Date: Sun, 23 Oct 2005 02:33:09 -0400
From: J
Subject: Letter From a Slave

To most people, I'm a brown-haired, brown-eyed twenty-something guy with a
twinkle in his eye and an easy laugh.  Little do they know that if they took
off my shirt, they'd find that I'm shaved from my neck to my balls.  On my
bare stomach, where there used to be a bounty of hair, like a man ought to
have, I've drawn a picture of me on my knees, sucking an anonymous man's
huge, rigid cock.  My little not-even-six-inch dick is standing at
attention, leaking precum, puddling around my feet.  If they removed my
pants, they'd find that I wasn't wearing any underwear -- I've thrown every
pair away.  Instead, my butt has a plug in it and my hairless cock has a
long shoelace tied tight around it.  Those people might be surprised to find
that if they visited me at my home, I'd be bare-ass naked.  Yes, the second
I step inside my door, I shuck all my clothes off.  I walk around the house
naked.  I cook naked.  I do laundry naked.  Sometimes, I wrap a shoelace
around my balls and dangle a hammer from them until they're red and swollen.
And I think about how much I'd like to touch my cock.  How much I'd like
to cum.

But I can't.  I'm not allowed.

I'm a slave boy, you see.  I have been for just a few days now, and my
master assigned me to write a Nifty story to tell the world about my
fantasies and fears.  While I'm typing this, I'm sitting on a dildo I had to
buy today, and I'm rock hard.

My fantasy as a slave is to lose control, to be helpless to resist my master
and temptation.  In my real life, people think I'm straight.  I think I'm
straight, though now that I have this dildo in me, I'm having my doubts.
When I press forward and the latex cock rubs my prostate, I can't help but
moan and whimper.  I'm turning uncontrollably submissive, and I love it.
When I was told to shave my chest and my pubes, I loved looking at myself in
the mirror and seeing myself transformed into an inferior boy.  My meat
turned stiff as I stepped into the shower and took a razor to the remaining
hairs.  I was becoming a gay sex slave.

I walk around amongst friends and colleagues and know that I have this
secret body that would reveal an opposite side of me, and it makes my days
feel dangerous.  Sometimes, the fabric of my pants will start an erection as
I'm walking through town, and I feel ashamed, though I don't try to hide the
tent anymore.  I fantasize that someone will spot my pole and follow me --
he'll be some young stud, and he'll just say, "Come with me."  And I'll
follow, too trusting.  His hair will be blond and short and he'll have a
young face.  I'll immediately notice his tight ass and his ample basket and
shake my head, wondering how I could so quickly switch sides.

The guy will take me to the swimming pool.  He'll lead me to the stands, sit
me down, and say, "I want you to watch us swim."  And a few minutes later,
he'll emerge from the locker room, wearing only a tiny Speedo.  He won't
even look up at me, or further acknowledge that I'm there -- he'll just strut
around, his miniscule, red briefs barely containing his gigantic cock.  In
fact, as his teammates come out to the pool and dive in to do some warm-up
laps, he'll stay out of the water, just letting me admire.  I'll think about
how I want that dick up my ass, how I want to suck on it hungrily, as though
his jizz is the only thing that could keep me alive.  I'm so horned up just
from sitting there that I can barely stay still.  I wear dark pants to hide
the pre-cum that oozes from me pretty much constantly now.  I'll see some
members of the team treading water at either end, whispering to each other
and gesturing towards me, wondering what I'm doing here.  My face will grow
crimson with embarrassment.

Eventually, he'll get up on the blocks, my stud.  His chest is wide but his
breasts aren't heavy -- he's lean and strong from stem to stern.  And oh,
that cock -- the Speedo makes it seem like, all folded up, it juts out a
couple inches.  It probably does; he has the swagger of someone with a big
dick.

The team goes through its workout -- laps at pace, starts and turns, etc.
When they're through, my friend the stranger comes up to where I'm still
sitting, transfixed.  He's got a towel wrapped around his waist.  His
nipples are brown and big as sand dollars.  "You want to come meet these
guys?"  I don't question why or anything like that -- I just follow.

Of course, they're all having a shower.  Everyone is in the steamy room,
stripped of their clothing, primal, washing off the chlorine and the sweat
of another day of hard work.  "Hey, guys.  Look what I found outside."  And
as I stand there, worshipping the team of stallions with my eyes, the man
has gone in back of me and suddenly tears my shirt off of me.  Just rips it
-- he's that strong.  They see the drawing on my bare chest, and some
snicker.  The stranger hugs me tight from behind -- he's lost his towel and
his Speedo, I know, because I can feel his manhood jolting me.  I couldn't
free myself from his grasp if I wanted to. "I brought you here for our
pleasure," he hisses.  Then, he unzips my fly and yanks off my pants, too.
I'm stiff as a board and I can't do anything about hiding it.

One guy calls from the shower, "You don't look like a swimmer, man.  How
come you shaved yourself?"  I don't have an answer.  Some other guy says,
"Man, look how hot he gets just by looking at us."  The blond stud pops my
plug out, holds it up, and says, "It might not just be your good looks,
Colin."  They all have a laugh, again at my expense.

And then they use me, as they said they would, for their pleasure.  I'm
taken into the sanctum of the shower, and I get down on all fours.  All
around me are swaying, hypnotic cocks.  One gets hard and its owner steps
forward -- he's got seven or eight thick, veiny inches, and I open my mouth
to receive them.  He stretches my lips out as he sends his shlong down my
throat and I hear a satisfied sigh from him.  "Isn't this great, you guys?"
he says as the others look on at a cock gobbler chugging the dick of one of
their friends.  "You swim on a team of hot guys like ourselves, and people
will do anything for you."  He came fast and hard, spewing his juices into
my stomach before I could even really taste them.

I felt fingers at my ass, poking, prodding, inserting, followed quickly by a
dick.  The guy behind me, I could kind of tell, was making it look like he
was at a rodeo, hanging on to a bucking bronco, except that I very much
wanted him to stay on as he filled me up and fucked my tight hole.  I stayed
rock hard, but I couldn't cum because I wasn't allowed.

Tirelessly, the team stripped me of my dignity, feeding me their cum at both
ends of my body, splattering it on my face and rubbing it in with their fat
dicks, slapping my ass as they penetrated me and deposited their loads.  And
when they were done, they sent me on my way -- used up and now, left behind
with an achingly hard cock.

The next morning, though, that belly full of cum has had some sort of
bewitching effect on me.  I look at myself in the mirror, my bald body, and
I smile at how awesome it feels to be used, to be transformed.  I think
about how obedient I've been, and I yearn to do everything I'm told to do.

Of course, my greatest fantasy is also my worst fear -- I get so hot being
commanded to do things here, in my place where no one can see them, or
beneath my clothes, where I can maintain the two sides of my life.  But I
don't want people who care about me or people who look up to me to feel
disgusted, knowing that I've done something so shameful as to let my sex be
controlled and changed by a total stranger.  It terrifies me that this
anonymous passion might be outed.  As I lie in bed at night, shoving that
dildo into and out of my ass, my cock tells me not to worry, though.  It
reminds me, standing there, of why I need and crave this servitude.  You
see, when I began my enslavement, I was told that I could cum, but not until
I'd been hard for fifty hours.  I've done thirteen hours so far.  Until I've
passed fifty, I have to shave every day, and I have to stay submissive,
following every order, hoping that the next one doesn't ruin me.  But when I
doubt myself, I look at my pleading, dripping, hard cock and I know what I
have to do: I must obey.

If you've got any ideas for how to torment me during this project, please
pass them along.  I need to stay hard for the equivalent of another day and
a half -- how do you propose I manage that, especially since I can't touch
myself without permission?  I'm eager for help, kind readers.