I could give him. I cooked dinner before they got home, set up a table on the patio, lit candles and put on a fairly well rated dinner party playlist from spotify. It still felt lacking, like I had only fulfilled his expectations. I had to give him something, I had to give something up. All I had left to give was my last scrap of privacy- but I knew I had to give it. I used my last 15 minutes alone writing out a list of all my passwords, leaving my phone on the table unlocked, and revealing every inch of my life for the past 19 years. All I could do was hope my sacrafice was enough to win back Master's praise. Chapter 12: Desperation kicks in I locked the bathroom door behind me and quickly stripped down to just my cage. I guessed I would have an hour at most while Master was eating. I needed to get off, and badly. I didn't know where the key was, he must have been keeping it on him, round his neck, maybe. But I couldn't waste this time. I rubbed my cage against the floor, grinding and humping like a desperate puppy, hot and sweaty, covering my soft and icy smooth skin. The cold surface against my burning chest sent a shiver of strange and tingling joy through my body, the thrill of the forbidden possessed my mind with bad intentions. I had to cum; this was the first-time desperation really kicked in. The cage was so tight, so hard, I could barely feel my clit inside it, raging to be released from the metallic prison of my cockcage. There was no way I could manage this, pushing myself as hard as I could, I just couldn't so it. The only way of getting off was to be let out. Unlocked. And Master Mike had the key. I tumbled into the kitchen, a bundle of nerves, looked around for him nervously, but he was nowhere to be seen. I checked the basement, hoping to see him down there on the rowing machine, but there was no trace of him. I checked the garden, nothing. I put my ear to the bedroom door. Panting. Moaning. The hard slap of flesh against flesh. I couldn't contain my creepy inner voyeur, I pulled at the cage, over and over, it was true torture. I spat on my hand, rubbing the saliva down my fingers, rolling he squelching fluid around playfully. The first finger was a tough fit in my pussy, I was still tight, it was a bit of a weakness. I hadn't been sure about meeting him in person, I wasn't sure I could take him. Now here I was, outside his bedroom, finally realising that I wouldn't have to. My pussy was sore with finger number two: slow, circling motions, repetitive, deep. I moaned a little, I had to shut myself up and keep my focus on the task at hand. I imagined it was Master fucking me, like a bull, his thick shaft penetrating me mercilessly, using me like a slutty cocksleeve, hate-fucking my submissive hole. With finger number three, I had to work hard. It was a burning, ripping pain. I helped a bit, but I was too horned up to worry now. I kept going, pressing deeper and deeper, forcing my tender insides around, dreaming of the extravagant pain of Master's alpha cock. I felt my crotch tensing up, this was what I needed, this was what I had been desperately, helplessly waiting for. I splattered a few short shots, they flowed out of my cage like a drop of saliva. I felt so small, so pathetic. I heard moaning, louder this time, louder and faster, heavy breathing. I guessed that Master was just about done with Sir Dustin, so I bent over, licked up my seed, and ran back downstairs. Chapter 13: Yard work When Master came down stairs, his mood seemed to have improved. He was a little more distant than usual, though- he stared out the window, looking brooding and dark. "Mix me some of that woodford reserve, fag. On the rocks. You know where we keep the liquors?" I nodded, I'm not sure he saw it though. I scanned the cabinet, and plucked out a slender bottle. Three ice cubes, a tumbler. He took a deep breath, and turned to face me. "Do you know anything about gardening?" Odd question, I thought. "Yes Master, I used to do odd jobs around the neighbourhood, so I've got a bit of practice with yard work." "Good! Good. I want you to take on more work from now on. Can't have my prized little slut sitting around all day with nothing to do, can I? I'll write you up a list, you can keep the yard tidy from now on." I crawled into my little cupboard room and tried to get some rest, and while I wasn't successful, it did give me time to reflect on my situation. I realised that Master had been incredibly kind in letting me stay here with him. He was going out of his way to help me, to teach me to become something better- his perfect slave. Morning came around quickly, and as I got myself up and cleaned my teeth, I remembered the list. I checked my room, and sure as daylight, there was the note. The Faggot's Yard Chores- • Rake leaves • Clean gutters • Clear weeds •Clean boots • Scrub the patio Clean boots. I could guess what that meant, and I wasn't looking forward to it. I made a start, standing up a ladder, making my way, painfully slowly, all around the house, dredging the gutters and pulling out clumps of dirt and soggy leaves. Chore #1 checked off in two hours. Not too shabby, I thought to myself. Next, I plucked the weeds- dandelions, fat hens, Sheppard's purses and the likes. It was rough, I should have worn gloves retrospectively, but it wasn't a country home- it only took a second. Two down, with time to burn. I raked up the leaves, polished Master's shoes, and moved onto his Timberlands. It was a difficult process. I removed the laces and washed the fabric with warm soapy water. When the fabric was good-as-new, I moved onto the sole. I couldn't find a brush small enough to fit the track on the bottom. I could only see one solution, so I pulled out my toothbrush and dug right into the grooves, forcing dried clumps of mud from every inch of them. I didn't realise what I had done until both boots were spotless. My toothbrush was a mesh of grime and filth, but I didn't care. I guess I really had learnt to put Master's needs before my own. I was starting to grow as a slave. I felt an embarrassing twinge of pride. Last on the list. Easy pickings, I thought. I grabbed a bucket and turned on the tap. As it filled, I went to grab a sponge, but Master glanced over from the living room. "Are you doing the patio now fag? Good. I have a couple of orders to add to your task." I was dreading this "You can put away the sponge, you're only using your mouth. You're going to eat every speck of dirt, and you're going to enjoy it. When you finish that, you'll give the basement a deep clean. You can get started now, my pretty girl." He patted my panty-clad pussy, teasing me, but I felt embarrassingly turned on. I started with the most sheltered section of the patio- there was a bit of dirt, a couple of leaves, but overall, it was a surprisingly easy task. I was careful not to be seen, I kept low to the ground and mover one line at a time horizontally across the stones. But as I got to the more neglected areas, it was entirely different- the grime was at least a centimetre thick; it took desperate, depraved rough licks to pull off, and left my face caked in black dirt. I choked and coughed, nearly throwing up, but I knew I had to do it, to lick every inch clean for Master, to keep him happy and to make him proud. As I worked my way up the final straight, heading towards the door, I felt a giddy sense of achievement. I felt that Master had truly pushed me to a new level of servitude, and that I was really growing into my role as a housefag. Fingers crossed he would agree. The basement was child's work by comparison, but exhausting. My arms were like weak twigs, and there were heavy boxes all over the room, it took a real effort to shift them. It took hours, the day was slipping away, and my eyes were heavy, too heavy to keep straining, so I slept in the cold dark basement- I wasnt sure I could've made it to my cupboard if I'd tried. Chapter 14: A night on the town The next morning got up early, cleaned Master's car, dusted the house, and made lunch. Master seemed agitated, but I didn't want to set him off by asking what was wrong. As it turns out, I didn't have to. "Fag, I was thinking about your accident the other day- with my morning piss-" "I'm so sorry Master, I promise it won't happen again, but--" he slapped me hard on the cheek. "Don't interrupt me. I know it won't. But to make sure you learn to drink piss gratefully, and don't misapprehend me, bitch- you WILL be grateful from now on- we're going for a night on the town, all three of us. Sound good?" I nodded, a little confused, and left to do the dishes. I got dressed for the first time in quite a while, pulling on a tight t-shirt and a pair of salmon-pink shorts, and got ready to head out. Master eyed my costume down, and he didn't seem pleased. "Remind me later, fag, we need to get you some new clothes. If people can't tell from one glance that you're my bitch, then you need to change. But that'll have to do for now, I want to get in before the crowd." We spend into town, I saw the looming signs of gay bars on the horizon, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited. I hadn't been to a club in months. But as we pulled up infront of the bar, I could see what Master meant- row after row of guys, smooth twinks, older bears- every kind of man, heck probably all the men in a 100km radius. This was the place to be. We parked and got out- the bouncer, seeing Master, waved us straight in. "An old fag of mine. He was a shitty cleaner, but he was fun." I felt a little twinge of jealousy, but tried not to let it show. I payed for two bourbons and Master walked me over to the toilets. "Give me your credit card" I handed it to him, a little surprised- "Dustin and I will be back in a few hours. You're going to stay here and practice your urinal duties. I'll get you started." He opened up his fly, pulling out his huge cock- it was a mouthful, even flaccid. I openedstar mouth, closed my eyes, and prepared for the worst. The warm streamer my tongue first, it was acrid and bitter, but I tried my best to swallow. He moved to my hair, drenching me completely, then to my top and my shorts. When he was finally done, I whispered a little, soaked to the bone. "Oh, be a good girl and take those clothes off. They might not survive the evening if you don't." I did as he said, and he pulled out a thick pink marker. He grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled my head towards him. I felt him scribbling frantically for a second, unable to read the lines, but gasping at the heavy scent of sharpie ink. I stood to check in the mirror- Please, make me your urinal. All donations appreciated. I stood there, awestruck, barely noticing as Master clipped on a pair of handcuffs locking me against a urinal, and left with a wide grin on his rugged face. The first man to enter was a pale twink wearing a leather thong. He eyed me up nervously, not quite sure whether or not I was serious. I gulped, knowing what I had to do. "Please Sir, I need your piss inside me, I live to taste your waste!" "If you say so, man." The last of his reservations cleared away, he pulled out his small cock, placed it on my tongue, and released a torrent of clear piss. At least it was weak, I guess. I hoped most of the men would be too disgusted by me to really use me, but I wasn't convinced by the crowd outside. Next came an older guy in overalls, he read the sign and spat over my face- fuck, it was hot- then took a quick piss and pulled my jaws wide open. He pulled up a clump of his loose pubes and stuffed them in my mouth, the sweaty black hairs were covered in thick sweat, I tried to cough them up, but a second wave of steaming piss forced them further and further. "You like that, huh, bitch?" he laughed and slapped my ass. My eyes were tearing up, but I nodded and he left. Thank god, he left. The night went by, and my visitors became more and more frequent- two blond college jocks, a nerdy twink with a flaccid 6", countless men queueing to use my urinal throat. I even noticed a couple of return visitors, the first twink was less cautious this time. By the time Master Mike returned to pick me up, there were more people in the bathroom than in the club. They booed jestfully as he undid the cuffs and got me dressed again. He turned and gave a theatrical speech, like a snake-oil salesman "due to the incredible popularity of this toilet slut, I'm pleased to announce he'll become a regular installation- every Thursday, same time, until you're bored of his faggy ass." I loved being his property like that, pimped out, given away to be used. We drove home, I was sober and Master and Sir Dustin were a little worse for wear, so I took the wheel. It was much more comfortable than the boot, for sure. Chapter 15: Shopping trip "You did pretty well last night, fag. Do you think you've learnt your lesson?" Master poured a mug of steaming coffee. I nodded, still tired from the whole ordeal. "Good, good. I thought we might have a special trip today, check out the mall. You need real faggy clothes. We'll set off in an hour, I want to go for a jog first." I couldn't contain my excitement, I nearly shrieked at the prospect. I loved shopping, even if it wasn't for the look I generally went for. Master jogged and showered, I did the laundry, and we set off. It wasn't far. I pulled up outside and we headed in. Our first store was Victoria's secret, and let me tell you, I have never been so embarrassed. Master pulled out three tiny pairs of panties, one red, one purple, one pink. Lace didnt suit me, but I didn't dare to complain. We went to the dressing room to try them on, Master sat outside and I snapped him pics, he gave me feedback. "Come one out here, I want to see them in person. Only way to really make a decision." Was he joking? There was no way. We were in public, I couldn't be seen in these, they'd think I was a pervert. "I'm waiting, fag." Fuck. Fuuuuuuuuck. I stepped out, quickly, anxiously, putting on my best sissy walk, trying to make it towards him with minimal visibility. "Give me a little twirl, I want to see my princess from every angle." I did, as quickly as I could, he clapped. "we'll take all three pairs, they're perfect." We made our way to the counter; a snarky camp guy was on the phone. I felt myself blushing as he scanned the three pairs. "Who are these for? They're not exactly a Mother's Day gift." "They're for my little slut here." Master slapped my ass emphatically; my cheeks were burning more than they ever had before. They both laughed at that, and the clerk even gave us a discount, "For the audacity that took." We made our way around the mall, buying Daisy Dukes, the tightest crop tops imaginable in pink, with sassy slogans printed on them ("cancel my subscription, I don't need your issues", along with other painfully camp messages). By the end of the day, I looked like a beetroot, incredibly red, and incredibly wet. I hated that Master could get me off like that, with no effort at all, just fucking with my brains. I hated myself for enjoying it so much, for loving the way people stared when they saw me, the way their jaws dropped, their children pointed, the way they laughed. It nearly made me leak a little in my cage, my nears getting hard against my tight top. I looked like a true, obsessed and obedient femboy. I was everything I hoped to be, everything Master promised to make me. But above all, I was proud. Chapter 16: Pimped The next morning, I woke myself up, checked the time- 6:30, I should be getting up. I clipped on my collar and headed over to the kitchen to make a start on breakfast. Master was already down there eating, which was strange, he wasn't usually up until 7:00. "Good morning fag. Get some clothes on, Sir Dustin and I have plans for the weekend, and I've got a good friend- you'll call him Sir Jason- who wants to put your services to the test." That hadn't been part of the agreement. I wanted to- no, needed to serve Master Mike, I was meant to be his property, I wanted him and only him to use me. "But Master, couldn't you use me? Surely there's something I could do for you? I could cook, I could-" He shook his head. "No, we won't need you at all. You're mine. Don't forget that- you're MY little femboi bitch. Is that understood?" "Yes Master, I'm sorry, it's just--" "I own you, like I own a playstation. And if I say my friends are going to use you, my sweet-lipped cunt, you're going to get on your knees and beg for their seed." He was right, as always. I couldn't think of anything to say, so I listened. I pulled on a tight crop top, some denim Daisy Duke shorts, and a pretty pink thong that sat stretched uncomfortably high, so they were visible on my lower back. I rushed out to the car, remembering to ride in the trunk this time (which was surprisingly comfortable without the clutter of luggage). It was a long journey, an hour at least, but I managed to squeeze in a quick nap, and only woke when Master hit the brakes, pulling the car to a lurching stop. I heard them talking on the other side of the trunk door, discussing arrangements- when to pick me up, whether it would be a one-off or a repeat visit. I couldn't keep my cool, I was sweating like a pig listening to them discuss me like siblings negotiating for the TV remote. The man who opened the door was ginger, beautiful pale skin, and (if I'm honest) a bit twinkies than I expected. He reached out his hand to help me clamber out, greeting me with a warm and slightly camp voice. "You must be Mike's pet, right?" I nodded, unsure what to think, but as Sir Jason started a diatribe of small talk, Master revved up the car engine, and even though I pushed my will against it, he rolled off into the distance, leaving me alone with this new, dominating stranger. As soon as I stepped into his apartment, Sir Jason had me strip. I pulled off the crop top, but he pulled it on, gently, but assertive. "No, pup, I want you to strip. Like a show girl. Nice and slow. I'm going to savour this." It was humiliating, but I knew that my obedience would reflect on Master's skill, and I had to obey. I started with my top, peeling it away and flinging it across the room, then my tall thigh-high socks, peeled down to the ankles with my feet propped up on a chair, and finally, the tight denim shorts, rolled down to the floor and kicked away. Sir Jason burst into half-sarcastic applause. I felt good about that, knowing that I could entertain him, even if it wasn't ideal. He sat down on a leather couch, tied a silk bandana over my eyes, and had me lie at his feet, sliding them playfully over my face. I licked them one at a time, turning my head as he pulled them away, only to have the other hit me hard on the cheek. I dont know how long I was down there, but Sir Jason put on a film and stuck his big toe in my mouth like a pacifier, so I went on sucking and rubbing, and every once and a while heard a little moan of satisfaction over the soapy drama on screen. The film ended, the blindfold was pulled from my eyes- I had to wince, everything was so painfully bright. "That's enough for now boy. You've got me pretty horny; you know that? Get that pretty face between my legs." "Yes Sir!" he had caught me off guard, I had no choice. I kissed his crotch, he pulled down his loose red shorts, revealing a fiery ginger crotch and a large veiny prick- not as big as Master's, but ample. He wrapped his smooth legs around my head, and pulled me forward, suddenly choking me with his cock. My face was buried in his red pubes, they're oddly ticklish, furry, everything about Sir was cute, even when he was snugglefucking me into a state of nausea. Just as my teary eyes were about to close, he let me up for air. "FUCK! Good boy, get back down there. That feels amazing!" I kept coughing and spluttering, saliva sprayed over my face and his meat, and I was a little bit worried about staining the couch. I panicked, feeling him tense up, I cant hold my breath much longer, but he's twitching uncontrollably. I moan, desperate for air, but he starts breathing heavy, laboured breaths. Shot after shot of thick, sweet cum floods my throat. He laughs with relief, finally pulling me off like a leech by my hair. "That was amazing. Cant tell you how much I needed that. You can clean your face up in the bathroom- first door on your left." He stood up and started to dress, then looked down- his ass had left a wide sweaty print on the leather couch. "Would you clean that up for me, fag?" I nodded, and licked up the odourous fluid, before cleaning up and making a start on dinner. He left me to work, telling me he had tickets to a Broadway show. I fried a large steak with triple-baked chips and runner beans, and opened a tin of dog food Master had set aside. By the time I was done, it was dark outside, and Sir Jason came back a little bit drunk. We ate dinner together and called it a night. He had me climb into bed at his feet, which was definitely a pleasant change, it was so warm and comfortable, I slept like a log even though I was a little homesick. The next morning, we woke up late. It was easily 10:30 when I felt his arm gently grasp my neck, his wet finger at the entrance of my pussy. "Morning pup", he mumbled, "don't worry, we'll have a little more fun before your Master arrives to pick you up." His breath was warm on my neck, his finger teased my hole, making it sloppy and wet. I pressed back, trying to force it in, but he moved away and slapped a hand down on my tender cheek. "Uh-uh-uh. I put it in when I want to, pup. You're going to beg for it first." He was so gentle, but I felt myself blush like hell when he talked down to me like that. "Please Sir, I need it inside me. I need you to fuck me like the desperate bitch I am--" He forced his finger in to the base, twisting and pulling around inside me, it felt so slick and good. He pushed in two now, running in a wide circle inside me, then three- i winced in pain and shock, his fingers were pretty wide, and there wasn't enough lube, but he wouldn't stop, finger fucking me until I was moaning and writhing in ecstasy. I couldnt hold back any longer, I shot my load all over the bed through my tight cage. "Good puppy! Good boy! That was really hot. Now, suck-" he forced his fingers deep into my mouth before I could complain, choking me with the most disgusting taste. He laughed a little, pulled them out, and told me to get ready for the journey home. I dressed quickly, and rushed out as soon as I heard the doorbell- Master Mike and Sir Dustin were both there waiting, and my heart jumped erratically, I had never been more pleased to see them. I opened up the trunk, but it was filled with their luggage. "Happy to see me, fag? You should be. You're driving us home, I've left the map on the dashboard, Sir Dustin and I have some business to attend to." I climbed into the driver's seat and oriented myself on the map. We set off, and it didn't take long for Sir Dustin to knuckle his belt and pull-down Master's navy-blue dress trousers. I tried to glance back, but I had to keep my eyes on the road and the map. They weren't really going to- were they? I heard the snap of elastic, then a bobbing kind of gagging. Holy shit, they were having sex in the back seat! They both moaned a little, breathing heavily, but Master seemed almost gentle, dormant. I was jealous of the hard but loving fuck I knew Sir Dustin was getting, they were so near but so far, the tantalising pain of it brought tears to my eyes, I had to wipe the sweat from my forehead see the road, it was like a waterfall over my eyes. The noises continued, louder, harder, lower grunting and the sound of fat balls battering a slimy chin, over and over, harder and rougher and louder, until, with a greedy swallowing sound, Master finally shot his load. The smell of sweat and sex in the air, I drove on, and Sir Dustin clipped on his seatbelt again. I rubbed my thighs together, trying to squeeze my locked nub of a clit, but it was to no avail. All I could do was sit and listen, sit and observe the brilliance of Master's sex, the perfect rhythms, the slurping sound of his hands forcing Sir's head to bob like a child with a lollipop. Chapter 17: Home at last On the final stretch of the interminable journey home, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders, like a boulder that had weighed me down from my gut. It was so settling to see this stability restored after a weekend of turmoil. I suddenly couldn't wait to clean the toilet, to pull the weeds in the yard, or even to be Master's ottoman. I realised that the real joy of being owned is just that- Master controls me, Master makes me his, and gives me purpose. I pulled off Master's Timberland boots and press them over my mouth and nose. I think he and Sir Dustin must have gone for a long weekend hiking, because his white socks were soaked in sweat, and even with my newfound adoration for being His human washing machine, I had to wince a little at the strength of them, but I pulled them off as quickly as I could, stuffing them in my mouth, the ecstatic gooning feeling striking me for the first time. His sweat was a natural popper, I was a brain dead slut for his heavy stench, the way he broke me down and moulded me into a worthless fuckhole. "Hey girl, calm down" he laughed, I thought he might have been glad to see me, or he'd missed humiliating me, at least "you're going to have a lot of time under my sinking feet from now on, don't exhaust yourself." His phone started buzzing in his pocket, he whipped it out and left the room. I just sat and sniffed, I wasn't too eager to find out who he was talking to, but he sounded pleased. When he came back in, he stroked my hair. Those big masculine hands were so soft, my heart felt warm every time he touched me. Shivers of excitement running down my spine, mad joy escaping my lips in moans and whimpers. I felt my mouth watering, but I couldn't control it, it leaked all over my smooth torso, pooling at my kneeling crotch. I was so emasculated at the feet of my Godly owner, I forgot all about my caged little clit. Pleasure was in his arms. "That was Sir Jason on the phone. Sounds like you two had a good weekend. I'm proud of you, fag. You did well." And with that final comment, he made his way through to the living room, and I lay down at his feet. Life as Master's bitch was incredible.