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Writer’s note: this scenario contains extreme dominance and submission as well as master/slave role play. Just a heads up in case that is not your cup of tea.
***
At eleven o’clock on Friday night, there was a knock at my door.
My body jumped to attention. My cock started getting hard as I went to let him in.
My hand was trembling slightly as I raised it to the lock. I took a deep breath and rolled back my shoulders.
It was important that I appear calm and in control, even nonchalant when he entered.
I opened the door and there was Scott. He smiled up at me. His face was flushed with anticipation for the night ahead. “Good evening, sir.”
I gave him a stone-faced nod and bid him enter.
Scott knew by now I would not acknowledge him further until he was naked and his clothes were locked away in my drawer.
He removed his shoes and socks, then headed to the bedroom. I went to the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub to wait for him.
It had been two months since our second encounter. That night, we had taken our dom/sub roles to the next level. I dominated him, punished him, and took his anal virginity with my thick cock.
Since then, Scott had been at my apartment nearly every weekend from Friday night to Saturday.
It was clear that Scott, despite being shy about sexuality, despite being a predominately heterosexual man, was becoming enthralled with his role as my sex slave.
Submitting to me seemed to give him a sexual high he had never known before, the same high I got being his master/punisher.
Our encounters typically lasted through the night and into the next morning, and it was mainly up to me to think of the activities we did.
A game I liked to play with Scott was making him stand perfectly still in the middle of the living room, holding a spoon in his mouth and balancing an egg on it.
This was doubly tricky as he had to keep his cock hard at the same time. “Keep stroking yourself, Scott,” I cajoled, sitting comfortably on the couch with my glass of red wine. “Keep that cock big and hard for me. Don’t drop that egg, though. You know I’m going to punish those bubble buns with the spatula if you do.”
“MMF,” Scott squirmed through clenched teeth. His protruding, naked buns twitched at the thought of the metal spatula upon them, but his cock gained new girth.
With Scott, it was always the same. When I threatened to punish him, his reaction was fear. Yet nothing made his cock swell up faster than the thought of being spanked or whipped.
The objective of the game was that he stay in this position for half an hour. If he made it, I would lay him down and reward him with a nice, long blowjob until he came.
He was yet to make it, however. He could not stay hard and focus on the spoon at the same time. “The spatula, Scott,” I commanded each time he dropped the egg.
Scott hurried to the kitchen and brought me the spatula in his teeth like a dog. He draped his naked body over my knees. I could feel his raging hardon against my leg.
“What punishment have you earned?” I asked.
“For…for dropping the egg (gulp) my buns will be whipped ten times with the spatula, sir.” WHACK! “OOF! One, I’m sorry, sir.” WHACK! “UMF! Two, I’m sorry, sir.”
The spatula was an especially effective tool of punishment. The blunt, flat metal reverberated in his flesh in a way my bare hand could not. It didn’t take long for him to squirm and wriggle around uncomfortably.
After receiving his punishment, he was required to thank me and put the spatula back in its rightful place. Then the next round would begin.
Two weeks before, we had played four rounds in a row. Scott lost every time. By the end of the night, his ass was almost hot enough to fry that egg on.
Another activity I liked was throwing a tennis ball down the hall toward my bedroom and making Scott run after it. As with the spatula, he had to bring it back to me in his mouth. Usually I allowed him to jog, but if I requested he crawl after it on his hands and knees, he would do so.
I was just as enamored with his flawless ass as ever and discovered how extraordinary it looked jogging away from me. If it was bright red from a few hard spankings, all the better.
Scott was working out regularly now, eager to get in shape (at least in part to look good for me) and I saw this as my particular contribution.
I loved the idea of going out with him some night at 3 a.m., a leash and a collar around his neck, and just running him naked through my apartment complex. But as of now I found it best to keep all this indoors, I hated to think of either of us getting arrested or God knows what else.
Some nights, after working him like this for thirty minutes or so, the excitement of watching his ass bobbing up and down or his erection slapping against his belly sent me over the edge.
I would wrestle his hands behind his back and slap on a pair of store-bought handcuffs. I would lead him to the bedroom by his hard cock, still sweaty and panting from retrieving florya escort the tennis ball.
Once there, I threw him down on the bed, rolled on a condom and plowed that gorgeous, fuckable ass of his until he was biting the bedspread with tears in his eyes.
I loved fucking Scott in the ass. His hole was absolutely designed to be fucked. Fucked by a big, thick cock like mine. It fit around my hardon perfectly and absorbed my aggressive thrusts as I slapped against his round buns like spongy cushions.
Things could get intense, to say the least. And yet no matter what I did to Scott, he just couldn’t seem to get enough of it.
I always let him know what I had in mind via email a week beforehand. Even when I feared something might be too much for him, he agreed to it just the same.
He even requested to start seeing me on weeknights, as well. I allowed him to come over on Tuesday or Wednesday, with permission.
These sessions were less grueling (for me especially), but for Scott, the rules held. He had to be naked from the time he arrived to the time he left and his cock needed to be hard.
Scott would sit on his knees on the couch next to me, blindfolded and feeding me popcorn while I watched TV.
Once I was good and hard myself, I would unleash my big, throbbing tool from my jeans and guide his mouth onto it.
I was making it my mission to train his mouth to be just as good at sucking as his ass was for fucking. Under my guidance, he was able to take me down his throat, swallowing me all the way to the base.
“Nice and easy, Scott, let me hear those gulps. If you gag a little, that’s okay. Watch those teeth…”
This all came to him more easily once I got him to swallow some wine. He was always reluctant to drink it before, but it loosened his nerves and got him in the mood much more quickly.
Once I got him sucking me, I loved to have him straddle me in a sixty-nine position, his ass inches from my face.
As he ingested my big thick cock, I feasted upon his delicious hole. I loved to bury my face deep within his heat. I loved to squeeze his buns in around me, smothering myself within him.
I could spend up to an hour that way. I loved to pour red wine down the small of his back and let it run down into his hole where I could lick it all up, tasting him and the wine together.
Once I came, Scott was required to swallow everything down.
Then we would lay spooning together while I stroked him. I usually denied him the right to cum until the weekend.
Now, as I waited in the bathroom, Scott appeared fully naked. I glanced at my watch. He had stripped down and put away his clothes in just over forty seconds. “Good boy, Scott, that’s a new record. You’re getting faster every time.”
He blushed, happy to have pleased me, “Thank you, sir.”
I pointed at the floor in front of me. “Come. Let’s get started.”
He hurried into the bathroom, hands behind his back so he wouldn’t be tempted to cover himself, and stood in front of me.
I pointed to a cabinet below the sink. He bent down, withdrew its contents, and handed them to me.
“Down, Scott,” I gestured with my finger. He got down on his knees before me, attempting to pace his excited breaths. I could practically hear his heart thundering in his chest.
Scott looked a bit different than he had several months ago when we first met. He was hitting the gym regularly and there was visible muscle tone in his upper arms. His pecs looked knotted and defined.
They were even more accentuated by the full shave down I gave him every weekend.
His nest of brown chest hair was completely gone, as was his facial hair, the hair beneath his armpits, on his crotch, and any other visible places.
I allowed him to keep his leg hair, but I had shorn his head with an electric razor, so he now sported an extremely short crew cut. It made his face appear more angular.
With his body smooth and hairless, Scott seemed even more naked, even more vulnerable and exposed before me. I did not want even one inch of his flesh to be hidden from my view.
I, on the other hand, had never allowed him to see me without clothes on even once (except for my cock, of course).
This was all part of his role as a naked sex slave.
“Let’s see you flex, Scott,” I said, “bring up the guns.”
On his knees before me in the bathroom, Scott struck a muscle man pose, flexing his biceps so they bulged, impressively large. They were like two rock-hard apples when I pushed against them.
“Very nice, my friend, you’re becoming quite the virile stud, aren’t you?”
“Thank you, sir.”
“How often are you working out now, three times a week?”
“I do four times whenever I can, sir.” He kept his responses clear and concise, as I preferred.
I ran my hand over his shaved head.
“That’s my boy, Scott…my manly, handsome Scott.”
He looked down, face red, and thanked me again.
“What do I need to do now, Scott?”
Scott swallowed göztepe escort and lifted his chin so his neck was exposed. “You need to put on my collar and my wrist cuffs now, sir.”
“And why do I need to do that?”
“Because…because I’m your naked sex slave. My cock, my hole, my body are yours to enjoy and do with as you please…”
“And you want to be my naked slave boy tonight, don’t you, Scott?”
He looked at me, his beautiful blue eyes eager. “Yes, sir, yes I want to be your naked slave boy…please, may I, sir?”
This was a ritual we did every Friday. I made Scott profess his desire to be my slave each time he came over, perhaps only so I knew he was, in fact, willing to do so and getting a high out of it.
I took the leather slave collar Scott had retrieved from the cabinet and fastened it around his neck.
I had bought the collar for him weeks before and was now enforcing it on weekends when he spent the night. It was the symbol of his servitude to me and he had started to seem, well, “naked” without it.
It was a thick, padded, choker of black leather, lined with comfortable fur on the inside.
It covered his whole neck and forced his head to stay upright.
I liked to buckle it around him so it pressed against his Adam’s apple and his swallows made a more audible “gulp.” It even came with a circular dog tag I had engraved specially to say “Scott.”
Once it was around his neck, I proceeded to bind his wrists with the matching leather cuffs.
The cuffs had clasps on them, which I now fastened onto the rings on either side of the collar.
I loved the way he looked: Collar tight, hands bound to his neck so he had limited use of his arms. I heard the nervous “gulp” sound I so enjoyed.
I clapped my hands. “Up, Scott, time for your shaving.”
“Yes, sir.” He scrambled to his feet, a bit more difficult to find his balance now that his hands were restrained.
I could see the dark bristles sprouting on his chest and groin, along with the little red bumps.
The first time I ever shaved him, I asked that he do the upkeep himself during the week. But when he came over the following Friday, he had a bandaid on his scrotum.
He told me he had attempted to trim the pubic hair around it with a pair of small scissors. He accidentally snipped a fold of skin and blood had come pouring out.
“Not the most reassuring thing to see your ball sack covered in blood like that,” he chuckled.
He was trying to make light of it, but I was horrified.
I pulled him into a tight bear hug, squeezing him firmly against me. My big hands caressed his naked back and buns.
“My poor Scott,” I whispered. I felt terrible for having asked him to do that. Terrible that he had hurt himself. “My poor, poor Scott.”
I was, of course, happy to abuse him: to spank him, fuck him, push him to the limits, just as long as he wanted it and kept coming back for more.
But I had no interest in any cuts, mutilations or bleeding that might incur permanent damage to his body. I wanted him to understand that that would never be my intention.
I squeezed him to me as hard as I could. I was almost in tears. “I am so sorry. Master Jim is so sorry. I should never have asked you to do that. Are you okay, my Scott? Is your scrotum healing okay?”
“Yes, sir,” he said, his face half buried in my shoulder, breathing into me. “Yes it was nothing, I’ll be fine.”
I held him like that for some time. My free hand squeezed and caressed the area between his naked buns. He spread his legs as I kneaded between them, my finger finding its way into the heat of his hole.
I spoke into his ear. “From now on, Scott, I’m going to shave you myself, okay? I want you to leave it all up to me. We don’t want you to get hurt, do we? I won’t make that mistake again.”
He continued trying to downplay it, saying it was nothing, but I was firm.
“Look at me, Scott.” I waited for him to look up and find my eyes. “Who is going to shave you now?”
He met my gaze sheepishly. I felt his hole flex against my finger. “You are, sir.”
“And why am I going to do that?”
Scott swallowed uneasily. I was squeezing him to me so tightly. His hole flexed around my finger again. I felt him getting hard. “So that (gulp)…so I don’t hurt myself again, sir.”
“That’s right, We don’t want my boy to get hurt, do we?”
“No, sir.”
With Scott collared and restrained, I sprayed a nice swirl of shaving cream into my palm.
I dabbed it in a heart pattern over his chest. With his hands bound, I had him stick out his elbows, chicken-dance style, so I could reach under his armpits.
I ran my trusty Mach3 razor under hot water and applied it to his skin.
The bristles came clean off as I swiped, leaving him smooth as a baby.
With his body hair gone, his nipples and belly button stood out all the more on the vast terrain of his peach-colored skin. “Ouch,” he said as I teased his pink nipples. I made them stand out nice halkalı escort and hard. In his restraints, he had no ability to stop me.
Scott’s chest swelled as I inspected his body for any stray hair I may have missed. “Looks like I’ve gotten just about everywhere that counts, Scott…except of course.” I reached around and knocked on the hard plastic covering his cock.
He inhaled deeply. I could feel the excitement welling in him. “Yes, sir.”
This was what Scott had been waiting for since coming through my door that evening. It was likely all he was able to think about. The thing I had yet to acknowledge since his arrival.
This week, I was doing an “experiment” of sorts with him. Something new. I didn’t want Scott to get bored, so I felt it was time to take things to a new level.
Apart from the blindfold and handcuffs, the collar had been my first real “gift” to Scott. But then I had the devilish idea of enslaving him, not just while he was here, but during his every waking (and sleeping) hour for an entire week.
I decided to lock him in a chastity device. A “cock cage” as some people call it.
The one I got for him online was made of clear, hard plastic. There was a ring in the back that fit snugly around his balls and the base of his shaft.
Then there was a little, curved tube for his flaccid penis, prohibiting it from getting erect and making it impossible for him to jack off.
The whole thing was held in place with a firm little padlock, and guess who kept the key securely in his pocket?
I put it on him last Saturday before he left my apartment. I told him he would not be able to take it off until I unlocked it the following Friday.
Scott agreed. I knew he didn’t like it and was even a bit scared of it. But he also knew he had, to some degree, brought this upon himself.
Two weeks before, I had decided to impose something on him that would, for the first time, go beyond the confines of my apartment. Scott had expressed an interest in having to follow certain rules even when not in my presence, so I decided to test the waters.
I ordered Scott to refrain from masturbating at all during the week. He was no longer allowed to look at porn or any media he might find sexually alluring. Nothing that would tempt him.
He insisted he could do it and promised me he would. But then when he arrived that Friday, his face was stricken.
He could not hide it from me. He admitted, with great shame, that he had failed.
He had gone with a coworker to a sports bar after work and they had looked through a copy of Sports Illustrated featuring models in their summer swimwear. It had sent Scott over the edge and that night he jerked off.
“Those girls…they looked so…they weren’t actually naked, sir, so I thought it would be okay. I’m so sorry, sir. I’m not used to not being able to cum for that long, sir, I…”
I held Scott’s naked body against me, caressing him as he trembled. His face burned and tears ran quietly down his cheeks. His heart was hammering against me for fear of being punished.
I could see how much Scott wanted to obey me. He took his role as my slave more seriously than I even realized. He got genuinely upset with himself when he failed to carry out a command. It was clear he felt horrible.
I squeezed him tightly. Even though he was hitting the gym, I was still bigger and stronger than he was and I could maneuver him easily.
“There, there, take it easy, Scott. I know how difficult that must have been for you to resist.” I reached down and found his cock.
“I want to obey you, sir,” he said, muffled in my shoulder, “I truly do, I don’t want to let you down, sir…”
“You don’t, do you, Scott? I can see that you don’t…” He wept quietly as I stroked him, his sensitive cockhead brushing the rough denim of my jeans.
“I know you tried, Scott. But I do want you to refrain from cumming, at least for one week. That was an order I gave you as my slave, understand?”
Scott began trembling again, “Yes, sir. I didn’t listen to you, sir…I was a bad boy.”
“Easy, Scott, I won’t punish you now, but you may need to make it up to me later.” Scott nodded, seemingly a bit relieved.
“And I know it was hard for you to obey me, even though you wanted to. So, I may need to help you to obey me. Would you let me help you, Scott?”
“Yes, sir,” he said somberly, “Thank you, sir.” But I felt him stiffen. He did not know exactly what I meant by “help him obey.”
When I presented him with the cock cage, Scott accepted it out of a desire to please me and out of shame for failing.
I explained it would only be for a week. I saw it as a kind of test run. If Scott took to it and didn’t hate it too much, I might consider making him wear it on a weekly basis from then on.
But Scott had gone a bit stir crazy, to say the least. He had no escape from the cage at any time and no way to relieve himself. He had to wear it all day at work. Had to shower and sleep with it on. It ensnared him in a way I could not. It was, in fact, a kind of prison.
I called him up Tuesday night to see how he was doing. He had been wearing it nearly four days by then. I could hear him struggling to regulate his breaths. The very sound of my voice seemed to be drawing his mind to it, to the fact that he could not cum no matter how badly he wanted to.
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