Date: Thu, 5 Apr 2007 17:30:02 -0700 (PDT)
From: Scott <bluumagic@yahoo.com>
Subject: Cock Hungry -- Part 3

(This story contains graphic depictions of a gay BDSM relationship. If
this offends you or if you are here by mistake, go away.)


COCK HUNGRY, Part 3

By Scott Weatherby

How Part 2 ended:

I scampered over and sat down. My hands went up to the keyboard as
though I no longer had control over them. I simply typed in my father's
phone number and address. And my boss's. And my ex-girlfriend's. And my
best friend's. And my sister's. The five people I never, ever under any
circumstances would want to see me like this.

Then the five I wish could see it. I typed in the name and number of a
Master to whom I'd especially enjoyed submitting to. I typed in Fred,
an acquaintance whom I knew was gay and suspected was into BDSM. I
typed in the name Henry, a black man who worked at the tennis club who
turned me on. I typed in the name and phone number of Doxey, a college
professor who was the first to explore my submissive nature but never
got to really use me because I'd freaked out and bolted, then avoided
him the rest of my time in college; I figured I owed him one.

I read over the list and realized that I'd just given my Master
everything he needed to ruin me, completely and totally ruin me. Even
just a one-minute snippet from the video he now held over me would seal
the deal. I had confessed everything. In full, vivid digital splendor.
Knowing the full implications. How sick was that? How low had I just
gone?

Not as low as I would go. I wasn't even close yet.)



A lot of you have asked how I met my Master. We play tennis at the same
facility and got paired off for a doubles match one evening. I'd been
watching him for weeks, actually. He was tall and lean, athletic with
Cal Ripkin eyes. He usually had a two- or three-day growth of beard,
which was about as long as his hair.

He is by far the superior and more experienced player. But he was also
patient and kind. The first time we played together, he walked over
halfway through the match and gave me a tip. Not in a harsh way. I like
to play tennis with partners who are better than I am. just so I can
improve. There are some who will get pissy when I make mistakes. He
wasn't like that.

I'd just won my serve and was about to receive. The other player's
serve had eaten me alive last time around, and his tip was simple. "In
doubles, you really can't stand back as far back as you're standing,"
he said in a voice that might have been a principal sternly instructing
a student. "Doubles is all about angles. Try standing inside the
baseline." I nodded and it worked; we broke them. He grinned broadly,
and I felt strangely proud that I'd pleased him. Since I'd been
receptive to taking his direction, he offered more suggestions as the
match went on.

After that night, he was always friendly whenever we ran into one
another, and seemed to make it a point to always speak. It didn't take
me long to develop a crush on him, even though I had no idea whether he
was gay or not. I wasn't even sure if I was. I'd been mostly straight
all my life, even though my sexual fantasies were almost exclusively
gay and exclusively BDSM. I guess was ready for it, ready for a man to
come along and take me.

I don't know if he recognized that in me, but one night after a match,
he invited me to grab a bite at a nearby tavern. He'd ordered us a
scotch after dinner and as we drank, he suddenly asked if I knew he was
gay. "No, but I'd wondered," I said.

"What do you think about that?"

Before I could stop myself, I blurted out the first thing that came to
mind: "I think I hope you're a top."

He smiled. It was a brilliant smile that took me aback. "I'm going to
take you," he said. "Not tonight but very soon."

I gulped and stammered, "Yes, sir."


WHEN HE KISSED me in the parking lot, it felt like he was stroking my
very soul. It was electrifying. The way he forced his tongue in and
fucked my mouth was enough to make me swoon. I was disoriented within
seconds, my knees weak and my dick hopelessly hard. I was totally
breathless. Oh, my god, at that moment I would have done anything he
asked, anything. That's how hot I was for this man. Instead, he sent me
home.

"I like how submissive you are," he said softly, his eyes piercing
mine. "You're never going to believe how dominant I am." It was hardly
fair for him to throw this at me in the wake of that kiss, and then
leave. I think I probably already belonged to him at that moment;
that's how hot I was for it.

I decided to sit in the parking lot for a few minutes, try to recover.
Instead, I took out my dick and madly jerked off and came within
seconds.

A couple of days later, he sent me an email:

Here are the parameters:
1. I am a dominant man. It's not a pose and it's not a lifestyle. It is
who I am.
2. If we begin a sexual relationship, you will submit fully to me, and
fulfill MY desires and MY demands.
3. I will be gentle but firm. There are times I will be harsh.
4. This is for our mutual pleasure. I will push you at times and make
you uncomfortable, but I will never break your trust in me.
Before we proceed, do you understand and agree to these parameters?

I quickly wrote back with a simple but direct response: "Understood and
agreed, Sir."

Did I know what I was getting myself into? Not even close. If someone
had pulled me aside and warned me about everything that would happen to
me in the very near future, I would have surely ran away. Don't get me
wrong. He had me pegged right. I was absolutely submissive, but mostly
in the abstract. The reality was another matter. He led me in
patiently. But once we got there, he quickly turned up the heat.

The first thing he did was send me a sexual questionnaire:

"As you may have guessed, I don't view this as a pick-up. I don't pick
up men. I cultivate them. If I go, I go for something meaningful and
real. In order to do this, I need to know about you. You no longer have
secrets from me. You will reveal yourself in full. You will be
transparent before me. I will know what kind of experiences you've had.
What gets you off. What turns you off. Your deepest and darkest
fantasies, the ones you've never revealed to anyone. Even as you fear
I'll make them come true.

"I will tell you upfront that I do have certain basic requirements. We
must have certain compatibilities  and there will be certain
deal-breakers. However, I won't tell you what they are because I don't
wish to color your answers. Your mandate is to be honest. In fact, you
must always dare to be honest with me; that is the only way we can
thrive. Answer these questions completely and without self-censorship.
I want it filled out in three days. I also want you to take your time
and to give me complete answers. Answer questions 1-17 tonight, 18-30
tomorrow night and 31-45 Tuesday night."

As I read the questions, I realized that I essentially would have to
reveal to him every sexual experience and desire that I had, that I'd
ever had. Everything. He was right; these were things I'd never told
anyone. I spent hours each night answering his very detailed questions.
And once I'd finished and emailed it back to him, he knew it all. He
knew about my every sexual encounter. He knew who had whipped me and
who had made me suck their cock. He knew that I'd been fucked in the
ass by a female Domme with a strap-on, and that a man had once fed me
his piss straight from his cock. He knew I'd never been fucked in the
ass by a real cock even though I ached for it. He knew that I'd sucked
my first cock when I was a teen-ager after being seduced by my best
friend's cousin ... while my friend watched.

But all that wasn't the worst of it. I also had to confess every sexual
fantasy I'd ever had that I could remember. Confess my insatiable need
for cock. To suck cock. To get fucked by cock. To drink whatever it
expelled, be it cum or piss. To have my ass used like a cunt. To so
totally submit that nothing was off-limits. Even if it meant I was
totally and completed degraded. Turned into nothing more than just a
fucking pig faggot.

I had to confess that I'd fantasized about being sent to an X-rated
bookstore to spend my afternoon in a video booth sucking anonymous cock
after anonymous cock. That I'd fantasized being forced to spend an
evening in front of a crowd of men as they watched me get turned into a
real bitch - by a big dog that fucked me in the ass and then knotted up
inside me. That I had a particular fetish for black men. That I longed
to be gang-banged by a group of black streethoods with huge cocks. All
the while being video-taped, and with full knowledge that the person
behind the camera would now hold complete power over me because he had
the ultimate blackmail material. That I ached to submit to a man to the
point that I was nothing more than a full-time slave, kept chained and
naked, nothing more than a complete sexual toy for my Master.

I confessed everything. At least everything I could remember.

It was all just fantasy; nothing I'd ever really want to live out. But
there was no place on his questionnaire to tell him that.

Why was I so ... honest? Because I didn't have a choice, or felt that I
didn't. If this was going to work, if it was going to go deep, then
honesty meant everything. I had to be able to trust him without doubt,
and he had to be able to trust me just as explicitly. And besides, he
had ordered me to reveal everything. Refuse a direct order? Not on my
life. Not now. That was what it was about, as well. The desire deep
inside me to be owned so totally that I was a complete open book to the
man I served.

And there it began. I sucked his cock on demand. I took his cock up my
ass, re-christened as my "cock-hungry cunt," on demand. I drank his
piss, French-kissed his asshole and called him "Master." I wore a butt
plug for him at home at night. I wore panties (usually lacey and pink)
underneath my clothes at work for no other reason than he knew it
humiliated me. I had orgasms only when he allowed them; to insure there
were no accidents, I wore a padlocked chastity device and he held the
keys. And that was before he'd both put me through the ultimate
indignity and turned the corner - he'd filmed me begging for his cock,
and then demanded the names and addresses of the five people I most
didn't want to watch my debut starring role in a gay BDSM DVD, as well
as the five that I did.

The next time I saw him, he gave me a copy of the DVD. But not before
he'd used me. And used me hard. This time, he'd bound me. Put me on a
padded bench underneath a metal stand he'd built himself. He'd laughed
diabolically when he pulled down two little metal hooks in front of my
eyes that were tied to a thin piece of rope. "You're going to really
like this," he said. And he'd placed the hooks in my nose and pulled
the rope tight before tying it. I almost literally had rings in my
nose, and he whipped me silly. My legs had big red welts, so did my
stomach. He'd paid particular attention to my nipples, which were red
and raw. And ever time I'd lurched from the pain, it had felt as if my
nose was going to be ripped from my face.

He'd worked me over so that I'd be sure to remember it tomorrow, and
he'd recorded it all. Then he'd sent me home, pussy and cunt full of
his cum.

Even away from him, he consumed my world and I followed the routine he
had set up for me. I stripped naked as soon as I walked inside my
apartment, with the exception of the panties, the CB-3000 locked around
my dick and balls, and the slave chain with a small padlock that was
locked around my neck.

After I took my clothes off, I loaded the DVD into my computer and
watched it as I sat down to write the nightly journal entry that he
required. This was no typical diary. It was mainly me telling him about
my lust for him and his cock. Anything sexual in my day and in my
thoughts, I had to report. Every new fantasy, every casual glance. And
most of all, my reactions to everything that happened with us.

Tonight, he'd sent me home with one command: he wanted me to review our
DVD.