Dylan's Descent

Control

[Dylan]

Well shit. There goes my alarm. Not that it matters. I haven’t slept a bit all night. Between worry, excitement and being so ridiculously horned up, I could never relax enough to sleep. I really have no idea what to do. At least it’s a Saturday that I have nothing planned. I can just lay here feeling spazzed out. 

My cock has been hard as a rock for much of the night. It certainly is right now. God, I wish I could just jerk off. I guess I could. How would he know? No. I’m going to follow Master Sam’s orders. Of course, I have no idea how long I will have to suffer like this. It would figure that my Grindr has been buzzing all night and I have two messages from Porter, my sexy little fuck buddy, wanting to play today. Ugh. This is painful. Why am I letting this kid control me like this?

Fuck. I need to do something. I’m afraid to even touch my dick for fear that I’ll just explode everywhere. I should eat something. No. I’m not hungry. I’m completely out of my mind. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the day. I need to get dressed and go somewhere or do something. Ahhhhhhrrgggggg! Just sliding my underwear on sent shivers down my spine. I have to get my mind off of Sam, sex, domination, and my fucking relentless hard on. 

I’ll turn on the TV. CNN. Yeah, that should be a real downer. Fuck! A story about Justin Bieber? Just what I need, a celebrity that I fantasize about, a shirtless Bieber on the TV. That’s not helping, why does the universe hate me so? I’ll put on FOX instead. Ah good, an interview with Mitch McConnell. There goes my boner. Instant turn off. This is a little better.

Finally, I can get dressed and maybe try to feel somewhat normal. I don’t know if I should even start doing something. What if Sam calls? What if he summons me someplace? Then again, what if he doesn’t contact me? Am I just going to sit here all day? Who knows, maybe yesterday was just a fluke. He had his fun with me and now he’s on to something else. Now he’s just going to let me suffer indefinitely. Ugh, now who is calling me? It’s Porter. I guess I need to talk to him.

“DUDE! What the fuck? Why haven’t you called me back?” Porter barked loudly at me.

“Good morning to you too, Porter.” Ugh. This poor guy. I don’t know how I’m going to break this to him.

“Fuck that. We have plans today. Remember? You had a free day and we are supposed to be fucking around. All. Fucking. Day! I’m horned up and ready to go man.”

Shit. I totally forgot about this. “We’re not getting together.”

“Fuck you dude! What? Did you get a better offer? Get fucked too hard last night? Come on. We planned this. I’ve been saving up for you man. What’s the fucking deal?” an annoyed and disappointed voice said.

“Sorry. I just can’t. I need some time for myself. I’ll explain when I can. Sorry buddy. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah. Fuck you.”

God. I hate letting Porter down like that. He’s a rare find. A hot boy who is a reliable fuck buddy – and has been for years. Whenever I want to get fucked, he always comes running. I remember now, we made plans earlier in the week to spend the day together, basically fucking all day. Sigh. I can’t think about this, I’m starting to get hard again. I need a drink. It’s just after 10 in the morning. Whatever. 

Jesus, now who’s bugging me? My phone is never this active. I’ll get it in a minute. I need to just chill a while. I think I’m just going to get drunk.

There goes the phone again. Oh shit! That might be Sam! 

Yes, of course it’s Sam. Fuck me.

Sam: nice texts faggot

Sam: want your reward?

Sam: what the fuck?

Sam: its been 10 minutes asshole

Sam: so much for your reward faggot

Sam: now its punishment

Damn it. I’m going to need to get used to being attentive to this kid.

Dylan: Sorry. My phone was in the other room.

Sam: sorry what faggot?

Dylan: Sorry, Master Sam.

Sam: yeah fuck that

Sam: i had a nice pic to send you but you fucked up

Sam: now i need to think of something to punish you

Dylan: Of course Master Sam. That won’t happen again.

Sam: no it wont

Well, I guess it wasn’t a fluke. He seems to be serious about this Master/slave thing. I guess I shouldn’t complain. It is what I’ve always wanted – a teenage Master to serve. I really want him. I’ve been dreaming about him for so long and here he is. If I fuck this up, not only do I not get any more attention from this hot boy, he can also make my life miserable.

Sam: put on jeans and a black tshirt and black shoes and nothing else

Sam: pick me up outside my apartment building

Sam: its the funky one no one likes at 967 third

Sam: you have 20 minutes faggot

* * *

Dylan quickly got himself together, put on the requested clothing and drove to pick up his Master. Even though it was a chilly fall day, he skipped a sweater or a jacket since Sam said to wear what he asked for and nothing else. Still unsure as to how this was all going to go, he was a bit nervous. It would appear that his fantasy was coming true, but only 24 hours into it, he still had reservations. 

When Dylan pulled up to the very fancy and definitely funky, contemporary skyscraper where Sam lived, his stomach was turning. Nerves were kicking in as he wondered if anyone would take notice of him picking this kid up. Seeing Sam standing by a column, looking as hot as ever, he calmed down. Sam was dressed more appropriately for fall. He wore a leather jacket over a black t-shirt with black jeans and black Chuck Taylors. Sam clearly had a style. As usual, he had earbuds in, though you could only see the white wires coming down from his thick mop of hair and disappearing into his jacket. 

From here, things would take a turn that Dylan couldn’t possibly expect. First they stopped at a beverage store and, per Sam’s orders, Dylan bought a case of water and a twelve pack of beer. They got on the highway and drove for a while. Dylan was ordered to drink water – nonstop until he was told otherwise. This made Dylan nervous as to what Sam had in mind. Underage Sam was drinking the beer and listening to some kind of loud punk music in his earbuds. He was shaking his head and mouthing the words to whatever songs he was listening to. He was also making motions as if he were playing the drums. Dylan found this quite adorable. The music was loud enough that Dylan could hear it playing almost as he was listening to it directly. He thought of saying something about that being bad for his ears, but figured that wasn’t going to go over well.

They ended up at the outlet mall about 45 minutes outside of town. Dylan had consumed eight bottles of water and had to piss, badly. They got out of the car and walked into the busy mall. Sam stopped at a coffee shop and came out with a huge iced tea for Dylan and ordered him to keep drinking. Dylan was soon going to have a hard time preventing himself from pissing himself. From there Sam took Dylan’s credit card and went shopping. Dylan was ordered to walk around near the fountain at the center of the mall and to not go to the bathroom. Sam seemed to keep an eye on him. Every time Dylan thought to sneak off, he saw Sam watching him.

Finally, it was becoming unbearable. Dylan was in pain from holding in a major piss. He couldn’t really hold any longer and felt himself start to lose control. A small wet spot was becoming visible on Dylan’s jeans. He desperately looked for Sam to beg him to let him go to a bathroom. When he finally saw him, Sam just stood there watching his slave become more and more humiliated. Dylan was no longer able to keep it together and began to piss himself. He had to go so badly that it came out like a fire hose, quickly coming through his jeans and running down his legs. People began to notice and make disparaging and insulting remarks, laughing at him or just expressing sheer disgust. Dylan felt awful. There was nowhere to hide. Running wasn’t an option, it would probably piss Sam off. He started to walk towards Sam and Sam just nodded ‘no’ and pointed for him to go back. Dylan was a mess. He sat down on the edge of the fountain, his pants soaking wet and stinking of piss. It wasn’t long before a security guard approached him. That’s when Sam ran over and called out to the guard. He said Dylan was his dad and he was drunk and got away from him. The guard said they had to leave and off they went back to the car.

* * *

[Sam]

Dylan looked so hot in what I told him to wear. I like that he didn’t mess it up with a jacket or anything, even though it is cold out. I love that look on him with his unshaven face and salt and pepper hair. Now, I have to say, he looks hot in a different way with his pants completely soaked in his piss. He let me embarrass him in public. He’s such a funny color of red from being so completely humiliated. 

Hehe. That was so much fun. I have no idea what I’m going to do next, I’m just making this up as I go along, but I really enjoyed watching him suffer from horrible embarrassment. I’m pretty certain we are far enough from town that no one we know saw him. I still kinda need to protect my investment here and keep his reputation intact.

I want to humiliate him more. I want him to feel like shit. If I push him to extremes now, it will be easier to control him later. 

“Dude! What the - - - “

I raised my hand to his face, “um, you don’t talk to me unless I talk to you and you SURE AS FUCK don’t get to be so indignant with me. That was a mistake. We were just going to go home, now I have to take this even further faggot.”

“I’m sorry, Master, I won’t do that again.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that before. You’re not off to a good start.”

He opened the car door for me, which was kinda sweet, I guess. I can definitely get used to this idea of having my own servant. He’s actually pretty obedient considering it’s been about 24 hours and I’ve done nothing but fuck with him and be a dick to him. I hope he will still be such a good slave the more I push his limits. 

“Head home, but get off at the next exit. Oh, and start drinking water again. A little faster this time. You have to finish that case before we get home.”

I know of this abandoned car dealership at the next exit. Asher and I skateboard over there sometimes. No one bothered us for hours so it seemed like a good place to abuse Dylan some more. Of course, Dylan pissed himself again while driving.

“Pull into that abandoned dealership and pull around to the far end of the back parking lot.”

“Yes, Master.”

I pounded another beer and tossed the can on the floor of his car. I was kinda making a mess back there. Oh well, he’ll deal with it. I hopped out and ordered him out of the car.

“Get down on your hands and knees and face me.”

“OK, Master.”

“You stay right here and watch me. When I get way the fuck over there, you will crawl over to me,” I ordered, still not sure where I was going with this.

“Master, please.”

“Please what? You will crawl the fuck over there!”

“Th – there’s glass and rocks and…I – I – will hurt myself - - -“

“Do you think I give a fuck? If you don’t crawl the fuck over there, you’ll really experience hurt faggot.” 

I surprised myself with how mean I was being. It just seemed to come naturally. I liked the way it made me feel. I walked across the parking lot to a big concrete planter. I hopped up on it and sat there with my legs hanging down about a foot off the ground. I was, um, I don’t know, like 75 or 80 feet away from him at this point.

“CRAWL! NOW! FAGGOT!” I yelled across the parking lot.

Dylan looked very concerned. It took him a few minutes, but he started to crawl toward me. He was clearly afraid of how much this was going to hurt. He ended up pissing himself again, for the third time now. The parking lot was covered in dirt, gravel, broken glass and other crap. There was a huge puddle that he would have to crawl through that was filthy and muddy. He crawled very slowly and tried his best to not kneel on anything hard or sharp – very unsuccessfully. The pained look on his face made it obvious that he was really hurting. He sloshed through the puddle and eventually got to me. He just knelt there and looked up at me. He appeared to be bleeding a little from his hands and maybe his knees – I couldn’t tell since they were all wet from the puddle and his constant wetting himself.

“Did you cut yourself faggot?”

“Yes, Master. I think a few times.”

“Well, that just kinda sucks doesn’t it? Why don’t you take your shirt off and wipe your hands clean. I don’t want you getting dirt and blood on my sneakers. Put it back on when you’re done.”

Dylan took off his shirt and wiped his hands with it. His face showed just how much pain he was in. His knees had to be really hurting. He did cut his hands, but it didn’t look too bad. I’m wondering if I should just stop right here. I mean, he really does seem to be hurt. What if he gets an infection or something? That was pretty rough. I don’t think I could have – or would have – done it. Oh fuck it. Fuck him. He asked for this. He wants this. I want this. He’ll be fine. If not, he’ll deal with it. He’s a fucking pathetic slave. If he had any balls he would have told me to go fuck myself when I told him to crawl across a nasty parking lot.

He’s just sitting there looking so sad and pathetic. What should I do next? I really haven’t thought about this beyond this moment. I’ve seen plenty of videos, but nothing was like this. They were always so set up and predictable, usually in some sort of staged dungeon. Hmmm, I looked down at my shoes. That’s it!

I kicked my left foot straight out just an inch or two from his face. “You need to clean my shoes off. The sides and bottoms are filthy,” I demanded.

“Um, Master, with what?” a puzzled and concerned Dylan asked.

“Seriously? You know the answer to that question. Use your tongue faggot.”

“Please Master, no, please don’t make me do this.”

“God damn faggot, you really want this to just keep getting worse and worse. Clean my fucking shoes or I’m going to kick you in the face until you pass the fuck out!” 

I nudged his nose with my shoe. A tear ran down his face and he grabbed onto my foot. He started licking. Fuck. I can’t believe he’s actually doing this. He looks like he’s hating it. I kinda feel bad for him. Who knows what crap is all over the bottom of my shoes. He’s really struggling. Licking and spitting stuff out of his mouth. He’s actually sobbing while he’s doing it. Shit, he’s really a fucking mess. I don’t think there’s anything I can’t make him do. Fuck. This is amazing. I am hard as can be. I wish I were jerking off while he was doing this nasty task, but I want to pace that shit out, save it for later.

He finally finished my left shoe. I turned it up and looked at it. He actually did a good job. I may have to have him do this to all of my shoes.

“Nice job faggot. I’m glad you’re good at something. Now do the other.”

I kicked out my right foot and he went to work. He did just as good a job on this one. Once he was done, I hopped up onto the planter and stood in the dirt. I wiped my feet in it, getting my shoes all dirty again. The look on his face as I just wiped filth onto the shoes he just licked clean was priceless. I kicked some dirt in his face and just laughed at him. Fucking with him is really the most fun I think I’ve ever had.

“Lean your head back and close your eyes. Don’t fucking open them until I tell you faggot!”

In his weakest, deflated voice, he just said, “yes, Master.” 

I unzipped my pants and pulled out my cock. I want his eyes closed for two reasons – I want him to be surprised by what happens next and I don’t think he deserves to see my cock just yet.

I made him wait. I know that the anticipation was killing him. I just started to laugh. This feeling of dominance was really hitting me. I truly was in control of this faggot. 

Finally, I pissed on him. First on his face and in his mouth and then I showered the rest of him. I had been holding this one for a while after drinking all of that beer. It was a mild, but powerful piss. He was drenched. I kicked a bunch more dirt on him. It stuck on his wet face and shirt. I zipped up and hopped off the planter and started walking back to the car.

“Come on faggot! Let’s go! I’m hungry.”

Dylan turned and started to crawl back. Such a good slave. So submissive and obedient. I figured he’d had enough of that for now.

“Stand up and walk asshole. I don’t have time for you to do that shit all day.”

This faggot really follows directions. That was such a rush. I am so fucking horned up now. Fuck. I want to just fuck him so hard right now. I just want to slam him against the car and pound him so fucking hard and fast. A real hate fuck. I want this so bad, but I need to establish a strong sense of dominance first. Today is a little fucked up, at least for him, but I need to do this so he knows what’s up. I think I want to push a little more before I let him go. Soon I can have some real fun with him. I mean, I do kinda like him after all. Not just in Master/slave kind of way.

* * *

Dylan got back into the car. He was filthy, smelly and felt like shit. His knees hurt like hell. His hands were all scuffed up. He was covered in dirt and had the taste of dirt and piss in his mouth. This is where he began to wonder if this was worth it. He knew he could have refused any of this, but for some reason, he didn’t. He didn’t feel in control of himself. It’s like he just acted instinctively. It never even occurred to him to stop this madness. He pulled away from the lot and looked over at the water. There were still ten bottles left. He knew he’d better start drinking. Sam just went back to his head banging to his punk music.

As they got closer to home, Sam demanded dinner. He had Dylan take him to a Chipotle near town. Dylan would experience one more round of humiliation here. Sam gave Dylan his order, a chicken burrito, and sent him into the restaurant looking and smelling as awful as he did. He told him not to get anything for himself.

[Dylan]

“Here you go, Master.” I said as I handed Sam the bag of food I just procured for him.

“Thanks, faggot.”

Wow, that was the nicest thing he’s said to me so far. 

Being in that restaurant was awful. Of course, it was super busy. Chipotle always is. I’m a mess. I stink of piss. I’m dirty, wet and disheveled. Everyone was staring at me like I was a criminal or homeless of something. People literally kept a distance from me.

He tore open the bag, “go park somewhere so I can eat.”

I promptly drove across the street to the park. I just slumped down in my seat feeling completely devastated. Am I really up for this? How far is he going to take this? 

Sam was plowing through his burrito like a starved animal. I just watched him in the mirror. I was even turned on by watching him eat. He looked up and saw me.

“What the fuck are you looking at faggot? he barked with a mouth full of food, spitting it everywhere on the words fuck and faggot.

“Nothing, Master. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing? I’m nothing to you?” Sam smacked me in the back of the head. “Oh, are you hungry too? Do you want some of my burrito?”

“Well, Master, please? May I have some? I am a little hungry too, Master.”

“Aww, OK my little slave,” he said condescendingly, “I’ll give you some.”

He took a big bite and chewed it up. He then spit out the chewed up food into a napkin. He made a face that clearly showed his own disgust at what he just did.

“Here you go faggot. Eat that,” he said as he handed me the clump of food.

“No, it’s OK Master.”

“Are you fucking serious? You’re rejecting a gift from your Master? What the fuck is wrong with you? PUT OUT YOUR FUCKING HAND!”

I did as he asked. I was feeling really sick about this. He smushed the chewed up food into my hand.

“EAT. IT.”

I closed my eyes and took the clump into my mouth. 

“Lick it off your hands too.”

Ugh, it felt so weird. I was also feeling a sense of pleasure. I was eating something that came from my Master’s mouth. His chewed up food. Gross. It was a gift. I chewed and swallowed.

“Thank you, Master.”

“Fuck you faggot. Fuck. You.”

I guess he didn’t want the rest of his burrito. He showed it to me, I guess so I could see there was some left. Then he threw it on the floor of the car and stepped on it, rubbing it into the carpet. Wow. He’s being a real dick. I should be really pissed at what he just did. I’d totally scream at anyone else if they did that. Instead, my heart is fluttering and I’m doing all I can to not to smile back at him. Ugh. I’m done. I’ve fallen for him. 

I drove him back to his apartment. I also finished the rest of the water and just went ahead and pissed myself again. I figured that’s what he wanted me to do anyway.

“That was fun faggot, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, of course, Master. Thank you, Master.”

“Fuck, you are so pathetic. What a fucking loser. I’ll text you tomorrow. Don’t fucking bother me at all tonight. Remember, don’t touch yourself and don’t jerk off. Fuck you faggot.”

He got out of the car and slammed the door. I watched as he walked up to the door of the building. 

Sigh. I can’t wait for tomorrow.