Never has a road of large detached Victorian houses looked so threatening. High walls and ornate gables suggested Gothic terrors within. The pavement was hard and unyielding and my legs stiff and stumbling. The path was not uneven but I was strangely un-coordinated. It was purely the product of mental turmoil. Sweet reason and timid caution warned me against going further but a primitive force compelled me forward. I checked the house numbers and realised with a leap of the heart that there were only six gates to go. I tried to calm myself into thinking that this was a simple visit to the doctor. Into his hands I must place myself and take my medicine however hard and spiteful it might taste. Perhaps I could walk on past the door and wander pathetically back into the anodyne World from which I was striving to escape. Suddenly, there was the number on the gate, the latch fastened, and mechanically I struggled to open it and walk up the path. Now I knew it was too late. Surely, as I turned to shut the gate I was being watched. I felt acutely self conscious and could sense eyes boring into my very body. From now on I was no longer myself, nor my own.

Even with dry mouth, shaky hands and leaden feet I still managed to climb the four steps to the imposing front door and rang the bell. An intercom which I had not noticed buzzed at me from the wall. “Yes?” it said imperiously. I blurted out my name, “Charles Lord,” as if that was all of me I had left. “Do you have an appointment?” I did. “Then go round the house to the surgery and ring on that door.” And a brief electronic burp indicated that I was dismissed. Going to the surgery at the side door seemed less daunting than being subjected to scrutiny on the other side of this Victorian portico.

A buzzer on the wall released the surgery door and I showed myself hesitantly into a small tiled waiting room, where there were two cane chairs and a table with elderly supplements. There were windows high on the walls and a notice which said, “Please be seated. Doctor will call you as soon as he is available.” I sat and swallowed trying to provoke saliva into my mouth. I could hear my heart beating in my temples and my breathing seemed to echo off the high walls of this small dark room. There was no other sound but the slow ticking of a clock on the wall. Two large wooden doors led out of the waiting room but there was no indication as to which one was going to open. I strained to hear footsteps, or voices or perhaps even screams from a distant dungeon. But there was nothing. I checked my watch. I was still four minutes early. Perhaps I could go and no-one need know I failed. Only me. I clenched my buttocks and sat up straight. Tuck in your belly and stay, you utter wimp, I ordered myself.

When a door handle rattled I nearly jumped with fright. A door opened inwards and light spilled into the dark room. A figure whom I could not see clearly said quietly,”Do come in.” The voice was deep, but sounded friendly and a little melodic. As I stood I felt slightly giddy as if I was floating, not in a dream but in a disembodied state as if I had lost control of my limbs and will power. And of course I had to some degree. Deep breath and I moved through the white surgery door into the sunshine and into my new life.

The figure was wearing an expensive pale charcoal light-weight suit. “Chas,” he said and extended his hand to shake mine warmly and firmly. He was taller than I had thought and more avuncular in manner. I could not help myself but look him over with a swift scrutiny as he gestured to a chair. Being put at my ease in such an easy manner was unexpected and threw me a little. I knew we both wanted something more than a simple sex scene between us but having an introductory discussion was unexpected. George seated himself comfortably in his desk chair, set side on to mine. “So, has it been a struggle to keep our appointment?”, he asked with a smile. I looked him frankly in the eyes and let my gaze slip nervously to his lap. “ God, yes,” I admitted suddenly flashing him a grin and feeling better about the shared honesty.

“I have been tossing and turning all night and…”I laughed, “not tossing in the sexual sense, but through nervous anticipation.”

“Glad you made it?” asked George

“Very much so. Although I am still terribly shaky about what I may have let myself in for.”

George then said, “Don't worry, you are in safe hands, I'm a doctor trust me. Just go behind the screen and start to take your clothes off I will be with you shortly..........” he gestured to a screened off area to one side. The clinical white and steel fittings indicated that a different stage was beginning that somehow screamed contradiction to George's friendly re-assuring manner. It was the word “start” which confused me slightly as I moved into the comparative privacy of the screened off area. I took off my jacket and tie and hung them on a hangar. Shoes kicked off and socks removed, I had started to unbutton my trousers when the screen was suddenly pulled back.

“Now let's take a look at you,” said George in a more businesslike voice. I hesitated for a moment. “Yes, go on. Down to your briefs.” He stood behind me and watched as I stripped for him and with reddening face turned and presented myself for inspection. “Hands at your side.” He said in a soft voice which was re-assuring but brooked no refusal. I stood stiffly to attention with my hands at my side and my boxers blatantly filling with my excitement. I don't know why. Was this really the man whose cock I would worship with my mouth wet with want? Was this really the man whose anus I would soon be licking in subservient adoration? My mind was in a state of giddy self disbelief and my body was tensed in readiness for his command. I tucked my tummy in and breathed in deeply. I lifted my head and yet looked at the floor and tried to control my breathing. My buttocks were clenched in honour of his inevitable inspection and my cock was filling my boxers in hope and submission.

He stood in front of me and I realised how much taller and bigger he was than me especially as I was barefoot. At first George subjected me to a simple medical examination. He checked my pulse, heart, neck, mouth, breathing and asked me questions about my medical history in a matter of fact way. He lingered as he pinched my arms and standing behind me rubbed my shoulders, clearly enjoying my discomfort. I wasn't sure whether I was being medically checked or looked over as meat but either way I revelled in the tension of his attentions. I inhaled his expensive and masculine cologne and responded with a racing pulse to the strength and grip of his hands and large fingers. He was a rower, I learned later.

From behind me he ordered me to touch my toes and I did. I was keen to be ramrod straight and my erection subsided with the simple realisation of my vulnerability. His hand traced my spinal column, checking each vertebra and then he slipped down my boxers so they pooled at my feet. I could not prevent an intake of breath. His hands traced to my coccyx and stopped. I was bracing myself for the inevitable slippage between my bum cheeks which I was clenching tightly in his honour. And he movced in front of me and said “stand” and shakily i stood. I was red in the face to be in front of him, nakedly exposed. "Turn your head to the left and cough" and i felt the slightest pressure on my balls from his hand placed underneath them "Now to the right and cough" and I did and his medical examination was purely that. Nonetheless i knew what more it could have and would be........and when he then said, "All seems to be in good order but now I will examine you internally. Put your shorts on the chair and hop up on the table. Kneel, face down arse high."

Nervously I did as instructed and placed my face forward on the cold leather top, I could feel my hands trembling as they lay by my head and the cool air on my anus now exposed to view. I heard the snap of latex gloves and involuntarily braced my bum.

“Put your left knee here,” he said guiding me to spread my legs and place my knee in a sort of groove, about which he put a Velcro strap to secure it in position. The same was achieved with the right knee which was also strapped in place. “Now reach forward and hold those handles at the end. And don't let go unless commanded to do so” I reached forward feeling my back arch higher and my arse protrude lewdly and vulnerably exposed.

A finger probed the skin around my anus, tapping and stroking the soft skin that surrounded it. “Have you ever been tested for AIDS?” he asked. “No”, I mumbled. “I will test you shortly,” came the reply. “You can see my test results. I carry out a test regularly. It is negative, of course. Have you ever had unprotected sex with a man?” “No.” I said again. “Turn your head to the left and place your right cheek on the top,” he ordered, his voice a shade more dictatorial in tone. I obeyed and tried to make myself comfortable, revelling in the attention I was receiving.

“Have you had unprotected sex with a woman?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, feeling myself slipping into the role that I had craved for so long. He asked for details which I provided briefly, feeling both my mind and body were being peeled away down to the innermost intimacy of my self. His finger probed my anus firmly but gently gaining entry to the very portal of my arse. It was deliciously sensual and insistent but he did not force entry but relaxed and his finger left me, making me yearn for more. “Your arse has clearly been breached but you say that you have never been buggered by a man. Is that so?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied in all honesty.

“What have you had in your arse, then slave?” He was standing beside me, looking at my face and applying grease to his fingers. I admitted to inserting objects and he wanted to know their dimensions and frequency. With embarrassment I told him of the objects I had inserted. He listened carefully questioning me from time to time and instructing me to be precise and speak clearly rather than mumble my replies.

“When you inserted a bottle in your anus, did this excite you sexually?”

“Yes,sir.”

“Did the action involve any particular ritual or fantasy?”

“I don't understand ritual, Sir.”

“An act of self-preparation either mental or physical?”

“I always imagine I am under someone's control and have no right to resist. I assume the position and attitude of total submission as far as I can in the situation, on my own.”

“And you enjoy the act and the discomfort of being used anally?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So discomfort is certainly exciting but is pain as well? Are you a masochist?”

“I don't know Sir, but I think I have masochistic tendencies. I certainly want to discover how far I can submit to pain for my Master's pleasure.”

And I felt my slave cock swelling in confirmation of this sincerely but nervously expressed admission.

“We will investigate your pain thresholds in due course but for now I want to check your prostrate and how you respond to the examination, and then I will check your penis. So on your back….” And with that he released my knee restraints. “Turn over and lie on your back. Grasp the handles above your head and bring you knees up spread wide each side of your chest. “

I did as instructed bringing my knees up as high as I could but that was not enough. “Come on,” he insisted. “Wriggle your back down the table and present your anus for me properly. I expect your bum right up and accessible, well rounded and pointed at the ceiling.” For the first time he sounded a little impatient and I quickly did my best to obey, pushing my bottom up in a totally lewd and surrendered fashion.

“That's better,” he said simply. “Now let me know how this feels on a scale of 1 to 12. Anything less than four is still pleasurable but at five it begins to hurt. Six is discomfort for a few seconds. Seven is pain for 5-15 seconds; eight is pain for up to a minute and above that it makes you cry out and the effects may last for minutes, hours or days. I hope you won't know 10-12 today but you will at another time if you are worth training.”

I felt his index finger at my anus and since it was well greased it gained easy entry into my rectum. He stood beside me holding my right knee down in his left hand to part my buttocks. with his finger lodged well into my arse, he looked at me deep in the eyes. “Well?” he asked.

The feeling was entirely natural and the way he owned me at that point made my slave cock fill and stretch across my folded belly.

With embarrassment but submission in my eyes, I looked at him and said simply. “Three or four, Sir. There is no pain.”

“Good, I wouldn't have thought so from the state of your anus. It has been well stretched. This however might be different.”

And with that he pressed his finger deep into my rectum stretching my anus, probing into me towards my belly and folding his fingers against my parted and unresisting buttock cheeks. Suddenly there was a sharp throb of pain and my cock jerked in involuntary response to his intrusion. I grimaced and took control of myself as he withdrew his finger slightly. The throb subsided and I looked at him and said simply, “That was six, Sir” and hoped I did not seem a wimp for admitting it.

“Quite,” he commented. “your prostrate's fine. But tell me how this feels?” He withdrew his index finger and I felt what I imagined were two fingers starting their slippery dilation of my anus. They seemed huge and made their way inexorably past the outer sphincter stretching the ring of muscle mercilessly. “ Well?” he asked impatiently. “keep telling me how it feels.”

I pushed my bottom up for him and breathed deeply, “Five Sir” and I looked up at him and gushed, “it hurts a little but it feels so good to know you are inside me.”

“And now?” and he pushed steadily into my rectum making me wince as the inner ring of muscle was driven open to receive his relentless claiming of my slavery. All I could do was breathe out sharply as I braced myself against his forceful mastery of my mind and body, saying in a constricted voice, “Seven Sir, maybe eight,” but I pushed up my buttocks to make myself open to him, knowing that no pain was too much to bear to prove my willing surrender, indeed urging myself to push out my arse and suffering as far as I could bear. I held tightly to the handles above my head and arched my back, straining to lift and part my legs as the glow of thick intrusion made my belly weak and my legs tremble. I could feel the joints in his fingers distend the channel of my anus bruising it deeply. His fingers reached into my rectum and the comparative space of the inner chamber of my arse. There was a deep ache about the hardness of his hand and all I could say was “Sir, that's eight but I love it.” The feeling of love had never been so intense in my body and soul and I wanted to declare my devotion to him as he possessed me.

“Grip with your anus. Try and squeeze my fingers out. Press down and let me feel what you can do. Imagine you are working my cockshaft to orgasm. Work your arse on me and make me cum, slave.”

I rocked myself back and forth on his fingers gripping as tightly as I could. Although my body hurt, my mind overruled the pain which seemed to melt away in my efforts. I knew with joy that this was the true expression of my submission. When pain becomes a measure of one's servitude it is orgiastic pleasure to give one's strength in the tumult of suffering. I bucked my arse onto his fingers and squeezed with all my dwindling energy, tightening my sphincter round his beloved hold on my slave channel. “Master,” I whispered in sweet agony. “I give my arse to you, I want to give all of me to you…..” and I yearned to express in my muttered words and more acutely in my fevered lust filled writhings the love and giving of my mind and body.

I felt his fingers withdraw and felt relieved and deserted yet still throbbing in my desire to be more conquered and hurt by them. I craved the pain and intimacy of his attention, looking up at him beseechingly. “I want to examine your slave cock,” he said with cold control. And as I watched him wipe his well greased fingers on a tissue I knew I was wholly subordinated to his control of my pleasure and pain. I relaxed my stretched thighs and felt my distended anus pulse in response to his use of me. My slave cock was full and stretched across my belly and so eager for his touch and I knew it could not be long before it burst in honour bound surrender to him.

With his left hand he ran his fingers up the length of it, lifting the shaft from my belly. “Lower your legs,” he said simply, releasing his grip and as I lowered my legs so the shaft sprang up and stood out proudly to salute him. I was no longer ashamed of my crude display of arousal but I was suddenly embarrassed by the traces of pre-cum, stringing from my stomach as I looked down at it. I muttered some apology and he remarked that this was natural. “When I activate your prostrate it would be abnormal if you didn't ejaculate. I could make you spurt by pressing more inside your rectum, as I might do when I cock fuck your arse.” He added in a matter of fact voice which made my cock jerk in anticipation.

“Now let's look at your prepuce,” and he raised my cock from my belly and peeled back the vestiges of circumcised foreskin to examine the cock head. He thumbed my cock slit and prised it slightly open. His masterful grip was so exciting that my cock was powerfully erect and all the while I was straining not to lose control. I breathed hard and he looked at me smiling, “Ready to burst for me, are you?” and I nodded my head. “Well keep yourself under control until I say you can.” His right hand weighed my testicles and then fondled them firmly. The slight pain helped me bring myself tightly under control aware of what he could do but without fear that he would be violent to me. “Have you ever undergone CBT?” he asked and I had to reflect for a moment as to what he meant. “No, sir,” I replied tensely, realising to what he referred. “I like my slaves pouched in leather from time to time. It excites you to feel skin on your skin and a constricting pouch raises libido and thus the speed of your jerk when you are released. Just think how tightly packed you would be if we put all this in a 3 inch pouch,” and he gripped me and ran his hand firmly up the length of my shaft, making me buck my arse nearly off the bench as he did so. “But don't worry, you can still ejaculate in a pouch. You don't have to be erect to have orgasm. And when you cum in your pouch, it is less messy and easier for you to lick up afterwards.” He let go of my slave cock and looked down as it sprang back into place reaching up across my belly.

“It's a nice cock and clean and just above average length. Show me if you can squeeze it and make it pulse for me. ” And I squeezed my abdomen and tried to make my glans swell for him. Although I went red in the face the cock did not grow very much, “Yes,” he declared, “as with your arse, you need some training but you have potential.” And he moved away for a moment before returning with a thin whippy 3 foot crop in his now ungloved hands. “Ever been whipped with one of these?” I shook my head. “I am going to test your pain threshold with this, just to take a preliminary check.” His voice was so detached and matter of fact that somehow it did not arouse anxiety. Keep me informed which level you reach with each stroke.”

Before I had had time to brace myself he flicked the crop over my nipples. It stung and shocked me but did not hurt. Nonetheless I flinched with fear and began to comprehend the reality of the test. He paused and looked at me enquiringly with impatience in his expression, “three” I whistled out of clenched teeth. Again he flicked my tits in almost the same place and it stung sharply but strangely arousingly. “Five,” as I caught my breath. He moved his towards my thighs. “Spread your legs,” he ordered and I parted my legs wide making my cock strain upwards and rampantly displaying my submissive arousal, twitching lest it should be the target for his testing. A flick to the right thigh made a painful stripe across the soft flesh. I writhed in response, hanging on to the handles with all my strength to keep my surrendered posture although I wanted desperately to protect myself. “Five,” I whimpered although I nearly howled from the shock more than the pain. I watched his arm rise and shut my eyes as a six seared my left thigh sharply. For a moment my cock slackened under the glow of agony as the pain washed through my weakening body. And he gripped the glans in fingers of his left hand and asked, “Ever had your cock whipped?”
”No, sir,” I muttered softly and braced myself in abject horror. “Keep your eyes open and look me in the face all the time so I can see the hurt in your eyes.” My knees rose independently in a pathetic attempt to protect myself and he told me firmly to put them down. I did so, presenting my body, muscles tight and flat surrendered for his use. Perversely my cock filled in his firm grasp and stood up throbbing as if to beg for punishment for its flagrant excitement. I strove to look at him as he angled his arm and flicked the rampant cock shaft. The pain was not as acute as I feared but I shouted, “six,” from my pit of fright. “That was fear not pain,” he observed accurately and slid his hand down over my foreskin to expose my purple shining glans on to which he applied the crop with a stinging rebuke. I bucked under the mind swirling mixture of fear and intense excitement tossed in the maelstrom of the meeting tides of pain and pleasure. As the initial stinging ebbed and the following bruising hurt burned into me I admitted “Five or six, Master,” but did not know really which level I was at but did know I was totally and willingly surrendering to the hands of a Master craftsman who was making me hugely excited. I looked earnestly into his eyes with adoration and submission supercharged by the straining response in my pulsing cock. “I am so close to cumming, Sir, so really that is only four,” I declared in short breaths.

“Present your arse for whipping, slave,” he ordered stepping away from me. “On your knees, arse high and rounded.” He put my knees in the restraints and ratcheted them forward so my arse was projected back, split and exposed for his attention. The cool air on my hot, dilated anus told me I was crudely spread and vulnerable for him and I was aroused by the way I was available to him.

“I will try to keep the stripes within the 2 – 6 range but now tell me about this.” And he cut me sharply across the meat of my buttocks with a searing swish of the crop that made me tremble in pain for a full minute of agony. I don't know if I emitted a howl but for a while I thought I would weep tears as I struggled to show I could take more, whimpering “Seven, I think, Master,” as I regained my composure. A three and a four to my thighs were a solace but set my mind racing to prove I was not a wimp who could not take a whipping. A five to the join between arse and thighs made me wince and writhe again and I braced myself, arching my back and thrusting out my arse to show my resolve and determination to be a good and worthy slave. Master set a rising triple of stripes across my buttocks to which I responded with a four, five and six as I felt the waves of hot pain start to sap my energy and ability to keep quiet and still. For a moment he relented as I coped with the tumult of hurt spreading through my body and into my belly and I was conscious that my cock was dwindling in lust and pride. What he was looking at I don't know, but suddenly I was aware that he was stroking my shoulders with his left hand and fondling the back of my head as I pressed my sobbing face into the couch. “Just two more,” he confided. One to the crack of my arse setting my anus into spasms of sexual agony which made me want to feel him there again. Then the last stripe right across the middle of my cheeks with a venom that made me howl and cry out “Seven!” as I slumped forward in the glow of achievement and agony. I felt my arse was zebraed in welts but in reality it was lightly striped with streaks of fire in intense thin lines, which he stroked in appreciation with a tender hand.

He released my knees from their restraints and told me to get down fomr the examination couch. Standing in front of me, so calmly and powerfully self-controlled with the crop still in his right hand, I felt in awe of his presence and command of me. Naked, abject and subdued with tears in my eyes and so desperately wanting to abase myself further, I looked up to his eyes for approval and acceptance. I could see the glint of lust in his eyes and I wanted so wildly to please him that I was about to kneel before him and offer my mouth in service. He leant forward and taking my head in his two hands, he kissed my tear wet eyes and then briefly my mouth strongly and possessively, but too quickly for me to respond as I wanted in love. Nonetheless, the expression of affection was overwhelming and I wanted to linger and speak my adoration for him. “Kneel,” he said coldly, “hands behind your back.” And I assumed the submissive position at his feet.

“You have promise, slave,” he spoke to me wonderfully. “You need much training, above all orally and anally. You show courage and stamina and I think you have the will power to learn obedience.” I muttered, “Yes, Sir” with all my want and conviction. “I don't want to break you physically but I will bend your spirit and make you slave to me with this,” and he whipped me spitefully across the shoulders with the crop that made me flinch and know he had the power to do so. “Very soon, I will thrash you into submission with this and thereafter regularly remind you of your abject slavery to me. Pay homage to the whip with your lips.” And he thrust the thin pain giver to my mouth where I licked its length and spiteful mastery of me in eager and frightening respect. He stood back, “Suck the fingers which have already breached you and probed your slave hole.” And he pushed the two fingers that had so recently distended the depths of my rectum deep into my mouth as I gulped on the length and strength of them. “Do you accept my gift of slavery to you?” “Yes, Sir, “ I breathed in delight and sincerity. “Kiss my feet and repeat after me,” amd I bent and kissed his shoes with wet kisses and working tongue, tasting the polished leather in my mouth, repeating after him between breaths, “I willingly and adoringly submit to you my master, giving you all that I am in my naked surrender to your power and command as your cock slave and worthless servant. Train me, I beg, with whip and correction to be your total slave in mind and body and soul.” Now kiss your Lord cock bulging in my trousers,” and I did rising on my knees to do so, inhaling the scent of his manhood through the material and feeling the strength of it tight in his groin. I applied dry lips to the bulge and detected his firm balls and rising shaft in awe and wanting, hoping that I could serve it in its real live flesh. “With this cock, I shall break your face and arse to my pleasure but that is for another day if it pleases me. Now prostrate yourself legs in a star with hands still clenched behind your back and tell me your name.” and face down I spread myself on the cold floor and said simply “I am your slave and nothing more Sir, proud and honoured to be just that.” “Indeed, and in your slavery you will know the freedom of expressing your total submission to your master.”

“Now kneel up and at my feet you will jerk yourself in your master's honour.” And I knelt up and felt my cock rise as I did. “you only come under my orders now slave. You give me everything when you are my slave. You have no rights over any part of your body any more not even your manhood which you give to me, I possess every part of your body inside and out, your soul and mind, every orifice and above all your cum. When you are ordered to give your cum to your master you hold your balls in your left hand, spread your legs wide and jerk quickly with your right hand, asking permission before you spurt. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled in wanton tension as I knelt before him. My hands trembled on my cock and balls waiting for the command to begin. “Stretch the slave cock in your right hand and pull your slave balls down with the left. Fist it properly, slave. Grip it tight whether it hurts or not and pump yourself quick and hard. I am generous with my slaves but not prepared to wait for the gift of your cum when I order you to jerk before me. Now pump it hard and let me see you revel in the kindness which I bestow on you.”

I fisted hard and long, feeling the lust rise swiftly in me bursting from my belly although the shaft and knob were sore from the whip cuts. I dared show no delicacy or hesitancy in my giving and began involuntarily to growl under my breath.

“Twenty strokes are enough for a slave like you. Pump it as if your life depends on it as indeed it does. There is nothing else you can do to please me but make grovelling gift of your cum lust.” I knew he was watching me closely and looked up at him in slavish devotion, my grimacing face betraying my abject subjection to my master. “Does it hurt?”

“A little, Sir, where it is sore from the whip.” I growled.

“Good, but don't you heed any discomfort in your surge to please me, slave, and don't you cum without permission either. When you are brimming tell me. ” And suddenly I was, the flood nearly overwhelming me in my craving to please him.

“Sir, please can I have permission to cum,” I blurted feeling the juice almost rising from my balls.

“ Put your fist under the glans and pull the head up for my approval, slave but don't you dare cum until ordered.”

“Yes Sir,” I grunted, struggling to control myself, tightening my belly as my hands stretched the shaft to force the cock head up for his scrutiny and command.

“Five more pulls,” he ordered “and count them out loud.” I quivered in desperation. Tightening every muscle of my body, I wanked my slave cock firmly, once, twice, three times and groaned. I held my breath knowing that one more stroke would make me burst. The sense that I was so utterly under his control aroused me wildly, knowing that this most personal of freedoms I was surrendering to him, my Master. “After five, you may spurt,” he ordered coldly. “The first in the air and the rest onto my shoes and the floor at my feet, but don't you dare wank slave spurt onto my trousers.”

I bent my head and breathing hard, I pulled twice more but only just in time as my head spun and the cum seemed to erupt from the very pit of my belly, shouting, “Four, FIVE,” in an agony of furious release. My cock head throbbed violently from the pent up heat of release centred on the switch mark on its purple swollen flesh. I have never felt the semen pulse so thickly through the cock slit in such glorious release. There was no pain, but the feeling was more intense than I have ever experienced and there was overwhelming and magnificent freedom. After the first jet plumed hugely into the air, I bent forward eagerly to show obedience and make my body offered to him. I crouched and jetted big, once, twice more and then many times more in feebler jerks of slave cum on his shoes which he pushed out for me to anoint. Even in the heat of orgasm, I was bounden to serve him and I shuffled forward on my knees and aimed my dribble inaccurately onto the floor and to one side then the other trying to reach his shoes. All I was aware of was my total surrender, slumped between his legs crouched and naked and whimpering with gratitude and devotion. I was suddenly deeply aware of all the given parts of my body from the pulsing of my bruised anus to the pain lines on my chest, thighs, slave cock and striped buttocks. For a moment he let me relax and catch my breath and all I could feel was overwhelming love and happiness at being so honoured.

He stood back removing himself from my bodily contact with his legs. “Lick,” He ordered simply and switched me twice across my back, the strokes reaching down across my waist onto my buttocks one to left and one to right. The pain was not intense but it cut through my reverie of gratification and snapped me back into the reality of my slavery. I whimpered and knew my place immediately. “Cover your face with slave spurt from the floor and make sure you collect all of it.” And I pressed my face to the floor and for the first time in my life licked slave cum into my mouth. Bitter, smelling lightly of bleach, the cum was not as nasty as I feared and I was willing and energetic in my obedience. After a short while of licking the floor, he told me to kneel up and look at him. I knelt up for his inspection. “You should put more on your face in future. I like to see my slaves humiliated and displaying their cum spurt in their eyes and hair. Now on your belly, slave, legs starred and hands behind your back and lick my shoes until they shine.”

I prostrated myself and licked in earnest joy to please him. I shuffled forward on my belly like an animal and stretched my tongue out until it ached, straining to reach every part on top and side and even under the sole as he lifted his shoes one at a time for me to clean them totally. I made grunting noises and slurped as loud as I could to show him my eagerness for obedience. After several long minutes, he ordered me to kneel and looked down at me. I knelt humble and red faced, looking down and waited.

“You have promise, slave. I will take the blood test and one from your urethra to be on the safe side. Sit on the edge of the couch.” His knowledgeable sure way of taking a blood sample taken from my arm was easy if naturally a little painful. The swab from the tip of my penis was uncomfortable and embarrassing. Sitting naked in front of him, legs apart as he approached with a Q-tip in his hand caused apprehension. I noticed the sticky residue of cum streaked freshly on my chest, stomach, balls and cock. When he said, “I want a sample of your slave spurt so I will push this slightly down into your urethra. Hands behind your back.” And I knew I was no longer a patient but his slave being examined and that aroused me at once. My cock swelled semi-erect even before he grasped it and once it was in his strong fist, the fingers prising open my cock slit, I knew I did not have a penis any more but a slave cock. It rose wantonly and turgid in his grip and did not flinch when he inserted the tip of the bud and pushed it firmly and painfully down into my cock until it nearly disappeared. I noted the slash of deeper purple on the cock head from where he had switched me and he looked at it as well. “That will bruise and cause you some discomfort for a few days, as will the switch cut on the shaft.” he said bending my slave cock to look more closely. “But I didn't break the skin and there should be no problems. I don't cause long term damage to my slaves but call me if it appears to be hurting abnormally. It's when the skin is broken that you sometimes might get infection. Wash your switch cuts with antiseptic soap which I will give you and always take scrupulous care with hygiene. There are a few rules for you to obey at all times from now on.” He spoke in measured precise terms as he put the swab into a bottle and labelled it. The calm clear manner in which he gave me instructions re-assured me and kindled my trust in him further.

“You will not wank or have any sort of anal play unless ordered. Above all you will have no other sexual partners without my permission. When you pee, you will crouch. Slaves do not pee like men, standing up, they lower their pants and crouch. Understood?” I nodded and under his gaze added, “Yes, Sir.” “When you shit you will wash yourself with antiseptic soap. You will not use paper as it is abrasive. You will always keep your slave hole immaculate but you will not give yourself enemas, I will perform that to sure it is done safely and properly. Diet should be plenty of ruffage, bran, cereal and the like, I can give you a diet sheet; plenty of vegetables and fruit, at least five portions a day. As a meat eater, you will eat a maximum of 4 oz of meat twice a week and fish twice a week. No curries or spiced food at all and sparingly with salt. Drink at least 4 litres of water a day and only one cup of coffee and one of tea at the most, without sugar and very little milk. Now dress but leave those shorts for me to burn. I will supply you with a pouch next time you are summoned but in the meantime no undergarments at all.”

While I dressed, he added, “I will choose your wardrobe and in due course, if I think it is appropriate, I will supply you with trousers which have a rear opening but no fly. They will be very discreet but you will be very self conscious in them at first. Masters and slaves will recognise them as slave trousers for they have a zip at the back, but for the most part people will think they just have a prominent seam. Trousers like that enable me to gain access wherever we are and they help you to remember what you are and prevent you from taking a standing pee. Come before me now.” And I walked over to stand in front of his desk. “You please me and I think you have promise as a slave. There is still a long way to go before I am certain I will take you on and in what capacity I may enslave you but you have begun well. Above all you show eagerness and obedience which are good qualities. I will call you in a day or two to find out how you are and summon you for further training. You may go now.” I turned to go with a mumbled expression of thanks and he said, “No. Slaves kneel and make obeisance when they are given leave to depart wherever they are, in private or public, dressed or naked. You kneel before me and say ‘Thank you master for your time and use of me' and then you place your forehead on the ground, hands beside your head and wait for dismissal.” I did as instructed and uttered the words with sincere devotion. Once crouched with my forehead on the ground I could not help but imagine how I would do this in the street if the occasion arose. As if reading my thoughts he said, “In Arab countries this might not excite attention but in England , you might be embarrassed by doing this at first. Tant pis! You will get used to it as part of your training. Go.”

And I left his presence, glancing to see him already involved in writing something on a pad apparently unmoved by my departure.

The street was giddy with movement again as I walked shaking up to the Tube Station. If anything the pavement was as unsteady beneath my trembling feet as when I had arrived. My mind was filled with joy not dread even if apprehension made my heart beat faster.

The phone rang early and woke me from a delicious slumber. Groping to the surface of wakefulness I had barely mumbled my name when a familiar voice said, “I want you here this afternoon at 2.30. You will spend at least two hours with me.” I straightened myself and involuntarily tightened my body at the imperiousness of the demand. “I have the results of your tests and wish to check on some more aspects of your slave worthiness. Understood?” I could only answer, “Yes, sir,” without thinking clearly what I had planned for the day, and with a peremptory confirmation, he rang off. Suddenly I was awake yet dazed and my heart beat rapidly in the usual mixture of fear and undeniable excitement.

For a minute I sat up in bed and felt shocked. It had been three days since I had made my first visit to George and although I was hoping for a call I had not anticipated such a brutal summons. I was disappointed not to be asked how I was nor given any chance to express myself. Then the innate obedience and yearning in me took over and I realised I was excited at the prospect. I had said, “Yes, sir,” and that was my true self speaking. Time to get myself prepared and I ran a bath with shaking hands. I lay in the bath for a long time trying to order my thoughts and then realised that I really needed to concentrate on preparing my body. It was strangely coquettish and gratifying to soap myself intimately and indulgently. Under the soothing caress of the hot water, I rubbed myself all over, especially my thighs and arse, sensing with rising excitement that I was bidding ownership of them good bye. The thought aroused me and I watched my stiffened cock floating on the surface and longed to relieve my tension by wanking it. I washed my hair and cut my toe and finger nails, realising that I was doing this for HIM. Suddenly I felt like a woman getting ready for an evening and hoping I might “get lucky”. I wondered if my belly could or should manage food and settled for liquids alone. I drank fruit juice, milk and a cup of sustaining tea with plenty of sugar for energy, trying to recall if I had followed his dietary instructions as completely as I had been bidden. I knew I would be asked and knew I must tell the truth.

The time passed slowly until it was time to dress. I felt self-conscious as I put on a shirt and tie that I thought he might like and slipped neat light chinos over my naked legs. Carefully, I raised the zip over my half filled but unprotected cock. I dared not let my mind anticipate what lay ahead but I could not help but remember the last time it had “jerked” for him in such pent-up intensity.

On the tube, I glanced round at others in the carriage and wondered if they were going on a journey as belly churning as mine. There was a dark haired Goth girl opposite me. Did she notice the bulge in my pants? Was she a Dominant tyke with a whip under her long flowing plastic coat? Did she know that with a click of her fingers, I would kneel at her feet and kiss her high heeled black boots? I was so elated and supercharged with submissiveness that I wanted to confide in her. No, I wanted to shout out loud that I was a slave reporting to my Master.

But this was no cosy fantasy, I was going to a real meeting with a Real Man. I started to notice all the men in the carriage and looked at them with surrender and respect. An old grey labourer didn't look threatening but a young black man at the end of the carriage made me feel inadequate as he lounged easily in his leather jacket. Suppose he expected me to go down and suck his thick cock from his wide cut trousers? Suppose George boarded the train at the next stop and expected me to kneel before him on the floor and make my obeisance. Was this really me? Did I have the slavish abnegation to prostrate myself in public? Nervously I checked the stations and noted with relief there were only three to go and the time was not yet 2.00pm . I knew I could surrender myself in the intimacy of privacy and wanted to hurry to his feet for my own protection and security.

This time the pavement was surer under my hurrying feet. The gate latch was familiar and easier to open and I went to the side door with something approaching relief. The door opened to the buzzer and I let myself into the hall, eager to catch my breath and compose myself for what lay ahead. I stopped abruptly as I saw a young woman sitting in the waiting room, dark haired and with heavy make-up like the Goth on the train. I was unnerved by the similarity and thought this was some kind of unwelcome portent. We nodded to one another and I hastily moved to an empty chair and mechanically reached for a magazine.

“You here for a monthly check-up as well?” she asked conspiratorially with a nervous laugh, closely observing my discomfort. I was about to mumble a reply when the door to George's consulting room opened. He looked at me with a cool expression and then at the girl, “Miss Loren?” he enquired. She affirmed and he turned to me, “Go into the adjoining room,” he gestured to the other door. “Strip completely and wait for me. I will be a few minutes with Miss Loren. Come in,” he added to her in a much more welcoming manner recalling the tone of my first visit. George stood at the door long enough for him to observe me blush deeply and move across the room. I felt Miss Loren was watching me as well and knew exactly what my status was. As I opened the door and tried to hide my embarrassment I heard George start a friendly conversation with the girl before his door shut and I felt I had escaped further humiliation for a spell. Nonetheless, my mind was racing and I couldn't help but link my fantasy on the tube with the appearance of this woman in the waiting room. The way George had spoken to me seemed to brand me as “slave” but then I thought it could have been interpreted as the abrupt instructions of a Doctor. I was convinced that I had been deceived and would soon meet the girl again and I was shocked and scared. The thought of running away was uppermost in my mind but I hesitated before I tried to escape, wondering whether it was fear which made me stay or fear which fuelled my doubts.

The room was large, airy and tiled, without windows but an open overhead skylight reflected sun-shine and the sound of doves cooing outside. There was a range of medical equipment, a wash-basin and an examination couch with an adjustable chrome bar at one end, supported on two large metal feet. I regained some composure as I listened to the birds and took in the paraphernalia of a Doctor's consulting room. There was no screen but neither were there any obvious instruments of torture! As if driven by a force within me, I mechanically started to undress and before I had time to analyse what I was doing I had removed my clothes and was hanging them on a hook behind a door leading to George's other rooms. Strangely I felt more at ease freed from the conflict of being submissive in my every day clothes. Naked, I assumed the role with less doubts in my mind. I sat on the hygienic tissue which covered the examination couch, and my thighs came into contact with the cold vinyl exposed at the edge. I was acutely aware that through fear and chill exposure, my penis had shrunk to an acorn and feebly pulled at it to make it presentable. I don't know how long I sat there but I knew that I felt very nervous and in need of re-assurance and I wanted George to come in and explain what was going to happen to me. I had removed my watch and put in my jacket pocket and now I stood to get it and find out the time. As I did so, George entered in his vastly confident manner. “You shouldn't be standing, slave. Always wait for me in the kneeling position, bottom on your heels, hands behind your back, knees spread, back straight.” All this was delivered in an overwhelming tide which swept me to my knees and blew away most of my self doubts.

“And for goodness sake, get that miserable slave cock to attention when you greet me. Remember how I want it presented.” And my hands went instinctively to balls and cock head and I pulled it hard obtaining a ready response to his gloriously commanding manner and tone of voice. “Stay,” he added as if to a dog. “I have some papers for you.” Stay, I did, stretching my cock shaft like a begging cur and felt the sweet flow of surrendered lust energising my whole body.

“Your results were happily negative on both counts. That is no AIDS nor STD evident in your samples and here are the lab certificates for you to take away later.” He waved some papers in my direction and then produced another. “And this is my test result from two weeks ago which you should see. As a matter of routine I carry out tests once a month on me, you and any other slaves with whom I have contact.” He pushed a paper in front of my face, but all I could think of was the last part of his sentence. So there were other slaves as well as me. I shook my head and mumbled. “I have no need to see it Sir. I trust you completely.” It was, I thought a simple sincere act of respect. He held the paper before me for a moment and then said curtly, “stand.”

I did, hands behind my back and knew my roused cock stretched appealingly in the air before me. “Stand in front of the bar there, back against it and place your legs apart. Grip the bar in both hands, arms spread and don't let go unless ordered.” I felt the cold chrome in the small of my back and assumed the position as instructed, vulnerable and exposed, now achingly erect and proud of my display. From a drawer in a cabinet I saw him produce a tawse some 3 feet in length which split into two tails along half its length. My eyes widened in apprehension and I braced myself unflinching but with heart racing. With sudden spite he slapped my erect slave cock sharply, cleverly wrapping the tawse tails between my belly and the upper side of the shaft. I flinched in shock but my cock was so engorged with blood and stiff that although it bounded under the impact I felt no deep hurt.

“Whose cock is this?” he asked standing in front of me and looking coldly into my eyes. “Mine, sir,” I blurted in unthinking anguish. Again the tawse slapped down, brushing my belly and catching the glans. It sent hot waves of sex driven pain into my body. I hissed in fear more than agony but knew this slap was still only mild and that he could hurt me much more with the strap. I gripped the chrome bar in sweaty fists and arched my back to demonstrate my submission, pushing out my slave cock in gift to him.

“Whose cock is this?” George asked, his voice more insistent.

I bowed my head, “Yours, sir,” I corrected myself abjectly.

“Quite,” he replied with satisfaction. He reached forward and struck the inside of my left thigh hard, making me wince and whimper. “Split those legs right apart and bend at the knees.” He struck the inside of the right thigh as I adjusted my stance and I felt the soft flesh burn red at once. “And what's it for?” He was speaking with evident impatience and I tensed my legs apart even as I writhed in pain. “For your service, Master,” I offered through twisted grimacing lips, hoping I had the right words to please him.

“As is all of you, slave.” Unsure if this was a question or a statement, I confirmed myself. “As is all of me, your slave, Master,” finishing in a shriek as he expertly flicked the tawse between my legs to land the tails stingingly on my buttocks one to the left, then to the right and again left and right on my lowered cheeks. My legs weakened under the strain but I just held my position, hands gripping the bar, my groin proffered forward in abject surrender. I sobbed in shock and fear from the suddenness of the attack, becoming hideously aware of the growing pain to my testicles which had been caught by the strap as it whistled between my parted legs. The pain seemed to swell in them bruising up from the tender wrinkled nuts into my belly and then into my core sapping the once proud strength out of my shrivelling slave cock.

“And if you are to be of use to me in service, how must you always be, slave?”

In my suffering brain, I struggled to answer,” Always ready, always available, always obedient Sir” “And always clean and healthy slave,” he struck my outer thighs vigorously as I involuntarily flinched my legs inwards to protect my aching balls. “So when I tell you to look at a health certificate, you read it. Understand?” He stood over my cringing body and held the certificate before my tear filled eyes and I tried to read. “Out loud, slave.” And I repeated the words as best I could, although they did not convey much meaning to me.

“Once a month, you will be tested or more frequently if I think you have been dirtied. And once a month you will read your results and mine to prove you are still slaveworthy. I don't have contaminated slaves in my service. And once a month you will receive a slave thrashing to remind you what you are. One day, soon, I will give you a proper thrashing to make sure you know what to expect and know whose you are. I like to mark my slaves well, see them writhe and striped, hear them whimper and howl their abject surrender to me. But for now we will prepare you as a novice by confining pain within levels 1 – 5 with plenty of jerking to teach you to acquire the sweet strong bond that links pain to pleasure.”

He moved away and to my relief, put the tawse down before removing his jacket and meticulously hanging it on the door. The growling hurt from my balls seemed to subside and my cock revived and swelled a little as I reflected on his words. Still I hung onto the bar uncomfortably presenting my groin and tried to make my slave cock signal its appreciation. I saw him put on latex gloves and felt my anus clench and twitch immediately to the sight. Somehow, the slave in me recognised its role without my brain consciously processing the sights and sounds of events. He squeezed a tube of lube on the fingers of his right hand as he turned to me. “So how did you rate the tawse slave?”

“Six to eight, Sir.” I replied unsure. “It was the fear and vulnerability which

made me suffer more than the intrinsic pain, I think.”

“Right. Pain is a function of the mind, slave. A tap on the genitals can scar more in the mind than a good lashing on the buttocks.” He leant forward and cupped my balls softly in his left hand. “And how do these feel?” I winced in fear that he might squeeze but as he didn't, I relaxed and my cock leaped strong in blatant declaration of my relief and happiness. “No need to answer. I can see the state you are in,” he laughed. “Have you wanked?” “No, sir,” I answered truthfully almost protesting my obedience. “You ordered me not to, Sir!”

“Your slave cock says you are honest. Good. But you wanted to, didn't you?”

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled blushing in embarrassment.

“What stopped you?”

“Obedience to you, sir. As a slave I obey my Master's orders as best I can.”

“On the couch, nose down, arse high. I want to check your slave hole once again and make sure you know its mine, now.” He moved the bar to one side and I struggled onto the examination couch.

As before, my knees were strapped so my bum stuck out rounded and offered over the end of the couch. I reached for the handles, hollowed my back and hung myself out for his taking. God how I needed to please then and yearned for his use however brutal. The glow from my cock, balls and burning flesh made me flow with lust and my cock pulsed almost uncontrollably under my belly.

“Have you followed my rules on diet?”

“Yes, Sir, I have been obedient in everything. I have only taken in liquids today in preparation for you. Is that right, Sir?”

“Good. You will go on a full liquid diet over the next weeks to reduce defecation. I will give you details next time. You must also learn to use an enema stick before you visit for training but my assistant will give you a proper enema on arrival. Don't try it yourself.”

The words excited me although the mention of an assistant sent a wave of apprehension into my security. I stretched and rounded my bum, longing for his touch. Strapped and stretched as I was, I still writhed with anticipation and felt my anal ring clench and unclench in want for his claiming.

“You're an indulgent slut aren't you?” he said with controlled menace and I whispered simply, “Yes, sir. Please forgive me but I am utterly your slave,” and tried to still my body in wait for his use.

“Been playing with you arse?”

“No, sir.”

“And why not?”

“Because I am obedient, sir, and you ordered me not to.”

“And what is this?” He asked softly placing his finger at my anus.

“Your slave's fuck hole Master,” I mumbled, hardly daring to breath and stretching myself back to be impaled. I had perfect trust that he would use me firm and totally. It was a moment of extreme sanctity, the communion of Master and slave and I relaxed my muscles and felt his finger open my sphincter, easy and slow and possess me with inexorable control. The opening of me was so sensual, painless and smooth that without warning or self-control my cock spasmed in pumping thrusts but thankfully without cumming.

“Lovely,” he said, reaching for my slave cock with his left hand between my legs and tugging the head of it down in his enveloping fist. “You dry jerked didn't you, my slut?”

“Oh, Master,” I breathed with a desperate struggle to stem the raging want in my throbbing cock. “I don't know what happened but I am so near to bursting. Please forgive me.”

“No, that's good. Lovely to feel the jerk through your slave hole, clenching and welcoming me as I fuck your arse but don't you dare cum unless ordered.” He thumbed the slit of my save cock roughly, spreading wetness on my engorged knob. “There's naturally pre-cum when you are being worked but, God, I'll spank your little bottom if you burst.” He stroked my cock meat down the length of it with a tight grip that made me writhe. His voice was quiet, thick and intimate and betrayed his evident arousal. I could sense the lust in him as he gently but firmly stretched the skin of my slave cock in his hand. With his right hand, he began to slide his finger further into my anus.

“Master,” I breathed huskily. “I don't think I can contain myself with your hand on my slave cock.”

“Nonsense,” he replied briskly releasing it and slapping my upturned bottom sharply twice on each cheek so I glowed hot red. “I know what state my slave is in. I am working the shaft and over the back of the knob not on the jerk spot at the front. Do you feel the friction on the strap welt?”

“Yes, Sir,” I admitted as he gripped the shaft again, pulling the slave cock down uncomfortably. “It is so sensitive to you, though.”

“You know I could milk you at any moment, like a fuck animal giving cum. But I won't unless it pleases me. You have no power to deny me, do you? All of you is in my hands now, slave, and that is the way you will always be. What are you?”

“Your utter slave, Master”

“Whose are you?”

“Totally yours, Master.”

And with this he started the rhythm of fucking my slave arse with his gliding finger, pushing up strong and deep into my rectum and then withdrawing until it was so nearly free. My anal ring was stretched and contracted in continuous waves of delight, clenching and puckering to his control. All the while, he had me repeat the litany, asking, “What are you?” “Your utter slave, Master” “Whose are you?” “Totally yours, Master,” exciting me in word and deed in a way which raised my degradation to complete surrender. His left hand held my rigid cock shaft tight in his thrall, from time to time rubbing my swollen glans roughly and without mercy. I mewed pathetically, knowing I was overwhelmingly his in my want and submission, my whole body concentrating on the delicious working of my given hole and subject cock. I do not know how often I repeated earnestly and sincerely the words of my subjugation, but when he withdrew his finger,I had no freedom but his service and reached out my arse begging for his buggery.

He pulled harder on my slave cock tugging it down and into view between my parted legs. “Rate these for me, slave,” he ordered and strapped my buttocks with the tawse in his right hand. The slaps were brisk but not painful as they striped my taut skin presented for his marking. “Three” “Four” “Five” “Three” “Four” “Six”, I lost count of the quantity and the ability to rate them amid my squeals responding to the intense feeling in my flesh. The heat spread up into my chest and brain and then burnt along the length of my screaming cock, pumped hard between my legs in his unrelenting fist. All I knew was that the more the lashes hurt, the less I rated them as painful as my body reacted in unrestrained lust to his masterful treatment of my slavery. Four livid strokes on my arse echoed through my gasping body as he began to grip my glans wholly and fiercely in his fist and started to milk me, making the slave cock surge painfully and swell out of control. Valiantly I struggled to be obedient for I knew he was testing me until he ordered, “Jerk for me, slave meat. Let me see you spurt like the dog fuck which you are.” And his hand worked my jerk spot hard as if I needed further permission. And the finger of his right hand slid deep into my unresisting slave hole. “I want to feel you clench in desperation as you jerk your load for me. ” And I did, involuntarily my arse gripping on his finger tight and greedily. And in his fist, my cock jerked, bounding alive and wild but within his total control. With his powerful hold, he forced my cock down like an animal's teat as it spurted. I felt my cum pent-up and then bursting painfully through the slit viced in his grip, the glans throbbing as it swelled with difficulty and expelled my release. I jetted cum in fiery restricted gobs mastered by his pumping hand. Even in the climax of my lust I was controlled by him and growled and barked my surrender, “Massssterrrr,” my throat as constricted as my slave cock. He slid his hand up and down my shaft, measuring my jerks with his fist and squeezing every last drop of my spurt form the base up to the slit where he flicked the cum from the glans with his thumb. And then he cupped my aching balls in his hand and seemed to squeeze them dry, making me howl in an agony of humiliation. Again, he squeezed my now limping cock from base to the very extremity of its stretch and held it, the slit stretched open like some gagging lizard mouth to shake the last drops out of me. There was engulfing fire in my belly and my whole body ached from the struggle of the orgasm and I felt the strength utterly wrung out of me. His masterful hand relaxed its grip on my cock and I was left with the numbness of being totally spent. As I slumped forward I was aware of the enormity of his control of me and his finger still buried deep in my arse.

“Grip now, slave as I ream your arse.” And with the last grams of my energy I tried to grip his finger as it probed long and sensuously into my

weakened ring. Thrusting deep but not painfully, he opened me at will and within a few strong strokes my anus seemed to pledge its surrender by gaping wide for him as I mumbled my apology for losing the ability to grip him.

He withdrew his finger and said, “No, that's normal and good, boy. You will learn to control yourself better with training but it's a sign you have been worked well when you gape like a slut. Relax for a moment.”

I slumped for a moment breathing hard and feeling dreamily sated. Little by little consciousness of my well worked body returned. My cock ached and shrivelled from its handling, my balls were tight and bruised and my arse was slack and sore from being fucked. Splotches of heat emanated from my strapped thighs and buttocks and the skin tingled where it had been scorched in pain. I started when I felt something at my anus and braced myself for hurt. “It's only a swab to remove some of the grease,” he comforted me, hand on the small of my back. “Are you sore?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied quivering and highly sensitised from the finger fucking. “As are my slave cock and balls, Sir.” I added pathetically.

“Oh, you will be,” he responded in a matter of fact tone removing the swab. “but when you are sore, training can begin in earnest. Soreness raises slave response, heightens your experience of pain and pleasure, quickens eagerness and energy, reinforces obedience but it saps your stamina and must not lead to damage, so we have to monitor you carefully over the early stages. Well, at all stages of slavery, but you are fit and responding well, so you can take a few more stages today. Present your bum for me. I am inserting a butt plug for the next session. There are three rings on it which fit into you to prevent you expelling it by accident or when you jerk. In future you won't need greasing for this, but since it is the first time, I have left some lube in your slave passage.” As he spoke I felt the blunt end of something nuzzling at my anus and braced myself, sticking out my bum with the eagerness expected.

“It will feel large as it dilates you but you will soon grow accustomed to it. Tighten your anus as it enters even if it hurts. I need to feel the rings fitting into you and it's also important that a slave feels them register. Each one is slightly larger than the one before but they won't split you. Once inside your rectum, the plug lodges securely but you will feel it intruding where it rubs the rectal wall. That'll be uncomfortable but will help you get used to taking cock up your arse. The plug isn't as big as my cock so this is early stage training. You will have to take cock deep and hard to give me satisfaction.” As he spoke, he pressed the brutish plug home in one relentless motion. I trembled and bucked under the intrusion scoring into my bowels wider and deeper than I had ever imagined. I had had implements up my bottom before, but they had always been self inflicted and never at the command and pace of a Master who expected total surrender and obedience. I struggled to abase myself and accept the distending pain of the plug driving into me. At first it felt too big and I writhed pathetically as the hard rubber nose stretched the ring unmercifully. And then with an almost audible plop, the wider part was up and in me. “One,” said George with satisfaction. “Two to go,” and I felt the plug driving it into my sore hole without respite. “Push on it and spread that bum, you little slut.” His hands parted my cheeks, fingers probing into my crack to release the skin drawn in by the invasion of my anus. He pushed again hard as I braced myself against the core of rubber impaling me. This time it was a shade less painful but the plug was so bulging in my innards, I imagined I was being turned inside out to accept it. The pain built into a crescendo as it reamed my anal ring, “Two.” And without a moment's delay, I was skewered further and took the third stage weakly in my slackening and suffering arse with total submission. “Three. Clench. Feel the plug snug and right at home in your slave hole.”

For a moment, I breathed in relief trying to accustom myself to the enormity of this intrusion claiming my body. “Right, now, stand up and kneel on the floor. You have slave work to do. No more slutting on the bench, enjoying yourself.” He released my knees and I gingerly moved, feeling the plug move against my innards uncomfortably.

“Don't tart about like a wimp. Stand on your feet and show me how you move properly with a butt plug in your arse.” I stood unsteadily and he barked “Sit on it. On the bench.” l sat carefully feeling the plug ride up into me painfully. Although he was busying himself with something else, he eyed me and betrayed impatience.

“Kneel on your heels, slave. You had better get used to being plugged. It won't move nor do you damage.” He replaced the chrome bar at the end of the couch and raised it six inches above the bench height as I knelt on the floor feeling the intrusion moving in my rectum and trying to keep my bum from striking my heels.

“Now stand in front of the bar and then sit back onto the bench with your legs hanging over the bar. Keep your hands clasped round your balls and let your weight take you back to make sure you feel the plug go home. Ten times, stand and sit, and hurry or I might lose my patience with you.” And I did as I was told. As my parted buttocks sat heavily on the vinyl, I felt the plug hit the bench top and jar right into my rectum. It hurt and each time I grimaced pathetically while he watched my cautious practice. On the tenth sit he ordered, “Stay.” and approached me with a small plastic bowl in which there was viscous white fluid, which I didn't recognise at first. “What's this, slave?” he asked as he pushed the bowl under my nose and in my face. I inhaled the bleach odour of semen and mumbled with apprehension, “My slave spurt, Sir.”

“Exactly. I enjoyed milking my slave cock into this. As a slave, you don't jerk up like a man, you jerk down to give even your cum as an offering to your Master. You were allowed to jerk up once on the very first time you spurted for me but not ever again. From now on, you always jerk down and lay it as a gift for me. Every part of you is given, controlled and mastered now, even in spurting for me. Understand?” And I nodded in acceptance that I was totally his, repeating, “Yes, Sir, this slave is totally yours, Sir”

“And this was the finger which fucked your eager little arse.” He raised his index finger in front of my eyes before dipping it into my cum and hooking up a dollop from the bowl which he held just below my mouth. “Suck it in reverence and clean it well.” and I opened my mouth obediently and let him wipe the salty goo over my tongue and round my teeth as I sucked eagerly on his fucking finger. Energetically he doled out my slave spurt from the bowl, pushing his finger deep into my mouth so I retched. He spread my cum onto my lips and across my face, onto my cheeks and into my eyes where it stung. Within moments I was slimy and reeking with the smell of stale slave spurt all over my upturned face which I kept abjectly unmoving as he humiliated me. There was so much of it that when he seemed to tire, he emptied the last contents over my head so it smeared and ran down from my hair. “Good now you look sufficiently abject to leave. Kneel and present your cock.”

I was shocked by his words and tone of voice, but slid uneasily to the floor and knelt back on my heels ignoring the discomfort, trying desperately to appeal to him, pulling on my sore cock to make it show obedience. As I worked myself, naked, plugged, attentive and begging at his feet, he looked down at me and spoke slowly and deliberately in a way which swiftly gained my cock's swelling response.

“These are important slave lessons for you. First, slaves don't just enjoy being wanked and finger fucked. You have to work for your pleasures, by working yourself unstintingly on mine. We will start to train you to do that, next time. Second, you are nothing but a fuck hole to me and I have plenty of those. You have to be special to earn my attention. Special in skills, energy, stamina and obedience. Third, you spurt for me, me alone and only when I command it and you spurt as often as I command it. When you think you have spent and are drained that's when you learn to draw on all your slave strength and spurt again, no matter that your body aches and your cock is sore. A slave is always ready for sexual use no matter how bruised its balls, no matter how whipped its arse, no matter how its slave hole screams in agony from being buggered. When you are properly broken, weak from being reamed inside out that's when slaves learn to plumb the depths of their slavery. That's when you confront the meaning of service, of giving yourself utterly and totally to me as Master. Understand?”

I nodded and repeated softly and with fear, “Yes, Sir.”

“Jerk your slave cock, but don't you dare cum without permission.” And he left me pulling painfully and desperately on my cock, going into the next room. He returned with the Goth girl I had seen in the waiting room, Somehow I was not surprised but was terribly ashamed to encounter a stranger sa I was, kneeling on the floor, naked and pulling at my cock like an animal. I stopped my working fist with some relief and looked up at her, standing tall and elegant in a buttoned white lab coat that reached to just above her knees.

“This is one I have chosen to train,” Master said to the girl and turning to me, he began, “and this is..who told you to stop pulling your puny slave cock?” he barked. And immediately I jerked back to the humiliating process of making my sore cock stand. “You do what you are told and keep doing it until commanded to stop, cock slave.” And the girl smiled unsympathetically at my vigorous antics while I went deep red with the effort and shame of my situation.

“That's better. Now this is Miss Loren. You will address her as Miss, although she is a slave like you. Get that slave cock up so Miss can see if it's worth straddling. She wants to see the knob plum purple and ready to spurt before she will be the slightest bit impressed by wretched cock meat like you. Understand ?” And I pumped frantically, saying, “Yes, Sir,” in a voice vibrating with my energetic self abuse.

“Just look at it, wanking for all its worth to try and please.” He commented to Miss Loren. “Make it burn, slave, and tell me as soon as it's ready to spurt for us.”

“Nearly Master,” I grunted through clenched teeth, straining to summon up all my energy to obey, heedless of the pain in my cock and unresponsive belly.

“But don't you dare spurt until I give permission,” warned Master. “It has a plug up its slave hole, three ringed, six inch medium small. The plugs have the sizes marked on the bottom. Turn and show Miss your arse, slave, but don't stop jerking. Arse high and on your nose and don't stop pulling that spurt up for me.”

And I turned and fell on my face, bum high, legs apart with my hands still clutching my balls and slave cock like a machine, my mind whirling from embarrassment. I felt delicate fingers on my plug and through my legs I glimpsed Miss crouching behind me, moving the plug in my hole to check the markings. I nearly burst as I realised my humiliation but without permission I managed to control myself. On my nose, I called out, “Pleeease Sir?” in desperation. “pleeease, Sir, “ and dared not pump any more on my swollen needy cock.

Master made no response but continued to address the girl, “Mark its arse with the size of the plug inserted so you will know which size to use next. Use the marker in your pocket, its permanent and waterproof. Write the rings first, slash, then the length and then the girth.” I felt the marker on my buttocks heedless of the soreness of the strap marks, writing 3/6/MS in large characters on my proffered flesh. My almost overwhelming urge to spurt faded with Master's inattention to me and my loose grip on my cock. All I could think about was the degradation of being marked and discussed in this impersonal manner. “The most important elements in a butt plug are the rings and the girth. When we want to train a slave to take length we use a dildo. A butt plug serves to dilate and discomfort and give security to a slave. In many ways, especially for a cock slave, it is a sort of comforter and reminds it of its status, as with this one.” And in a different commanding voice, clearly addressed to me, he said. “Right on your knees and let's see that slave cock ready.”

I struggled back onto my knees and as I did do, I started pumping my slave cock but it was becoming irretrievably flaccid. As I knelt up, I felt more degraded and useless than I had ever felt in my life, pulling futilely at my unresponsive and slackening cock.

“You haven't much to show us, have you?” he taunted. “You no longer jerk and spurt for your pleasure, you obey and jerk and spurt only for my pleasure from now on.” I knew he was playing with me and felt utterly debased in his clever and callous Mastery of me.

“Strip, cunt,” he ordered sharply to the girl. And I watched as she swiftly responded and gracefully unbuttoned her coat and knelt totally naked at his feet to my side. “Crouch facing it and display your wonderful cunt.” And the girl rose and spread her legs apart and crouched as if to pee, hands behind her back with her shaved cunt lips puffy in front of my widening eyes. Amazingly, my cock stiffened almost at once and she smiled without embarrassment at my crude response. Master noticed as well, “Ah, I see you appreciate your new Mistress. You see, a cunt slave offers the delightful variety of three well trained cock slots for my pleasure. You on the other hand offer nothing special unless you have a slave cock standing strong and hard. I don't think we can call you a cock slave until you show that it has some size and stamina to serve us. I will grade you as a bum slave for now and you will answer to the name “bum” when I address you. A bum slave is only a hole for my amusement. It is of interest unless it has something special to offer. Understand, slave?”

And as my cock shrivelled once again, I began to realise my worthlessness and bowed my head and acknowledged him, uttering quietly and with total resignation, “Yesssssssss, Sir.”

“You will leave me now and reflect on this and your status and your need to learn the total obedience which I demand. Miss here will fit you with a thong bond and cuff your wrists to it. You will be unable to raise your arms above your chest but you will be able to strip and bathe yourself tonight and will return tomorrow at 9.00 am . At that time, you will declare whether you are capable of sustaining the training regime as you have glimpsed it today. The plug in your slave hole will stay in place and you will not remove it nor touch your slave cock even if you need to pee. Half a day plugged will be uncomfortable but do you no harm. Stand now.” And he turned and left me with Miss, who entirely naked, moved about me with coldly efficient attention. She fitted a broad leather belt tightly about my waist which was locked into place in the small of my back, pressing on my kidneys. She produced Y shaped leather straps joined with a ring, which were fixed so that the single section fitted between my arse cheeks and forked under my trunk to pass each side of my cock and balls. Without concern, interest or hesitation, she pulled my cock and balls up and over the join in the straps to ensure they were snug and presented over the harness. She buckled the ends of the straps through rings on the belt so the harness fitted tightly into my ass cheeks and pressed the plug firmly into my anus. Standing passively while this pretty curvaceous naked girl worked deftly with my body was terrifically exciting. As she adjusted the strap to lie snugly between my arse cheeks, my cock swelled and bobbed in uncontrollable response. It earned no attention from her and even when she lifted it to fit into the harnessing thongs running between my legs, she handled me with nothing more than medical detachment. She eyed her handiwork and then went to a cupboard from which she produced a tabard in blue cotton with a shirt collar and buttons sewn down the front. “Put this on over your head and button the tabs at the side and this,” and she threw me a light felted anorak with zips down the arms and sides obscured by the patterning. “The reasons for these will become evident when your wrists are cuffed to the waist belt,” she explained. “Work out how to get out of them as you put them on, for you won't have much movement in your arms. But you can still strip if you wriggle and contort yourself properly.”

She stopped to look at me, dressed from neck to waist in a fake shirt and anorak, with my cock and balls uncovered and proudly standing free in the leather straps between my naked legs. “I think I should kick you out like that and see how far you get,” she teased with sudden mischief and before I could respond in kind, Master returned and laughed out loud, “Very fetching. I think I might have it dressed like that as my butler.”

I stood very still in disbelief as Miss cuffed my wrists in straps of soft leather with a small padlocked hasp to prevent removal. Chains linked my cuffs to D loops sewn on the side of my belt, preventing me from lifting my hands above my chest and from reaching to my butt plug. She passed me my trousers and told me curtly to sit on the floor so I could put them on. Sitting bare arsed on the floor made me acutely conscious of the butt plug riding up into my bottom, but I managed to struggle into my trousers and draw them up to my waist and fasten the zip and buttons.

“Stand,” Master ordered and checked the wrist cuffs and chains. “You can have these removed, of course, if you go to a locksmith and explain your predicament. However, Miss will freely remove them tomorrow at 9.00 am . They are really symbolic but they help you understand the idea and practice of your future bondage to me. You have 16 hours to reflect on what you are submitting to as slave. You will remained plugged and restrained for all that time and free to think what a life of obedience and control might mean. Between now and tomorrow's appointment you will only drink two litres of milk and three of water. No solid food. If the plug and the restraints are not exactly as they are now, you will be instantly dismissed from my service. Reflect carefully and when you return tomorrow, you will declare your willingness to be trained or your desire to depart. Either you will sign for training on a regular basis or will leave here for ever. I am not expecting 24/7 until we see how you develop but from tomorrow, it gets serious and demanding. I will see you at 9.00 am prompt with your mind made up.” And he opened the door and ushered me into the side passage to the gate.

The pavement was much more uneven to my unsteady wobbling feet. The gently clinking chains were a constant reminder of my status and the plug caught at my anus with every step. I felt suddenly terribly aware of the cum on my face and in my hair but most of it had dried and a passer-by would have had difficulty noticing it. But to me it was the badge of slavery which I knew I was ready to wear in any state of dress or undress.