“You’ve done a good job of sucking the first one out, slave, but I’ve got another one left in me this morning, and it’s your job to receive it,” Master said. “I have a new instruction for you, boy. When I tell you to assume the position, I want you to put your palms on the floor, raise your butt in the air, and spread your legs to put yourself at a height suitable for me to fuck you. Let’s try it. Assume the position.” He pointed at the ground.

Grateful there was nobody around to see me, I did as told, although I had to guess on the height. Once in position, I glanced over my shoulder.

Wally was back and looking hungrily at my ass. I started to rise.

“Stay put, slave,” M said firmly. “You can get up when I tell you to get up. Sometimes I may get busy after I tell you to assume the position. You’re to wait patiently until I come and use you.”

I slowly lowered myself back to the ground, face burning, knowing that Wally was looking at my ass like a piece of meat.

M and Wally talked, and I could hear M scribbling some things on paper. This went on for what seemed like a very long time. Meanwhile, the blood was rushing to my head, and I was getting sore.

I suddenly felt a warm hand on my buttock, and then another hand on the other buttock. I swallowed hard and glanced over my shoulder. Master was there, his pants still on. I frowned, wondering how he was going to fuck me while dressed.

A splatter of Master’s spit hit the center of my asshole, making me gasp and tense.

“I’m going to go easy on you the first day, slave,” Master said, “but I’ll expect you to start making your own lube within the first week. As your master, it is not my job to make you comfortable.”

I cringed. “M–Master?” I asked.

“What is it, slave?”

“Master, I haven’t cleaned out,” I said weakly.

Master stopped.

“Hmm. I’m glad you told me, boy,” he said. “Stand up.”

I did as told and felt a little light-headed as the blood flowed out of my head.

“Go down that hall,” he said, pointing, “and go through the third door on the right. Use the nozzle that is there; it is brand new. I want you to clean out until everything comes out clear.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, starting to leave.

“But first,” Master said, giving me a significant look, “there’s the matter of my other load. I’m not going to wait on you to clean out. Take care of my load, slave, and then go get cleaned out. From now on, I expect you to clean out every morning and be ready to service me and my guests however I tell you. Do you understand?”

And his guests? “Yes, Sir,” I said nervously.

“Good. Get to it, slave,” he said.

His cock was out—I guess he expected to fuck me through his fly—and I dutifully got on my knees, put it in my mouth, and began nursing it, slowly bobbing my head and stroking its length with my tongue and lips. I brought my hands up to gently caress his balls and groin. As soon as I touched him, Master let out an audible sigh. I glanced up and saw him with his eyes closed, head tilted back, knees slightly bent. Encouraged, I took his cock all the way into my mouth and made swallowing motions around the tip.

Master jolted and grunted, and his cock filled my mouth. He pulled out abruptly and went back to his desk, tucking his cock back into his pants.

“Good, slave,” he said, already looking at another stack of papers, “go get cleaned out.”

And then he dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

“Oh, um…yes, Sir,” I said quietly, trying to ignore how hard my own cock was throbbing and how much it drooled precum.

I made my way to the room as instructed and stopped in surprise: Master had his own colonic machine. Or, I suppose, I had my own colonic machine, since I figured Master would never have reason to clean out.

I had never used a colonic before, but I had researched them out of curiosity, and I knew it was possible to use one by yourself. I fiddled with the knobs and switches until I got the water going at a reasonable rate and comfortable temperature.

Okay, that was easy enough…

I closed the door, climbed up on the table, inserted the tip, and felt the flow of warm water slowly filling me.

This sure beats using a hose attached to the shower, I thought. First impressions: awesome! I relaxed and closed my eyes, lying back on the table and gently rubbing my belly.

The urge to purge came, and I obeyed, feeling the relief and strange emptiness as the first expulsion occurred, and then I let the water fill me up again, fuller this time.

I could feel the water beginning to make its way across my transverse colon when the second urge occurred.

After releasing and filling again, the water made it all the way to my ascending colon, and on the fourth attempt, the water came out clear.

I turned off the water and sighed. Wow, I’ve never felt this cleaned-out before. I got to my feet and felt a little wobbly; cleaning out kinda takes it out of me. After drying off, I opened the door and poked my head out.

The movers grabbed the furniture, I grabbed the few boxes I had, and in less than fifteen minutes, they were done. I took a last look at my apartment—my freedom, my independence—and then we headed to Master’s.

For as wealthy as Master was, his house was very nondescript from the outside. It looked like any other suburban home and could have belonged to anybody. I was surprised when the garage door opened and Master stepped outside in his night robe, coffee mug in one hand.

When I got out of the truck, he was waving to his neighbor and saying, “Morning, Jim!”

Just like any other suburban home.

The movers made quick work of my stuff, stacking it tidily on one side of the garage, and then the truck left. The garage door closed, and I was alone with Master.

“All right,” Master said, consulting his phone, skimming through what looked like a hundred entries and mumbling to himself. “Coffee, mm, yeah, meet the movers, yeah, rules, ah ha!” He turned his attention to me. “You’ll have to bear with me, slave,” he said. “I live by a strict schedule, and this has rather upset my typical Monday morning, so I’m not all with it, yet.”

“I’m sorry, Sir—” I began.

“Oh, not to worry, slave; there’ll be plenty more disruptions as we go, I’m sure. But enough about that.” He handed me a sheet of paper. “Here are the rules. Learn them, follow them. Any questions?”

Slave Rules
1. Slave shall always address M as “Sir” or “Master”. Master may address Slave however he pleases but will typically call him “slave”.
2. Slave shall wear whatever M tells him to wear. Unless otherwise specified, slave is to be naked when at home and the slave uniform when out of the house. M will show slave the slave uniform.
3. Slave shall perform all household duties, including but not limited to cooking, cleaning, and laundry. M will further explain these to slave.
4. Slave shall obey every command from M without hesitation or complaint unless there is a legitimate safety concern for slave, M, or others. In that case, the slave shall immediately use the safe word, “Safety, Sir!” so that M can review the slave’s concerns. Slave is warned now that M will deal with abuses to this policy harshly.
5. Slave shall offer his sexual services to M upon seeing M anytime it has been at least an hour since the slave has seen M.
6. Slave shall not use the phone, television, or Internet without M’s permission on a case-by-case basis. M expects the slave to devote himself to his chores and to M. Slave may answer the phone if M is not around and take a message for M; however, slave is to limit any incoming calls addressed to slave to one minute or less unless given special permission from M.
7. Slave consents to be disciplined in whatever way M sees fit in case of infraction of these rules. M promises to be compassionate in his discipline and not to inflict permanent harm unless warranted by the severity of the infraction.
8. Slave shall never attempt to escape. The punishment for breaking this rule will be a permanent injury.
9. Slave shall honestly present his concerns to M after requesting and receiving permission to speak freely.

Wow, that’s a lot of rules. Number six in particular was going to be really difficult. I pretty much lived on my phone or the computer when I had free time, and I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with myself. After all, how long could it possibly take to keep the house clean? It wasn’t even very big. As it turned out, Master was going to keep me very busy indeed.

“They make sense to me now, Sir,” I said, “but what if I have a question later?”

“Just request permission to speak freely and then ask, slave,” Master replied. “I planned them out to be pretty easy. They may change from time to time, but for now, this should be enough of a framework to get us up and running. Do you agree, slave?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Then let’s start by you following rule number 2.”

I hadn’t memorized the list, yet, and so I glanced at it, nodded, and stripped down, folding my clothes and putting them on my shoes.

“Those can go over here, slave,” Master said, gesturing to the trash bin.

I began to protest, but I remembered rule number 4 and did as told.

“Good, slave. Let’s go inside.”

I followed him in, feeling pretty self-conscious about being nude while he wore not only his pajamas but his robe, too.

“Remember rule # 5, slave?” M asked.

I glanced at the list and nodded hesitantly. “Yes, Sir,” I said. I felt a hint of anticipation and a bit of nervousness creep into my mind.

“And?” Master asked expectantly.

“I–uh,” I stammered, reddening. “Would you, Sir…would you like me to…?” I trailed off, unsure of what to say.

Master laughed, shook his head, and patted me on the shoulder. “How about we make it easier for you, slave?” he suggested, grinning wickedly. “Since using words has you tongue-tied, how about you use body language instead?”

He beckoned for me to come over and kneel in front of him. Then he took my hand and put it on his crotch.

“Feel that, boy?” he asked. “That’s how I want you to greet me. No words, just kneeling and gently reaching for my cock. Got it?”

I blushed fiercely but nodded.

“Good. Now let’s try again. Stand up, go out into the garage, and walk in. When you see me, do exactly as I showed you.”

I couldn’t believe how humiliating this was! I thanked my lucky stars that at least there was nobody else around to see as I walked into the garage and closed the door behind me.

“Okay, you got this,” I said, exhaling sharply. “Just walk in, kneel, and grab his crotch. You don’t even have to look at his face.”

Having psyched myself up, I opened the door, stepped through—

—and put my hands over my crotch. There was somebody else there talking to Master while Master signed a piece of paper on the bar.

“Slave!” Master said incredulously. “Do not cover yourself, and get over here and do what you were told!”

“But, Sir—” I protested, looking helplessly at the man.

“He’s none of your concern, slave,” Master replied. “As embarrassing situations go, you’ll find this to be the least of them. Now unless you want to be publicly disciplined, I suggest you get to it!”

The man, meanwhile, stared at me in shock and then looked at M, even more shocked.

“Slave!”

“Yes, Sir!” I said, jumping, keeping myself covered and nearly running to kneel at his feet and putting my hand on his crotch, my face burning with embarrassment.

“Better, slave,” Master said without looking away from the paperwork he was signing, “but you’re still covering yourself.  I desire to see your private parts, now show them to me!’

With a helpless glance at the man, I forced myself to remove the hand covering my crotch. The man just gaped, staring.

“Better, slave,” Master said again. “You may service me.”

“How do I—”

“Unzip my fly, pull my cock out, and begin sucking on it, slave,” Master said airily, his attention still on the contract. “And don’t cover yourself!” he added.

I had never even seen Master’s junk before, and I had no idea what I was in for. But with the man staring me down and offering no assistance while Master was infuriatingly carefree in his instructions, I did as told.

The second I tugged on his zipper, Master’s cock slapped hard against the opening and poked its way out.

My face burning with embarrassment, I sniffed Master’s cock and tentatively licked its uncut tip. It bounced appreciatively, and a little emboldened, I put the tip of it into my mouth and rubbed my tongue on the smooth surface.

“Mmm, good boy,” Master said from above the table. “Service the whole thing, though, not just the tip.”

I pressed my lips further around his cock and felt his foreskin move. I could taste the musk underneath; it was slightly unpleasant but not too bad, and I began to slather my tongue around his sensitive prick.

Master seemed to enjoy my ministrations. I could hear him breathing heavily, and I was pretty certain he’d lost interest in the contract. I began to bob my head on his cock, taking it as deeply into my mouth as his pants would allow.

I felt his prick tense and hover on the edge of orgasm. With an encouraging lick from my tongue on the tip of his prick, it emptied itself into my mouth, and I swallowed it down greedily before pulling back and standing up.

“Slave, what are you doing out here?” Master asked curiously.

“You just—Sir, didn’t you—?” I began.

“That doesn’t give you a reason to stop, slave,” Master said, smiling in amusement and shaking his head. He turned his attention to the man, who grinned. “Thank you, Wally,” he said. “You did great.” He handed him the paperwork, and Wally winked lasciviously at me.

I frowned, confused.

“Wally was here to help you get over your self-consciousness about serving me, slave,” Master said. “And I could practically feel your embarrassment, so he did exactly what I wanted him to do.” He chuckled. “You did well for your first time, slave,” he said. “Next time, just do what I tell you and don’t pay any attention to who’s here. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said.

“And don’t worry about Wally; I promised him that in exchange for his help, he’d get to use your mouth one of these days.”

 

So today is the big day: the end of the two weeks. I know absolutely as much about him as I can find out, and I know what I want in the relationship if I were to become his slave. There’s just one thing I couldn’t figure out, so I asked him today.

“Why me, Sir?” I asked over another steak.

He put his fork down and leaned forward. “Because you make being dominant fun,” he said with a smile. “I’m sure if you’ve done your research—”

“I know you were an officer in the Army and have run countless businesses, Sir,” I interrupted. “I know you’re used to having your way. That’s what confuses me, Sir: you’ve had numerous opportunities to be a dominant, yet you say you haven’t enjoyed them. You’ve had multiple scenes where you spent all your time worried about your sub and none of it enjoying being in control.” I shrugged helplessly. “If you’ve had subs before that you’ve actually played with, why not get one of them? Why do you want to go into this uncharted territory with me? How do you or I know that you won’t get bored of me after a couple of days, Sir?”

“First off, don’t interrupt me, boy” M said, raising his eyebrows and giving me a significant look. His tone softened. “But you bring up good points: yes, I have had people follow my orders my whole life. It has always been about business: in the military, it was just getting the job done. I had a task my group needed to finish, and I gave the orders to achieve its success. It was no different in my charities. The task was different, but my involvement was the same: give orders to achieve a greater good. With Leather, there is no greater good for me. There can be for some, but Leather is my outlet, the time when I get to be selfish and give orders to achieve what I want.”

I started to ask about his scenes, but he continued.

“While the idea of ordering people around just for the fun of it has been intriguing and exciting to me for many years, real life kept getting in the way. As I’m sure you know, I care deeply about others and want them to do well by my actions. Years of serving others through leadership made it difficult to just focus on myself. My subs had desires, and I suppressed my own to give them theirs. You—” He stopped suddenly, hesitating.

“What, Sir?” I asked, leaning forward.

He sighed. “Do not think me awful for saying this, boy,” he said. “Promise me.”

“I–Sir, I cannot promise when I don’t know what you’re gong to say.”

“Hmm.” He pursed his lips. “Well, that’s fair, I suppose.” He cleared his throat. “With you, I trust that you are smart enough to take care of yourself, that if I give you an order that is wildly dangerous, you will call me on it. You have called your previous Doms out on their poor choices, and I expect nothing less from you. Yet at the same time, I could see how much you hesitated when I asked—not even ordered—you to go get the canvas in the nude. I saw you analyzing it, trying to think of a reason not to, and then I saw something beautiful: I saw you do what I told you to do, despite your own discomfort. That is why I chose you. Anybody can be a mindless slave, just doing as ordered. Anybody can be headstrong and refuse to do anything just because he was told to do it. But it takes a very special kind of person to actually think about what he’s being told to do, to consider whether what he’s been told to do is harmful, and barring that, to choose to do what he’s told.”

I sat in silence this whole time, absorbing what he was saying. I have to admit, he’s right: I had called each of my former Doms out on what they had done as the reason for my leaving. Yet at the time, I saw it as a flaw in myself that I wasn’t a good enough sub to just grin and bear it. Hearing it spun the way M put it really made me think.

“Does that answer your question?” M asked, taking another bite of his steak.

I nodded slowly. “Yes, Sir, I think so.” I looked at my steak and deliberately took a bite and chewed it. It was delicious—it was certainly not a condemnation of the cook that I wasn’t hungry—but with so much to think about, my mind was too full to let me really focus on eating.

“What else do you have for me?” M asked.

I huffed. “There’s a saying that goes, ‘if it seems too good to be true, it probably is,’ Sir. I cannot find anything wrong with you, save for a few speeding tickets.” I looked hard at him. “What’s the catch, Sir?”

M covered his mouth and laughed, squeezing his eyes shut in mirth. “That’s why I like you, boy: you’re direct and don’t beat around the bush.” He quickly chewed and swallowed his food. “But to answer your question, I am what I am,” he said, holding his hands out. “I have not tried to hide anything; everything I do is public record, and I only go by M to keep myself out of the press.”

“But with all the great things you do, you should be in the press!” I protested.

He shook his head firmly. “No, that is not what I believe. If someone does a good deed to become a celebrity, it cheapens the good deed that was done. True, the same good did come of it, but doing the good deed becomes more about the person who did it than the deed itself. I take great satisfaction out of my work; that is its own reward. I do not desire praise from others, and frankly, if I were in the limelight, it would interfere greatly with my work. I am busy enough as it is without having to answer to a hundred news reporters every day.”

I nodded. It did make sense.

“To answer your question more directly, though,” he continued, “the biggest catch is that I’m new to this. There is a lot of uncertainty in it. What I am to you now may not be what I am six months or a year from now. As we explore, I may find that there are things I want to pursue that you aren’t thrilled about, yet I will expect you to go along with them as my slave. Rest assured, I don’t envision myself getting to the point of wanting to hack parts off of you or cause you to do things that would truly put your life or others’ lives in danger. That is too drastic a change for me. But the things I demand of you may eventually make you…uncomfortable. By all means, call me out if I order something life-threatening or that could cause permanent injury, but barring that, I expect you to suck it up and do them anyway. I never did anything expecting recompense, yet looking back on all these years of living my life for others, you could say I now feel a bit entitled to having someone live his life for me.”

I took a breath and blew it out. “Wow, Sir,” I said, picking at my baked potato, “that’s an awful lot of pressure to put on one person.” I swallowed nervously. “I–I’m not that giving of a person, Sir. I’m downright selfish, if you really want the truth. I mean, yeah, I walked around naked for you, but it’s not like that was something too terrible. I don’t know that I could ‘suck it up’ like you said and just do whatever you tell me to. I’d rather just walk away.”

M frowned, leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and looked at me thoughtfully. A smile crept across his face.

“What Sir?” I asked.

“You say all of that,” he said, the smile getting bigger, “yet one thing you notably did not say was ‘no.’ You offer excuses why you think you cannot be my slave, yet you do not come out and directly say that you don’t want to.” He raised an eyebrow. “You know what I think, boy,” he said, cutting another piece of steak, “I think you want to be my slave—maybe very much so—but you are afraid to do it.” He put the steak in his mouth and began to chew. I started to protest, but a finger from him silenced me. I waited as he slowly chewed his steak, thinking about what he was going to say.

“Yes,” he said at last, “I am certain of it. You are afraid to lose your independence. You are afraid of the unknown. And you are afraid“—he pointed his fork at me for emphasis—”that you cannot live up to it, that you will cut and run, that you will be ungrateful, let me down, and all that.”

I opened my mouth to speak but closed it and sighed. He gave a wry, knowing smile.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he said, “I can help you stick through it.”

I looked at him with hesitant curiosity.

“Oh, rest assured, unless it’s something dangerous, I’m not going to back down on an order I give you, boy,” he said with a chuckle, “but if you’re worried about running away, I can hire someone to keep you prisoner until you wrap your head around it. If you’re worried about not living up to my expectations, I recognize that this is new territory for you, too, and I can be patient—within reason—but I can also come up with ways to enforce compliance, if need be.”

He let me digest that while he began working on his baked potato.

He was right, of course. He was 100% right. It was entirely about fear for me: fearing loss of control while craving it, fearing dependency on others while pining for a life with someone, fearing being unemployed while being unable to find even half-pleasant work. My previous Doms didn’t understand it. They weren’t smart enough to foresee the things I feared. M was. My previous Doms didn’t have the means to keep me. M did. My previous Doms…it didn’t matter. M was on a whole different level than they had been. He was, perhaps, the first person I’d ever met who truly saw all of my concerns and addressed them rather than dismissing them for lack of understanding.

I finally had an answer for him.

“You said that you chose me because you could trust that I would call you out on something dangerous, Sir,” I said slowly.

He nodded.

“And after researching you, Sir, I feel that I can trust you to think through your orders to make sure they’re not going to be dangerous before giving them.”

He nodded again.

“I think—I’m not sure, but I think—that you have my best interests at heart, Sir.”

He smiled and nodded yet again.

“And I know from my research that you have every bit the means you need to do everything you say, Sir.”

He raised his eyebrows and blinked expectantly.

“I was going to ask for an out, Sir, but I think we both know that wouldn’t work in this…particular circumstance. A trial scene with you wouldn’t be real, and I cannot just quit my job without knowing that there’s a new way for me to make ends meet, Sir. As much as I’m afraid of the unknown, Sir, your confidence, thoughtfulness, and goodwill make me think it’s going to be okay.”

He leaned forward and looked at me with breathless intensity. I took a breath and swallowed. “Okay, Sir. I’ll do it. I’ll be your slave.”

As soon as I said it, I felt sick to my stomach. Geez, I must have been out of my mind…

“So, um, now what, Sir?” I asked hesitantly. “What are the rules?”

“Now we celebrate, slave,” M replied. “As for rules, hmm…” He hesitated.

Oh, geez, what have I gotten myself into? My new master doesn’t even know what the rules are going to be!

“Tell you what, slave,” he said, “we’ll start out easy. I promise not to discipline you for breaking a rule you didn’t know about.”

“Erm, that’s a relief, Sir…”

“Rule number one you’re already good at: always call me Sir or Master; I’m just making it official. And I’ll always call you ‘slave’…unless I decide to call you something else, like ‘boy’. We’ll figure it out.”

We’ll…figure it out? “Yes, Sir,” I said nervously.

“Rule number two, you’ll live with me, and as long as you’re in the house and we’re not in mixed company, you’re to be nude…unless I decide to put you in a jock strap. Hmm…” he thought about it some more, and I couldn’t help chuckling in spite of myself.

He was like a kid who got to design his own Christmas or something; now that he had my agreement to be his slave, he could do pretty much anything with me he wanted. I can only imagine his elation. Unbeknownst to him—or perhaps he knew and just didn’t care—his indecision was making me incredibly nervous.

“Sir, um—” I began.

“Yes, slave, what is it?” he asked, glancing at me curiously but with the same excited energy as before.

“I—I’m sorry for speaking out of turn, Sir, but I’m very nervous about all this,” I admitted. “I guess I sort of, I dunno, assumed that you had it all planned out already, Sir.”

He frowned. “You fear the unknown,” he said, nodding to himself. “And this whole thing is unknown, and I’m contributing to the unknownness of it. Is that right, slave?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said.

“Hmm.” He pursed his lips. “Would you rather I came up with the rules and told them to you all at once, slave?”

I nodded. “Yes, Sir. I—don’t mean to make work for you, Sir.”

He shook his head. “No, I appreciate you being honest with me, slave. Enjoy it while it lasts, as I may not always be so open to feedback. But with this being new for both of us, maybe we can help each other navigate a little better, yeah?”

“Sure, Sir,” I replied.

“Very well, slave,” he said. “In that case, just put it out of your mind for tonight. You will have things you need to take care of, such as quitting your job and moving out, and I will leave you to do those things on your own. Monday, we will begin, and I will have a set of rules to you before then so that you know what you’re in for.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I said, much-relieved. But something still bothered me. “Um, Sir? About my phone…”

“Yes, slave, what is it?” he asked, frowning.

“Well, Sir, if I lose my phone, how am I going to explain to my family and friends where I’ve gone?”

He pursed his lips. “Tell them you have a new phone number,” he replied. “I will give you the number when you move in. We’ll get it worked out.”

Okay, I am totally freaking out. I’m in over my head, I’ve got to go to work on—wait, no! I need to quit my job. Crap! I’ve got to leave my apartment! I’ve got to stop the utilities, put in changes of address…shit!

It was a warehouse that just kind of blended in with everything else around. There was nothing on the outside, save for the company logo, and that wasn’t really descriptive enough to give anybody any indication of what went on inside.

Not that there was anything wrong with what went on inside: mostly it was used to store the pieces for auction, but there was also an area for photo shoots.

“Good to see you, boy. I’m glad you made it,” M said.

“Yes, Sir,” I replied, holding my arm awkwardly. “You said there was going to be a photo shoot?”

“Yes, boy,” M replied, cocking his head and looking at me. He grabbed a pair of chaps from a rack nearby and handed them to me. “Put these on, boy,” he instructed. “Take everything else off.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said. I looked around. “Um, where do I change, Sir?” I asked.

“Right there, boy. Nobody’s going to be offended,” M replied, chuckling. He did a double-take. “You’re not bashful, are you, boy?” he asked.

My reddening face must have given it away. He put a hand on my shoulder and said, “We’re all men here, boy. Think of it like the locker room.”

I gulped; my locker room experiences hadn’t been very positive ones.

“Minus the towel-slapping,” M replied knowingly with a grin and a wink.

Encouraged a little, I kicked off my shoes and took my shirt off, folding it and putting it on my shoes.

“It’s okay, boy,” M said with an easy smile, sensing my hesitation.

“But Sir, I’m not wearing any underwear,” I confessed.

“All the better, boy. You weren’t going to be wearing any with the chaps on anyway!”

My face burned with embarrassment; I’d never considered being a model, let alone one getting naked!

“Here, boy, let me help you,” M said, stepping up next to me. He put his hands on my waistband, deftly undid the button, and pulled the zipper down. He did it so easily, it made me gasp. “Up to you, now, boy,” he hinted.

I swallowed and ventured a glance at his face. He smiled encouragingly, and taking a deep breath, I dropped my pants down around my ankles, hastily stepped out of them, folded them, and stacked them on my shirt.

“There’s a good boy,” M said, patting my shoulder. I reached for the chaps, but M put his hand up and gave a twirling motion with his finger. I swallowed and did a slow spin for him.

M shook his head. “Mmm!” he said, adjusting himself—his pants had become visibly tighter—and gesturing for me to proceed. I donned the chaps and stood awkwardly.

The photographer came over and had me get into some poses, and I heard the click-click-click of the shutter as he took the pictures. It was over before I knew it.

“Go ahead and change,” M said. He’d been watching the whole time.

I moved over to where my clothes were and took the chaps off. As I was hanging them on the rack, M said, “Hey, boy, go and grab that canvas over there, please.” He gestured to one leaned against a rack some distance across the room.

“Um, yes, Sir,” I said, “just let me get my clothes on.”

“No, boy,” M said, shaking his head. “Do it now.”

I hesitated. It was a long way to walk without any clothes on, and there were other people moving things here and there. I glanced at M. He seemed pretty sure of what he was asking, so I swallowed hard and began walking briskly towards the canvas, trying to ignore the fact that I wasn’t wearing any clothes and that people could see me.

Fortunately, I made it to the canvas without incident, grabbed it, and brought it back, hiding behind it.

“Thanks, boy,” M said, “but I don’t need it anymore. Go put it back, please.”

My mouth must have hung open. “Get to it, boy,” M said, tipping his head towards where I’d gotten the canvas. I slowly took it back and then rushed back.

As I returned, M said, “I told you I could get him to do it,” and someone handed him a $50 bill.

My face and ears burned. It was all just to win a bet?

“Ah, boy,” M said, addressing me as I began to put my clothes on, “let’s go out to dinner. You just won a bet for me, and I’d like to share the winnings with you.”

Yup, just to win a bet. “Bet, Sir?”

“I just bet James here that I could get you to walk across the warehouse nude,” M replied, grinning. “When you did it, he wanted to do double-or-nothing that I couldn’t get you to do it twice. Well, you did, so I just won $50. I feel like celebrating. Where do you want to go eat? My treat.”

“Oh, uh,”—did I really want to celebrate being tricked into waling around the warehouse naked?—”n–no, Sir, thank you, but that’s all right.”

M gave me a look that I never expected to see but will never forget: he looked as if I’d genuinely hurt his feelings. Nowadays, when he’s being ornery or downright sadistic, I picture that face and remember that somewhere—deep down—there’s a human being with real emotions. I’ve never seen him make that face since, but it’s stuck with me.

Suffice to say, I went to dinner with him. It turns out he had an ulterior motive.

“Boy,” M said as we carved into our steaks, “I have been very impressed with you.”

Seriously, what do you say to that? I’ve been impressed with you, too, Sir? No, that doesn’t work. “Oh, well, um, thank you, Sir,” I replied.

“I’m serious, boy,” M said. I looked up from the steak. While his tone always sounded sincere, now he sounded very serious indeed. I frowned and leaned forward, curious to know what he had to say.

“I have been…considering…taking on a boy of my own,” he said, putting a bite of steak in to his mouth and chewing it thoughtfully. “Believe it or not, boy, dominance is new to me. I’ve been in the military long enough to expect my orders to be followed, but to enjoy giving them—that’s new. You showed me today that I could give frivolous orders just for the fun of it, and when you did what I told you to do—despite having clear reservations about it—I was delighted. I think, boy, that you’re the one I want.”

I quickly put a bite of food in my mouth to give me an excuse not to say anything. I don’t even know this guy. He’s never been dominant before? Could have fooled me! The bartender said he was good people—but does he know for sure? What does he want from me? Is he going to make me do things I might get in serious trouble for? Is he going to hurt me?

The questions piled up faster than I could even acknowledge them, let alone hope to answer them. My slow, deliberate chewing to try to buy myself some time quickly turned into furious chomping as I tried to process question after question.

“This seems to have taken you by surprise, boy,” M said, peering at me thoughtfully. “Did I misunderstand your body language when you seemed to reject all of the interlopers in our bar, when you came to me so readily, when you did what I asked when I asked?”

I sighed. Putting more food in my mouth now would be incredibly rude. “I—I don’t know, Sir,” I said truthfully. “I did want to find a Master, yes. I did want to find something more than the non-Leather people. And I was drawn to you, Sir, but…” I paused, unsure of how to put it.

“You speak in the past tense, boy,” M said. “Have you lost interest?”

“Well, no, Sir, but—”

“But you have reservations. You don’t know me, I don’t know you, am I going to chop you up and pickle you in Mason jars, all of that, right?”

“Well, except the last part, but now that you mention it…”

M laughed. “You wouldn’t be much good to me pickled, boy,” he said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

“But you understand what I mean, Sir,” I protested. “I don’t know anything about you, and you only know what you’ve seen here and at the bar.”

“Just because you didn’t do your research doesn’t mean that I didn’t do mine, boy,” M replied, raising an eyebrow and grinning. “I know what clubs you’ve been in. I know that you’ve served briefly under a few Doms before, and I know that you’ve been out of the lifestyle for quite some time.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he continued.

“I also know that you were well-respected while you were in the clubs. Nobody blamed you for leaving your former Doms; many were surprised that you let them take you at all.”

“Then you understand why I’m hesitant to get into it again, Sir,” I said slowly.

“Yes, boy,” M replied, “and I know I’m coming on hard and fast, like your previous Doms did. I know that I’m catching you completely unawares and making you feel like you need to answer right now. You don’t. In fact, I will not accept an answer right now,” he said with finality. “But, boy,” he said, pointing his fork at me, “I expect an answer two weeks from today. Not before, not after. I want you to do your homework, boy: find out who I am, find out what people know and think of me in the community. I assure you, I am well-known.” He leaned forward earnestly. “In my defense, I have not had a full-time slave before. There will be a learning curve for both of us.”

“But I can’t be a full-time—”

“Why not? Because of the job you hate? Quit.”

“But—”

“What will you put on your resume should we ever part ways? ‘Personal assistant.’ Whether things go well or badly, I promise to give you a glowing review so that you can restart where you left off.”

“But I—”

“Your apartment? Leave it. I’ll pay the reletting fees.”

“How—”

“Just take my word for it that I started my charity business because I have plenty of money and too much free time on my hands,” M said, giving me a significant look.

I closed my mouth and stopped trying to protest.

“I’m not going to say it’s going to be easy, boy,” M said. “I know you’re headstrong, and I know you’re all-too-willing to leave if things don’t go exactly the way you expected them to.” He smiled knowingly. “That’s why I’m going to offer you something that no Dom has been able to do: I’m offering to whisk you away from your current responsibilities. I’m offering to do all of those things for you that you would normally do yourself. I’m offering to give you the freedom not to go to work—at the expense of your independence.”

I swallowed. It was like he was in my head. It was scary to hear my thoughts repeated back to me, yet fascinating at the same time. I couldn’t turn away, couldn’t think about anything else.

“Make no mistake, boy,” M said gravely, “Once I do take you into my household, you will be dependent on me. You can keep your large possessions and whatever money you have in your bank account, but your clothes, phone, and anything else you can pick up and carry will belong to me. I’ll auction them for charity or give them away; you won’t need them anymore. You won’t have any clothes to wear unless I put them on you, no money to spend unless I give it to you, no roof over your head unless I provide it for you.”

“N–no, Sir,” I said, putting my fork down and shaking my head. “This is too much, Sir. I–I can’t just give up my independence. I’ve worked too hard for it, Sir.”

“I thought you might say that,” M said with a knowing grin. “And so I’m going to leave you with this: You cannot be in a working relationship without a level of dependency; otherwise, it’s too easy to leave it all behind. Is it better to be independent, free to move about, and forever alone, or is it better or to sacrifice some of your independence for a chance at something more? I won’t give you the answer, boy; that’s for you to decide. And you have two weeks.”

He put the last bite of steak in his mouth, savored the flavor as he chewed it, and wiped his goatee, checking his watch.

“I’m sorry, boy, but I have to leave for an important meeting.” He gestured to my steak. “Are you going to finish that?”

I shook my head. While it was delicious, I was in no mood to eat right now.

“All right, then I’ll take it,” he said, motioning the waiter over for a to-go box. “I hate wasting food, boy,” he mused. “When you are blessed to have so much, it seems like a slap in the face to the one who provided it to carelessly throw it away. I am thankful every day that I am not one of the ones I help, who sometimes don’t know when their next meal will be.”

He rose, and I stood slowly, stunned from what had been said. He took me back to the warehouse, and I got in my car and drove home.

I—I don’t even know what to say. I can’t think straight. It’s 4:00 AM; I have to get up in three hours, and I still can’t sleep. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through my job tomorrow. It’s so boring, but you just can’t shut your mind off and do it: you have to concentrate. Damn…I—I gotta get some sleep…or try…

 

Okay, it’s been four days, and I still can’t think straight. I have a little PTO left, so I took today off. But I didn’t rest.

 

My alarm went off as usual, and I began researching everything I could about M. I learned M was for his last name, “Montesquieu,” and that he had received a large inheritance from his father, an oil baron. Unlike many spoiled descendants of rich parents, M had enlisted in the military to do his part for the country and had then gone to school to learn how to manage his fortune and had done very well for himself, investing in start-ups like Microsoft, Apple, Google, Facebook, Tesla, and Amazon, as well as hundreds of other companies in oil, tech, medicine, infrastructure, utilities, and consumer products. He’d weathered the storms of 2007 and 2011 very well, and after volunteering some of his copious free time at Habitat for Humanity and local soup kitchens, he realized his true calling. With just dividends from his investments providing nearly a million dollars of income every year, M decided to go into philanthropy. While he himself gave away vast sums of his fortune every year, his position was that the rich shouldn’t be the only ones to feel the joy of helping others, and so he set up numerous charitable foundations that middle- and even lower-class workers could contribute to or help with.

But while M did most of the work to get the charities set up and running, he handed off control to someone else before anyone could associate him with it. This was true of all of his organizations, except one.

M Charity Leather was the only one of M’s charities that had any part of his name in it, and it was the only one that he himself ran, and he never introduced himself by his full name. Thanks to a fierce aversion to cameras and his ability to silently slip away from his charities unnoticed, he was free to pursue his passion in Leather freely, so long as he went by M.

I gotta say, I’m really impressed with him. I mean, he’s my kind of hero: the type who deliberately hides from the limelight yet is single-handedly responsible for so much right.

His Leather exploits weren’t so grand, though. He’s pretty new to being a Dominant, and he’s only had a few scenes with the locals, all of which went well, but the biggest complaint was that he spent too much time making sure his submissive was okay and not enough time being bossy. Still, it seems like he’s gotten better, and his most recent scene went really well by all accounts. He exemplifies what some would call a “service Dom,” which certainly matches his activities outside of Leather.

So, I’m kinda stuck. I’m fighting for a reason to say no. I hate my job and I’d love to be taken care of like that, to disappear into a life of sexual servitude, but it just seems too good to be true. Plus, I fought hard for my independence. I got through college a year and a half early so that my parents wouldn’t have to pay for me anymore, and with the responsibility of taking care of myself, I finally got to make my own decisions! Do I really want to give all that up again?

M mentioned the loneliness, but the great thing about that is that it’s a little twinge that goes away after a while. If I end up his slave, won’t I be stuck that way forever? That’s no little twinge!

But the twinges are getting closer together and lasting longer. That’s why I was at the bar in the first place…I’m sure that was what made me agree to do the photo shoot and all the other stuff…

This was supposed to be easier than this. There was supposed to be that glaring problem with him that would make this an easy decision. But I can’t find any reason to tell him no! Is it possible that this could actually be as good as it sounds? As far as I can tell, he’s a model citizen, philanthropist, and genuinely a nice guy.

Well, I’ve got another week to puzzle it out. For now, I gotta get some sleep. Maybe I can finally catch up this weekend after sleeping so badly this week…

 

This weekend has been…interesting. I’m sitting here, waiting on the truck Master sent to pick me and my possessions up. I quit on Friday morning, and by noon, I found myself standing outside my office with a box of my stuff.

Then I told the leasing office I was vacating, and they handed me the notice to vacate, which I filled out and handed back. The rest of Friday was spent canceling utilities and filling out changes of address. Master fortunately gave me the new address so that my mail could be forwarded. Thank goodness I have no debts; I’ve been good at paying everything off, so there weren’t many things to forward.

I packed Saturday morning. I don’t have a lot of stuff, so I spent as long actually buying  boxes as I did packing them. After that, all that was left was furniture. I moved everything into the living room so it’d be easy for the movers to take, and then there was nothing to do but worry about tomorrow…er…today.

I’m really nervous about the rules. I just—I can’t explain how nervous I am that I’m not going to live up to his expectations. Yeah, he says he has ways to keep me in shape, but I know how hard-headed I can be. What’s he going to do, whip me into submission? He’s never hurt a sub before… I’ve considered calling or texting him so many times since Saturday afternoon, but I don’t want to bother him. I know how busy he is, and if I’m going to be a slave, I need to get used to things not going my way.

With nothing to do but worry Saturday and yesterday, I tried just napping so I could sleep it off, but it’s been really hard to get to sleep, and with almost constant vivid dreams about him waking me up, I’m just exhausted. Now it’s Monday, and—

Oh, there’s the truck. Gotta go!

I’ve been working on my next book for a while now and have hit a bit of a lull; I’m at that point where I feel kinda “meh” about it (like I often do after the climax…pun intended). It occurred to me that I’m not very good at writing serially, that is, writing a chapter and releasing it to the world. I always want to reserve the right to go back and change things if I find I need to later in the story, but if the chapter’s already published, it’s too late to change things.

They say the only way to get good at something is to practice, and so this is an attempt at practicing writing serially. We’ll see how it goes. As a result, if there are inconsistencies down the road, you know why.

With that, I give you the first entry of “Slave Chronicles.”

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Edit 2017-12-10:

After making it through the first couple of chapters, I decided I don’t want to tell this story in “far” past tense. I’d rather tell it like a daily journal. Therefore, I’m changing this first chapter to make it more “it happened today”. I’m also splitting it up into a day-by-day, so there will be additional chapters created and inserted between this one and the original “Introduction: Part 2,” whose name will also change…

For anyone who read the first chapter before this change, well…I wasn’t completely ready to give up the ability to change things, yet. Memo to self: write the first few chapters, get a feel for things, and then start publishing them.

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This story is a work of fiction. It is based solely on the author’s imagination and is not intended to depict any real-life event.

I was at the local Leather bar today, bored, sipping a Jack-and-Coke. The bar isn’t what it used to be. It used to be dark, filled with Leathermen, smelled like leather and unchecked masculinity, and had this unseen but definitely palpable energy of Masters on the hunt and slaves putting on their best performance to get caught. There was music, some kind of mostly tuneless thumping that got your heart pumping but that you didn’t dare dance to—I learned this one first-hand, got pulled aside by an older master who gently told me that “we don’t do that here.” Outsiders would have called it seedy, but I called it home.

The new bar is nothing like that. I mean, first off, it’s brightly lit—especially the bathroom, where so many Masters used to put their slaves through their first paces in the safe darkness, trying them out before committing to using them. The Leathermen seem to have disappeared, as if the light drove them away. At the old bar, everybody wore leather. It wasn’t strictly enforced like at bars in other towns, but it was nevertheless the unspoken rule, and people tended to look at you funny if you didn’t have any leather on, or at least some Levi’s, Wranglers, or other working-man’s jeans. None of those prissy $120-a-pair jeans with the knees ripped out when you bought them. We worked our own damn jeans and ripped our own damn knees out!

I digress.

At the new bar today, I could count the number of people wearing leather on one hand, myself included. The new bar has a dance floor, and the number of drag queens outnumbered the Leathermen by at least 4:1. I don’t have anything against drag queens, but I’m utterly turned off by them; I like guys who act like guys, you know? Suffice to say, gone were the attractive Leathermen watching in the dark, replaced by boisterous, over-made-up men who acted out parodies of women.

I shouldn’t have been there. It was a waste of time, and I should have just stayed home.

But as I was paying for my last drink, I suddenly saw this guy looking at me out of the corner of my eye. I felt my heart jump a little bit; I couldn’t make out who he was or what he looked like, but it was the way he acted that got my attention. Suddenly, all of the noise and gaudiness around me faded. I was back at the old bar wearing my harness, flagging right (that’s indicating that I’m submissive to those not into Leather), and this Leatherman was quietly observing me, confident in himself, sizing me up, deciding whether I was worth his time.

I thanked the bartender and leaned in close to ask him if he knew who the guy checking me out was.

“That’s M,” the bartender replied. “He’s good people.”

I thanked him again and turned to face the man. He’s about six feet tall, on the muscular side of average, with salt-and-pepper-colored hair. I’m guessing he’s probably in his late 40s to early 50s. As soon as I got within a few feet, I could smell the leather bar vest, chaps, and boots he wore. They were well-maintained and presented neatly and matter-of-factly, as if that was the only way they should be presented.

I have to agree.

“Hello, Sir,” I said, careful not to make eye contact—the way I was taught, submissives and slaves do not make eye contact with Doms and Masters.

“Hello, boy,” the man replied. His voice was deep and full of self-confidence, loud enough to be clearly heard but only just. “That’s a nice-looking ass you’ve got. I was just admiring the view.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I replied, smiling but inwardly rolling my eyes. My ass seems to be the first thing everybody notices, and no matter how much I weigh, from 165 to 230, it always seems to attract people. I suppose I should be glad, but I’ve always rather taken it for granted.

“Turn around, boy,” the man instructed gently, making a twirling motion with his finger.

I suppose I was feeling extra submissive. Maybe it was the lack of Leather contact for so many years or just a phase, or maybe his confidence, appearance, and tone of voice just got my attention in ways that most people don’t, but I did as told, turning my back to him and glancing at him over my shoulder.

“Mmm! Very nice,” the man said appreciatively. “An ass like that needs to be put to good use.”

Said every gay man to me ever. I had to admit, I was a little disappointed; I was hoping he had something more original to say. It turns out I was just a little early in expecting it.

“I run a charity Leather group,” he said, handing me a business card. “We auction off Leather and Leather-themed art. An ass like that wearing a nice pair of chaps would make a very nice picture, boy. I want you to come for a photo shoot.”

I looked at the business card. The man’s name truly was simply “M”, and the business was “M Charity Leather.” I looked back at the man. “You’re a photographer, Sir?” I asked.

“No, boy, but I have one I regularly use.”

I frowned. “Just how much charity work does this group do, Sir?” I asked. I had never heard of the group.

“We do four charity auctions a year, and the rest of the year is spent collecting things for the auctions. I think your ass could make a nice addition to our offering this quarter.” He glanced at his watch, pursed his lips, and downed the last of his beer. “And now, boy, I have to go. Think it over and let me know.”

He grabbed a handful of my ass and squeezed, sighed contentedly, and was gone.

I am so nervous right now. My fingers can barely type. I went home, kinda relaxed a bit, and looked at his card. I mean, I’ve modeled before (when I weighed way less), but it was always a private thing; pictures of my ass weren’t going to get sold to people! Still…it is for a good cause…

I started to send him four different texts that I deleted, and then I finally sent him the fifth one. He just responded: “Great. See you tomorrow at 9:00.” He gave me an address.

If the bartender hadn’t said M was good people, I’d definitely have chickened out, but…I think I’m gonna do this. I’ll let my roommate know that I’m going out tomorrow and to come looking for me if I’m not home before night.