The Alex Chronicles

Chapter 66

Wedding Day

I don’t remember falling asleep. I guess Master managed to get me up into bed without waking me, because all I know when I wake up is that I have been slumbering in His arms and my face is buried in His armpit and He is running His hand up and down my body, lightly slapping me here and there and I cling more closely to Him, hoping He is in an affectionate mood. After all, I remind myself, today is our wedding day and even though Master claims it is a purely legal transaction to protect my future should something happen to Him, still I can hope that it does have some romantic significance for Him like it does for Me. I worship This Man. I have given my life to Him. I hold pain for Him. I serve Him and obey Him in all things. I am subject to His will and His punishments if He decides they are needed. I am His whipping boy, His cumbucket, His urinal, His penniless slave in all respects. And, the most amazing thing of all is that this wonderful Man loves me, is as much in love with me as I am with Him. Okay, of course, I understand that His love for me is different than my love for Him. I love Him as my Hero, as the Man Who has taken over my life and rescued me from lonely futility, the Man Who gives me meaning, the Man Whom I obey in all ways and in all things and always will, the Man Who has total power over me. And yet, my love for Him is totally romantic and sometimes I am like an awestruck school boy when my most beloved superhero walks into the classroom and singles me out as someone special to Him.

His love for me is different, and His has made it abundantly clear to me any number of times. He loves me BECAUSE I am His slave, because I have been willing to surrender myself completely to Him. He has never loved me as a peer; He has always been the Superior Man, even back in the early days of grade school when sometimes He would bump into me in the middle of the day for no apparent reason and would sometimes tease me and pretend to bully me. Even when He told a couple of His friends that one day they would see me naked on my knees sucking His cock, and They would give me knowing glances from time to time and one of them even started calling me “Billy’s fag” even before I understood what the word meant.

But God help anyone who ever picked on me. It happened just once that Phil Annunzio decide to punch me around in the bathroom back in 8th grade and Billy walked in. Next thing I know, Phil was on the floor holding His jaw and Billy was standing there with me wiping the tears off my face with a piece of toilet paper and then making me take a piss while He stood there watching me do it and started making fun of me because my cock was still so small. I didn’t care that He was teasing me. I didn’t care that He was looking at my cock and saying how inadequate it was and how He doubted that I would ever become a real man. It seems that even then He has some sense of where things would be heading with me and Him. Word got around about Phil and what happened, and from that day on, no one ever touched me again except for one time Billy was pissed off at me about something and had three of His friends slap me around in the bathroom while He stood at the door and played chicken. Another time I ended up with Him wiping my tears with toilet paper. And after that, sometimes, He would sneak up behind me at recess and whisper into my ears, “toilet boy!” Little did I know how true that would become, and I wonder to this day whether or not He realized what it was He was saying and how it would manage to come true in a way that would have horrified almost all of our former classmates. He keeps saying that He’s going to try to get in touch with some of the guys we went to school back then to let them see what He has turned me into. To tell the truth, I hope He is able to do that. I want them all to know what I am now. I want them to all know how He has come to own me and how He is going to marry me. Today! OMG.

He gets out of bed and goes into the bathroom and I hear Him pissing and then brushing His teeth. Then He whistles for me and shouts out one word: “Crawl!” I seems like I am doing an awful lot of crawling lately, but that doesn’t matter much to me. In fact, when I do, I always feel faint stirrings from what Spike calls my “diklit” within its cage and I realize that I have completely resigned myself to the reality that I will rarely ever get to experience an orgasm or the pleasure of jerking myself off. As Billy says so often, “there is only one cock that matters in this relationship.” As I’m crawling in to Him, He is turning on the shower water, and when I get there, He orders me into the tub and He follows me in and takes my hands so I can stand up. He hands me the soap and I bathe Him from top to bottom the way He enjoys, once again asserting the fact that He is to be serviced and I am to be doing the servicing at all times and it never ever seems to switch the other way. Finally, I’m down on the bottom of the tub again, kneeling with my head down by His feet as I wash them thoroughly and then kiss them until He tells me it is enough. As always, He gets out of the tub and dries Himself, I wash myself quickly and follow Him back out of the tub. He points to the ground and I kneel again. He turns around and bends over and He doesn’t need to command me; I know what He wants His slave to do as a way of showing its total subjugation to Him. With long strokes of my tongue, I lick His crack and then bury my face inside the crack and lick and suck and play with His asshole as I’ve been trained to do and I enjoy hearing Him coo from how good it feels as He forces Himself back even more into my mouth and tongue. He keeps me there for a good long time and that is fine with me. This is one of those actions, like servicing His feet, where I can simply lose myself in the act of serving Him and bringing Him pleasure, and all other thoughts drift away as I apply myself to doing what good slaves to for their Masters. Once He is completely satisfied, He stands up again. “Brush your teeth and crawl back inside,” He says, and I go about obeying Him while He goes back into the bedroom and sits on the side of the bed waiting for me.

I crawl to Him and He pats my head, showing His approval. He’s been toying with His cock and it is hard now and I look up. “Open your mouth,” He commands. I do so and He drops a large wad of spit into my mouth and then says, “Suck.” I move up and hold the head of His dick in my mouth---the part of His dick I love the most, and I show that part of His dick just how much I love it, and then slowly make my way down His shaft until it reaches the point where I gag. He backs off and then slides in again and I gag again. He keeps doing it and I understand that it means a lot to Him when He can hear me gag on His cock because it shows how surrendered I am and how dedicated I am to providing Him with as much pleasure as I can possibly give Him. I can only tolerate it for so many times before I start to choke and have to back off. “Twelve times,” He says, as He pats me on the head. That is how many times He made me gag for Him and He is pleased with how that number is increasing as I become better conditioned to being a pleasure tool for His awesome cock. I lick up my phlegm and His precum, and He makes me get up and lie on the bed on my back with my head hanging off the side of the bed. He stands over me and begins to fuck my mouth. This is the first time He’s even done it this way, and I’m surprised to realize that in this position it is easy for Him to fuck me face all the way down and I don’t end up choking. He pistons into me with great force and energy and before long He shoots His morning cum down my throat and backs out so that I can feel it pulsing from His dick. His morning cum is so sweet, unlike His morning piss, and I savor the pleasure of tasting it—the only pleasure a slave like me is allowed to have from my Master’s dick since my own diklet is locked off and out of commission for as long as He wants it to be.

When He is completely finished with me, He gets on the bed and hugs me and kisses me, wanting to taste Himself in my mouth, and as usual, His kisses fill me with juices from His mouth as I such and lick and drink as I’ve been trained to do. I hope this never gets boring or routine, because at this point in my life as His slave, it is always a welcome treat. “When we go to the court for the ceremony today, I am going to uncage you,” He tells me. “It is only proper. However, as soon as we are officially married and you are completely bound to me, we will go into the rest room and I am going to lock you into a smaller cage that I’ve been saving for this special day. It’s time to start shrinking your dick now that you’ve given up all rights to it.”

‘Yes, Master, it belongs to You and has no other purpose,” I say, knowing how much statements like this turn Him on, and I must admit, they turn me on as well to be able to say such things to a Master.

“But now,” He says, “I want to show you just how much I own your body, slave.” He’s laid out a number of toys on the bed; I didn’t notice them before when I was sucking His face. He picks up the penis gag and shoves it into my mouth after lubricating it with His spit, and locks it behind my head. By that action, I know I am about to set on another journey into pain, simply because He wants to bully me this way, and it is, of course, His total right as my Owner and Master. He clips my wrists to the sides of my collar which is still damp from the shower. Then He picks up those special nipple clamps He purchased not too long ago, but which He has never used since we were in Spike’s studio. He puts them on me and clicks them twice and they are tightly pushing into my nipples and I know soon the torture will get real.

“Look into my eyes, sweetheart,” He says. It never ceases to delight me how He will speak to me as a devoted Lover at the very time when He is beating me or torturing me for His own pleasure. I look into His eyes, and He clicks once more. Bearable but barely. And another click and I wince and start to breath heavily. Another. Tears are forming in my eyes. He smiles at me and I melt into His smile and the pain is easier to take. “Stand and bend over,” He orders. I do so, and of course, the motion only serves to increase the terrible pain in my nipples. And oh shit, He snaps me into the humbler and leaves me bending over there as He goes into the closet and comes out with something I’m sure is going to help me realize how much I am in His power. He lashes my balls, once, twice, a third time with the little flogger His is holding and I try to scream but the gag prevents me from making much noise other than a muffled grunt. “Mine,” He says, and lashes me five more times and now I am crying and He reaches around to my face and starts to rub my tears into my face. “Still mine,” He says, and lays three more lashes on me and I pass out.

When I come back to consciousness, the humbler is off and I’m lying on the bed, but the pain in my nipples feels more severe than ever before. “It is only fitting that as we get married today and I bind you to Myself, that you are very sore in several places, slave. Otherwise, you might mistakenly think that you are some kind of precious bride. You are indeed precious to Me, but precious as My possession and Myself as Your Owner. Now I am going to use that new switch-like whip on you. It lays nice thin stripes across your flesh and you look so very beautiful to Me like that. Roll over, alex.” I try to roll over, but then the pain in my nipples gets even worse and I whimper like a licked puppy. “Your pain thrills me, alex. I wanted to give you pain when we were schoolboys, but knew I’d get in trouble. Now, the only one who is in trouble is you because you are a faggot and I have claimed you for Myself, and as My personal faggot whipping boy, you constantly deserve to be punished.” He unlatches the penis gag from the back of my head and pulls it out of my mouth. “I want to hear your pain, alex, every delicious outcry. I remember when Brother whipped your ass in front of the class that time and how you cried out with each lash. It got Me hard and I had to go to the boys’ room to jerk off as soon as I could during lunch that day after I saw how difficult it was for you to sit down on the seat in the lunch room. It’s time. Take your punishment, faggot.”

Each lash is like a jolt of electricity, and He deftly begins ag my shoulders and works His way down and I cry out with each lash as it bites into me. All the way down He whips me, whipping my ass with more force than He used on my back and now I’m steadily screaming and yelling out, ‘I’m Yours, Master, thank You for whipping Your slave.” And I sob into the pillow as He finishes and He leaves me lying there and goes inside. When He comes back I can smell the coffee. “Roll over and sit up,” He commands, and painfully I do so, and scream at the increased pain in my nipples. He puts down one of the coffee cups and releases the clamps and I scream out again with the pain of the removal. After I’ve settled down, He says to me, “Drink your coffee, boy.”

He speaks to me about what is going to happen at the courthouse. “Phil and Robert are going to be the official witnesses. One Dom and one sub. One friend of the Master’s, one friend of the slave’s.” After it is all concluded, I’ll bring you into the rest room to put the new cage on you, and then I have a special treat planned for you.” Uh-oh. I never know what He means by ‘treat.’ A nice treat or a new humiliating and painful event? “I’ve invited Phil, Barry, Karl and Robert to a special dinner at Romano’s in a private dining room. Mitchell will be joining us, not as a waiter, but as one of the dinner party” “Oh wow,” I say through my light hiccups. “thank You, Master.” “And, of course, once the meal is concluded, you will strip in full view of everyone there, and you will service the two Doms who have joined us: Robert and Mitchell. I am particularly interested in putting you on display for Mitchell, that He will see the way you have been whipped on your wedding day. I was planning to invite Michael as well, but Michael indicated that since He has been used so frequently lately to punish you, He didn’t feel comfortable joining in this event as well. Besides, it would be too much to expect you to give three blow jobs after stuffing your face with Italian food. Two are enough. And I expect Mitchell to be particularly feisty after He sees the results of the whipping I just gave you. Now get yourself up and put away all the toys I’ve used on you this morning. Then go make our breakfasts. Cheese omelets for both of us and you will sit at the table to eat. Don’t worry, I’ll allow you to sit on a pillow at the table to protect your welted ass.”

“Thank You, Master.”

I get up and put all the things away that Master used to discipline me, and then head into the kitchen to start fixing breakfast. I’m moving sluggishly since pain is covering most of my body. The sweet lot of being Billy’s whipping boy. The pain is keeping me somewhat high because of the endorphins.

The rest of the day is taken up with chores and temporary “love-breaks” when Master coaxes me into His arms and speaks to me about how happy He is that I have accepted my lot as His slave. He admits to me that it was with a certain amount of fear that He first contacted me, fear that my tastes had changed over the years we were apart and that I now longer had any—not interest---but rather, NEED to live the type of life that He had been envisioning for me over the years since we had been apart. He was somewhat relieved, of course, to discover that I’d been a regular participant at the activities at Shackles, and that the evidence was that I was more firmly settled into my identity as a masochist in search of a Master than ever before. And yet, still, there was always a question in His mind as to whether or not I would willingly surrender my lot to His direction, His discipline, His ownership. After all, His own experience has shown Him that a the majority of the subs who behaved as sluts in public clubs had no interest whatsoever in living a 24/7 lifestyle but rather preferred to be free men outside the clubs and bathhouses, only seeking occasional trips into the fantasy world of Dom/sub roleplaying. Three times He had attempted to spend increasingly longer periods of time working a sub, and even if the sub was somewhat intrigued by the prospect of being and “owned slave,” that intrigue was far more a fantasy than a reality. Day after day, living as a slave with a routine pattern of submission, humiliation and discipline with no possibility of taking days off or turning the sub’s attention to other Doms and scenes, was not something that many of even the most driven subs could manage. Very often, after just two or three days, a sub would get restless and would be champing at the bit and seeking an opportunity to make its own decisions about how to act, how to behave, how to serve. And besides that, He had to admit that His own participation in the dynamic of training a slave was somewhat limited by the fact that in the back of His mind, I was the one He wanted to enslave and rule over.

I confessed to Him that the phone call He made to me not very long ago was a decisive moment in my life when I had to make a choice. Did I really want to continue living the way I had been, with a nice job, good friends and a hot club to go to in addition to giving myself to a scene with every intention of surrendering completely to the Master’s direction, only to be disappointed in the end by either the lack of expertise of the so-called Master, or His unwillingness to push things as far as I was willing to be pushed, or that nagging idea pulsating in the back of my mind that “this was not the right One.” I had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that the most I could hope to find would be some quasi-romantic relationship that involved bdsm play on a regular basis. But I knew, deep down inside, that such an arrangement would never be enough, that all attempts at forming such a relationship were going to be short-lived, and that the Master Who could truly rule me simply was a figment of my kinky and perverted imagination. And I admitted to Master that I never really thought that He would be the One to put an end to my search. I thought that He probably went off to live life as a straight man with a tendency to bully faggots from time to time.

Then He called. And the sound of His voice activated something within me. And He demanded that I take cold showers. That should have been the rule-breaker for me, and yet, I obeyed, hating every minute I spent under the punishing water. And I obeyed His strange commands, hoping that finally He would make an appearance and I would know for certain whether or not He was the One I was searching for. But He put me through my paces, and I willingly went along with it, mainly because I had nothing better to do, that I was on vacation after all, and that it was going to be interesting to see how things managed to turn out. Was He for real?

I found out. And the first time He commanded me to “suck!” and I felt what it was like to have His cock in my mouth, and what it was like to bow to the ground to Him, I knew that this might very well be the opportunity I had been searching for all along.

And now, here I am, in His arms, sore from the whipping He gave me just a couple of hours ago, and ready to sign the paper which would  legally bind us together as husbands, knowing full well that we would never be equals, and I am happier than I ever imagined I could be, and my restless spirit was finally at rest for once and for all, and I had no attachment whatsoever to how things were going to play out in the days, and weeks, and months, and, hopefully, years to come. All of that was up to Him. Whether I spend my time naked in strangers’ homes doing housework, or worked on line chained to a desk, or spent my days locked in cages or prison cells, or anything else for that matter . . . all of this was up to Him, and what He wanted for me was what I wanted for myself more than anything else, ever, in my life.

And so He took me, stripped me of just about every trace of my free identity other than my name, which He insisted on keeping although I would have been perfectly willing to simply life as “15” in the eyes of the leather community. And here I am, in His arms, drinking spit from His mouth, and getting ready to get down on the floor to serve as His urinal because He just told me that He had to take a piss. And here I am, hungering not so much for the piss itself as for the meaning it gives to my existence, not so much for the piss itself as for the total degrading humiliation of it all and for the knowledge that as I swallow down everything flowing from His cock, I was giving Him an incredible amount of pleasure and satisfaction. And, after it was over, and I sucked the last few drops from His cock and licked it clean and looked up to Him, He would smile at me and tell me He loved me because I was His slave. And that smile would become a drug to me. No, not true: His smile was already a drug for me.

And so, I cleaned the house and did the laundry and scrubbed the bathroom and kitchen, taking moments to bow to the ground and kiss His feet when He wanted a bit of attention, knowing full well that He craved my surrender to Him as much as I craved for Him to rule me with an iron hand and a heavy strap. And, not too long from now, we would be married and I would be tied to Him forever.

The time went quickly. Before I knew it, I was dressed and in His car and He was taking me into town to buy me a pair of shoes to wear to the courthouse because all I had at the moment was boots and flip-flops.

So we walked into the shoe store and He ordered me to sit quietly while He perused what they had to offer. A sales clerk came to me to ask what he could do for me, and I gestured to my Master, and He came over and gave the sales clerk the number of the product He was interested in purchasing for me, and, trying not to look mystified by this whole strange dynamic between us, the sales clerk measured my foot, Master had me put on a pair of socks He had selected, and I tried on the shoes, not caring in that least what they looked like: if they were what Master wanted me to wear, then they would do. He instructed me to walk around a bit to try them out, and when I agreed that they fit well, He made the purchase and we went back to the house.

. . .

Before long, we were at the courthouse and I was uncaged and it really felt weird and somewhat uncomfortable feeling my cock rubbing up against the fabric of my pants. Phil and Robert were already there waiting for us. We were ushered into a private chamber and an officiant walked in, introduced herself, had the two of us stand there hand in hand and reply to her questions, and then she declared us “husband and husband” and gave us permission to kiss, and Master took charge of my mouth as He always does and gave me a taste of Himself. Our friends congratulated us. Master handed an envelope to the officiant who signed the license, and made a copy for the registrar, and it was done. We were married. My Master is my Husband. He owns me legally. And immediately, realizing that we’ve been given some privacy for a while, the two us along with Phil and Robert, He saw no reason to bring me into a bathroom, He simply took down my pants, took the cage which Robert had been carrying for Him, and fit it over my cock, and I could instantly feel how much more restricting it is, even without being hard, and He locked it and pocketed the key and ordered me to pull my pants back up and fix myself, while our two witnesses witnessed this further act of subjugation.

And then, with all that being done, we headed to our cars and drove to Romano’s for dinner.