A gay story: Confessions of a Chastity Slave It’s hard to believe it all started with some talk on a chat room. I was in college then, and always straight in real life, although not very successful with the ladies. But my dirty little secret was that I liked to go online and indulge my fantasy: being enslaved, feminized, and kept in chastity by a man.
At first, I’d wander through chat rooms and find a guy to be my Master for a night, and for an evening I’d be his little slut, giving my mind over to his pleasure, trying to be the girl he wanted. My fantasy was always being forced to serve while kept in some sort of chastity device: a belt or a cage, usually. In my mind, I’d be locked away, sucking my Master-for-a-day off, getting fucked hard in the ass, all the while my own little cock unable to stiffen or experience any pleasure at all.
But of course, in real life I’d be beating off like crazy. And then I’d cum, and the fantasy would be over, forgotten for a while. It was like that for a long time.
I’ve always been the monogamous type, though, so I guess it was natural I’d eventually find just one Master. And I did. Sean.
At first, it was just like any other time. But with Sean, even after I came, I felt strangely drawn back to him. There was something about him that drew the fantasy out of me: he probed me with his words, forcing me to bring up new wrinkles, new ideas, planting kinky new seeds in my imagination. Even now, I’m not sure how much of it was my idea and how much his: probably much more his.
Sean turned me on like no other. Instead of trolling around the chat rooms for new guys and new fantasies, I found myself drawn to him over and over. He was just so cool, so confident, and it seemed like his desires were the perfect complement to mine: he obviously wanted a feminized slavegirl as badly as I wanted to be one. It wasn’t long before I was talking to him every night. Sometimes I’d find myself waiting up until 2 or 3 A.M. just to talk to him for a few moments. Soon after that, every time I masturbated, I was thinking of him (my mental picture of him, anyway) and my — our — fantasy. Over the weeks and months, it developed: me turned from a college boy into his slutty little housemaid slavegirl. My penis would be locked away in a chastity belt, and he would have the only key. If I ever wanted to come again, I’d have to serve him well with my mouth and my tight little asshole, working hard for one paltry orgasm a week. And meanwhile, he’d be mercilessly using me for his pleasure several times a day. My body would be transformed into that of a nubile little girl through a variety of fantastical means, whatever struck our fancy: surgery, drugs, magic.
Eventually we switched to phone sex. We always talked about this fantasy, always adding new episodes, new wrinkles. And I always came at the end, as did Sean. But gradually Sean began to probe me in questions about my real life (somehow he always dodged mine). I told him my problems: about how hard it was to make ends meet, about how I was failing out of school (mostly because I was talking to Sean and neglecting my work), about how I had no job, about how I was alone in a strange city.
And one day I was short on my rent. I told Sean. Sean said, “I can help you, my little slavegirl. But you’ll have to do something for me.”
I was nervous. “What do you want me to do, Master?”
“I want you to stop masturbating, slave. It’s not proper for a slavegirl. And you are my slavegirl, right?”
I gulped, but said, “Yes, of course, Master.”
“Then show me your faith, slavegirl. I want you to stop masturbating.”
There was a pause while I considered this. “But– but I don’t think I can, Master.”
“I know that you can’t, slavegirl. You’re weak. And that’s what makes you such a good little slave. But I want you to try, really try. If you do this for me — if you be my slave — I’ll take care of my slavegirl, like a good Master should. Do you understand?”
I considered it. Knowing I’d try, knowing I’d fail. I’d masturbated every day, more or less, since I was twelve. But Sean asking me to do this — give up my orgasms for him, start making the fantasy a reality — was just so hot. I was already rock hard, just thinking about it. And I did need the money — my rent was already late. “I… yes. Yes, Master.”
“Yes what, slave? I want to hear you say it. Promise me.”
“I… I promise I’ll stop… touching myself…” I stammered. “…stop masturbating, for you, Master Sean.”
“Good! And I promise I’ll take care of you as long as you remain true to me, slavegirl. Now go to bed.”
And with that, he hung up. Leaving me alone, in my apartment, with my hard cock in my hand.
I thought about it. But I kept my word. I stopped touching myself and crossed my arms, gripping my forearms tightly. I went to bed like that, and laid there for a long time, trying not to think about how turned on I was, trying not to think about Sean and what I had agreed to.
Eventually I fell asleep. Without coming. The next day in the mail was an envelope, shipped express. Inside it were ten crisp new hundred dollar bills. And a note:
“I keep my word. Do you, slut? – Your Master”
I was instantly very, very turned on. It was mostly the note, but the money didn’t hurt either. And being turned on by the money only made me feel sluttier. But I was good, all that day.
Inevitably, though, I cracked. Later that week, I jerked off, as I had known I would. And as my Master had known I would. But I did the right thing: I told him. He wasn’t surprised.
It went on like this for a few months. Master was paying my bills, and I was servicing him at night on the phone. I’d talk dirty to him, hear him cum, and then go to bed quivering and horny but trying so hard to be good. And when I failed, I’d tell him. He seemed understanding.
But then things changed. I had failed out of school, and still had no job. I was just barely making ends meet on the $1000 a month Master was sending me. Eventually, the rent was late again.
“Master… your slavegirl humbly informs you that her rent is late.”
“Is that so, slavegirl?”
“Yes, Master. I’m sorry.”
“How many times have you touched yourself in the past month, slave?”
“Errr… I… don’t–”
“Seven, slave. Seven! This is entirely unacceptable, don’t you think? When I’ve honorably kept my end of the bargain?”
I blushed. “I… um… I’m sorry, Mast–”
“Shut up,” he said. My blush deepened. “Are you serious about being my slavegirl?”
“Yes, Master, very, Master!”
“Good. Then I will need a greater commitment from you.”
In panic, I said, “Of course, Master, anything!”
And I could hear him laugh. “Good girl.” I squirmed when he called me that, as I always did. “We’ll see how much you mean it. Tomorrow, slave.” And he hung up.
The next day, in addition to the usual $1000, a smallish box was in the mail. As always, there was no return address — typical of Sean. I rushed back to my apartment, eager to open it.
My fingers fumbled at the brown cardboard of the box, tearing away tape, and at last it was revealed: some odd metal thing, made of rings and tubes and sliding parts. I had never seen anything quite like it, and I couldn’t figure out what it was.
There was a note. It said:
“Will you be true to the terms of your bondage, girl? You have until midnight to decide. Wear it in love, bitch, or never trouble me again.”
I shuddered with terror and sexual excitement as I picked up the metal object again. It was a chastity device, of course. And unlike any I had ever seen.
It was like some kind of cock cage, made of a matte gray metal fitting on behind the scrotum, with a tube that would slide over my cock, imprisoning it. The lock was incredibly complex, with a surprising amount of sliding parts, but it was obvious how the device was to be worn and locked.
There was no key.
I pretended to myself that I would think about it. But I couldn’t really think any longer. Every time I looked at that device, I just got so turned on. I masturbated seven times as afternoon faded to evening and to night.
At 11:30, I knew I had to do it or lose Sean and my fantasy forever. And what kind of life was waiting for me? No more school, no job, no friends or family. If I wore it, all I’d be giving up was my inhibition and my seven stolen orgasms a month. And I could always get a locksmith to go at the thing if I backed down.
And so I put it on, sliding myself into it. It fit perfectly; I guessed Master had somehow sized it based on the nude pictures I had sent him. Before I could psych myself out, I slid the clasp closed. And suddenly, I understood what all those mysterious moving parts were for: the device clamped onto my small, exhausted penis with a series of swift click-click-clicks, forcing it down and under my body at a shockingly steep angle. Simultaneously, I felt a burst of blinding pain as it forced my balls up against my body.
With a shriek of agonized surprise, I dropped to my knees in shock. When the pain subsided, I looked down in horror at my newly transformed crotch. Before, where I had a penis — small, sure, but well-used, by myself if not the ladies — I now had only a short gray tube of inert metal. It wrapped under my scrotum, pinning it against my body, to where it pointed slightly downward. It was now clasped at both ends to the ring that encircled my scrotum. In short, where I used to have a set of male genitalia, I now had nothing but a little mound of metal-girted flesh.
My mind reeled as I tentatively poked and prodded at the device that now imprisoned me. It was devious: my penis was kept imprisoned and tucked underneath me in a space and angle that prevented the slightest degree of stiffness. The ring around my scrotum somehow pulled my balls up incredibly close to my body. Yet the initial wave of pain had passed; now the whole device felt disturbingly comfortable. Clearly, I could be kept in this thing indefinitely — if Sean wanted.
I confusedly thought that my days of peeing while standing up were over. Yes, I’d have to sit or squat to pee, like a bitch, for as long as my Master wanted —
A whimper escaped me. I was getting turned on thinking about my newly chastised condition. But now my poor penis was trapped, imprisoned in an utterly inflexible metal casing. There was no way for it to get erect. The only feelings I had were a hot flush throughout my body and a warm, tingling pressure inside my chastity cage. I rubbed at the tube, then at the whole slave-mound between my legs, but there was no relief. The feeling only got tantalizingly stronger.
What had I done? Peeing sitting down was the least of my troubles. My normal life was over. I could forget about getting hard for anytime in the near future. Orgasm was obviously out of the question. Certainly there was no chance of the delicious pleasure of penetrating a woman. Even the paltry pleasure of masturbation was quite impossible. What the hell had I been thinking? A fantasy was one thing, great in small doses that ended with a nice orgasm. But now I’d gotten carried away, and it was real, all too real.
I picked at the lock with a fingernail, but of course this was fruitless. The panic was rising inside me. I began to tug at the device, then pull hard, and was greeted only with aching pain for my efforts. There was no way to remove the thing short of tearing off my trapped genitals.
Tears welled in my eyes, and I felt true fear as the enormity of what I’d done to myself set in. No, there was only one way I could get out: the key. And who had it? A man. A man I had never met or even seen. A man who could be anywhere in the world, for all I knew. A man who I had promised to serve with my body. A man who I had on many occasions begged to keep me in brutal slavery and chastity. A man I had taken money from, as a good faith deposit on my servitude. I had sold myself into slavery, for a few measly grand, and now the bill was coming due. Thinking about this was terrifying, but it was also making me very, very excited, and that agonizingly delicious sensation was building up in me again. As I stroked at the tube, wishing for the slightest sensation, I began to weep.
That was when the phone rang. I looked up at the clock through a blur of tears: Midnight.
I leapt for the phone and answered it with a shaky hand. My voice was choked with my sobs.
“He– hello? Master?”
His voice was perfectly calm, as always. “I see you’ve decided to honor your part of the bargain.”
I felt cold. “But how could you know that, Master?”
“I have had several cameras in your apartment for some time, slave. I look after my investments. That’s the only reason we’ve progressed this far: because I know you were honest in reporting your previous failures of discipline to me. But that aside, I can tell by the sound of your voice. You wouldn’t be crying like the bitch you now are if you hadn’t put it on.”
“But how –”
“Shut up.” I blushed. “You know, slave, you’re lucky. The springs in that device are quite powerful. If you had put it on incorrectly and then locked it, it probably would have cut your little boy-clit clean off. Or maybe crushed it into pulp. And while a penectomy is probably in the cards for you some day” — I swear I could hear his smile as he said this — “I don’t think you’re quite ready for that, hm?”
I felt light-headed, dizzy, sick. I closed my eyes and listened as Sean kept speaking.
“Don’t try going to a locksmith. He’ll just scramble the lock, and then you’ll be in that thing forever. Because it can’t be cut off, at least not at any temperature that would leave you with genitals when it was done.”
“Yes, Master,” I whimpered. I had already suspected as much.
“Is it comfortable, slave? I had to guess on the fit a bit.”
If I said it pinched or rubbed me, would he release me? I doubted it. And I didn’t want to lie to him; it could only make things worse. “It fits perfectly, Master.”
“Good! Because you’re going to be in it for quite a while.”
This was hardly a surprise, but a little moan escaped me anyway. Not least because my Master’s deep, calm voice was turning me on as it always did.
“I see you have the money. You know the exchange — you get the money, I get your chastity for another month.”
“A month! But Master, please, I’ll go crazy!”
Sean sighed, as if bored. “A month. Since you were unable to keep your word before, I shall force you to keep it now. Or was it your wish to break your word, slave?”
“No, Master!”
“That’s good. Because I’m giving you my word that I’ll grant you release in thirty days. After the month I’ve purchased.” My Master laughed. “You must be so excited, slave! All your fantasies are coming true at last! You’ll hear from me in a month. Be good, slave.”
“Please, Master, wait–”
But the line was dead. He was gone. The tears began to flow again, and I blearily made my way to bed. A long time later, I slept.
The next month was a dark time for me. Master no longer called or came to the usual places online. The only way I had to reach him was e-mail, and he never responded. I realize now that Master was testing me, but at the time all I knew was frustration and fear. I woke every morning, alone in my apartment, feeling the dull hot throb in my boy-clit (for so I thought of it now) that formerly would have been a nice stiff morning erection. And most nights I cried myself to sleep, alone and aching with unfulfillable need. It only got worse as the month progressed; at times I could feel the ache of lust all through my body. At the worst, it felt like my nipples and anus were spasming with hot ache. I couldn’t bear to meet the gaze of women in the street, for it just gave me a pathetic feeling of sick longing. They seemed impossibly beautiful and aloof, and there was no question they were utterly sexually inaccessible. To me, anyhow. I tried watching pornography a few times, but it just made me frustrated and sad. Every time I went to the bathroom, I had to sit. As such, I was reminded multiple times a day of my stupidity, my new humility, and what I had really given up — not just my orgasms but my gender.
As the days stretched into weeks, my sadness deepened into depression. I was in a constant haze of unfulfillable lust, and Master had left me alone. On the worst nights, when the ache was utterly unignorable and sleep eluded me, I drank myself into black unconsciousness. I couldn’t fulfill or relieve my libido, but I could blot it out for a little while. This only made the mornings worse. I had no school, no job, no family to occupy me. I contemplated going to a locksmith. I might get out, and if not, I could have the thing cut off. Sure, it might destroy my cock and balls, but it wasn’t like I had them now. And it would be an escape from the delicious tingly ache that was my only companion. I contemplated suicide.
The only thing that kept me going was my hope that Master would keep his word. And he always had, so far. I had no reason to doubt that he would release me from this infernal device after the agreed term of one month. But even so, doubt I did. I began to irrationally think that something had happened to Sean, that he had died in an auto wreck or some other senseless accident, and the key to my chastity tube was lost forever. I would just wait in vain for a call that would never come for the rest of my life.
But Master had always been true, and I true to him. And so my hope survived, and it carried me through the month. I woke on the afternoon on the thirtieth day, blackly hung over from the previous night’s liquor, and rushed to my mailbox. Sure enough, there was a note:
“Go to the Ritz-Carlton downtown. Thirtieth floor, midnight. I will be there in person to grant you your release. Almost there, slave.”
My heart raced. He had kept his word! Tears welled in my eyes again. I had been crying a lot lately, which I attributed to the hormonal imbalance of a long month without ejaculation. But this time, it was only due to the overwhelming feeling of love I felt for Master. But I was nervous. He’d be there in person. I was still a virgin when it came to men; I’d never even seen a cock besides mine in person. But I had a feeling that was going to change soon. Master was going to want to taste his slavegirl’s sugar…
All the sudden I was overcome with a throbbing flush of excitement. I ran back upstairs to begin g ettingready.
And so at 11:55 I found in an elevator, rising to the 30th floor of the nicest hotel in town. My mind raced and my boy-clit throbbed with a month of stored passion, anticipating its imminent release. I tried to imagine what Master would look like and came up blank for a moment. I’d never been with a man before, and I’d never found myself particularly physically attracted to one. All the same, I imagined him having a body to match his dominance and self-assurance: tall, muscular, maybe blonde with a tan and a cold smile. Older, too, maybe even in his forties. It was hard to tell from his voice, which was deep and had a slight, undefinable accent.
Myself, I was quite short at about 5’5″, and skinny, little older than a teenager. My hair was brown and my eyes green. I had showered thoroughly, and then I had shaved off all my body hair — at least what wasn’t covered by the chastity tube. I knew Master would like that. But I didn’t have anything nice to wear, so it was just my usual jeans, boxers, and a T-shirt. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be wearing it for very long anyway.
The elevator dinged and let me out. I found myself in a small foyer with a small sofa and oak paneling. Ahead was a door with a small plaque that simply read “30”. As I approached it, I was trembling with anticipation and involuntarily rubbing at my tube-encased boy-clit. Soon I’d be with my Master, serving him in slavegirl fashion. And I’d be free of the damned tube, at least briefly.
Working up my courage and trying to control my anticipation, I knocked on the door. Fear struck me, and I had to suppress an urge to run away. But then, I heard him, unlocking the door.
And at last, I was face to face with Sean, my Master.
Well, he was tall and muscular, indeed. At least a foot taller than me, and brawny. And dressed sharp, in a gray pinstriped three piece suit that screamed of money as much as the massive hotel suite behind him.
He was black. I hadn’t expected that. I realized with weird exhilaration that, most likely, I’d be a black man’s bitch in a few minutes. I felt my ass clench involuntarily.
Sean looked down at me with his deep, rich brown eyes and favored me with a smile that melted something inside me. I submissively dropped my gaze to the floor.
“Welcome, my slave.”
And I could only mumble back, “Master.”
At that, he stepped back from the door and gestured me inside. I stumbled into the living room of his suite. I looked around, taking in the oak furniture, the persian rugs. This place probably cost in a day what my apartment cost in a month. He stepped behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders. They were quite big and they felt palpably heavy there. I could smell him, his scent, so very masculine, and feel the mass of his large body just inches from mine. I realized I was shivering hard.
Master turned me around to face him. I met his gaze again for a moment. He seemed to stare right into me, seeing all my vain little self-centered thoughts. I looked away again, still shuddering with nerves. He was looking at me, at my face, at my body, in a coldly evaluating way that I’d never experienced before.
Sean chuckled, shaking his head. “Those clothes are awful. Off. Time to inspect my new property.”
At once, I began to undress, not daring to look up or challenge him. I fumbled with the buttons and got snagged on a sleeve, but soon enough I stood there nude, shivering at the cool air and my pumping adrenaline, clad in only the unremovable chastity tube. And still, his eyes on me. I had never felt so vulnerable. He said, “Walk for me,” and I obliged. I walked around in a little circle, feeling utterly graceless and awkward. I’d never really been comfortable with my body.
But Master seemed to like it. He chuckled softly. “Very nice. Nice little virgin white boy ass. Come.”
I flushed, sharply ashamed but tantalizingly excited at how forcefully blunt my Master was. Apparently it showed, because Master laughed.
I shuffled to him timidly. He reached down with a firm, slightly calloused hand and gripped the slave-mound between my legs. I flinched hard. My balls held a month of stored-up slave cum and were achingly tender. He kneaded me briefly, and I felt a surge of desire, with the corresponding tingle in my boy-clit. A low, soft moan escaped me. I wanted to beg Master for the key, for my promised release. But I couldn’t quite dare to speak. Something about his presence, his confidence, was just so overwhelming. Master turned me around and groped my ass roughly. “Yes, a very nice little ass. But I can see we’ve got a lot of work to do in order to get this body into shape.” And he smacked my ass, hard. I gasped and jumped at this, and shot Master a hurt little look. Master was making me feel like a piece of meat, like a sexual object, in a way nobody else ever had. It was just so degrading. Part of me loved it. A trapped part.
Master turned me back around and lifted my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye. Again, I felt something in me melt as I sensed his raw will, his ability to dominate.
“It’s time for a show of fealty. On your knees, bitch.”
Before I could even think about what I was doing, I knelt at Master’s feet, still staring into his deep eyes along the way. As I looked up at him, he unzipped and hefted out his cock.
I couldn’t believe the size of it. It looked huge. The only penis I had ever seen before outside of a porno movie was mine, which was five inches — and that was measuring generously. Master’s was only semi-hard, but from my position below him on the floor, it already looked bigger than that. And as I looked up at Master’s big black dirty cock, I realized with a hot flush of embarrasment that it was growing. Sean was getting turned on as he stared down at me. He was smiling. I could see in his eyes he was considering what to do with me. Stroking his cock to stiffness, Master asked, “Ever seen one of these before, slave? I mean, aside from that pathetic little boy-clit you used to call a cock?”
I couldn’t say anything. I was scared now. I had promised Master I’d serve him, and had known intellectually what that would mean. But now I was confronted with the reality of that promise: all ten thick throbbing inches of it. It shocked me. The heterosexual part of me was horrified. Had I really agreed to suck that thing? To take it into my ass? I looked down in shame, unable to face it, and saw my own trapped little dick, could feel it tingling, aching, throbbing with a month of stored unfulfilled lust.
Suddenly Master gripped my hair and pulled, turning my head up to face him, pulling me up so that I was at eye level with his cock. I gasped and cried out in pain and surprise. It looked even bigger head-on: ten inches at least. And thick. He was still stroking it softly.
“Answer me, slut. Have you ever seen a real cock before?”
I winced; he was still tugging roughly at my hair. “Ahh! No!”
With a startlingly quick motion, Sean smacked me roughly across the mouth with his cock. It was surprisingly forceful. It stung my face, and it stung my pride. I had never imagined he would really treat me like this, even if I had fantasized about it. Tears welled in my eyes, and I found I was angry. I looked up at him (as well as I could with him gripping my hair, anyway) and spoke with gritted teeth.
“Let go of me. I made a mistake. Just give me the key to this… thing… and let me get out of here.”
Master looked amused. “What was that, slave?”
My anger rose. “Don’t call me that!” Was I shouting? I struggled to stand, but Master held me down with a muscular arm. I tried to push it away, but to no avail; he was amazingly strong. “Look, I made a mistake. I thought I could do this, but I can’t. I’m…” I hesitated. “I’m not gay, all right?”
Master sighed, and gently relaxed his grip. I stood swiftly, almost losing my balance, and backed away from him a step. Then I scrambled for my clothes, gathering them up in my arms. I looked at Master, who was just staring at me disapprovingly, arms crossed, hard cock still out.
“Look, I’m sorry I wasted your time. I thought I wanted this, but… I can’t. I’m sorry. Give me the key and I’ll go.”
He chuckled. “You can go if you like, but the key?” He shook his head. “Out of the question.”
I just gaped at him for a moment; my eyes were still full of tears. “Come on, this isn’t funny. I’ve been in this damned thing for a month, okay? Do you know what that’s like? My whole body…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I just stood there naked, shivering for a moment. “I just need the key, okay? I’ll never bother you again.”
Master was still gently stroking his cock. He still looked serious, but a grin crept onto his lips. “I said no. But I’m merciful. So you made a mistake. If you leave, I’ll send you the key in a year. A year with no orgasms will be the price you pay for your mistake.” “A year! No way! I’m going INSANE HERE!” Now I really was shouting, yet Sean seemed unshaken. “Give me the key! Please! This isn’t funny! I’m a man, and I have rights!”
Master shook his head again, slowly, with infuriating calmness. “No. You aren’t a man anymore. And you gave up your rights when you put that thing on. What you are now is a little slave slut.” He sighed. “You told me your fantasies, remember? You told me this is what you wanted. Now, I promised you release tonight.” I brightened a little at this. “But you made a lot of promises too, slave.” His voice grew stern, loud, and harsh. “Well, Go ahead. Be a man like you say you are and walk out of here. You’ll pay the price for your ‘mistake’, but that’s what men do: accept responsibility. And you’ll be free — eventually.” I was shaking with fear, anger, and — after all this — raging sexual excitement. “Or stay and submit. With your heart and with your body. As you promised to do. And after that, I’ll grant you the release you want. As I promised to do. But STOP WASTING MY TIME AND MAKE UP YOUR MIND.”
I hated him so much in that moment. He seemed to be giving me a choice, but really, there was no choice at all. A year in the tube would kill me or drive me mad. He had trapped me a month ago, and I was still trapped. I dropped my clothes and stood there naked before him again, hanging my head in shame. All I could do was whimper, “…i’ll stay.”
Master grinned broadly. “Of course you will. But will you submit?” I nodded limply. “Then come here.”
I crossed the room to him, slowly, timidly. “Come here, girl! Give your new Daddy a kiss.” And he grasped me by the waist and pulled me to him. He held me against him, my naked body against his pinstriped suit, and I was overwhelmed by his presence, his strength, his smell. So masculine, so dominant. The rigid cock pressed against my midsection only strengthened the impression.
There was no point in resisting now. I had already given in. I wrapped my arms around his neck and, after a moment of hesitation, I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him on his stubbled cheek. Then his full lips. He responded, sweeping me up in his arms, pushing his tongue into my mouth. I’d never been kissed like that. Like a woman. And it turned me on, to be there under his power, following his orders, held against his body, so much bigger and stronger than mine. Looking back, that was the true moment I stopped being a man and started being a slave on the road to womanhood.
He kissed me deeply. When it was over, I moaned; my sexual ache had ratcheted up two notches. I couldn’t think consciously any more. He lowered me back down to my feet.
“Good girl. But you need to be punished for your disobedience a moment ago. You know that, don’t you?”
I nodded, weakly. I was not surprised at this. Master was harsh. “Then come.” He took my hand and led me through the suite to the bedroom. The bed was massive, king-size, with huge oak bedposts and a fantastically ornate headboard. He sat down on the edge of it and with firm hands laid me across his knees, gripping my wrists together with his left hand. I went willingly. His cock was still hard, hot and throbbing against my flat, naked stomach.
His right hand was on my ass, stroking, pinching. I was aware of my asshole, exposed to the cool air, tingling and clenching with excitement at his proximity due to my trapped libido. “This is the price of disobedience, slave.”
And he spanked me. That first blow was soberingly hard. This wasn’t going to be like the playful foreplay-spankings I had gotten from women before. This was discipline. I drew in a sharp breath. Master ran his calloused, firm hand across my cheek, then swatted again. I jerked at the stinging heat, but Master held me firm and struck again. And again. And again. He found a rhythm, alternating from one cheek to the other every few strokes. The heat on my ass began to grow, even between strokes. I gasped out, “Ahh god damn that hurts!”
Master didn’t stop, or even slow down. “Complaining, slave?” “No, Ma–AAH! Master! AAWH!”
The blows kept coming. I wished I had counted the strokes. I wondered if Master was counting them. I wanted to be good, to take the punishment like an obedient slave, but he just hit so hard. The aching sting was rapidly becoming unbearable. At first I had been turned on, but as the spanking continued, sexual thought was driven from my mind. My ass felt like it was bruised, then like it was bleeding. I struggled thoughtlessly, desperate to escape, but Master’s grip was like iron. I’m not sure how long it went on; less than an hour, probably. Maybe only a few minutes. But it felt like an eternity. I begged and pleaded with him to stop, probably incoherently. The humiliation was bad, but the pain was worse — especially because I knew it would hurt long after he was done. And the whole time his hard cock was pushing into my belly, proof of how excited he was to train his new slave.
At last, it ended. I was sobbing heavily, unable to catch my breath; tears were streaming down my face. I felt ashamed, but not angry. All I felt was gratitude that Master had finally stopped. Master let go of my wrists, which were sore from struggling, and lowered me to my knees on the floor. Then he stood up in front of me and grabbed me by the hair, as he had done before. But more gently this time.
“Let’s try this again.” He pulled me firmly up to eye level with his huge cock again. “Have you ever seen one of these before, slut?”
I struggled to catch my breath. I could barely see through my still-flowing tears. The ache in my ass was pulsating fire. “N-n-n-no, Master,” I mumbled through hitching sobs.
“You’re going to be seeing a lot of this one, slave. I know you’re scared of it. Somebody who’d only ever seen a pathetic white boy-clit should be afraid of a REAL cock. But we’ll break you of that. You will learn to love it. Now reach up and take hold of it.”
I brought my right hand up and timidly wrapped it around the sturdy shaft. It was so hot, so… alive. And so much bigger than mine had been. He was right: I was afraid of it. I had given up my own vastly inferior penis; now the only sex I was going to have was going to be on the receiving end of this monster. I stroked it softly, tentatively.
Master sighed. “Good girl. It won’t hurt you — not yet, anyway. Make friends with it. Play with it.”
I gripped it tighter and pumped it. I had to resign myself to this. The decisions had been made, and now I was going to have to learn to pleasure Master’s cock. I tried not to think about where this was going. I was catching my breath, although my face was still streaked with tears. “It’s just so big, Master. I never… never expected…” Master grinned down at me as I stroked him. “What, slave? Did you think I’d have a limp little white thing like you used to? Mmm.. That’s good. Faster.”
I obeyed. I tried to remember how I had liked to jerk off, but after a long month, the finer points of technique were hazy. Master seemed to like my style, because he let out a soft groan. I brought my other hand up to his shaft — God, it was so long, I could wrap both my hands around it with room to spare — and pumped a little harder. And I realized something: despite the brutal stinging on my bruised, purple ass cheeks, and the tears drying on my face, I was getting turned on again. For all of Master’s cruelty, part of me still wanted to be Master’s slave. And he’d taken the choice away from me, now, just as I had wanted him to do. I felt my lust rise as I realized that now I was living my fantasy of being a chastized pleasure slave. Master was forcing me to. And I loved him for it.
Then I was kissing him on his shaft, all over it, lifting it to reach the underside and sliding my tongue there. I could smell his sweat, his musk, potent and attractive. I was lapping at his chocolaty scrotum, then taking one ball into my mouth, then the other. I paused and looked up at Master lovingly, and he looked back, the amusement in his eyes evident. I knew what I needed to do. Master stroked my face affectionately. “Good girl… don’t stop…” And with that, I closed my eyes and slowly took the head of my Master’s cock into my mouth. I was amazed at how wide I had to open my mouth to accept it. I was careful to stretch far so as not to scrape Master with my teeth, both because I wanted to please him, and because I was afraid of what he might do if I scratched him. I licked at his head, running my tongue broadly across it, then tried sucking it. Master let out a soft sigh of pleasure. “Ohhh, yeah. That’s it.”
I felt a flush of shame as I realized that now I was a cocksucker, but I also felt quivering lust in my imprisoned loins. I didn’t want to stop. I tried to relax my throat and take Master deeper into me, feeling his hot meat slide across my tongue. Suddenly I felt it hit the back of my throat. My gag reflex hit, and I backed off, spluttering for a moment. Master chuckled.
“You only got about half of it. Try again. Slowly, girl.”
I took him into my mouth again, trying to relax, lowering my head oh-so-slowly onto his length. I grabbed the base of his shaft and pumped it softly, feeling his head throb against my tongue. Master put a firm hand on the back of my head. He didn’t push, but he prevented me from moving back. I inched down on it, feeling him push into my throat.
I didn’t gag this time, but I still couldn’t take all; Master was deep inside me, but there was still enough of his shaft for me to wrap a hand around. I tried to ease off, but Master held me there. I realized I couldn’t breathe. My airway was blocked by a thick mouthful of black cock. I looked up at Master imploringly, and he looked back with a smile.
“Not bad for your first time, slut. You sure you never sucked a cock before? Now get to work, girl. Make your Master cum.”
And his hand eased off, enough for me to slide back and draw in breath through my nose again. I started bobbing my head on his shaft, slow, wet motions at first, gradually gaining speed. Master groaned with pleasure as I did. I tried to remember how I’d liked my penis sucked, back when I had had one, and that I’d have to please Master if I ever wanted to earn the key to my chastity tube or have another orgasm. I tried to ignore the growing ache in my jaw and my knees, the smoldering fire of my smacked buttocks, the sickeningly strong arousal I couldn’t satisfy. I just focused on his cock in my mouth, on sucking him deeper and faster and wetter, on pumping his shaft in rhythm with my sucking, on judging by his groans what he liked and what he didn’t.
It seemed to take forever. Over and over, I went too deep and gagged myself, causing me to pause and collect myself. I scratched him with my teeth, once or twice, and Master pulled my hair harshly to let me know he was displeased. My jaw felt sore, my knees felt weak, and my right hand was exhausted from stroking. After what must have been at least twenty minutes of furious sucking, I began to slow from exhaustion. With a groan of exasperation, Master said “I can see we have a lot of work to do.” Then he reached down and grabbed my hair with both fists and began fucking my face. I was instantly ashamed — I had failed even at cocksucking. Master thrust into my mouth, over and over, quick and shallow, faster and faster. At last he shuddered and let out a noise of pleasure that was almost a roar. I felt his cock throbbing in my mouth for a moment before my mouth flooded with an enormous load of hot cum.
The taste was bad — hot, salty, sour — but not as bad as I had imagined. The amount was worse. It shot down my throat and coated my tongue. It seemed like Master continued to pump it for almost a minute. Some of his jizz leaked out of my full mouth and dribbled down my chin.
I didn’t dare swallow. For the first time, I thought about disease: I had agreed — begged — to be Master’s cum receptacle, and now I was. It was a little late for a condom.
Master pulled out of me with a contented sigh, softening, sated. I, of course, was still as horny and frustrated as ever, with nothing to show for it but a mouthful of cum that I didn’t have the courage to spit or swallow. Master was amused.
“You like the taste of it that much, girl?” He reached down and pushed the runaway strand of cum up, rubbed it across my lips. “You need practice, a lot of practice, but you’re definitely a natural. Now swallow it.”
I was blushing bright red, but I gulped it down, felt his seed slide warmly down my throat. And realized something: Master was right. I had liked it. It was gross, but it gave me a sense of feminine submission that nothing else ever had. I wanted to get better at it.
Master stroked my face, my head. “Good girl, good pet.” He sat back down on the edge of the bed, catching his breath, looking down at me on the floor. I kneeled in silence for a moment, but then I had to ask. He was likely to be most merciful right after he came, and he had promised to let me out of the tube today, after all.
“Master?” I said, so softly that even I almost couldn’t hear it.
“Hmm?”
Choosing my words carefully, I said in a meek voice, “Master, your adoring slave humbly requests that you give her the key to her chastity tube, as you promised.”
Master looked surprised. “What? I didn’t promise you that, girl.”
He was right, of course. “Forgive me, Master. The key is of course yours to keep, as is the tube, and your humble slave’s body. But please unlock your obedient, loving slave as you promised to do.”
Master shook his head slowly. “I promised you no such thing, slave. I promised you release, slave, and I will keep that promise.” I didn’t understand, but my blood ran cold. “But you’re a slavegirl now. Isn’t that right, slave?”
“Y-yes, Master, of course, Master, but –”
“And little slavegirls don’t have cocks, do they?”
I started to weep. Through hot tears, I said, “..no, Master.”
“There’s only going to be one cock in this relationship — mine. You stay in the tube. You might as well forget about your pathetic little penis, because you lost it forever the moment you put that tube on. You’ll never have another erection again. All you have now is a soft little boy-clit. And do you know why, my darling little slave?”
I was sobbing, hard. All I could do was shake my head.
“Because this is your fantasy. And because I’m a compassionate Master, I’m going to make it come true for you. But don’t be afraid, slave. You’ll still get to cum once in a while.”
“But– but how?”
“Come here, and I’ll show you. Up, on the bed.”
I clambered slowly up onto the bed as he beckoned. I hid my face from him, ashamed of my flowing tears. I couldn’t sit, because my ass was still raw and stinging, so I just lay on my stomach.
Master slid me to the center of the bed with his strong hands. I felt him moving behind me, but with my face buried in the sheets I couldn’t tell what he was doing. I didn’t care; I didn’t have the strength or will to attempt to resist any more. He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me up, so I was on my knees with my face down and my ass in the air. Then he spread my legs, gently, and carefully parted my buttocks, making sure not to touch the reddened cheeks.
And then I felt his tongue, wet and soft, rubbing up and down the cleft of my ass. I shivered at the sensation, so powerful and yet so delicate, on my most secret place. Nobody had ever done anything like this to me before. Master focused in and lapped at my tight asshole, wetting it, making me aware how tightly it was clenched.
The feeling was almost overpowering, and definitely pleasureable, though very strange. I gripped at the sheets and moaned softly. Master licked persistently, and I felt my ass respond to him, loosening up.
I gasped when he pushed the tip of his tongue into me briefly. Master kept at it, and I felt my whole body relaxing, particularly my rear. All I could do was lie there and whimper in pleasure.
Under Master’s tonguing, my rear began to tingle and throb in a way I’d never experienced before. It felt very, very good, the closest thing to a sexual sensation I’d had in a month. My lust was screamingly out of control, my boy-clit completely engorged in its metal prison, and I became aware of a certain erogenous itch I’d never noticed before in my rear. I had known Master would inevitably take my ass if I gave myself to him, and I had always imagined being anally fucked would be humiliating and painful and utterly unenjoyable. Certainly it had been that way for the only girl I’d ever tried it with, when I’d been a straight boy. Now, with his wide, wet, dextrous tongue, Master was making me understand that it didn’t have to be that way. And before I knew it, I found myself panting, “…oh god, fuck me, fuck me, Master, please…”
He paused and sat up. I could hear the amusement in his voice. “You’re not ready, slut. I’d break you in half if I stuck my big old cock in your tiny little ass. But a virgin little cockhole like you needs something in there, that’s for sure.”
And he was right, I did. My asshole felt gapingly wide and empty now that he had stopped lapping at it. Then I felt Master dribbling something down my crack, squirting it into my gaping rear. He smeared it around, coating his long index finger in the process.
“Now spread wide, slave. Breathe deep. Try to relax. You’re going to love this.”
I followed his instructions, holding very still, concentrating just on my thoughts. And then I felt the tip of Master’s finger slide into me. The feeling was almost overwhelming. I gripped the sheets tightly as my ass clenched involuntarily around him. My rectum was extremely sensitive; I could feel the edges of his fingernail. I probably could have read Braille if it had been on there. I just breathed. Master paused there, waiting for me to relax again, and when I did he slid in a bit further. This repeated for a few minutes, Master pushing in, waiting for me to relax, then pushing just a little more, adding more lube as necessary. All I could do was whimper, a nonverbal plea for him to keep being gentle. His finger felt huge, the way I would have imagined a cock would feel. I was very glad he wasn’t fucking me. Yet.
“Good, good girl… easy… you like that, don’t you, having something in your ass. Now another.”
And Master repeated, this time using two fingers. It was easier this time; I felt very relaxed, almost sleepy, from the deep breathing. The contractions of my ass grew softer, welcomed him in. Master chuckled, then began finger-fucking me with delicious slowness. I let out a low, long moan. The feeling was agonizing, uncomfortable, like a slow burn in my rim, but somehow pleasurable. I could feel my boy-clit throbbing with excitement in its tube, and something in my rear I’d never been aware of before was throbbing with it. And every time Master’s finger brushed by that spot, it felt sooooooo good. I sighed and groaned, feeling completely submissive.
Master, gauging my soft noises of pleasure, gradually zeroed in on that one tingly spot deep inside me, rubbing and massaging at it with his lubed fingertips. I gasped and arched my back involuntarily, found myself pushing back against his hand. I felt very tight and hot and full, and that spot deeply ached. “Mmm… there it is. You like that? When I rub your little slave-spot?” I could only groan incoherently. Master kept rubbing, pushing, for what seemed like an eternity. There was a month of lust stored up inside me, and it was screaming, building by the moment. I still felt a million miles from orgasm, though; my penis was still small and trapped and cold in its cage, and there was a stretching uncomfortable pain that was impossible to ignore.
Master didn’t give up; he kept working his fingers inside me, massaging firmly, quickly, with an insistent rhythm. He whispered filthy things from my fantasies, about how I was his little cumslut, how I’d serve him forever, how he’d already begun transforming me into the perfect little slavegirl. He reached around and grabbed my balls and imprisoned boy-clit, my little slave-mound, and kneaded it gently in his left hand as he worked my ass with his right.
And at last, I felt that slave-spot inside me begin to spasm wildly. A flash of heat, centered there in my ass, rocked through my body and my mind. I think I was shrieking; I don’t remember. My asshole clenched tightly around Master’s wonderful fingers, and that spot kept spasming hard, with unbelievable force, and each time it sent a wave of relief through me. I was having an orgasm, for the first time in ages, and it was utterly unlike any I’d ever had before. Cum was pouring out of me, into Master’s hand, which still firmly cupped my quivering slave-mound. My whole body shuddered and shook with it. It lasted much longer than a normal orgasm, almost a minute, and even after the cum stopped leaking out of my chastity tube I could feel my ass and slave-spot spasming.
With his firm arm, Master rolled me onto my side, then laid down behind me, holding my shivering, quivering body against his as I came. He held his left hand up to my mouth, and I licked my hot cum off his palm, slurping and lapping gratefully. I think I fainted or dozed; I’m not sure which.
Then Master was talking to me. “Did you like your release, little girl?”
In a weak voice, I said, “Ohh, yes, Master, thank you, Master. But…”
“But what?”
“But there was no, you know, pleasure, Master. In my pe.. my boy-clit. I couldn’t feel anything at all inside the tube.”
Master let out a gruff chuckle. “Of course not. That’s the whole idea. You feel the relief, right?”
I did. The screaming lust of the past month was gone, replaced by the wet, loose, sated feeling in my rear and a pleasant sleepiness inside my chastity tube. “Well, yes, Master, but…”
“But that’s a slave’s orgasm, the relief. You can forget about the other kind of orgasms. You’ll never have one again,” he said, matter-of-factly.
Previously that had been a terrifying thought. But now I understood how that could be.
“And once a month is probably a good frequency for your slave-orgasms. That should be more than enough. At least while you’re learning your place.”
“But… but Master, I need…”
“Shut up.” He sighed and pulled me closer to him. I could feel his hot, hard cock pushing against my sore ass now. “Just say Yes, Master like a good little girl.”
Another flush of shame as I did. “Yes, Master.” How had I gone from being a free man to this? I loved Master for doing it to me. Master chuckled. “I was worried, slave. I thought I wasn’t going to be able to give you your release without freeing your little boy-clit and letting you rub yourself off. Almost unlocked you. And then I would have had to let you do that every time you needed a milking. But you didn’t disappoint, little slut. You like it in the ass enough that you’ll never get to feel a hand on your penis again. I knew you would. You’re made to be penetrated.”
I was horrified at how close I’d come to having a real orgasm. If only I had held off, fought the feeling… And now I’d never get out…
Master chuckled again, then said, “You know, my sweet little slave, you’re probably going to be in that thing for at least a year anyway. And if you ever get out, you can be sure your boy-clit won’t work any more. If you even still have it.”
“I know, Master.”
“Hmm? Then why didn’t you take my offer?”
“Because I want to be your slave, Master. I wanna be your fine sweet-ass bitch.”
Master mmmmmed in approval. “Oh, you are, slut. You are.” And then I felt him rubbing his rock-hard, huge cock up and down my well-lubed asscrack. “You are such a dirty little cockslut. I was going to wait and break you in gradually, but sluts like you just demand a hard fuck in the ass, right?”
And before I could react, Master rolled me back onto my knees, with my head down and my red ass in the air. I gasped in surprise: he was just so strong, he did it so easily. And then, just as easily, he pushed his hard cock into my loose, lubed rear. I cried out as he did. He was huge, and my little rear felt like it was about to tear. I struggled, tried to get to all fours so I could crawl away, something, but Master grabbed me firmly by the neck and forced my head back down to the bed. Then he solidly thrust into me, penetrating me more deeply than I had thought possible. I moaned in anguish, but this only seemed to make Master more excited. He thrust again. And again. And again. Gaining speed. And each time I let out a pathetic whimper that only encouraged him.
I was getting fucked in the ass, and there was nothing I could do about it. I tried to relax and breathe deeply as I had done before, but it didn’t help. Master’s thick, long shaft had split and stretched me. No amount of relaxation could lessen the pain as he continued, working in faster and deeper, and when his hips hit my sore buttocks those stung all over again. Master was using my body to satisfy his own pleasure, hurting and violating me in the process. Was I being raped? Maybe, but the worst part was that despite the pain and humiliation, I found I liked it, that my boy-clit was responding in its little tube again. With every thrust, Master was proving that I was now his bitch slave, and there was nothing he couldn’t do to me if he wanted.
The pain grew and grew, until I thought I couldn’t bear it any more. But Master kept going, parting my buttocks with his rough hands. So there was nothing for me to do but take it and try to ignore the pulsing lust that grew in my trapped penis, back so quickly after a short reprieve, undeniable proof that I loved being abused like this, being mercilessly pounded in the ass. I gasped and squealed and cried out until my voice was hoarse, but Master kept going. He bent over me and pinched my nipples as he thrust away, making me squirm, but there was no way to escape. This was the worst humiliation of all, having my body selfishly used for Master’s pleasure, unable to do anything but lie there and enjoy it in spite of the pain.
Master’s breathing roughened, and the thrusting reached an unbearable pitch. And then he let out a groan of pleasure, and with a final thrust, I felt his cock throb inside me as he squirted me full of his hot cum. He gave me a few final panting thrusts, and pulled out. I couldn’t move, only lie there and gasp. My rear was achingly hollow, gapingly wide. It felt like Master had ruined it, like it would never close again. And it didn’t close, because before I knew it, Master was shoving something else into me. I thought for one awful moment that Master was going to fuck me again. But this thing, whatever it was, was a lot smaller than his cock. It was almost comfortable by comparison. Then he spoke, still somewhat out of breath. “Get used to having a plug in there, bitch. We’re gonna have to make that asshole a few sizes bigger, if you’re ever going to learn to cum from being fucked in the ass.”
Cum from that? It seemed impossible. The idea of being fucked in the ass was sexy, but the feeling itself was brutal. Then Master rolled me over onto my side again, and laid down beside me, looking into my teary eyes. I didn’t dare look away.
“So tell me, girl. Did you like your first taste of slavesex?”
And I nodded. It had turned me on.
He grinned. “That’s good. Because it’s the only kind of sex you’ll be having, for the rest of your life. The kind where you get filled with a cock, and then filled with cum. And you know why?”
I sniffled. “Because I’m a bitch slave, and I wouldn’t want it any other way, Master.”
He ruffled my hair in a gesture of affection, then encircled me in his brawny arms, drawing me close. I snuggled against his chest. “You did good, girl. I know that must have hurt you. It always hurts girls their first time. But we’ll get you broken in. It can only get better, hm?”
“Yes, Master.”
He held me against him, and I laid there. There was nothing else I could do. Eventually, I slept.
When I woke, morning light was streaming in through the blinds. For a minute before I opened my eyes, I wondered if the past night had been real. But the condition of my body removed all doubt. My scalp hurt, from where Master had pulled my hair. My nipples were sore. My arms, from the struggle. My boy-clit throbbed in its usual morning excitement inside its prison. My knees were shot from all the kneeling I had done. My asscheeks felt even more stingy than yesterday; the pain had settled in, and I was sure they were both bruised and purple. And my rear, still stuffed full of buttplug, felt like it was destroyed. My mouth tasted like cum — Master’s and mine — and I realized with shame and excitement that Master’s jizz was still in my ass.
And Master lay next to me, snoring rhythmically. For a while, I was afraid to move, worried I would wake him up. But I had to pee, and I couldn’t ignore it for long. So I got up, very carefully, without making a sound. My legs ached and almost buckled when I stood up, but quiet as a mouse, I limped my way into the bathroom, shut the door, and flicked on the light. The bathroom was huge and clean, all gleaming white marble. I felt anxiety rising inside me.
Okay, I thought to myself, you have to get out of here. You have to get out of here, or you’re gonna be that black man’s slave for life. You loved last night — it’s okay, you can admit that to yourself — but deep down you’re still really a straight boy. What you really like is fucking girls, not being fucked like one, even though, yes, last night was the most intense sexual experience of your life. But nobody could live like this, kept as a chastized feminized cockslave. So now you have to clean yourself up, get your clothes, find that key, and get the hell out of here. Before Master wakes up.
The first thing I did was gargle softly with some mouthwash. I swished till it burned, but it got the cum taste out of my mouth well enough. Then, balancing myself against the sink with one hand, I reached around and tugged at the plug in my rear. My asshole was sore and raw, and pulling at the plug made the ache back there unbelievable.
But at last it pulled free. I felt a dribble of Master’s cum leak out of me back there, and I shivered. I couldn’t sit on the toilet like a girl, the way I had for over a month now, because my asscheeks were too sore. So I squatted while my Master’s cum leaked out of my abused anus. Then I washed myself up in the sink, afraid that the noise of the shower would wake Master. One glance in the mirror confirmed that, yes, my ass was covered with purple marks. I could even make out a clear handprint on the left cheek.
I didn’t want to, but then I took the plug and slid it back into my bruised rear, biting off a moan as I did. If Master woke up before I left, I was going to be in enough trouble. I didn’t need to make it worse by getting caught without the plug in.
All right. I felt a little better, a little cleaner. Now if I could just find the key… it was probably in his pants. Maybe even on his keyring. I opened the door, very slowly and carefully, and stepped out into the room. I felt very vulnerable, naked except for the chastity tube, which was somehow worse than being completely naked.
I looked at my sleeping Master, lying there in bed, his naked dark flesh, his semi-stiff cock bigger than mine had ever been. And the smart part of my mind screamed to find the key and run, to get out, but my heart and my cursed boy-clit demurred. I loved him already, pathetically, helplessly, and I wanted to be his slave. I had given myself to him, and he owned me. All that was left was to serve. And so I padded softly over to the bed, climbed back in, and curled up against him.
Master was still asleep. I couldn’t fall back asleep, because I was sore and horny. As I lay there, I found my attention drawn back to Master’s cock. It was just so big and black and thick… Well, if I couldn’t play with my own any more, at least I had Master’s. I slid down between Master’s legs and began stroking him gently, watching with amusement at how quickly he stiffened. Master shifted and groaned softly, but didn’t wake. I ran my eyes up and down his shaft hungrily. It had to be ten inches, at least. I thought then that God had cheated me, giving me such a tiny white dingaling when there were huge man-cocks like this in the world. And this one owned me, could penetrate my mouth or ass whenever it wanted…
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