Southern Cross Station

This story is a work of fiction.  It is a gay bondage fantasy, no part of which is based on real life.   Any resemblance therefore to anyone living or dead is purely accidental.  This story depicts male on male sexual practices, if you are offended by this then stop reading now.

All characters depicted in this story are willing participants in all the scenes they appear in.  No one was coerced or paid to appear in this story.

The practices and themes depicted in this story, in no way reflect the author’s beliefs or sexual practices.  If you chose to act out scenes from this story, please do it responsibly.  Always practice safe sex; you owe it not only to yourself but to your sexual partners.  If you think you have injured yourself or think you have contracted a sexual disease, or have any other health concerns.  Please consult with a health professional.

Don’t contact the author with commercial requests or advertising, I can find enough of that on the internet to fill my every want, need, and or desire.  Do contact me if you want to talk about the story, ask questions, send messages, or give feedback.  Feel free to make suggestions but I do not guarantee that any of them will be used, particularly if they require any of the characters to act outside of parameters of the story or their bio.

If you do not like this story, then go and read someone else’s.

Thanks.   

SOUTHERN CROSS STATION: ERIC

Eric strode through Southern Cross Station like he owns it.  Eric's 210cm tall, clad only in a skin-tight t-shirt that was clearly a couple of sizes too small for his large frame, but Eric likes it like that. As well as a pair of very skimpy running shorts that people would really like to complain about due to their being too small that they are almost obscene.  But they revealed more of the meaty globes of his enormous bubble butt than they ever hoped to cover, and whether they’d care to admit it or not, people like it like that.  Particularly when the wind tried to lift the loose flap of material, they get to see a lot more of what they wanted to see.  The straps of his jockstrap were plainly visible to anyone who cared to look.  Fuck.  Let's face it.  They were just as clearly visible to those who didn't want to look, as well.  The pouch of his jockstrap could be clearly seen hanging well below the bottom hem of his shorts, as the material of his jockstrap tried valiantly to stretch over and cover his pendulous cock and balls, which in turn, because of the weave of the fabric that his jockstrap was made of, rendered the garment practically see-through.  So, it was quite plain to everyone that Eric wasn't circumcised.

Each of Eric’s thighs was the size of a small person.  His calves the size of an enormous leg of ham that has comfortably fed a gathering of 30-40 people and still had some meat left on the bone.  Apparently, Eric spent a lot of time running up and down ladders, which has added to the physic of his legs.  Eric’s boots had all but given up hope of trying to encase his enormous feet.  It even looked as though his toes were pulling the steel caps of his boots out of shape.

The waistband of Eric’s jockstrap is clearly visible above the waistband of his very overworked shorts, both of which had given up any hope of ever coming in contact with the base of his washboard stomach, and lower abdomen, or practically any skin of Eric’s torso while he was standing for that matter.  So much so that anyone who cared to look saw nothing but his incredibly thick bush of jet black pubic hair — nestled nicely over the lily-white root of his pendulous cock, not that anyone could see that.  Unless Eric let them of course.  Eric does pay heed to some of societies social mores; he’s not a total Neanderthal after all.  The overworked band of his shorts came barely to the tops of his hips. Consequently, Eric’s t-shirt didn’t have a hope in hell of ever meeting the band of his jockstrap or shorts, so his treasure trail, leading from his very thick pubic bush up to his navel, was permanently on show.  Eric’s navel itself looks so deep that the end of it seemed to be lost in permanent impenetrable darkness, almost like a black hole in deepest space.

The bottom row of Eric’s eight pack was also permanently on show, as the top of those muscles just met, met?  It’d have to be the barest of kisses between the top of the last row of Eric’s eight pack and the hem of his hopelessly overstretched t-shirt if it was lucky.  Mind you, the rest of Eric’s eight pack was clearly on show anyway, as his t-shirt was stretched so tightly, over his taught washboard stomach that it was almost like a second layer of skin, which allowed you to see every indent, valley or rock-hard ridge of Eric’s torso.  As Eric moved, the muscles in his back can clearly be seen flowing under their covering of skin and t-shirt material while the two dimples at the base of his spine were permanently on display, as his shorts and t-shirt didn’t even try to cover, or ever touch them.  Along with about an inch and a half of butt crack that was permanently on display for the whole world at large to see, not that anyone was complaining mind you.  Especially when they got to watch Eric’s sweat as it was channelled into the revealed top part of the cleft of his arse cheeks.

Eric’s treasure trail and eight pack, only served to draw your eyes even further up his body, as his torso opened up into the perfect ‘V’ formation; that other guys spend years in the gym trying to perfect and maintain.  Eric’s chest was topped off by two perfectly formed sets of pectoral muscles, that are wider than the average man’s hand, even with their finger’s splayed open, and his lats stuck out the sides of his upper back, like two folded wings.  His pecs, are approximately the size of fifty cent pieces and can plainly be seen as depressions in his pectoral muscles under the strained t-shirt material. Eric’s shoulders are almost impossibly broad; they have to be at least twice the width of his hips.  With his enormous arms hanging loosely from them.  The sleeves of his t-shirt barely covered the tops of his very well-rounded shoulders while Eric’s arms with his enormous biceps hang loosely by his side and gently swing in time with his footsteps.  Helping to keep his enormous frame upright.  And without realising it, because of Eric’s size, no one wanted to get in his way.  Consequently, Eric can walk through Southern Cross Station as easily in heavy peak hour foot traffic, as he could if Southern Cross Station was totally deserted.  No one was willing to see what would happen to anyone who got in his way; everyone just assumed Eric’d just walk over the top of them without so much as a slight pause in his tread.

The hair on top of Eric’s head is just as jet black as his pubes, and almost as tightly curled, and Eric keeps it cropped close to his skull, for many and varied reasons.  Eric has a dusting of jet-black stubble on his cheeks and chin, with a rugged square jawline and deep cleft in his chin, in fact, it’s so deep that it looked as though someone had taken to his chin with an axe.  And just to finish the picture, Eric takes in the world through a pair of piercing blue eyes.

Because of Eric’s size and strength, he is in great demand on any building site he works on.  Being a labourer, Eric’s a ‘Jack-of-all-Trades'; he can run up ten flights of stairs just as easily with a bag of cement under each arm, as he can with a steel girder or a lump of wood slung over his shoulder.

Both men and women lust after Eric equally.  Some guys, wanting to go where the centre seam of his shorts disappear to, which just happens to make Eric look as though he has a permanent wedgy, although, there's not a person alive who would ever try to give him one.  While women fantasise about the pain, Eric'd cause them trying to accommodate his mammoth cock up their wet swollen pussies.  Meanwhile, some guys worried about ever being able to accommodate Eric’s cock in either end.  And there’s barely a guy who laid eyes on Eric who doesn’t have penile envy, and that includes the ultra ‘straight’ thinking guys as well.

Eric’s bosses love him on the building sites, because apart from his strength, for such a mountain of a man, he is surprisingly quick on his feet.  Consequently, Eric spends his days running around the building site from the minute he signs on, to the minute he signs off and finishes his shift.  Stopping only for his breaks, or toilet stops.  When Eric enters a Port-a-Pot, his co-workers always have bets to see if the Port-a-Pot can contain all of him or not.  But, because Eric never closes the door, no one ever gets a chance to collect on any of the bets.

No one knows of Eric’s life outside of work.  Eric doesn't go to the pub after work with his co-workers.  Nor does he go to their places for meals or anything, and he doesn’t extend invites for them to visit him either.  Their knowledge of him starts and finishes at the worksite.

All of Eric’s co-workers would be surprised to know that he frequents the Laird in Collingwood a couple of nights a week if he is feeling sufficiently submissive to be a bottom boy for some top who doesn't know what they are really doing, or too stupid not to realise that he is in way over his head.

The rest of the time Eric can be found at Porter St in Prahran where they hold wrestling matches most nights, but because no one wants to get in the ring with Eric on their own.  Eric always lets them tag team, I mean, what does he care if he gets to force his mammoth cock up one pussies’ arse or two.  At the end of the match, he’d just lines the mushroom head of his cock with their arsehole and listen to the pussies’ whimper and scream as Eric forces the mammoth mushroom shaped head of his cock into their waiting arses, as his prize for winning the fights, along with any money he has made from the bets.

Eric had a flat installed under his house and had it soundproofed, and it is here that he's set up his fully equipped dungeon.  He doesn't bother with any of the tops at the Laird who, as far as he's concerned, only play at bondage.  No, Eric trolls the ‘dating sites' on the dark web.  He'd find a top who caters for his particular tastes.  He'd invite them over on a Friday night, and, generally, they didn't get to leave until Sunday, and Eric would be kept in bondage the whole time.  Eric stayed ‘faithful' to his current top until they stopped meeting his needs.  Then he'd move onto the next one.

That was how Eric liked his life.  It met most of his needs, that he knew about, anyway.  Until the night Eric met ‘Sir’!

There was nothing on Sir’s advert but a challenge not to respond to the advert, in fact, Sir insisted on you not responding to the advert, unless you were man enough to be a total bottom boy, and a contract that had to be signed before Sir would even look at you.  Never before had Eric come across anyone's ad with a contract attached to it in the first place.  So, Eric thought about it for; Ok, I’ll be generous, all of sixty seconds; it did help him decide when Eric felt his cock twitch when he saw there was a contract attached.  Eric downloaded all ten pages of the contract, and he read over it carefully.  The upshot was that he would be signing away his rights as a person, which only enforced the idea that the respondent was totally worthless as a person, and ‘he’ would become Sir's property for as long as ‘he’ amused Sir.  Eric had to sign everything over to Sir. ‘He’ would no longer own anything, not even the clothes on ‘his’ back.  Until such time as Sir grew tired of ‘him’ and gave ‘him’ back what was left of ‘his’ life, ‘his’ possessions, and more importantly anything that was left of ‘his’ money.  There was space provided in the contract for the totals of all Eric’s accounts, as well as a form making Sir a co-signatory on all of his financial accounts.  As well as another form giving Sir Enduring Power of Attorney over Eric and all of his assets.  Failure to comply with any of the demands, in the contract, in any way shape or form, would simply mean they'd never meet.

Eric was so turned on by the idea of the contract and what it represented to him, that he met all the demands and sent his reply with all the required paperwork back to Sir.  Eric received an email back asking for pictures of his house and yards, front and back, as well as photos of himself both naked and dressed.  With a soft, and a hard, cock and a picture of how much cum he could produce.  Eric was then ordered not to touch his cock again, except to keep it clean of course.  Eric was told he was not allowed under any circumstances to produce another drop of cum without Sir’s express permission.

It was two weeks, after sending all the required information and photos, before Eric noticed any changes.  The first was the email ordering Eric to buy a new phone, with a number that only Eric’s place of work and Sir knew.  The second was the text message Eric received to ‘meet' Sir at the Peel Hotel in Collingwood.  It wasn't a pub he'd ever been to before, and for the first time in his life, he felt a little self-conscious.  When Sir had texted him about the meeting, Eric was told to wear only his work gear, which gave him an interesting problem in that he had no pockets in anything that he wore to work.  So, Eric wore a bum bag, for the first time in his life, to keep his wallet, keys, and new phone in.  As Eric knew Sir required absolute obedience, he did, in fact, wear his work gear to the pub.  Eric sat at the bar with his mammoth cock, encased in its customary jockstrap, just hanging over the edge of the bar stool.  Then he waited.

Eric had been there for about an hour, drinking nothing but water or juice, as per Sir's instructions, when his phone buzzed to let him know he had a message.  Eric knew it could only be from Sir because he'd had to buy a new phone during the week with a number only Sir or his bosses knew.  The message simply read, ‘stand up with your back to the bar.'  Eric complied instantly, standing with his back to the bar.  He received his next message almost immediately, ‘Don't slouch!  Stand up straight with your feet shoulder-width apart.'  Eric stood up straight with his feet shoulder width apart and smirked to himself thinking that this way he would be able to find out who ‘Sir’ was.  Then he could reevaluate the situation if he didn’t like the look of ‘Sir’, as his eyes scanned the crowd for anyone, who could be sending the text messages.  Eric’s next message told him to stop smirking, or this could all finish now if that was what he wanted.

Eric didn't want this to end here, so he wiped the smirk off his face and stared straight ahead while surreptitiously scanning the crowd trying to discover who Sir was.  Eric’s next message told him to place his left hip against the bar, and to stop his cock from leaking precum.  Didn't he realise that his body now belonged to Sir?  Surprised, Eric turned, placing his left hip against the bar and tried to think of a way to stop his cock from leaking, but under the circumstances….

The next message told Eric to turn and put his right hip against the bar, and he complied instantly.  But, no matter how hard Eric tried, he couldn't work out who was sending him the messages.  Everyone in the fuckin' bar had a mobile phone, and they were all doing stuff on them.  Eric’s next message identified a man who was sitting at one of the tables in the back corner of the pub.  Eric was told to empty out the contents of his bum bag and leave it all on the bar.  Eric was then told to crawl through the pub, on his hands and knees, and crawl under the man's table.  Eric had to get the mans' cock out and suck him dry, and he had exactly six minutes, and not a second longer, in which to complete his tasks.  So, dumping everything out of his bum bag, Eric got on all fours and crawled through the pub, much to the delight of both patrons and Staff alike, until he got to the designated table and disappeared underneath it. 

The old man at the designated table, meanwhile, had been ogling the very hunky young man sitting at the bar, and while he watched, the old man let his imagination have free reign.  The old man wasn’t stupid; he knew that he didn’t stand a snowballs hope in hell of ever getting anyone that young to have sex with him, or even to perform a sex act on him.  Let alone a young guy that well-built, and so obviously endowed, to get them to even look at someone like himself, with any kind of sexual notion, well not without parting with a shit load of money, anyway.  Then, to the surprise of the old man sitting alone at the table, he watched that very hunky young man fall to the floor on all fours and head in his general direction.  The old man was even more surprised when the young man disappeared from view suddenly, seemingly under his table; then he could feel someone fumbling with the zip of his pants.  The old man looked down, in surprise, to see that the young stud who he’d been surreptitiously watching and fantasising about, all evening, there on the floor between his legs, looking up at him and seemingly trying very hard to get into his pants.  The old man went bright red, and the old man tried valiantly to get Eric to stop, much to the anguished protestations of the younger man.

With a lot of ‘please Sir I don't have a lot of time….' and ‘just hold still, Sir.  Please, Sir…', until, in the end, the young man caught both of the old mans' hands in one of his ham hogs that the younger man obviously calls hands.  While with the other hand Eric finally got the old man's' pants undone enough to fish the man’s cock out.  Eric swallowed the old man’s cock right down to the root and started to suck it for all he was worth.

Meanwhile, the old man gave up. I mean, who was he to argue if some young stud of a man wanted to suck his cock in public, and if truth be told, it had been a very long time since anyone had wanted to suck his cock, let alone in a reasonably lit crowded pub, that much that he fought him for it.  So, the old man made himself as comfortable as he could, under the circumstances, and did his best to ignore the gathering crowd, and left the young man to just get on with it.

Just as Eric felt the old guy shoot his load down Eric’s throat, Eric heard something hit the floor just near his left hand, and he then heard his phone chime to let him know he had another message. ‘Very good.’  The message began, ‘You have passed so far.  Now your last test is that you have to be home in an hour and I will meet you there.  If you are not there in an hour, I will walk away.'

Eric rocked back on his haunches, as much as he could under the table and looked up at the old man, “so you’re not Sir?” he asked.  “Um, well I am ‘a’ sir…” replied the old man.

Eric made an exasperated noise and extradited himself from out of the mans’ crotch and out from under the table.  Eric went back to the bar thinking he would have another drink or two before he drove home, only to discover that all of his things were gone.  Eric questioned the bar staff to see if anyone had seen who had taken his things, but unfortunately, like everyone else in the bar, they were too interested in the floor show, Eric had just put on, to notice anything else.  It didn’t register with Eric that more than one of the bar, and waiting, Staff were trying, surreptitiously, to slip him their numbers.

Eric’s phone chimed again.  He looked at it, ‘Tick Tock' was all it said.  With no other option, Eric ran out of the pub and ran all the way home.  Like most people, Eric didn't wear a watch as he relied on his phone, now, to tell him the time.  But because he was running, literally for his life, as he really wanted to meet his new Master, Eric didn’t have time to check the time on his phone, as it would have slowed him down too much.

Eric got to his front gate and whipped his phone out of his bum bag, only to discover it had automatically set its' timer going, and it looked as though he had only two minutes left.  So, Eric stood panting at his front gate, until he noticed there were some things left on his front doorstep, and his porch light was on which Eric knew he hadn't turned on when he left for the pub.  Eric was sure of it.

Eric walked up the front steps and crossed his front porch and found some handcuffs, leg irons and a spreader bar on Eric’s front stoop, along with a note.  The note told him to strip and fold all of ‘Sirs' clothing’ very carefully and leave them on the stoop.  Eric then had to manacle his ankles together, put the spreader bar between his knees, and then to handcuff himself.  Eric then had to kneel up on his knees with his hands on his head, with his fingers interlaced, facing the street.

Eric had to stop and think about this last instruction because the front door was only a little over two metres from his front gate, which meant that he would be in full view of anyone who happened to walk past on either side of the street.  Particularly as being an inner-city suburb, his street wasn’t terribly wide.  Eric would also be clearly visible to his neighbours from across the street, as well, and found himself asking the question, again, if this was really what he wanted.  But without realising it, he had started to strip and to fold up ‘Sirs' clothes’ very carefully and placing them on ‘Sirs' stoop’.  When Eric had stripped naked, he took the leg irons and locked his ankles together.  When they were securely locked in place, Eric picked up the spreader bar and attached it between his knees, which made him look very bowlegged.  Eric very carefully lowered himself to his knees in front of ‘Sirs' front door’, facing away from the door.  So now Eric’s cock and balls were clearly on display to anyone who cared to have a look, and as there were no keys left out for any of the locks, Eric was now totally at Sirs' mercy.  For Sir to do anything, he wanted with him, whenever Sir wanted to do it to him, however, Sir wanted to do it to him, and Eric was powerless to stop him.  But even as that realisation hit home with him, Eric locked the handcuffs around his wrists and put his hands on top of his head, and tried valiantly to stop his cock from leaking precum that had begun pooling on the tiles beneath his cock.

Eric didn't know how long he had been kneeling there for when Eric felt the door behind him open.  A hand reached around Eric’s head and held his nose closed until Eric had to open his mouth to breathe.  With that first breath, something was shoved into Eric’s mouth, but the base of it was so wide that Eric truly believed that he was going to dislocate his lower jaw.  Eric finally got about a fifth of, whatever it was, into his mouth, and he started to suckle on it because his nose was still being held close; he had to open his mouth again to breath.  This time the thing in his mouth was removed and held in front of his mouth instead, Eric thought he knew what was being asked of him and he stuck his tongue out and the object was rubbed against his willing tongue.   When it was decided that it was wet enough Eric felt a hand pushing him between his shoulder blades, so he leant forward until his face was almost on the tiles of ‘Sirs' porch’, which consequently raised his arse in the air.

Eric felt a finger probing his arse, which eventually was joined by three more fingers, one after the other until Eric had a total of four fingers up his arse.  The fingers were removed, and Eric felt the blunt tip of a butt plug being forced into his waiting arse, but it was bigger than anything he'd ever had up there before.  In fact, Eric thought his arse lips were going to be torn to shreds before he could accommodate the whole plug, he vaguely wondered if this was how his ‘conquests’ felt at the end of their wrestling matches.  Eventually, Sir managed to work the whole butt plug up Eric’s very sore arse.  Now Eric had something pushing permanently on his prostrate exerting quite a lot of pressure; consequently, his cock was doomed to remain ramrod straight.  While the precum was running out of his cock, like water out of a hose with the tap turned on full.

Sir grabbed the hair at the nape of Eric’s neck and pulled him upright again until he was kneeling upright on his knees. Sir told him to lock his hands behind his neck.  With his fingers interlocked.  “This is kneeling display,” Sir told him.  Still holding the hair at the nape of Eric’s neck, Sir continued to pull him back until he was resting on his heels, “this is kneeling rest,” Sir told him.  Eric then felt the door close at his back.  So now Eric was kneeling naked as the day he was born, with a spreader bar clearly visible between his knees.  That’s if anyone even wanted to look at his knees when he was kneeling there completely naked, with his mammoth cock rock-hard, pointing straight at the street before him with precum pouring out of the end of it.

Now, Eric was beginning to wonder if he wasn’t in fact, way in over his head, but how was he going to call anyone, even if he’d wanted to?  He was locked out of ‘Sirs’ house’ without a stitch on.  He had no phone, and Eric couldn’t use it anyway because his hands were still handcuffed, and he didn’t have the key.  So, Eric had no other choice, but to wait Sir out and see what happens next.

Eric wasn’t sure how long he had spent on his knees in bondage on Sirs’ front porch, but it had to be longer than an hour, and he’s been rock-hard, leaking precum, the entire time.  He didn’t think anyone could produce so much precum.  There was quite a pool of it between his aching knees.

Eric felt the front door open again, "Umm..Sir…" he stammered, only to feel the door slam at his back.  This time Eric waited for what seemed like forever before the door opened again, so he tried to speak to Sir again.  "Um, Sir I just…"  Again the door slammed at his back.  This time Eric was there so long he thought Sir must have forgotten all about him, so when the door eventually opened again, he didn't make a sound. This time Eric heard a ‘tsk tsk' the only reason could have been for all the precum pooling at his knees.  "Well", was the only other thing Eric heard in an exasperated tone.  So, Eric very carefully manoeuvred himself away from the puddle of precum.  Then leaning forward very carefully Eric managed to lick up all of his own precum from off the tiles of ‘Sirs' front porch’ and rocked back onto his haunches. 

“Eyes down,” Eric heard before he had a chance to even have a glance at Sir.  So, all Eric could see were a pair of black, 12” red stitched lace-up, boots topped off with, what looked like, some very tight leather pants.  Eric did open his mouth to ask a question but closed it instantly as he didn't want to spend any more time on ‘Sirs' front porch’ on his knees "since you have finally learnt your lesson.  Come.”  Was Sir’s next command, and the boots turned and disappeared from view, and Eric was met with his next problem.  How to get up the half step to be able to get inside ‘Sirs’ house’.  Eric got as close to the step as he was able to, then leaning all the way over to his right, he was able to just get his left knee up onto the step.  Eric then threw himself as hard as he could to the left while also trying to throw himself forwards onto ‘Sirs' stoop’ and just managed to get himself onto ‘Sirs' stoop’.  Holding himself very erect Eric swung first one knee forwards, followed by his other knee.  This way he was able to ‘walk' down the passage, and by the time he reached the end of the passage, Eric was sweating profusely.

Eric'd made it to ‘Sirs' lounge room’ when he heard the front door being closed.  Eric must have missed ‘walking' past Sir without noticing him because he was concentrating on ‘walking' without falling flat on his face so much.  “Kneeling display,” was all that Eric heard, so he remained upright on his poor sore knees.

Sir came and stood in front of him, and he remembered to keep his eyes downcast. So, he could still only see Sirs' black, red stitched boots and the lower part of Sirs’ leather pants.  "I must confess; I'm very disappointed.”  Sir said, “I only advertise on the dark web to attract responses from slaves who have had some kind of training, but you seem to have had no training whatsoever.  When I saw your set-up downstairs, I thought, maybe, you were a serious bondage bottom, but I can clearly see I was wrong.  I will reimburse myself for my outlay up to this point, and then I think we will call it quits.  I would suggest, strongly, that if you aren't ready to play with the big boys, that you stay off the dark web in the future.

Is this acceptable to you?”  Sir asked.

Eric wisely didn't reply, he just waited.  "Speak," was the one-word command he was given.  "No, Sir," Eric replied, "You could teach me to be your boy.  Couldn't you Sir?" He said as tears sprung, unbidden to his eyes.  “This is all I have ever wanted.  To find someone who could teach me to be his boy, Sir.”

“Well.  You do seem to be teachable.  I’ll give you that,” Sir replied thoughtfully, “but I just don’t know if I want to start all over again.”  Sir was quiet for a while.  Sir sighed, “Ok.  I will give you the rest of the weekend.  If, by Sunday night, I don’t think you have improved enough.  Then I’m just going to have to recoup my losses and leave.  But, you really shouldn’t be fucking around on the dark web if you don’t know what you’re doing.  The outcome could prove disastrous for you.  Oh well,” Sir said with a sigh, “let’s see…”

Sir stepped out of Eric’s line of sight.  He heard Sir pick something up and felt Sir move behind him and felt Sir unlock the handcuffs, spreader bar, and leg irons, but Eric didn't dare change his position.  All Eric got for his trouble was a pat on the head.  But to him, it was almost as if god himself had just smiled on him, and Eric couldn’t help but beam, and bask in the pleasure of doing something right for his Master.

“Now,” said Sir, “stand up.”  Which Eric did on very wobbly legs.  "Now stand with your feet together, and your hands behind your neck with your fingers interlocked."

Eric complied instantly.  For which he received another pat on his head.  “Good boy.  This is ‘standing display’.  Now.  Stand with your feet shoulder width apart, and your hands by your side.”  Again, Eric complied with Sirs’ instructions.  And again, it solicited a pat on the head.  “Good boy.  This is standing rest.  Now. Let’s see if you remembered what you’ve been taught.  Kneeling rest.”

Instantly Eric dropped to his knees.  Spreading his knees as wide as he could with his hands behind his neck with his fingers interlocked, with his bare arse resting on his heels.  "Kneeling display."  Instantly Eric rose up on his knees.  He watched as Sir lifted his right foot slightly off the floor.  Eric watched as Sir moved his foot back behind himself, and before he realised what Sir was going to do.  Eric watched as Sirs booted foot swung towards him, but still he didn’t react until Sirs’ booted foot connected with his totally exposed nuts and cock.  The force of the kick was strong enough to knock Eric over backwards.  He rolled onto his side clutching his throbbing groin, with his knees drawn up to his chest while he tried desperately to breathe.

“Kneeling display,” Sir barked the order at him.

Reluctantly, and somewhat shakily Eric somehow managed to slowly rise up to ‘kneeling display’.  “Good.  I see your cocks’ gone down.  Don’t make me do it again.  Understand!  Speak”

“No.  Sir,” Eric gasped.

“Standing display,” Sir barked at him.

Again, somewhat unsteadily Eric got to his feet.  He spread his feet together and locked his fingers behind his neck.

“Standing rest,” Sir barked.

Eric moved his feet shoulder width apart and dropped his hands to his side.

Sir left the room with him standing there.  Eric almost sighed a sigh of relief but wasn't sure if Sir was within earshot or not.  Eric could still feel the butt plug pressing cruelly on his prostate, and still with the same amount of force, but thankfully his traitorous cock stayed down this time.  Or was it, in fact, coming back to life?  Eric instantly tried to think of something else, anything else but the pain in his arse and his thickening cock.  But, try as he might he couldn't stop thinking of that butt plug in his arse and how he now felt fuller with it in than he ever had in his entire life.  Which, of course, made him think about his cock that much more.  Because it was being thought about, no matter how hard Eric tried to think of something else, it was creeping back to life and was now almost at half-mast.

“Standing display!"  Instantly, Eric spread his feet shoulder width apart and locked his hands behind his head.  "I also thought, that might be the case,” Sir said as he walked towards Eric with his hands behind his back.  When Sir was standing in front of Eric, Sir brought his hands out from behind his back.  Eric was almost afraid that Sir might have some other torture device for his poor sore cock and balls, but he was relieved to see it was nothing but a tea towel.  Sir scoped Eric’s cock and balls up in the tea towel and tied it off.

When Sir pulled the ends of the tea towel tight, Eric discovered that it was full of ice.  Eric almost jumped and cried out, when his genitalia made contact with the ice, but he remembered what happened the last time he spoke out of turn and kept as quiet as he could.

“Good!  Hold,” Sir said. Eric instantly dropped one hand and held the tea towel and ice in place, when all he really wanted to do was throw it to the floor and go and have a good cry on his bed.  Sir took the belt from his shoulder, which Eric hadn’t noticed when Sir had walked in, which was understandable as he still had his eyes locked on the floor.  Sir cinched the belt around Eric’s waist and used it to hold the tea towel in place.

“Standing display.”  Instantly Eric complied.

“Ok,” Sir began, "you've had a big introduction tonight into what real bondage feels like.  You still have to, as do I have to, decide if this arrangement is what we both want.  Now, what are you called outside of this house?  Speak."

“Um.  My name is Eric.  Sir.”

“Well then, ‘Eric’, outside of this house you will still answer to, ‘Eric’, but inside this house, if I call you anything, it will be ‘boy.’  But I expect you to come even if I whistle or click my fingers.  Is that understood?  Speak.”

“Yes.  Sir.”

"Good now there is only one other thing we have to do tonight."  With that Sir turned around to get something he had left on the table behind him, and Eric realised that standing, with his eyes downcast he actually got to see Sirs' cock.  Even though it was encased in the tight leather of Sirs’ pants, and Eric was very glad that his cock was still encased in ice because he would have got a boner instantly.  Sir’s cock would have to be the biggest soft cock Eric had ever seen, other than his own of course.  But Eric thought that Sirs' soft cock was bigger than his, and Eric couldn’t wait until he got to try and service Sirs’ cock.

At that moment, Sir turned around and told Eric to go into kneeling display.  Eric heard Sir turn on the clippers seconds before Eric felt it eat into the hair on the head, but again he reminded himself that he was the one who had contacted Sir, and not the other way around.  Eric reminded himself that he was the one who wanted this, so consequently, he submitted to Sir shaving his head.  When Sir had shaved Eric’s head bald, Sir told him to hold his arms out to the sides, and Sir proceeded to shave Eric’s arms.  Followed by Eric’s pits, and his chest and back hair.

Sir told Eric to stand in standing display, which Eric did instantly, while Sir got a stool and told Eric to turn around.  Sir shaved all the hair from Eric’s arse cheeks and pushed him in his lower back until Eric was bent over at the waist exposing his hole, with the cruel butt plug in situ, to Sir.  Sir proceeded to shave all the hair he could find in Eric's crack.  Moving the butt plug out of the way while he shaved around Eric's hole, all while the plug remained in Eric’s arse.  Sir told Eric to stand up and turn around.  With Eric facing him, Sir removed the belt and tea towel full of ice and proceeded to shave Eric’s treasure trail and pubic bush.  Pulling on Eric’s cock and balls to keep them out of his way.  Sir continued down Eric’s legs until Eric was totally denuded of hair.

Finally, Sir turned the clippers off, and Eric thought that was going to be the worst of it.  But when Sir turned back, he had a wicked looking straight razor in his hands.  Sir told Eric to go into kneeling display in front of him, and Sir covered Eric in shaving crème and proceeded to shave him all over again.  Eric could feel Sir dragging the straight razor over his scalp, and he prayed that Sir wouldn’t nick him.  Sir moved down and shaved Eric’s face, so, now Eric was clean shaven for the first time in years.  By the time Eric’s head was clean shaven, Eric started to relax and trusted that Sir knew what he was doing.  Sir continued and shaved Eric’s arms, pits, and back.  Sir then turned his attention to Eric’s chest.  Eric thought it was a good thing that his paps were slightly indented into his pecs, because while he was learning to trust his new Master, but Eric wasn’t totally there yet.

Eric stood in standing display, while Sir shaved his abdomen and pubic area.  Pulling on Eric’s cock and balls to move them out of the way, and to ensure Sir shaved every single hair.  Eric sweated it while Sir shaved his sack.  Eric turned around so Sir could shave his arse.  Eric bent over to give Sir unfettered access to his crack and hole.  Again, Sir left the butt plug in situ while he shaved around it.  While Eric was bent over, Sir shaved his perineum.  Eric then stood upright while Sir finished shaving Eric’s legs.

When Sir had finished, there wasn't a single hair left on Eric's body other than his eyebrows and eyelashes.  Sir ordered Eric into the bathroom downstairs, and after setting the temperature of the water, he ordered Eric to wash, while Sir stood there and watched.  When Eric got into the shower, he found that it was stone cold, but he had suspected that that was going to happen.  Eric washed all the shaving crème and remaining hair off his body so that when he got out of the shower, he was as bald as the day he was born.

Sir threw an old towel at him, and Eric dried himself off as best he could.  Sir had Eric clean all his hair up off the floor in the lounge.  Sir then told Eric it was time to go to bed, as he thought Eric might have had enough for one night.  Mentally Eric agreed and couldn't wait to get upstairs to his king size bed.  To stretch out and have a good sleep.  Sir bade him follow him, which Eric did.  Sir led him out the back door and over to the clothesline.  Sir pulled a collar from his back pocket and laid it around Eric's neck.  From Sir's other back pocket, he pulled out a length of chain.  From one of his front pockets, Sir removed a padlock.  Sir closed the collar closed around Eric's neck and locked it closed, with the padlock while also locking one end of the chain in place attached to the collar.  Sir removed another padlock from his other front pocket and locked the other end of the chain around the base of the clothesline.

When Sir had finished, he turned and went back inside, turning off the light and leaving Eric there for the night.  Eric laid down and got as comfortable as he could on the cold concrete and tried to get some sleep.

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