Date: Mon, 19 Aug 2013 16:53:48 -0400 From: Douglas Marx <douglas.marx.4@gmail.com> Subject: Born; Chapter 7; Story codes: M, MM, SM, bd Disclaimer: By entering this site you agree that you are 18 years of age or older, and that the content of this site is legal in your country or jurisdiction. Warning: This erotic fiction contains sexual experiences between fictional males. If this is not your thing, leave now. Furthermore, any similarity to any person, place or thing living or dead is merely coincidental. There is no safe sex in this story because it is fiction. Remember: In real life, play as safe as possible preferably no exchange of bodily fluids. My stories are copyrighted and are not available for use under any condition. Please forward all comments to douglas.marx.4@gmail.com. Support nifty.org. We have all shot our loads reading Nifty. Show appreciation at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html. Thank you. Enjoy. Story codes: M, MM, SM, bd ----------------------------------- Please check out my other Nifty.org stories, which can be found under the prolific author section at http://www.nifty.org/nifty/frauthors.html and then scroll down to Douglas Marx Growing Up Naked http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/growing-up-naked/ Downward Spiral of Jim http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/downward-spiral-of-jim Naked Whore http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/naked-whore Put Out to Pasture http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/put-out-to-pasture Santa's Slave Training http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/santas-slave-training Special Product Design http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/special-product-design The Trunk http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/the-trunk ------------------------------------ Born – Chapter Seven The smile from yesterday and the sweet embrace during my crying jag would be the moment I would have to continue to focus on over the next month. The month was a trial unlike anything I had ever endured. Mr. Brown had nothing to do with me. Starting the next morning, there was a note in the kitchen upon my arrival to prepare breakfast that I was to serve him in the dining room, but I would no longer be eating with him. I was to eat alone in the kitchen only after attending to his needs at each meal. First, I was ok with that; however, when the weekend came and Mr. Brown continued to have nothing to do with me it began to hurt. We did not continue our sexual explorations the next weekend, nor the next, nor the next. I would try to remember that moment he smiled at me or our first kiss or him holding me, but the memory faded and faded further away. Here we were two men in the same house. I knew we had feelings for each other. There was no question. I know Mr. Brown cared about me. There would never be any doubt come into my mind about that regardless of this month of torture. Yet, I still could not help but continue to ask myself the question; why is he doing this? Why are we not being together at some point during the week? Why can't I share a meal with him? Why have I not seen him with his clothes off? Why have we not had sex in the traditional sense of the term? I felt as if I was in solitary confinement. I spoke to no one except the delivery man each day. Once a week I would see the gardeners outside, but I never went out to speak to them because Mr. Brown had not mentioned that I was allowed to do that. I only answered to Mr. Brown if asked for something during meal service. I started talking to myself while preparing the meals following the course study meticulously. I was alone. Now I was an only child. I knew how to be by myself. This would probably be worse for some other slave; however, I did manage. My mind wandered to the days back at the bank when I had a nice set of friends. My life had started on a certain path, one that would probably be successful in terms of taking care of me. The bank job would lead to probably a promotion, more money, and a stable financial life in the future. However, I gave all that up for the opportunity to be of service to one man. I had heard the women at work talk about this very topic only I was a slave, not a housewife with rug rats running around. At the end of the day with all the mental masturbation going on in my head, I knew that I had made the correct decision. My dream had been to be a slave to a man. My dream had been to be with a Master. I got my dream. The cards were on the table. Just because it wasn't going the way I fantasied was not up to me. All direction came from Mr. Brown. I was just a pawn. If I had a true slave mentality, which I felt that I did, my feelings were of little interest and I would have to "man up" and take being a slave like a man. I laughed at the juxtaposition of that thought. About two weeks into whatever torture Mr. Brown was doing, I had another thought, which calmed my nerves somewhat. Life, no matter what life, is basically a routine. Yes there are moments of ecstasy, there are moments of passion, there are moments where the cum is flying out ones cock thinking it is always going to be that fantastic always. The truth of being a slave, or just being human, is that life is generally the same most days. As a slave, I get up to live my life for my Master's needs. I cook breakfast, clean the house, and get ready for his return at night. Isn't that what my mother did for all those years with my dad? How is this different? Why would I expect it to be different? Probably the answer is because of all the hot porn and visual stimulation of the Internet in my study of being a slave. The reality is the opposite. Sure I am naked. Mom was not. Sure I am sexually tortured. Mom was not. Sure I don't get to have friends or be out in the rest of the world on occasion. Mom had friends and went about the world in her own car taking care of life. Being a slave was just a minor twist on any relationship. I had to live with what I committed to. One month later, I finally got a note with my morning instructions that I would be joining Master for dinner tonight. I skipped through the day. I had the biggest smile on my face. I fixed my greatest culinary masterpiece yet. I cleaned out my hole several times hoping that tonight I would finally get Master's cock up my ass. The hair on my body had not come back. The lotion was permanent. Quite frankly, I got used to it quickly and happy that he had done that. Not having hair showed that I was not a man to the degree Master was. It also was a hell of a lot easier being hairless. "Boy, tell me about your month of silence. What were your thoughts? What was your conclusion?" Mr. Brown asked during our meal. "Sir, I concluded that I am capable of being a slave. The existence here is lonely, but bearable. These revelations came after much mental anguish. This was the hardest thing I have ever been through. The month whipped the fantasy of slavery out the door and replaced it with reality. Finally, I compared it to any other relationship, boring with moments of splendor." "Good boy. I knew you had it in you. You have the heart of a slave. You understand that it isn't all a game where the Master ultimately is the slave because of the work he has to do to the slave. In our relationship, I am the Master period. When I want you, you will be there; when I don't, tough. You as the slave are responsible for dealing with that. I'm glad you are a real slave; not some queen who wants to serve only if he gets his needs met." "Yes Sir." I wanted to ask when I would get to see him naked, when I would get fucked by him, when I could make love to his body... I wanted to, but I did not. That statement, plus this past month, established in no uncertain terms that Mr. Brown was the only one in charge here. "Clean up this table, boy and meet me in the dungeon in a half hour." "Yes, Sir." I moved quickly. My cock was rock hard. Harder than it had been in a month in anticipation of what was going to happen next. I walked into the dungeon and there was Mr. Brown. He had on black military boots, a leather jockstrap, a half leather harness, a Master's cap and a riding crop in his hand. The rest of his skin was exposed for the first time for me to see; however, upon entering and taking a quick mental note, I dropped to my knees in reverence. "Good boy. Your place is at my feet. You demonstrated once again your selflessness. Here I am naked in front of you for the first time and, instead of staring and absorbing the magnificence of your Master's body, you knew reverence and worship were more important. Crawl over to me boy. I want to reward you." I crawled over to Mr. Brown. I stopped with my face at his feet; however, I did not presume I was to lick his boots. Mr. Brown had given no such order. Mr. Brown slightly and sensuously brushed the end of the riding crop over my back and buttocks. He moved down onto my balls and taint. Slowly he started to lightly smack them moving back and forth between the balls and the taint. I raised my ass higher in anticipation. I felt my cunt opening up desperately wanting whatever magnificence there was under that leather jockstrap to enter me and anoint me with his cum. The movements got stronger until my moans turned into screams. Yet, I never used the word `no'. I was Mr. Brown's. I was relinquishing my say. Instead, I screamed words such as `more' and `yes' and `please Sir'. The session with the crop ended abruptly. "Stand up, boy. Walk to your place in the center." Mr. Brown ordered. Mr. Brown placed leather restraints on my wrists. He raised my arms in the air and fastened the restraints to hooks in the ceiling. This time he did nothing with my feet. He placed a leather blindfold over my eyes and a ball gag in my mouth. What was he going to do next? Swish. The sound came through the air. I had never heard such a noise before, but the result of that sound was a sense of pain deeper than any previous torture. I deduced quickly it was a bamboo cane. Swish, crack. The cane landed on my firm eighteen-year-old hairless buttocks flesh. My body collapsed. I was no longer capable of standing. I hung from the rafters as the cane came down on me over and over again. The torture was more intense because the ball gag kept me from releasing the energy building up in my body from the torment. I could tell that Mr. Brown was getting off on this immensely. I heard his own moans between each malice of my ass. I wondered if he had his cock out of the jock. I wondered if he was hard. I wondered if he was masturbating to the sight of his slave's suffering. I didn't have to wonder long. Suddenly, Mr. Brown stopped quickly unhooking my wrists from the hooks and unceremoniously leading me to a sling. He pushed me back into the leather container. He quickly attached my wrist restrains to hooks on the chain holding the sling. He raised my legs rapidly attaching them to hooks so that my bruised, reddened and probably bleeding butt cheeks were high and exposed. I continued to have the ball gag and the blindfold on as I felt his finger touch my cunt with warm oil. He slowly, almost methodically, moistened my receiver. I groaned through the gag knowing that this was it. This was the moment. I was going to lose my ass virginity to Mr. Brown. What a moment it was to be. I had wanted his manliness in me body from ever since we met months ago. Mr. Brown also put some salve on my ass cheeks attending to the wounds calming the hurt and burn that was still emanating from the beating they just got. Then, it happened. I felt it. I felt the tip of his manhood. I never knew such love, such anticipation, such joy as Mr. Brown's cock entered my waiting vagina. He was very slow. He told me to push out my bowels as he moved inward. Mr. Brown filled me. I had no idea how big he actually was because I had no reference. He felt big. He felt as if my insides were bursting beyond available space. Regardless, Mr. Brown was in me. His organ was complete. He pressed his abdomen against my distressed ass flesh. We were one. Mr. Brown started to move in and out of my snatch. The rhythm was slow, almost calculated. Not a big surprise considering my observations and experiences with Mr. Brown to date. He had not taken the blindfold off, but he did remove the ball gag. "Thank you, Sir." His travels became more intense. Both of us were moaning in a sense of ecstasy and appreciation for each other's role. I wanted him and I am very clear he wanted me. He wanted to take me. He wanted his cock inside me. He wanted to release his man juice into his slave. I was Mr. Brown's slave. The depth of understanding around that statement overwhelmed me as he continued the pounding of my ass. Oh God. This was happening. He was going to give me his cream. Mr. Brown had taken my virginity just as I had wanted so badly. The wait was worth it. How could it not be? Mr. Brown pounded harder; the movements more intense; the groans more profound; the desires between us greater and greater. He fucked me hard. He fucked me deep. He fucked me until even he, the penetrating Mr. Brown could not go another second. His final plunge into my portal was deeper and farther than any of the previous. I felt his cock expand the sides of my bowels farther. I felt the juice of his love flowing into me. Nothing, no study, no waiting, no analysis or anticipation prepared me for this moment. I received Mr. Brown. I received his cock. I received his juice. The gratitude that swept across my conscious was acute. When Mr. Brown's orgasm had subsided, he unveiled himself to me taking the blindfold off. I looked deep into his eyes. I didn't care about the periphery that was Mr. Brown's hairy chest, dark luscious nipples; strong arms were before me. No, I only focused on his eyes. There would be time to see the rest. We became one again just as we sensed the moment his organ fully entered me. Mr. Brown gave me that smile; the smile that allowed me to last through the last month of solitary torture. Every second had been worth it. I was born to be a slave. I was born to be Mr. Brown's slave. ----------------------------------- Your thoughts and feelings on this story are extremely appreciated. Please send any comments to: douglas.marx.4@gmail.com