Taking my life over

From then on, when I came home from work, I changed back into the sports clothes Scott had bought for me. I liked them and, to be honest, they were very comfortable. No wonder they are so popular. The following weekend I planned to see my parents who live in the Midlands. I don't see them that often but duty called every now and again. I decided to wear an Adidas tracksuit, a Chelsea training shirt, cap and trainers and I put my wash kit and a change of clothing in my backpack. I don't know why I put a change of clothing because Scott's instructions were clear: what you change into on Friday evening you wear for the rest of the weekend. My parents live in Coventry and the easiest way to get there is by train. Living in London and staying in it most of the time had meant that I had never thought it worthwhile to buy a car and, without one, I could burnish my green credentials at the same time.

Travelling up north I really felt comfortable in what I was wearing. I liked what it said about me. My Mum was less enthusiastic. "What are you wearing?" She asked shortly after I arrived.

"I like it. It's comfortable and practical", I replied.

"Doesn't it look a little common? She asked.

"No everyone's wearing kit like this. I like it". Having said that, it was clear she disagreed but made no further comments on the subject, thank God. So I had managed to break the ice there without too much embarrassment. And for me, the longer I was dressed like this the more relaxed and fulfilled I felt.

I returned home late on Sunday night and crashed out soon after arriving back. So I had not realised that my mentor (tormentor more to the point) had paid a visit until the next morning. As I awoke, I saw that there was a text from him: "I see you wear glasses. I like them. Toss out your contacts and wear them. Yes toss them out! Scott". He had obviously gone through all my cupboards and drawers. There was little he did not know about me.

"I think my eyesight has got worse since I wore those glasses", I replied.

"Couldn't care a fuck little boy. Do as you are told. You can have the lenses changed later".

I opened my bedside drawer and there they were in a case. I had worn glasses since I was seven and hated them. As soon as I left school I changed to contacts. I had quite a strong prescription and so I had been advised against laser surgery at least until my prescription stabilised. I took the glasses out of the box. They had black, square-shaped, plastic frames which were a little large for my face. Taking out my contacts and binning them, I put my glasses on and looked in the bathroom mirror. I looked unchanged since I had left school. With my short hair which emphasised the fact that my ears stuck out, I looked, as I used to look, a complete nerd. "Cunt", I muttered under my breath. I took a selfie and sent it on to Scott with the message: "Hope this makes you happy. I'm not".

"A geek bearing gifts!" came the return message.

"Ha! Ha! Very funny", I replied. I was quite peeved now.

I was starting to run late so I had a rushed shower and then started to dress for work. Then I noticed. The bugger had taken all my shoes and left me with a new pair; well not exactly new but new to me. They were quite like Doc Martens but a cheaper, less iconic version of them. "Well that will go well with Hugo Boss", I muttered to myself. As my trousers were quite short and did not touch my shoes, there was no way I could conceal them. There they were: practical. thick soled shoes which nobody with any sense of style would wear. I sent a photo of them to Scott but could not think of anything to say.

"Very smart! Enjoy! By the way you must not polish them unless I let you. Understood?" pinged back the answer. At least someone was enjoying himself.

"Understood", I replied.

During the days and weeks that followed, Scott gradually replaced all my work clothes. Everything that was fashionable was removed to be replaced with serviceable, hard-wearing cheap clothes: polyester trousers with a plastic belt supplied, poly cotton shirts, acrylic sweaters, polyester ties and a parka with faux fur around the hood and orange lining. I had thought that I cut quite a debonair figure when I was at work. That had now gone. I just looked like the office boy who had just left school. As Scott had instructed me not to either wash or press my trousers, unless he gave me permission to do so, I become increasingly scruffy and slovenly, however hard I tried. My colleagues did not so much as comment but they seemed to respond to the way I looked. They were less respectful and less inclusive. If there was a task that nobody wanted to perform, I was bound to be given it. Without exception the unreadable first attempt at a novel from a would-be author always seemed to land on my desk. I became a master of the rejection letter. If someone had to stay late, it always fell to me, without somehow ever receiving an acknowledgement. Increasingly I found that I was the last in the office as everyone had gone to the pub round the corner, omitting deliberately or not to invite me. I had fallen imperceptibly to the bottom of the food chain. Everybody felt they could push me about. And they did.

I suppose I was also feeling more distant from both my friends and my family. I was not in control of how I looked that had been outsourced to Scott. As I did not really like the slightly quizzical but condescending response of my friends, I saw less of them. I started getting grief from my family as well. My parents were particularly put out that I attended my grandfather's funeral in my work clothes; that is, a blue parka over a sweater, rather than a suit and top coat. I was told it was disrespectful and had embarrassed my family. "At the very least you could have polished your shoes", my mum grumbled as I closed the door of the taxi back to the station.

"That's the last thing I could have done", I thought but said nothing. There was no way I could explain.

When the three months were up, I expected to be asked to commit permanently to being subject to Scott's commands but nothing happened. I still received the occasional instruction from Scott but nothing more, which, of course, I obeyed to the letter. Then one day in the office a package arrived for me. I opened the accompanying letter; it was from Scott. In it he explained that I should not open the package in the office but take it home and open it there. The instructions would be inside. That is precisely what I did.

Once I had returned home, I changed out of my work clothes as I had become accustomed to doing and then opened the package. First, I opened an envelope marked "Instructions". Taking out the instructions they read as follows"

"Hi Kev! This moves you on to a new level. In the package are a chastity cage, an anal plug and some K-Y jelly. Take the cage and the PA piercing locking devise and sterilise them in boiling water. Wash your hands and your dick thoroughly. You do not want to get a urethral infection, if you can help it. Ha Ha! Then put the cage over your dick. If you get a hard on, put it in iced water until it subsides and start again. Once it is on, take the rod, which is in the shape of a shepherd's crook (sort of) and push it carefully through your piercing and in to the lock. Lock the cage and then remove the key and put it on the table. I will collect the key and only I can open the cage. Remember, slaves don't cum or, at least, my slave doesn't. It makes him hornier. Take the butt plug, lube it up with the jelly and insert it up your arse. Except for shitting, keep it there. Enjoy. Scott"

I found that it took several attempts to lock the cage on my penis, which did not cooperate in the process but, eventually, I succeeded. The weight of the cage made my dick hang down and, as I moved, swing from side to side. As I moved, I started to get a hard on and I felt my dick press tightly against the cage and pull on the fastening but then it could not go further. I pushed my hand into the top of my pants and started to fondle my dick but the bars of the cage prevented me from touching it. I tried to jerk off but my dick was tightly wedged into the cage. So I felt really aroused but I could not do anything about it. I squirmed in anticipation, feeling really randy and really like cuming, yet knowing that I couldn't. It was a kind of erotic frustration which, though I didn't know it then, that I was to experience throughout the day, every day. Pulling my pants down, I lubed both the butt plug and my arsehole then pressed plug's rounded end towards the opening of my anus. I pushed harder and then harder still. Stopping I lubed myself again and started to force the opening wider first with my forefinger and then with two. I lubed once more and pressed the plug even harder against the opening. Eventually I overcame the resistance and feeling a sharp, searing pain I pushed the widest part of the plug past my anal sphincter stretching it beyond any previous limit allowing the plug to enter me to its full extent and to be locked again by the narrowing of my sphincter. Still feeling the pain of entry, I flexed my buttocks. As I did so, I could feel the plug within me move. It felt strange but arousing. I had been penetrated but I enjoyed the feeling, even though I was still sore.

"This needs a photograph", I thought. So I pulled my pants down and took a picture back and front. I then sent it to Scott with the message: "Locked and loaded. Your slave boy".

"Fantastic, slave boy", came the response, almost instantly. Scott had obviously been waiting for my confirmation.

I was in a state of high excitement and knew that I could not settle down in the flat. So putting on my parka, I left and stated to wander the streets. I did not have any particular destination or direction in mind. I just wanted to walk so I could feel the plug gently stimulating my prostrate as it moved inside me. While it felt as if I had been invaded and I could still feel the pain of inserting the plug, it was deeply pleasurable at the same time. As I walked my caged penis swung. It had hardened a little but felt useless. The combined sensations meant I was hardly aware of my surroundings, I was almost in a dream, passing places and people that I barely noticed. It must have been two hours before I returned home and, when I did, I felt drained physically and emotionally. I pulled off my clothes and slipped into bed. It was amazing. For the first time I felt completely owned. A cage takes a little getting used to and I had to experiment to find the most comfortable position in which to lie so that it did not dig into me and at the same time being in a position so the plug was not uncomfortable too.

As I woke up, as I am in the habit of doing, my hand slipped down to jack myself off for the first time of the day only to find jack was locked up and unable to play. The realisation dawned on me, that wanking whenever I wanted was no longer going to happen. It was off limits. I turned over. I could feel the plug move inside me. From the start of this and onwards, I was owned and I was starting to appreciate the implications; my freedom to choose was being dismantled piece by piece. Getting out of bed I showered, washing my cage and cock very carefully and removing the plug to clean it. Before getting dressed I lubed myself again and inserted the plug. It still needed effort and was painful on entry but it was easier than the first time. I guessed that in time I would be completely used to it.

Again, a week or more passed before I heard from Scott again. This time it was in the office. I was at my desk when the telephone rang. It was the receptionist telling me that a Mr McAlister had come to see me and was it Conference Room 2.

"McAlister?" I thought. But as I opened the door to the conference room I realised it was Scott. I had forgotten his surname. "What in the fuck are you doing here?" I asked.

"I wanted to talk to you. About your progress. Come, little boy, come and sit down." he said gesturing to the chair next to his. "I wanted to talk to you because I think you are shaping up really well. I am very pleased with you. You have obeyed every instruction and I think you have enjoyed yourself too." As he spoke, he again drew me in as he had done at the restaurant. He captured and captivated me at the same time. There wasn't anything I would not do, if he asked me. I just wanted to be in his presence and not have him always at the end of a text. I also knew that he was well aware of the power he exercised over me.

I nodded. So, he continued. "I think you are ready to commit fully to me, now and for always. Is that so?”

I nodded again. I could hardly speak. “Yes, I am ready to commit”, I whispered.

“For always?”

Yes, for always.” I was shaking with thrill of the prospect to what I was committing myself.

“I have the feeling that you are not very happy here. You are not really part of the team. Am I right in this?" I nodded again, thinking that it was Scott who had worked to subtly alienate me from my colleagues at work. "I think that you should put in your notice. Giving notice will confirm to me that you have fully consented to follow every instruction I give you from now on. It's a very important decision; life changing in fact."

"I'll need to find another job, that's all. But I'm happy to commit now", I replied firmly. I had no doubts.

"I can find you a job on a temporary basis. I have a friend who owns a bookstore and he is always looking for literate assistants. In the longer term I think you will be busy enough, not to worry about a career in books, either publishing them or selling them. So, if you are ready to commit put in your notice.""

"Yes, I will", I answered.

"When."

"This afternoon?"

"If that is what you want."

"It is", I answered firmly. " I commit now. I'm not going to change my mind, I said, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose with my forefinger, I gesture I made unconsciously when I was making a point.

"Now stand up let me have a look at you". I stood up as requested and stood beside him. Turning on the swivel chair he faced me and started to unbuckled my belt and pulled my trousers down. "Now turn around." I immediately obeyed and could then feel him pushing and turning the plug up my arse. My hips moved in response to the stimulation. "Nice, eh?"

"Very nice. Thank you, Sir", I whispered back. Why I referred to him as "Sir", I do not know but it seemed appropriate, now I had committed myself to his complete domination.

Then turning me around again, he lifted up my caged penis. "Not much use like that, is it?" he smiled.

"No much use any more, Sir", I replied as he pulled my trousers up, zipped up the flies and buckled the belt.

"I like the way you look, little boy. Very sexy." As he said this he rose and walked to the door but, instead of leaving, he turned and lent against the door,

"Come here, little boy", he said, beckoning me towards him. I looked up at him. I always look up as he is over six feet so he is six to eight inches taller than me. Then he said, "Come and kneel down in front of me".

As I did so, I could see that he was completely erect. It was not just one-way traffic; I was having an effect on him too. Instinctively I undid his trousers, pushed my hands into his underpants, pulling them down, and started fondling his balls and penis. Unlike mine, his cock was enormous. Scott had lucked out in every aspect of his life. Grasping it, I started sensuously to kiss and lick it. I had never done anything like this before. It was already moist with precum and tasted strange but sweet. Gradually his cock entered my mouth as my tongue and lips caressed it. Scott started swaying slightly and grasped my head in his hands and, in doing so, forced his cock deeper and deeper down my throat, almost choking me. With his hands and hips in unison he forced his cock in and out, going down deeper and coming nearly out of my mouth. His trusts grew more rapid and strenuous. He started to moan with pleasure, until he came, shooting jet after jet of creamy cum down my mouth, which I attempted to swallow. As he withdrew, I licked his cock completely clean. Leaning back, I looked up at him, there was cum down my chin and my glasses were askew. But he could not conceal it. He was genuinely attached to me. Offering his hand, he grasped mine and lifted me to my feet.

"Thank you", he said, "Not bad for a learner". I lifted my hand to wipe away the cum but he stopped me. "No, let it dry. Something to remember me by".

"Certainly, Sir. Lucky nobody heard your moans".

"What if they did? You are putting in your notice, aren't you?"

"Oh, I had almost forgot", I replied.

He then buttoned up his flies and turned to leave the room. "I will be seeing you. little boy. You did well".

I waited a few minutes to regain my composure and then returned to my desk. Immediately I telephoned the Human Resources Department and asked for an appointment. Half an hour later I was sitting across from the director of HR explaining why I had decided to quit. I was acutely aware that I had dried cum around my mouth and on my chin. I hoped she thought that I had some kind of skin complaint. At first she tried to persuade me to reconsider. Perhaps I wasn't as unwanted as I had been made to feel. But I was adamant that I wanted to leave and publishing was not for me. So we decided that I should work out my notice and leave in four weeks.

As I left her office, she called out: "Kevin I would wash your face, if I were you. I don't know what you've been up to."

"Thanks", I replied. Clearly, she had not been fooled. The dried spunk didn't look like a skin complaint.

Back at my desk, I texted Scott: "I quit".

"Well done, little boy. You're mine now and will do as you are told. For ever", was Scott's immediate reply.

I texted back, "For ever, Sir".