Sam's Suffering

Sir Brad and I chatted via text over the next week, Sir Tom also kept in the loop. I was assured though that this next session on Saturday would be with Sir Brad and I was to be prepared for a dungeon party in two weeks. It would be shorter than the previous session, but even more intense I was assured.

On Friday night, Sir Brad reached out for more details.

“Would you like your suffering to last until the morning, Nine a.m., or in the evening? Nine p.m.?” Sir Brad texted me.

“Sir, I will suffer for as much time as you can give me,” I replied.

I noticed Sir started to write me a reply, but nothing came through. I wondered if I was somehow coming on too strong now.

I made myself dinner, grilled chicken, assorted veggies, and brown rice, watching TV in my apartment, considering if I should ask Sir Brad if something was wrong. An hour and a half later, he texted me.

“Boy, I request that you arrive on Saturday at eight p.m. instead of nine. I have a proposition for you to consider. Be prepared for your twenty-four hours of torture immediately following.” 

“Of course, Sir. I will arrive promptly at eight.”

I cleaned up from dinner and went to my bedroom, stripping down to my jockstrap, the only kind of underwear I owned, and inspected myself in the mirror.  I appear very muscular and still see the faintest lines around my chest left from the rope where I was suspended from for many  hours over the weekend. I got hard as I rubbed to lines, thinking of the memories. Sir Tom held me captive like this, trusted me to endure the stress and I craved it again. 

I reached into my closet and pulled my red ball gag, a symbol of my submission to my Sirs, around my face, buckling it tight between my teeth. For the first time, I saw myself in this ball gag, a rather large one, and saw what my Sirs saw. My full lips encircled that ball and slightly pushed them forward. I looked good. I felt good. I was turned on and needed release.

Grindr and I knew each other well and so I looked for some casual sex. My first time since the session. An unusually long time for me. I get in contact with two guys, boyfriends. Both are tops looking for a bottom to facilitate their lovemaking. Both are attractive. One My height, the other a fair bit shorter. 

They arrive at my place and have their way with me. It lasts all of thirty minutes, they tag team me, spit roast me, and then finally DP me. They bust in my ass together and immediately leave. 

Unsatisfied is how I feel. It felt pleasurable but unexciting. Empty. I clean myself up and go to sleep.

Saturday morning I hit the gym for a couple of hours, blowing off steam, calming myself for the evening ahead. Head home, have a healthy lunch, stretch, and have a substantial but healthy dinner. At seven I dress for the big night, a button down blue shirt to make removal easier this time. It’s tucked into  white pants, and a brown belt.  Boots, and my ball gag around my neck complete the look.

I arrive at seven fifty-eight, I wait at the door until eight before knocking. 

Sir Brad answers the door, dressed in his gray leather uniform. He looks incredible, like last time. 

“To the bedroom,” He directs me.

I do as instructed, down the hall and upstairs. He stops me at a door, opening it for me and revealing a bedroom dungeon.

“Tonight’s session will occur in this room, boy. You will see that I have many rooms dedicated to many scenes in my home, but this one I felt may be appropriate for what I have in store this session. Have a seat.

I enter and find Sir Tom, dressed in leather, sitting at a desk. Sir Brad sits next to him and I sit across. 

“Don’t worry, nothing is happening until nine, Sam.” Sir Brad laughs.

“Hello, Sam.” Sir Tom smirks. “ You are here early to accommodate my schedule and I appreciate you doing so. See I have a session with a submissive in one hour but I wanted to be here to broach this question with Sir Brad.”

“Okay,” I speak up. “What do Sir Brad and Sir Tom have to ask me?”

They slide a form in front of me.

“There is no pressure, Sam, you can refuse or consider signing later, but we are offering you a slave contract.” Sir Brad affirms.

“We have been incredibly proud of your performance, even after one session and it was clear you love being a slave to us.” Sir Tom continues. “This contract is for two years and would require much of you, but we believe you are up for the task.”
    “Can I read it through?” I ask.

“But of course. This is serious and we do not want you to feel pressured into something like this without genuinely wanting it.” Sir Brad smiles at me.

I read through the long, detailed contract. It states that if signed, I agree to two years of servitude where I offer up my apartment, they will pay off the lease, and live with my two Masters. I will work as normal and return home every day where I will be tortured, fucked, or occasionally given mercy depending on the whims of my Masters. I forfeit my right to sexual relations with other men that my Masters do not permit and I forfeit the right to deny sex or punishment at the moment my signature is made. I will effectively become their object of pain and pleasure for roughly two years, ending at midnight after my thirty-second birthday ends, which will conclude with a twenty-four hour birthday torture session where I will entertain their friends with my suffering.

Sir Brad slides a pen forward. “We understand this is a lot to–”

I take the pen and sign, squeezing my ever hardening cock in my pants as I finish reading. They look at each other, laughing.

“Okay then.” Sir Brad signs his side of the contract. Sir Tom also. “No going back now, Slave Sam. You live with us now. You are our property.”

Master Tom continues, “We will have other boys we will play with on the side, but you are now our priority. You will aid us when necessary during these other sessions and be made an example of at our monthly BDSM parties.” Master Brad comes to be, pulling my red  ball gag off my neck and buckling a black ball gag into my mouth.

“Now that you are our slave, your ball gag will corespond to the kind of play at hand. Slave training is what today is all about.” Sir Tom licks my gag and heads for the door. “I will see you soon, boy. You will serve me Monday evening, taking turns with us until the weekend where more demanding sessions will occur. Next weekend is the party as you are aware so it will be quite the introduction to your new life. Suffer hard, Slave Sam.”

Master Tom leaves us. 

Master Brad has me alone. I am stripped of my shirt first, my wrists bound to my thighs with leather straps, only my torso exposed. He retrieves a crop.

“Now that you are my slave, Sam, you live here with me. You have no rights to deny a session. If you are tired but your Masters want to have our friends torture you fuck your cunt, it will occur. By force if necessary. Your life is slavery. You live to suffer for your Masters’ enjoyment.  Tomorrow evening, I may choose to continue torturing you well into the night, or I could let you rest for work on Monday. Depends on how well you serve me.”

“Yesh Shir.”

WHACK.

“It’s Master now, Slave! If you get that wrong again I will accelerate your torment. Understood?”

“Yesh Shir…Mashter!” Oh shit. 

Master Brad approaches me, leaning down to meet my eyes. His height is incredibly intimidating. I tremble in my bonds, squealing.

“I’m shorry Mashter.”

“I was going to train you with some slave positions after I got your chest and abs nice and red. However, punishment is already in order. This is incredibly disappointing to me, Slave. I suppose we will start with how you will be presented at the party.”

Master Brad attaches leather foot stirrups to my boots, connecting them to a chain reaching up into the ceiling. He lies me down on my stomach and moves to a corner of the room.

“Don’t be afraid, Slave. You can expect this to happen to you a lot over the next two years. It’s best you get used to being upside down.”

He flicks a switch and I am hoisted upside down. My back arches as it pulls me up foot first, I groan into my gag. Blood rushes to my head. I whimper and struggle against the leather bindings holding me captive.

WHACK.

The crop comes down hard on my nipple. 

WHACK. WHACK. WHACK.

My abs are abused. Upside down everything feels so much more intense. I feel out of control in a way I never have. I am scared. I signed on for two years of servitude. Two years of torture. I thought I could handle it.

“ I never want to hear you call either of us Sir again. Let’s make that sink in.”

Master Brad pulls a single-tail whip from the wall of instruments and I am whipped. Hard. I suffer for my mistakes as red streaks stain my abs. I bite down hard on my gag.

“Let it out Slave Sam. I won’t think it's hard enough unless I hear you screaming.”

I scream. "Pleash Mashter have Mershy!"

"Never again, Boy."

He approaches me and licks the welts forming on my abs. I scream. 

"Imagine ten men with whips doing this to you, Slave. Your pants removed and your cock and balls a target. That's happening in one week. Breathe, scream, cry. Whatever it takes. It's your life."

SLICE.

The inverted whipping continued for too long, but I survived. I will never call Master "Sir" again.