Date: Thu, 28 Apr 2016 20:22:33 +0000
From: white collar <white_collar@hotmail.com>
Subject: Tit-Slave - (M/M, Milking, B&D, MC)

Any comments will be gladly received at white_collar@hotmal.com

Note: Any resemblance to real people is strictly coincidental.  No real
people are depicted in this piece of fiction.  This story contains explicit
male to male sex, domination and bondage.  If you don't enjoy reading this
sort of material or are under the age of 21, DO NOT CONTINUE READING.  If
you regard this type of material as depraved then flee from here and don't
look back!

Prologue

He touches my pumped tits and I go weak, a shiver running down my spine and
terminating in my groin.  My tits harden and reach for his hands.  My caged
dick throbs inside its confines.  He squeezes my tits and twists them and I
both whimper and groan deep in my throat, beyond words, for words are
unavailable to me, a spider gag immobilizing my jaws.  His other hand
snakes down my crack to my hole and I push back against it, my ass wanting
more.  My chest pushes against his hand, begging for more.  Pushing my ass
back, my chest forward, bends me into an S curve; S for sex.  I am a
sex-curve waiting to be bent even further.

"Please, please," I whisper in my mind.  "Please use my tits sir."  But
guttural moans and whimpers are all he hears.

He looks into my eyes and nods, smiling.  "Yes, my tit-slave.  I know what
you want and need.  I know because I created you as you are now: to want it
and need it: my tit-slave."

How I want it; how I need it.  How far I have come.  My tits are like
fingertips protruding from my pecs: long, swollen, hungry knobs of dark
brown flesh, needing, wanting, begging for more.

"I'm your tit-slave," I whisper inarticulately, and he pinches the
instruments of my slavery hard and laughs, knowing exactly what I was
thinking and trying to voice.

"Yes, I know," he says.  "You're exactly what I wanted; exactly what I made
you.  My tit-slave."

He holds up a bag, bulging with wooden clothes-pins.  He has no need of
fancy plastic pins sold at an inflated price by stores catering to
fetishists.  Just simple, wooden pins he picked up at the hardware store;
scores of them.  I know what they're for and my eyes begin to fill as I
moan and beg, dreading and hungering for what is to come.  He takes two out
of the bag and holds one in each hand.  My eyes are on them and he nods to
me, forcing me to look into his shining eyes.

"Yes, for my tit-slave," he says in his deep, quiet voice; the voice that
enslaved and enslaves me.  "For you."

He pinches them open and fastens one onto each swollen nipple and I squeal
in pain and arousal, knowing my cries are what he wants to hear; my cries
of pain and desire.  He hurts my tits and that brings him pleasure.  His
pleasure is my pleasure, even if purchased at the cost of my pain.  My pain
is nothing to him.  It is nothing to me; his pleasure is what matters, now
and always.

# # #

Tit-Slave - Chapter 1

It had started innocently enough: One day, after work, I'd been browsing
the web, my cock firming and longing for full erection and release.  My
balls were churning and heavy: it had been a busy couple of weeks with
year-end reporting taking most of my time and energy so I hadn't really
thought about sex.  Or when I had, it had been fleeting but accentuated,
such as today.  One of my co-workers, Gregory, leaned over my desk to
retrieve a report and had brushed my arm, which was resting on the desk,
manipulating the mouse, with his crotch.  I felt the stiff underside of his
cock along my forearm and felt slightly dizzy and flushed.  I'm sure he
hadn't done it intentionally: it was simply one of those things that happen
and I said nothing, but the heat I felt in my face told me I'd flushed
deeply and I felt the blood flushing into my cock as well.  Fortunately, he
was already opening the report and searching for the information he needed,
so I knew he hadn't witnessed my response.

That I wanted, no needed, cock was no surprise to me; I'd come out in
college, twenty years ago, and had remained open ever since.  But I'd
always focused on my work, rising through the ranks from junior manager
through middle management to the executive level.  I was on the young side
for a corporate CFO, but my singular focus and my intelligence,
connections, and, frankly, good luck, had brought me to this position.

What I'd been missing was a someone in my life.  Oh, I'd had the odd sexual
encounter here and there (and some of them truly were odd, but that's for
another story).  Suffice it to say that some men have very interesting
tastes and fetishes.  One man, for instance, wanted me to put my tongue in
his hole, which I did, though without much enthusiasm.  The flavor was
musky and earthy and that wasn't too bad.  I began to get a little hard as
my mind told me that what I was doing was strange but it felt good to do
what he asked, even though I didn't much like it.  But then I felt his
sphincter open and got the first taste of turd as he started to defecate in
my mouth.  I pulled back, appalled, and threw him out of my apartment.  I
was polite enough to let him use the toilet and get dressed before I showed
him the door but I was really disgusted by it.  He even asked me if I'd let
him piss on me while I laid in the tub, but I said I definitely wasn't
interested.  I'd heard of scat and watersports, of course, but it had no
interest for me.  I liked to suck cock and liked having mine sucked but
that was about the limit of my experience and my interests.  Why, I hadn't
even been fucked.  I guess I was a little old-fashioned and thought I
should wait for someone special.  All those quaint ideas I'd picked up in
Sunday school had their effect, though they'd been unable to convince me
that I didn't or shouldn't like men.

Anyway, I'd had a few of those interesting encounters over the years,
interspersed with the somewhat more frequent suck session, although even
those were none too frequent.  It didn't seem at all odd to me that I was
usually the one doing the sucking, either on my knees or lying on my back
while the other guy fucked my mouth, but I just didn't think about it; it
seemed right, even if I jacked off later while I fantasized about him.

I'm attractive enough, I suppose.  I'm six foot one, medium brown hair,
blue eyes, nice features, or so I'm told, and trim.  I run five days a week
to stay in shape and do enough calisthenics to maintain my muscle tone.  I
don't have a six-pack, but my belly's firm.  There was a nice coating of
fur on my chest and a modicum of hair on my belly.  I think I'd look good
on the beach if I ever took the time to go.  The only problem would be that
I'm not tanned because I stay out of the sun, but hey, you can't have
everything.  So, long story short, I'm a strictly vanilla guy.  Or at least
I used to be until that night, when everything started to change for me.

The reports were finished and ready to go for the next day's meetings and I
left work to go home and rest up.  The brush with my co-worker's cock was
still in the back of my mind and still causing intermittent stirrings in my
own equipment.  So I went into my apartment, threw my jacket on the back of
the couch and booted up my computer.  I went to the kitchen to pour myself
a whiskey (I had a sixteen year old Lagavulin I'd been savoring), added a
dash of water and sat down at my PC.  I opened my e-mail and lo and behold,
there was a message from my co-worker, Gregory.  The subject was "what you
need now", which was intriguing.  How did he know what I needed?  Did he
know something I didn't?  There was a link to a website and it wasn't some
site in Russia or other nonsense and since it had a subject other than "Hi
beloved" or some other nonsense, I figured, he had definitely sent it to
me, rather than it being some SPAM or phishing message, so I clicked on it
and took a couple of sips of whiskey while the site loaded.


Tit slave - Chapter 2

The site was devoted to tits; no not women's tits - men's tits.  It had
galleries, messaging capabilities, forums and chat rooms.  I'd never even
considered that Gregory might be gay, but none of us in the office talked
much about our private lives.  I was intrigued, especially by some of the
photos I saw on the banner page: Men with big, swollen tits, as big as the
tips of my pinkies.  I'd never thought this could be done!  But here were
photographs and I could tell by the consistency that they hadn't been
photo-shopped.  These were real men with real tits; huge tits.  My dick
began to stiffen in my pants and I began to feel a tingling in my chest.
Now, I have a nice chest - firm pecs and nice round nipples with
quarter-sized areolas, but they were nothing like these men's nips.  And I
began to wonder: what if I could get tits like this?  What did I need to
do?  How could I make this happen?

After looking through several models' galleries, I decided to enter one of
the chat rooms and see what I could learn.  I watched some of the
conversations going on, and there was one man named Ted, who seemed to be
an expert on nips and also seemed to have an assertive way about him.  I
messaged him.

"Hi Ted."

"Hi Hanky," he responded.

I'd created my profile using my nick-name "Hank".  My name is Henry, but my
few friends call me "Hank" as do the members of my family.  I was a little
surprised by the "Hanky", but it didn't really bother me, so I went with
it.

"Could I ask you a question?"

"Sure thing, my boy.  Open an audio line so that we can talk.  So what do
you want to know?"

"My boy"?  Really?  Where was this guy coming from?  And why did his voice
sound familiar?  But I really wanted my questions answered, so I ignored my
alarms going off and plowed on.

"I'm new to this site.  The pics of the guys with the big tits really get
my motor revving.  Can I ask you?  Can men really make their tits that
big?"

"Sure thing, my boy.  No problem.  It's just a matter of training 'em."

"Can you tell me how?"

"Sure thing, my boy.  Let's start with checking your aptitude.  First,
start up your cam."

This guy, Ted, didn't seem to ever ask anything; he simply gave orders.
But I did as he said.

"Nice shirt and tie.  But take them off now."

I removed my tie and unbuttoned my shirt as instructed.

"Good boy.  Now just follow my instructions.  And since we're in the
chatroom, all the other tit pigs can open your cam and follow my
instructions too.  Just do as I tell you.  Ready, my boy?"

I wasn't sure I liked being referred to as a "tit pig".  As I've already
said, I was a pretty vanilla guy, but again, what the hell?  Or maybe "what
the fuck".  He was calling me a pig, let me get into it.

"Yes sir," I responded, somehow feeling that it was appropriate to be
respectful, especially since he was helping me out.

 "Good boy.  Now I want you to start by slowly and gently circling your
areolas with the tips of your index fingers.  Do you know what your areolas
are boy?"

"I think so sir."

"Well, just to be clear, they're the circle of brown flesh surrounding your
points.  Circle them slowly, touching lightly."

I began to draw circles around my areolas with my fingertips.  I'd never
been touched there before.  Remember, I'm pretty vanilla.  I guess you
could say that, aside from liking men, I'm pretty prudish.  The sensation
in my chest was amazing.  I inhaled deeply and moaned slightly.

"Good," Ted said.  "Now flick your points with your fingers.  Start with
your middle fingers."

I did and a shiver ran down my spine, causing me to arch my back and gasp.

"Now, curl your fingers and rub your knuckles across your points."

Another gasp.

"Good boy.  Now grab hold of those points and pull.  Hard!"

I pulled and bent double at the pleasure and the pain.  Oh god, how had I
missed this all these years?  I'd never realized that tits could be so
sensitive.

Good boy!  Now, holding onto your tits, watch your screen."

As I sat there, holding onto my nubs, a kaleidoscopic pattern appeared on
the screen, and Ted's quiet voice began to speak.  It was very low and I
had to concentrate to make out what he was saying amid other sounds that
seemed to interfere with his voice.  Along with the sound of Ted's voice, I
heard what must've been the voices of the other "pigs" in the chatroom,
saying "Thank you sir.  Thank you master, thank you?  I'm your slave
master, I obey, I serve, I obey, I serve?"

When I came to, I saw that the clock read 11:35.  I'd been out of it for
two hours.  There was no one in the chatroom at this point, so I logged off
the site.  I also found that my nipples were swollen and red and very, very
sensitive.  I realized that I wouldn't be able get to sleep with them
burning like that, so I went to my bedroom and took some healing hand
lotion on my fingers and rubbed it in.  The touch of my lotion-coated
fingers on my tits made my knees buckle and, collapsing onto my bed, I
involuntarily moaned.  I continued to rub the lotion into my points and
areolas with pleasure until it was completely absorbed.  Then I crawled
under the covers.  During the night, my nipples were still too sensitive to
have the blankets on them, so I pushed the covers down, leaving my nips
exposed.  It was a question of warmth with pain or cold with less pain.  I
sacrificed warmth.

That night, I dreamt of bare-chested men with huge nipples.  They stood
above me, their finger-nipples above my mouth and I raised my head to suck
milk from them.  As I sucked, they grabbed my own tits and twisted and
pulled them.  In my dream, my own nipples are as big as theirs, like finger
tips on my chest.  As they twisted and pulled my tits, I groaned and
squirmed.  In my dream, I had an orgasm, pumping cum from my hard cock
while the men encouraged me, calling me a tit pig and oinking at me.

When I awoke in the morning, I found my belly was crusted with cum.  I
hadn't had a wet dream since my early 20s, but now I'd had one, dreaming
about tit men.  I wanted nipples like that!  I wanted man tits!  I got up
and went to my PC and went to a website that, for some reason, I just knew
was there: www.supplenips.com.  I ordered all four sizes.  Then I got ready
and headed to work.  My entire train ride, my cock was hard, tenting my
pants.  Fortunately, I could fairly well cover it with my suit jacket, but
once in a while I'd catch someone looking at my crotch and then quickly
looking away.  I, of course, did the same thing.  There's nothing more
embarrassing than a man almost 40 years old being caught with a 1st class
hard-on.  But it wouldn't go down.  I tried to think of other things, like
burnt food or dead puppies, but nothing worked: the erection persisted.  As
I walked up the stairs out of the subway, I held my brief case in front of
me, as though I were trying to take up less space on the crowed stairs and
sidewalk, but it kept getting jostled and every time, it bumped into my
stiffness, only making matters worse.

I had a meeting with Gregory at 9:15 to continue working on the report we'd
been working on the previous day.  He knocked on the door and came in.

"Hey Hank, how's it going?" Gregory asked.

I was standing at the credenza searching through some papers and turned
around to greet him.  Only I'd forgotten my now chronic hard-on.  If I'd
taken Viagra, I'd have been calling the doctor.  Suddenly, as his eyes
fastened on my protruding crotch, I realized what he was looking at!

I quickly sat in my chair and slid under my desk.

"I-I-I'm sorry Greg.  I don't know what the problem is," I mumbled,
profoundly embarrassed and I could feel the heat rising up my neck all the
way to my scalp.  I was starting to sweat.

"It's alright Hank.  No need to apologize.  Hell, you look like a teenager
with that thing.  At your age, that's an accomplishment!"

This chagrined me; I'm not that old, and only a few years older than Greg.
But I had to admit that it was unusual for a man in his late 30s to be
springing a boner like this one.  Unconsciously, I reached up and tweaked
my nipples, which I'd had trouble keeping my hands off of all day.

"Not a problem," said Greg, quietly.  "No problem at all, Hank."

Why did his voice seem to echo in my brain?  Why was it making my erection
harder?  What the hell was going on here?

I concentrated fiercely on the work at hand, or, I was afraid, I'd lose all
control.  We beavered away at the report for nearly half-an-hour.  Then,
just like yesterday, I had my hand on my mouse and Gregory reached across
my desk, brushing his crotch against my hand.  It was like an electric
shock.  I momentarily lost it: the room seemed to go blank, my head was
light and all sound disappeared.  In a split-second I recovered, but I was
rocked, having never experienced anything like that before.

"Hey man," Greg said quietly, putting his hand on my shoulder.  "Hank, are
you OK?  You seem a little, uh, distracted today.  Everything alright?"

"Yah," I responded.  "I just had a really bad night last night."

"Bad dreams?" Greg asked, grinning.

"Yah, I guess you could say that."

"I understand.  It's OK; we have some time to finish this report.  Why
don't you relax and we can work some more on this tomorrow.  OK, Hanky?"

I heard him call me "Hanky" and my brain began to sound an alarm that
something was wrong, but that alarm was immediately silenced as darkness
and silence descended.

To be continued.