Date: Mon, 20 Feb 2017 03:18:32 +0000 (UTC) From: Sam Bodine <sambodine@gmx.com> Subject: The Guide: Chapter 1 This work is a collaboration. Sir Jef tells me what He wants in each chapter, and I write the story for Him. He is in complete control of my orgasms as I write and determines when and how I am able to cum throughout the writing process. All feedback to sambodine@gmx.com is read by both of us. Tell Sir Jef if you have ideas for what should happen to Sydney, or if you didn't enjoy it and don't think he should allow me to cum. Though several locations are taken from the real world, this story and its characters are fictional. As such, they participate in activities that can be dangerous in your life. Please practice safer sex, set up safe calls, and set up first meetings in public. Also, if you can all avoid it, don't let your love life be written by a stranger on the internet. Legal disclaimer: This work of fiction is copyright 2017 by Sir Jef and Sam Bodine. Some rights reserved. Content is made available to specified sites under CC-BY-NC-ND 4.0 license. Free porn isn't free! Please support this site by donating here: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sydney Leighton stared at the flashing meeting reminder. "One on One - Ford Turnbull's office - 4 min" He'd been dreading this since he got the invitation. Ford Turnbull was a Hollywood power player. It had been quite the coup for him to come over to this studio after all his successes elsewhere. What else could a guy with a Best Picture want? Control was the answer. He'd have carte blanche and a blank check here, for at least a few years. And Syd knew that usually came with firing everyone who had been around beforehand, starting with the lowest on the totem pole. Things didn't get a lot lower than Production Assistant, especially one who hadn't managed to get a promotion to a "real" job in eight years. His eyes darted over to the framed photo of himself and his twin brother Douglas in their caps and gowns. Doug had jumped from success to success in the business world in that time, and still probably didn't put in a full day of work. Sydney sighed, clicked 'Dismiss' on the reminder, and stood up to walk over to the new producer's office, mentally cataloging his personal possessions and wondering if they'd fit in one box or two. He knocked on the door. "C'mon in, boy! Time's money." Ford had taken Hollywood by surprise, with an uncanny eye to spot talent, a gift for securing funding from unexpected sources, and a Texas accent that made west coasters underestimate him. He'd often outmaneuvered his opponents before they even realized they were playing a game. And yet he always talked to everyone in his organization, regardless of station. Other executives called it a waste of time. Syd pushed the door open, surprised that the office looked so... normal. Most producers treated their office like a cross between a diplomatic receiving room and a personal spa, with all of the excesses of both. Mr. Turnbull had a desk, a bookshelf, a separate table with chairs off to the side, a small couch, and a couple of comfortable-looking wingback chairs facing the desk. There was an open door to a personal restroom, and what must have been a storage closet with a deadbolt. By Hollywood standards, it was positively spartan. He practically jumped up from behind his desk, striding across the carpet towards his employee. His giant outstretched hand engulfed Syd's, shaking it and pulling him uncomfortably close. Mr. Turnbull was six feet, eight inches tall, and knew how to use his bulk to intimidate. "Nice to meet ya, son." He still hadn't let go. "Ford Turnbull. I'm gonna be producing movies around here a while." "Sydney Leighton," he replied, increasingly uncomfortable with the gigantic man invading his space. "But everyone calls me Syd. I'm a P.A." Ford's hand stopped moving, just holding Sydney's for a distressing moment before letting him go. "Sit down, boy," the older man said, indicating one of the wingback chairs. He reached back to pick up a file folder and half-sat on the front edge of his desk, making small talk while thumbing through the pages. He began asking some standard questions about work, goals and that sort of thing. Sydney found his eyes drawn briefly to the enormous bulge in the older man's suit pants, and somehow he was unable to look at any other feature on the man. He forced himself to study other objects in the office as he continued the conversation. There were the expected movie posters and props, of course, and the shelf of awards. Some expensive-looking cigar boxes. And then, suddenly, the only thing Sydney could see in the office was the Alpha Sigma paddle mounted on the wall underneath his new boss' diploma. Doug was an Alpha Sig, too. Sydney had wanted it so much, but after that incident during Rush there was no way. It'd been so bad that even Doug couldn't smooth it over. They were both sophomores at UCLA, still living up in Rieber Hall because they couldn't afford the nicer dorms. Doug had made the transition to college life easily, like he always did. He pledged Alpha that first fall and got Alpha, no muss, no fuss. Sydney's midterm grades were so bad that he wasn't allowed to pledge anywhere that first year. As the boss launched into a story about working his way up from nowhere, Syd's mind wandered back to that terrible night. "It won't be a problem, Syd," Doug had promised. "I've been telling them all that you'll fit in great, you were just taking too many classes last term. They want you to make it. They're on your side, you'll see." "Sure," Syd had said, not sure at all. Yeah, he was there on a tennis scholarship, and frats loved getting athletes, but it seemed like the whole football team had pledged Alpha, and coming off of the Rose Bowl those guys were heroes on campus. "Did you get... y'know, hazed, or anything?" "Stop worrying, man. You can handle it. Just be sure to obey any Brother who tells you to do something, and don't get too drunk. That's how we lost most of our pledges last year, when they couldn't handle their beer and did something stupid. And if you think you're getting in over your head, come find me." It hadn't taken long. At the party, Sydney found himself assigned to Allan "Woodsy" Osborne, a fifth year senior and third generation legacy member of Alpha Sig. Woodsy towered over Syd, his prominent, stubbled chin hovering at the nervous pledge's eye level when it wasn't scratching his ear as he gave orders. He navigated the room with the confidence of someone whose name is on a car dealership. The larger man's left hand suddenly clamped down on Syd's left shoulder as he pulled him close in something like a bear hug. "I like you, pledge, and because of that I'm gonna ignore that you just tried to turn down a drink I offered you." It had been the fifth or sixth one that night -- Syd couldn't remember. Now he found himself pinned to the larger man's chest, terrified of losing this opportunity with the frat, knowing he was past his alcoholic tolerance, and yet suddenly feeling desperately, inexplicably turned on. He felt himself hardening in his pants as his crotch was ground into his captor's leg. "I know and you know you're not Alpha material," Woodsy continued, lowering his voice, "but I like your bro and he wants you to be here. If you want my vote you're gonna have to man up. Now get us another round." Woodsy's arm spun Syd back around to face the bar and gave him a firm slap on the ass as the pledge stumbled towards it. "Two Long Islands," Syd stammered as he caught his balance on the bar, chest still heaving from the unexpected surge of excitement. The stinging in his ass felt like it was transforming into electricity in his crotch, and he felt a wad of precum squeeze itself into his underwear. He tried to hide his erection by casually resting a foot on a barstool, but even deep breaths weren't working to calm himself down. What the fuck was happening? "Come on, pledge, chop chop!" Woodsy and some other Brothers were laughing about something Syd hadn't heard. He grabbed the two drinks from the bartender and turned back to the group, flustered. And then things went into slow motion. Syd stepped on his own pants cuff, halting his feet just when his momentum started carrying him towards Woodsy and the group. Instinctively, his arms reached forward to catch himself, slinging both full drinks directly onto the one man who held his future in his hands just before landing face-first on his now drenched shoes. "Fuck, Woodsy, I'm-" "Shut. The. Fuck. UP," Woodsy's voice boomed, turning every head in the room his way. "PLEDGE. Stand up." Syd had never felt more embarrassed in his life. And he'd never been harder. He scrambled to get to his feet, ice and alcohol soaking through his shirt and sticking it to his chest. His cheeks flushed red and his nipples hardened. He opened his mouth again but the look on Woodsy's face made the words die away in his throat. A gigantic meaty hand closed down on his head and grabbed his ear, squeezing it tightly. "Come with me. Right now." The grip never loosened, leaving Syd with no real choice but to march where he was directed. Each person staring at him seemed to humiliate him and excite him even more as they made their way into the upper levels of the frat house and into the room with the brass OSBORNE plaque mounted over the door. "You miserable fuck," the bigger man addressed the pledge crumpled on the floor. "How do you fuck up getting some god damn drinks?" "I --" Syd stammered, feeling ice cold liquid drain into his pants. Somehow, he leaked even more precum at this new sensation. "Jesus. Shut up. You don't say another god damn thing tonight. Stay there." Woodsy started unbuttoning his soaked shirt as he walked back to the bathroom to turn on the shower. "Shit. What the fuck. I mean," he started rummaging around in a hamper, "What the fuck!" A worn out undershirt hit Sydney in the face, followed by one shoe to the chest, then another. "Get those shoes dry, meat. They're Italian." Syd's dick jumped again as he heard a belt getting pulled violently out of the loops, and then again as that same belt lashed him across the back. "Wipe that dry, too. Put them all over by my bed when you're done." Syd couldn't help but watch as Woodsy's pants and underwear hit the ground just before he stalked into the bathroom. The image of his thick cock swinging seemed to sear itself into his retinas, leaving an afterimage that he couldn't shake out of his head. Syd finished drying off the shoes and belt and placed them neatly on the floor. He didn't dare stand up or make a noise. And yet... He was as horny as he had ever been in his life. His little dick was standing straight up in his soaked trousers, pulsing out more precum with each rapid heartbeat. He felt his hands, of their own accord, moving to stroke himself slowly as he flashed back to everything he'd felt in the past few minutes. The slap to his ass. The crowd staring at him. The pain of his ear getting pinched. That gigantic cock. Syd's eyes rolled back in his head as he started stroking faster, unable to help himself. White-hot pain flashed through his entire body as Woodsy's foot came down, hard, on his crotch. He suppressed a dry heave as his eyes shot open, looking directly up at the naked senior as he kept pressing down. He first fixated on his huge cock, but another push made him lock eyes with his tormenter. Again, time slowed down. He could feel the big man's heel pushing down on his balls and his tiny penis throbbed against his arch. Sydney was horrified to feel the biggest orgasm of his life spurt into his own pants while staring into the eyes of the man who was undoubtedly his superior. "Yeah. That answers that, I guess," said Woodsy, finally, after waiting for Sydney to come back to earth. He was no longer pressing down, but his foot remained on the seated pledge's crotch. "You're not an Alpha, that's for sure. You get off on this shit. You know your real place." The foot wiggled a bit. "Don't you?" Sydney didn't answer, but his penis hardened again even as the pain in his balls grew. Movement from his captor's crotch suddenly drew his eye, and he watched, fascinated, as the enormous cock began to stiffen. "You ever suck a real man's cock, bitch?" Sydney shook his head as his mouth opened of its own volition. "Get started, then." Woodsy's cockhead pushed its way into his mouth. "Move your tongue around. Get it all wet. And roll your lips over your teeth before you do something stupid. Yeah. Okay, here's a little more. Feel me rubbing on the roof of your mouth? That's real good. We're gonna stay here a bit." "Deep breath now... and get ready to start swallowing," the bigger man urged as he shoved his cock deeper into the pledge's mouth. "If you don't swallow right you're gonna start gagging. Yeah, you're a natural at this, bitch." Syd's cock jumped again at the insult, and he moaned around the intruder in his mouth. Something inside him railed against the indignity of it all, but that feeling was drowned out by the electric feeling radiating through his balls, his ass, his prostate, his cock, his nipples. His entire body felt right for the first time in his life. Suddenly he felt the dick in his mouth swell and pulse, swallowing greedily as the senior pulsed cum down his throat. "Get out of those clothes," Woodsy ordered, stepping back to sit down on his bed. He casually wiped his massive dick with a sock while he watched the pledge get out of his soggy party clothes. "Christ, you got a fur shirt on under there, don't ya?" Sydney blushed again, but paused before unbuckling his pants. Even as turned on as he was, his shame of his size made him hesitate. "Nope, drop 'em, bitch. You're all mine now." Shaking in excitement, trepidation, and arousal, Syd finally dropped his trousers and exposed himself to his captor. "What the fuck? Is that a fuckin' joke down there? It's like you skipped wood and got extra helpings of balls and hair instead. No wonder you're such a bitch." Reflexively, Syd tried to cover his crotch with his hands. He was interrupted by a sharp order. "No, bitch. Hands behind your back and keep 'em there. Good bitch. Good cocksucker." With each insult, Syd thrilled. His nipples stiffened in the air and his dick stood out to its proudest, almost four inches. "Whatcha got here, bitch?" Woodsy paced around the pledge. "These nipples sensitive? Yeah, I thought they would be. How much can they take?" A gentle squeeze quickly turned into pain, and he was rewarded with a bead of precum and a moan. A slap to the ass produced another. "You like that too, huh." Another two slaps and the precum became a stream. "And, of course," he said as he grabbed his subject's balls and squeezed, "we know what happens with these. I bet you'll cum without me touching that little clit of yours." "Matter of fact, that'll be our deal. You need to be punished for fucking up my clothes. If you can take what I give you without losing another load, I'll go easy on you in our meeting tomorrow. If you make it through the rest of Rush without fucking up again, we'll let you in and you're gonna move in here with me to be my bitch for the rest of the year. We gotta let some bitches in, after all. But if that little clit shoots --" another squeeze, another moan-- "that's it. You're out on your ass and you don't come back." Syd could only whimper. Whimper and leak. Woodsy looked at the clock. "It's after midnight. Everyone else should be out of the house, just Brothers and pledges now. They're all expecting a punishment, and they're gonna get one. You stay right there." Woodsy pulled on a jock, gym shorts, and a cutoff tee shirt before rummaging around in his drawers, opening and closing bins, searching for something special. "Here we go, I knew one of those bitches left one of these here," Woodsy finally announced, holding up a cheerleader's skirt. "Perfect for a little pussy to wear while it gets punished." He tossed the garment to Sydney. "I... I can't wear this," Syd stammered. "It's... I can't..." "You didn't just say 'no' to me again, did you, pledge?" Syd swallowed, hard. "I... okay, sir." He began to look over the garment to try to figure out how it worked. Even in high school he'd never been lucky or charming enough to get a cheerleader to notice him. He made a guess, stepping into the waistband and pulling it up past his hips. He had to breathe in and hike it up to get it to fasten around his waist, and he could feel the bottom edge of the skirt swishing dangerously close to his low-hanging balls. "'Sir,'" Woodsy sneered. "Finally, the bitch can learn. Hands behind your back again, pledge." As Syd complied, Woodsy grabbed both wrists with one hand and held them together, pushing his prisoner out the door into the hallway. "HOUSE MEETING," his voice echoed. Sydney's ears and face reddened, flinching each time his captor shouted the call on his way downstairs to the main hall. Every knowing grin of every Brother seemed to mortify, and yet, arouse him further. Unfamiliar sensations surrounded him. The feeling of his chest hair moving in the open air, his balls swinging between his legs, his little penis hard and poking into the folds of the skirt, the vice grip on his wrists behind his back, the aftertaste of cum on his tongue. He was a mess. Woodsy marched Syd onto the raised dais at the center of the room, in front of the podium. Ordinarily there would be a microphone, but the big man didn't need one tonight. "Pledge," he shouted, "Announce to the brothers the rules that you have broken!" "The pledge has wasted alcohol," Syd began, thankfully remembering the protocol he was taught. "The pledge damaged a Brother's property by spilling alcohol on it. The pledge... refused an order by a Brother. And... the pledge... failed to uphold the standards of Alpha Sigma. Sir." He hoped that was the complete list. "Why is the pledge wearing a skirt," came the question from one of the seniors. "The pledge soiled its own clothes with alcohol, sir," Syd answered, "and... and was graciously given this garment to wear instead. Sir." "Why are we at this meeting?" This was a voice that Syd recognized as belonging to one of the officers. "What does the pledge want?" "The pledge asks to be punished for breaking the rules, sir, and to clear his slate," Syd answered, feeling a long drip of precum leave the tip of his dick. He hoped to god it would get caught in the skirt. "Sir." Woodsy strode across the dais to the wall, where a large oak paddle hung. The greek letters Alpha and Sigma were carved into its surface. He took it down from its resting place and wrapped the leather strap around his wrist. "The pledge asks for punishment," he announced to the crowd. "What is the verdict?" "15!" A cacophony of voices started calling out numbers, like a perverse Price is Right episode. "20!" "17!" "8!" Doug was trying to help him, at least. "12!" "Thirty five," said a loud and clear voice, as the others started to die down. "This pledge is a disgrace and must earn our respect again if he is to be considered for our chapter." It was the chapter president, and Sydney's heart sank. "Remember the rules, pledge. Call them out or we order them again." He nodded to Woodsy. "Light him up." "Turn around, hands on the podium, heels and toes together, pledge." Woodsy bounced the heavy paddle against his palm. "And hold that damn skirt out of the way." The pain from the first strike didn't register until Syd was halfway through "One, sir, thank you sir," causing him to gasp instead of finishing the sentence. A chorus of boos rained down on him, and the scorekeeper called out "No good." Sydney's cock surged as embarrassment and pain flooded his senses. The second hit didn't surprise him as badly, and he managed to shout the required phrase. Each hit seemed to radiate electricity directly through his prostate into his bouncing cock and swinging balls. The pressure within him built through the next ten blows. "Ten... sir, thank you... sir," he managed, trying to draw out the phrase long enough to dampen the fire in his loins. There wasn't a chance. Woodsy knew better and just changed his stance. "Faster, pledge?" It wasn't a question. The next ten blows came at a frightening pace. Sydney, openly crying by now, with the beginnings of a runny nose, had managed to count out eight of them. His knees were weak, his legs and arms were trembling, and his balls were drawing up closer. He tried desperately to think of something else to distract himself from the oncoming orgasm he could feel. Five more smacks. He'd gotten credit for four of them. Ice, Antarctica, Crater Lake. His ass was beginning to blister. Four more smacks. He counted all of them. Algebra. Statistics. Chemistry. Each new hit was layering over old ones, becoming an indistinguishable wall of pain. Four of the next five counted. Barbara Bush. Angela Lansbury. The tall one from Golden Girls. The distraction was working even as the pain mounted. Murmurs of respect flowed around the room when the score passed 30. Few of the brothers had ever seen someone take so many paddles and he was starting to win the crowd over. But Syd's tormentor didn't stop. He slowed down and started taking bigger backswings. "Shi...thirty-one, sir, thank you sir!" Syd was gritting his teeth, trying to take deep breaths. The new pain was all he could think about. "Thirty-two, sir, thank you, sir!" He could feel his own precum dripping down his balls. "Thirty-three, sir, thank you, sir!" God, it hurt. Fire was running through his brain. "Thirty-four, sir, thank you, sir!" Every cell of his body felt electrified. He was panting now. Woodsy leaned over to the pledge's ear. "You're almost there, bitch. Think about what you get if you make it through this." Sydney's poor hormone-addled brain suddenly started reliving everything about their encounter only hours before. The size and shape of his cock. The feeling of it down his throat. His hands holding him steady. That feeling as it swelled and pulsed... THWACK! The pain from the final blow of the paddle rocketed through Sydney's nervous system, triggering, for the second time that night, the biggest orgasm he'd ever felt in his life. He collapsed in a heap against the podium, sobbing and gasping for air as his hips convulsed. Shot after shot of cum, maybe a dozen, fired into the blue and gold skirt, still exposing a red and blistered ass and a low hanging ballsack. The brothers' expectant cheers turned to disgust and disappointment as it became obvious the pledge wasn't going to get up to complete his punishment. No one, not even Doug, came up to see if he was okay. Everybody knew he wasn't going to make it any more. He'd become radioactive. The brothers all filed out of the room, back to their books, girlfriends, or video games. Woodsy hung the paddle back on the wall, then slowly walked back to the sobbing heap. "Too bad, bitch. I coulda enjoyed having a pussy like you around. But I'll get another. Now you--" he placed his foot on the ex-pledge's exposed balls -- "get up. I don't care where you go but you better not show up here again." With that he kicked Sydney in the ass, then turned to go back to his own room. Ass throbbing, balls aching, nose running, Sydney crawled out of the open door into the Southern California night, eventually pulling himself upright on a lamp post. The sticky mess of his cum spreading over his crotch and dripping to the ground just served to further remind him of how humiliating a position he was in now, walking all the way across campus wearing nothing but a cheerleader's skirt. He looked around to get his bearings, and... "Boy? You there, boy?" Sydney blinked suddenly as he became aware of his new boss hovering over him. He had his right foot on the seat of Sydney's chair and was leaning in, far too close for comfort. "Y-yes. Sir." He swallowed, realizing how aroused he was by the memory of that night. "I'm sorry, sir, I just noticed that you're an Alpha." He pointed at the paddle, hoping to get a little space to breathe. "My brother is an Alpha." He tried to smile and look back up at his boss' face, and was startled to find the larger man's eyes locked on his. A long moment passed. "That so, Mr. Leighton," the boss finally asked. He cracked a half smile. "Being an Alpha helped make me the man I am today. Not many people notice details like that in this town." He looked the production assistant up and down. His smile widened. "Anything else you... noticed, boy?" Droplets of sweat started forming on the back of Sydney's neck. His eyes, freed from Mr. Turnbull's control, darted around the room desperately. Then they were pulled, as if by gravity, towards something even more mesmerizing. There was something moving in his boss' suit pants. He could see the outline of possibly the biggest cock he'd ever heard of, slowly sliding down the man's trouser leg like a python pursuing prey. Sydney inhaled sharply but kept watching, unable to look away. The movement had stopped now, but Christ. That thing must be halfway down his thigh, pointed right at him.. and oh god how long had he been looking at it? He looked back up. His boss' eyes were still staring into his. Still uncomfortably close. His voice shook as he asked "Is... uh. Is that your Oscar?" The smile stayed in place. This kid was a real prize. He'd popped a little pup tent in his khakis. "Of course it's my Oscar, boy," he said in a lower, conspiratorial tone. "Who else's would it be?" He leaned more on his raised leg, almost taunting the younger man with his cock. The kid didn't even realize the joke he'd made. Oscar mesmerized most people, but some were special. This one, he could tell, was going to be fun. A soft noise from the computer broke the spell. "Well, " Ford said, stepping back and walking stiffly around his desk. "That's the appointment sound and I got some reading to do before this conference call. You can get back to work, Leighton. I like you. We'll talk again soon." Just as quickly as it'd been turned on, whatever magical hold he had turned off. He began tapping at his keyboard. Sydney, out of breath and priapic, let himself out of the office and went back to his desk. It took him quite a while to get his mind back on his work. A chime in his earbuds alerted him to his daily reminder: "Go Home - Your House - 15 minutes" There was always too much to do spread amongst too many people. Even though all of the PAs knew they were expected to stay late to finish their tasks, none of them were ever allowed to clock out late. It was probably illegal, but you couldn't fight the system from this level. Too many fresh film studies graduates would gladly take any job to get their shot at the dream, and no one with a PA's resources could handle a lawsuit. Sydney had discovered a lot of ways to live frugally as he got used to paying the cost of living the dream. He finished up the last few tasks for the day, fired off emails to various people who would want to know status updates first thing Monday morning, and saved his work in progress. Without his daily reminder he'd end up finishing "just one more thing" until dawn. He finally shut down his computer before reaching in his bottom file cabinet drawer to pull out his bike helmet and sling bag. A quick change in the men's room later, he was on his way to the Metro stop, and then to beautiful downtown Burbank. Not only did riding his bike save money, it meant he got three days of cardio and legs every week in about the same amount of time he'd have spent driving in and using the studio's gym. Other nights he'd get happy hour discounts on appetizers or other daily specials, but today his route took him past the local supplement/nutrition store, where he could stock up on the protein bars that got marked down to half price just before closing time. Any discount he could find added up. It was nearly eight by the time he got to his rented "guest house," a converted garage. He hung his bike on the wall, followed by his helmet, dumped the clothes from his bag in the hamper, and stripped off his bike gear. After a quick rinse in the shower he sat at his laptop in a robe, wondering how to spend his evening. Normally he'd just watch something on Netflix and fall asleep, but today had been a weird one. He pulled up Craigslist, and instead of his usual search for bike parts or cheap equipment, he felt drawn to the personals section. He always thought of himself as being straight, but today had dredged up memories that he couldn't ignore any more... or maybe he didn't want to. "Private Friendship MWM" - no, no married guys. "LATINO LOOKING FOR ASIAN" - Well, at least someone knows what they want. "Car action - jerking showing off" - fuck no. "setting up 2 hot assed buddies for bb breeding, 530p-730p tonight/Sat" - Sounds skeevy, and what is bb? "Suck the old man's tits" - Awfully specific. "What is it you're looking for, boy?" Sydney paused. Then he clicked. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- age: 48 body: muscular hair color: s+p eye color: Blue weight: 200 facial hair: trimmed beard height: 6'2" (188cm) Boy, You're reading this because you know you need something more in your life, but you don't know what it is yet. You need to explore within yourself, but you don't have a guide. You need to find your potential, but you don't know the steps to take. I can help you, boy. I can teach you the discipline you need. I can expand your horizons. I can give you experiences you'll never find on your own. I can guide you on your journey to find your true self. All I require is your trust and your obedience. Together we will discover you. If this speaks to you, boy, send me an email. The subject line will be "Guide this boy, Sir," and it will include the following information: Your stats (age, height, weight, hair, eyes, body type, etc) Your description - who you are, your education, what you do, what you think you want Your relationship status Your relationship experience When you are free to meet Your contact information and preferred method (text, email, phone) I can help you, boy. But you must make the first step. do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Syd was practically panting by the time he finished reading the ad. His penis poked through the folds of his robe, begging for attention. Before he had the time to think about all the reasons why this was an incredibly bad idea, he clicked "reply" and started typing: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sir, My name is Sydney. I'm 29, 5'11", 185 lbs, very muscular (work out 6 days). I have brown hair and eyes. I've got an extremely hairy body but I am clean shaven. I grew up in St. Louis with my parents and my twin brother. My brother and I both moved here for school 11 years ago, but he now lives in the Bay area. I have a bachelor's in Film Studies from UCLA and currently I work as a Production Assistant for Worldwide Pictures. I have always wanted to be a screenwriter but right now I would just settle for a salary and benefits. I am single. I have tried several relationships with women, but they always seem to end soon after the relationship becomes physical. They always give me another reason, but I think it is because my dick is smaller than average and I don't have the experience to satisfy them with it. I would like to learn how to be confident and not concentrate on my hang-ups all the time. I have both Saturday and Sunday off. I can meet any time, but I need to get a workout in for a few hours Saturday morning. Email or text is the best way to get me because I often am in meetings or on location where I can not take phone calls. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Trembling, Sydney typed in his contact information, attached a head shot, and clicked "Send." His mind was trying not to panic, but his penis was happily leaking precum. He clicked around to a few of his favorite websites to calm himself, and was just about to shut the computer down and get in bed to jerk off when his phone buzzed from an unknown number. "Boy, I will allow you to meet Me tomorrow at 12 noon for lunch at this address. You will work out tomorrow morning and wear the same clothes to meet Me. You will not touch your genitals except for hygienic purposes until I allow you. If you agree to My control and discipline, respond with 'Yes, Sir' within 30 minutes. If you do not respond, or disobey My instructions, I will end contact." Syd's head was swimming with questions, but after checking to make sure he could get to the listed address on time, he nervously replied as he was directed. His penis burped out a bead of precum in response. At least someone was enjoying this. A few minutes later, another buzz came: "You have taken the first step, Boy. Congratulations. Remember to obey Me and we will find your goals. Sleep now." It took a while, but Sydney obeyed.