Date: Thu, 5 Jul 2007 16:29:04 EDT
From: EddyRiha@aol.com
Subject: you obey me

The usual disclaimers apply.  This is a work of fiction, and those folks
who are prevented from reading such fictional works either by age, by moral
preference, or by law should not read any further.

All of the characters presented here are fictional representations,
including the narrator.  The presentation here of events and characters in
no way is meant to portray actual, historical persons and events.  It's
just a story.

All stunts were performed by professionals.  Do not attempt these at home.
This story is intended simply as a way of exploring, in the safe boundaries
of a fictional narrative, some of the implications of an "authoritarian"
lifestyle.

Since this is a work of fiction, it is a work of the imagination.  I do not
necessarily condone the actions and decisions made by the characters in the
story.  This is written for entertainment purposes only.

If anyone is offended by the premise of the story, or by explicit sexual
acts, please do not read any further.  Why, indeed, have you read this far?


You Obey Me

by eddy riha

Chapter 1: The Inspection

It is late afternoon on Friday.  You arrive early at the mall, wearing
exactly what I instructed you to wear: running shorts, tanktop, Converse
hightops.  No underwear, no socks.  No watch, no wallet, no keys.  For this
weekend, you will become something else, someone else.  You will become
what I want you to become-and only that.

You are standing near the movie theater entrance, leaning slightly against
the wall.  Your small but desirable package makes a slight bulge against
the front of your shorts, but no one notices except for me.  I stand a few
minutes out of your line of sight, admiring your youthful form.  Your
shoulder-length blond hair.  Your generally athletic frame.  Your thin
fingers.  Your dark hair, your brown eyes looking everywhere for me.

I let you wait a few minutes past the meeting time.  Your don't seem too
worried.  If I don't show, you would be partly relieved, because you don't
know what exactly I will demand from you.  But I do show up, taking you by
the arm without saying a word.  I hand the two tickets to the young man at
the entrance, and we go into the theater.  Up to the back row.  There are
few people in the theater for the 2:30 showing.  It doesn't matter much
which movie is on the screen, because you won't do much watching.

We climb the stairs to the back row, at the very top.  Since it is still a
matinee showing, there are relatively few people here, none in the back.
We sit in silence until the lights dim and the previews begin.  Then I
touch your arm, motion slightly.  You understand what I mean, and you lean
up a little and slide your shorts down.  I explore with my hand, touching
your cock, balls, butt.  There is no hair, as I instructed.  You easily
become erect and remain that way-a good sign.

Then I tug at the elastic of the shorts, a clear indication that you should
remove them completely.  I do the same with the tanktop.  You obey me
because you know the consequences if you do not.  In a moment you are
naked, your clothes and sneakers on the seat on the other side of me.  I
can see your hands trembling as they hold the armrests.  You are not sure
what I want from you, and you know that we are in a public place.  Yet
public humiliation, or even the threat of it, is part of obedience.

I guide you off the seat and into the space between me and the seatbacks in
front of us.  You kneel in obedience to my gentle pressure, your face
toward my lap.  I undo my belt, and you understand, taking no time at all
to unzip my pants, pull them down, and begin to nuzzle me with your cheek.
I enjoy the warmth of your skin, and I let you caress me that way for a few
minutes.  Then I guide myself toward your mouth, which you open.

Your tongue slides along underneath the head of my cock, moistening gently
and you taste me for the first time.  You have a soft, wet, comfortable
tongue.  I feel the trembling in your tongue as you hesitate for a moment.
I slap you gently on the side of your head to remind you of your duty: to
obey your master without question.  So you immediately slide your tongue
further down my cock and take all of me into your mouth.  My cock slides to
the back of your mouth and into your throat.  You begin to gag, but another
slap on your head reminds you to fight against that reflex.  You rest my
cock in your mouth until it becomes a completely natural feeling to have
your master's cock in your mouth.

Then, to your disappointment, I remove my cock from your mouth.  At my
suggestion, you crouch on the floor while I examine your ass.  I slip on a
latex glove because the last thing I want is to walk around the mall with
my fingers smelling of slave ass.  The glove is smooth and cool to the
touch when a forefinger rubs around your sphincter.  As instructed, your
boypussy is already lubed, ready for my service at any time.  Your ass is
tight.  It's clear you haven't seen much action, but the way you lift your
ass to meet my fingers suggests strongly that you want your ass to be
filled by me.  I insert one finger and probe inside, making sure that you
have cleaned yourself before entering my service for the weekend.  I
extract the finger, and it is clean, with nothing but lube on the latex.  I
insert two fingers, then three, watching your discomfort gradually grow as
I violate your ass as you crouch head down on the sticky theatre floor.
Satisfied with what I've seen, I insert a wide buttplug, intended to train
you to deal with the width you'll encounter when I fuck your ass later.

Then I instruct you to lie across the seats so your chest and waist are
directly in front of me.  Your body is free of hair, as per my
instructions, and as I run my fingers across your smooth chest, you tremble
slightly with delight and anticipation.  Under my touch, your body is an
instrument, ready to be finely tuned and prepared to play the melody of my
choosing.  You have perfect flawless skin, tanned darker from the sun in
the chest, arms, and legs than in the pubic region, but that too will
change: I prefer my slaves to be one-toned, an equal amount of tan
everywhere.

Your pits are hairless and clean.  They smell a little of your musk, but on
a warm summer's day, that is to be expected.  You have a pleasant,
masculine smell, and I am immediately aroused by it.  But I do not let you
know that fact.

I twist each nipple in turn, watching your face, as you feel the sharp
pain.  But though your eyes close and your face clenches tight, you do not
cry out.  Good.  I apply a clamp to each nipple, then run my fingers across
your firm, hairless abs.  Nice.

Finally, I turn my attention to your cock, which is erect in anticipation.
You are leaking some precum, but I ignore it.  I clamp my hand around your
cock and feel its strength.  A nice, firm slave's cock, one that will
accept anything I care to demand from it.  I squeeze hard, and though you
wince a little, you do not cry out.  Good.  The pain does not override your
willingness to submit.  That is a definite mark in your favor.

"When is the last time you masturbated?" I asked in a quiet voice.

"Last week.  Not since you ordered me not to, sir."  You respond equally
quietly.

"Good slave," I said, slapping your cock lightly with the back of my hand.
Then I slip a cockring around the base of the shaft, intended to keep you
erect until further notice and to indicate to anyone who sees you on our
way out that you are a possession, under control.  Then I have you squat on
the floor, put on your tanktop and running shorts, then your sneakers.
Anyone who looks closely will see the clips under the shirt, the plug in
your ass, the erect cock tenting the shorts.  But humiliation is part of a
slave's life, and if you want to serve me, you must be willing to go the
whole way.  I do not accept any halfhearted slaves under my control.  You
have not resisted or rejected anything I have commanded, even though we
were in a public place, and even though you could have stood up and walked
away at any point in the process.  That's why I like to do a new slave's
inspection in a place like the back of a largely empty movie theatre, as
that kind of venue will allow a hesitant or an unwilling prospective slave
the opportunity to leave, no harm done.  I never bring any slave home who
has not made it perfectly clear that he is committed to the entire process.

When the movie finishes and the theatre lights come on, I turn to you and
say, "If you are committed to becoming my slave, then follow twenty feet
behind me.  I will lead you to my car, you will get in, you will strap on
the seatbelt, and you will be from that moment forward my slave until I
decide differently.

"If you have any doubts or hesitation, then you will go to the nearest
men's room, go to the stall at the far end, enter, and remove the clips,
ring, and plug, placing them behind the toilet, where I can retrieve them
later.  If you choose not to be my slave, then I wish you a good life.  You
will never hear from me again.

"However, if you do follow me out to the car, you are committing yourself
to become my slave, to obey everything I command, to accept any punishment
for your disobedience, and to do all of it without resistance or question.
Is that clear?"

You say, "Yes, sir."

Without any delay, I begin walking down the aisle and out the theatre.  I
do not turn my head or look in your direction, but continue heading through
the mall and out into the parking lot.  When I place my key into the lock
on the driver's side door, I see you standing on the other side, waiting to
be let in.

Without a word, I unlock my door, then reach across and unlock the
passenger side door.  You sit down on the bucket seat, strap yourself in,
and remain quiet, your eyes toward the erection in your lap, your hands on
your knees.

"Good slave," I said.  I reached into the glove compartment and pulled out
some folded papers.  "Sign these," You open the papers and see that it is a
standard legal slave contract.  You take the pen I hand you and sign at the
bottom of each page.  Then I place the papers back in the glove
compartment, where I will retrieve them later and place them in my safe.

Without any further speech, I start the car and drive awhile.  You remain
looking at your lap.  Good.  You have begun your life as a slave by showing
submission to your new master.  That is another positive sign.

We arrive at the destination.  I pull up to the curb, and unlatch your seat
belt.  "Go inside," I said, "and tell him that Eddy sent you.  He will know
what that means."

Without question, you open the car door, cross the sidewalk and enter the
glass door.  In a few minutes, you return, your hand involuntarily over
your mouth.  You open the car door and sit down, strapping yourself in
again.

"Let me see," I said, and you open your mouth.  A new silver ball stud
stands in the center of your tongue.  The tongue looks a little sore, as it
usually does with a new piercing, but you don't seem to be in any pain.

"Good slave," I said, then I kissed you, working my tongue in to feel the
new stud in your mouth.  Definitely an improvement.  Your kissing is good,
slave, but the stud makes your kissing fiercer and more passionate.

I start the car again, and you look down at your lap, your hand
occasionally coming up to your mouth.  But you do not open your mouth, and
you do not play with the stud against your teeth.  One of the most annoying
things is a slave running his tongue stud against his teeth.  It is such an
annoying noise, and it shows complete disrespect of the master.

We arrive at my house, and I pull the car up to the side door.  On the
other side of the driveway is a thick hedge through which my neighbors
cannot see, and from where I've parked anyone passing out front cannot see
you exit the car.  I open my door, step out, and walk around to the
passenger side.  I open the door, say, "Unbuckle yourself," and you undo
the seatbelt.  Then you step out of the car and face me, though your eyes,
still turned toward the ground, do not meet mine.

"Strip," I said.  "No slaves may wear any clothing in my house."

You hesitate a moment, since we are outside.  I slap your face.  "Did you
not hear me, slave?" I demand.

"I heard you, sir."

"Then why are you not naked, slave?"

You immediately begin shucking off your tanktop, your shorts, and your
running shoes.  I extend my hand, and you pick them up and give them to me.
I walk over to the trash can and dump them in, a further sign that you
belong to me.

I come back to you and take a good look at you, your body in submission to
me, awaiting whatever I choose.  Your cock is at full attention, your ass
is filled with my buttplug, your nipples are clipped, and your tongue has a
new stud through it.  You have given yourself completely to me.  And I
accept that gift.  Now you belong entirely to me, a free and welcome gift
of yourself.

So from now on, I will no longer refer to you as "you."  You are now my
slave, my possession.  As I open the side door to the house and the slave
follows me in, everything he was ceases to be.  Slave now becomes
everything I choose him to be.