by Danny Tyran
“Get up, Max, and call your parents,” a harsh voice ordered. He was back.
“No,” I answered while I sat up and rubbed my eyes.
“For you, it will be: ‘No, Sir’ or better, ‘Yes, Master.’”
We were alone. I smiled, showing all my teeth and said, “Yes, Master.”
I’d be lying if I said I knew what I was getting into. But I obeyed. I called my parents and said I was with friends. I acknowledged that I should have called them earlier and apologized for having worried them.
Then I returned to the gym. I couldn’t find him at first because he was taking a shower. Without uttering a word, I watched him wash. He had a sculptured body adorned by relief patterns. I couldn’t see what they represented. He spoke, but didn’t look around. “Have your breakfast and attend your classes. At four o’clock, come back to the gym.”
“Yes, Master,” I replied.
When I walked into the cafeteria, I was the happiest seventeen-year-old who ever existed. At four o’clock, I joined him in the gym as expected. He was finishing tidying up the mess. I helped. We didn’t say a word the whole time. After donning a milk-chocolate-colored leather jacket, he gave me an order, “Follow me.”
I would have gone to the end of the world with him. I made a special effort to walk three steps behind, no more, no less. He ordered me to follow him, so I did.
The weather was superb, far too hot for September. I got in his car: a red convertible Jaguar with a black roof. At the time, I wondered how he could own such a wonderful car. Too expensive for a high school teacher.
We drove to the outskirts of the forest. He parked the car, got out and ordered me to do so. We walked for some time along a path overgrown with grass. He finally stopped so abruptly that I almost knocked him down. Without looking at me, he ordered, “Undress completely.”
I hesitated a moment, just one, then I obeyed. One does not disobey one’s god.
“You see the tree over there.” He pointed to a beautiful giant willow, probably over a hundred years old, standing at the top of a hill.
“Yes, Master.”
“You have ten minutes to get there and back ten times. I’ll time you. If you fail, you forget me. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Go!”
I ran. The tree wasn’t far away. The goal seemed feasible. But... I had forgotten that I was dealing with the devil. The fairly steep slope was rough, uneven and completely covered with raspberry, wild roses, brambles and burrs. It had rained the night before, and the ground was muddy, slippery and overlaid with sharp, loose stones. Hell!
I charged, trying not to think of my body covered with scratches and lacerations, which began to bleed. I tried to forget my bare feet that were being flayed by the thorns and sharp stones.
Several times, I slipped because I didn’t attempt to slow my descent and accelerated my returns, even though this skinned my buttocks, thighs and whole back. I wanted to succeed despite my pain which grew ever greater, while my breath grew even shorter.
After ten circuits, I stopped two paces from him, trying to catch my breath. My body looked like the work of a mad painter who had striped his canvas with furious brush strokes. Sweat stung my wounds and blinded me.
Without saying anything, he showed me his watch. Eleven minutes fifty-nine seconds. I wanted to scream. Then I calmed down, wiped my eyes and looked again. Nine minutes fifty-nine. I don’t know how I had succeeded, but I laughed, threw my arms around his neck and kissed him. He was mine. Mine!
I got dressed and we went back to his car. I was ecstatic. I had defeated Satan. It was my idea of heaven. I didn’t know at that time that I had just won a ticket to hell.
I couldn’t calm down. He drove me home where I slept like an angel. But the following night, I started dreaming about him again. These dreams were troubled, halfway between heaven and hell.
The second night after my ordeal in the forest, I dreamed that there was a war. I was a prisoner and someone was torturing me. When I saw him arrive, dressed in the uniform of an Allied Forces officer, I thought I was saved. But he was a traitor, working for the enemy. He had been called to continue my interrogation. When I woke up, my sheets were wet with sweat as much as with cum.
The following nights were worse. I started to understand that I didn’t know anything about this man. Perhaps I should have considered his warning on the first day. Maybe he really was the devil. But in the morning, once out of my wet sheets, I felt fresh as dew. I was happy, happier than ever.
Chapter 3
During the next gym lesson, just about everybody in the class began to wonder how I had wounded myself that badly. In my other classes, I had worn pants and sweaters or shirts, always long-sleeved. Thus they hadn’t noticed anything. Now my shorts and my T-shirt revealed my wounds.
“It’s nothing,” I explained. “I just stumbled down a slope in the forest.”
I tried to stick as much as possible to the truth and avoided looking at our teacher, who asked us to perform the same stretching and warming exercises as usual. After that, he began to question us about our major challenges and what we saw as our insurmountable obstacles.
“I don’t know,” I replied when it came to my turn. “I don’t think I am afraid of anything. I have yet to meet an indestructible or insurmountable wall.”
He laughed like only the devil could laugh. His laughter was beautiful. It threw his head back. We all had to laugh with him, even if at ourselves.
“Try me,” I added.
The lesson proceeded as usual, exercise after exercise. But, contrary to what had become my habit, I did everything I could to outshine everyone. And succeeded.
At the end of the class, he asked me to stay and help him store equipment and tidy the gym. After we cleaned up everything, he ordered me to follow him again. This time, we went to his place. It was a kind of mansion on the outskirts of the village. His land included a stable, big swimming pool and a wooded area leading to the nearby forest. There was even a small pond where, in summer, ducks would probably swim. Too beautiful, too grand for a high school teacher, I told myself. The fear came back, a little more intense.
I joined him inside and we went into the living room. The decoration was masculine, but again, everything suggested wealth.
The day was cold and wet, so he lit a fire in the fireplace. After the blaze took hold, he put on some music: Tom Waits sang “I hope I do not fall in love with you.” I immediately loved this hoarse, flayed voice. Furnished with a large sofa and two armchairs streaked with fawn, copper and black colors, the living room was brightly lit by large windows which let in the autumnal white light.
I waited for his instructions. The smell of burning wood and smoke filled the room. I felt good. He sat in a chair and told me to come closer. When I was in front of him, he ordered, “Take off your clothes. Slowly. Give me time to taste you.”
“I’m not a piece of meat,” I flung out.
“Yes, you are. You’re now whatever I want you to be. Nothing else. You do what I command as best as you can. It’s that or nothing. Choose.”
I chose. Without really taking time to ponder, I followed his instructions. Thinking might take me away from him. I was nervous when I started to remove my jacket. I tried to match my movements to the rhythm of the music, making them as graceful as those of a ballet dancer. Fortunately for me, the pace was slow, almost languid. But I was not accustomed to undressing for the sake of someone else. I realized, in the process, that I was trying to do my first striptease.
When I found myself stark naked, he didn’t applaud, he didn’t give me a twenty-dollar bill. He just commented on my performance.
“Not too bad for a first effort. But you should have turned around and let me see your back, so I could have admired your pretty ass. You will do better next time.”
“Yes, Master.” I loved the sound of those two words. Together, they were sweet music to my ears. I wanted to repeat them again and again until the
end of my life, until the end of time.
“Sit down.”
I started to sit on his couch. He stopped me with a hand signal.
“No. Slaves never use my furniture unless authorized to do so.”
“Slaves?”
“Slaves,” he repeated, looking me straight in the eye.
I smiled. Yes. No doubt, he was right. No other word was more appropriate to represent what I was than this one: slave. He was my master; I existed only to serve him. I gave myself to him. From now on, I would exist only for him. I sat at his feet. The daylight illuminated us. I bent and put a kiss on each of his feet. Then I sat up to admire him.
“You must expect nothing for yourself,” he said sternly. “You have to live only for me, by thinking only of my well-being and my happiness.”
“Yes, Sir.” I sighed out of relief and satisfaction.
I shuffled closer and rested my head on his lap. He stroked my hair. At that moment, I think he could have pointed a loaded gun to my head, and I would not have moved. I was where I needed to be, in my rightful place. Nothing bad could happen to me now.
I immersed myself in the majesty of the day, the smell and warmth of his home, and in the majesty, smell and warmth of my master. I cried with happiness. It was as if, after a long and terrible journey, I had finally arrived at my destination, my home.
As my sobs receded, he gently pushed me away and ordered me to tell my parents that I would be home late. I obeyed and lied again. When I returned to sit as his feet, he asked me to make him a promise.
“Max, whatever happens, you must promise that you will never lie nor hide something important from me. Whatever the question that I ask you, the nature of what I want you to tell me, and regardless of what it may cost you to tell me the truth, you must never tell me anything false nor cheat me.”
“I promise, Master.”
“On what do you swear?”
I thought about my response for a moment. I hesitated to answer ‘on my life’; it seemed too melodramatic and perhaps dangerous. Not long ago, I thought I was ready to die for him, but if I had, for the moment, no intention to lie or to hide anything from him, I could not know what the future would hold. I preferred not to provoke my destiny.
“On all that is dear or matters to me,” I eventually answered.
He grinned one of his ferocious smiles. “Is your life dear to you? Does it matter to you?”
I got gooseflesh. Was telepathy one of his gifts?
He gave me a pat on the head, laughing at my amazement. “If only you knew how your reactions are familiar to me, Max. Nothing you did surprised me.”
He then asked me to tell him about my life. I told him what you already know and more. Afterward, he ordered me to get dressed and he drove me back home. Before stepping out of the car, I thanked him for everything. He just looked at me in his unique way, part infinite kindness, part cruel intensity. Then he left.
After getting undressed to go to bed, I looked in the mirror and examined the streaks left by my master’s test. They were his trademark, the visible signs of my subjection, of my belonging to my lord. My master had written a poem on my skin, an ode to my unconditional submission and his absolute ownership.
I rubbed my palm over scratches that were still a bit swollen. It was sad to think that they would all soon disappear. I wanted to see his name engraved in my flesh as a perpetual seal. But perhaps one day it would be. One thing at a time. I needed to learn to wait for the willingness of my master.
That night, I dreamed that someone was burying me alive. I screamed and screamed, begging my master to come to my aid. He smiled before throwing a new shovelful of earth on me. In the morning, I only had a distant memory about this nightmare. But it was to come back to me in all its entirety and all its horror thereafter.
Chapter 4
We had lessons with James Teka twice a week: Tuesday morning and late afternoon on Thursday. In the morning, we played team sports inside or outside, depending on the weather. We devoted the afternoons to training, usually on equipment, or participating in games involving skill.
Our teacher tested our reflexes, coordination, physical strength, but also our attitude and helpfulness, sometimes asking us to stop in the middle of an enjoyable exercise in which we excelled to help him perform simple tasks, often boring, which could have waited.
One day, he asked Robert, one of my fellow students, to clean a training device.
“I’m not the housekeeper or the caretaker,” Robert replied.
The teacher then made him perform the exercise he found the most difficult and hated: climbing a knotted rope. Robert was quite awkward and performed best in exercises requiring strength, than in those requiring flexibility or skill.
He had to climb again and again, while we executed a variety of routines. When Robert began to show serious signs of fatigue, our teacher allowed him to stop the rope exercise and asked him to help carry out more small annoying tasks. As he did not ask him again to wash the device, Robert saved face. But he did have to stay back after school.
I left with the others, so I didn’t see or hear what happened to him, but at the beginning of the next sport’s lesson, our teacher asked Robert to clean many devices that seemed spotless. He agreed at once.
When I was sitting in my master’s car later that evening, I asked him what happened.
“None of your business, Max. From now on, you do not address me without permission.”
He explained many things while we drove. He said that he was going to begin my slave training, and that I could rely on him to understand what difficulties this training could entail.
“I’ve experienced everything you will go through with me and what you will undergo later. I had several good masters and one very bad.”
“What?!” I couldn’t prevent the exclamation escaping. I couldn’t imagine him bowing to the wishes and whims of someone else, man or woman.
He hit me on the thigh. Hard.
“Silence, slave!” he scolded. “Do not speak. Not a word, not a sound, without my permission.”
I nodded my head in agreement. The thigh he had struck was hot, reddened and itchy. But so was my cock.
He continued speaking. “I would not venture to own and train slaves if I didn’t know exactly what slavery means to them. Some do, but few successfully. The best masters have been slaves.”
My head was spinning. He spoke as if he knew a lot of people who were either slaves or masters, or who had been both. And he said ‘to own slaves.’ Did that mean that currently I wasn’t the only one, or had he owned other slaves in the past?
As soon as we arrived at his house, I went to the phone to call my parents.
He stopped me. “Until further notice, the first thing you do when you come inside is undress. Completely. You do not have to do a strip-tease, unless I ask.”
I blushed, remembering my last visit.
“You can store your stuff in the closet. Now, strip.”
He stared at me as I started to undress. I tried to make my movements graceful. When I glanced up at him, he rewarded me with one of his little mocking smiles. My face was burning again. I wasn’t sure if he noticed my blushing because he immediately went to light a fire in his fireplace. When I finished putting my clothes in the closet, I joined him.
“This time, you may call your parents from here. But, in future, tell them that you’ll be coming home late on Thursdays, and you won’t be there for dinner. Also tell them that you will be spending your Saturdays elsewhere. Make your call now.”
My mother answered. She was more inquisitive than the last time. She wanted to know where I was. For some reason, I said, “at Robert’s.” That made my master laugh. My mother asked me who Robert was. I told her that he was a guy in my class who was good at mathematics, and I was going to study with him.
When I hung up, my master smiled and said, “Robert, huh?”
He laughed again, and even though I smiled, I felt that I was blushing agai
n. He couldn’t miss my red cheeks this time, nor my hard-on.
“By the way, about homework, if you have some to hand in on Fridays and you only have Thursdays to do them, I authorize you to tell me in the car while coming here. I’ll give you enough time to complete your work, and I’ll even help if necessary. You may also talk to answer my questions, but do it concisely. Understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Once naked, stand in front of my armchair, legs shoulder width apart. Clasp one of your wrists behind your back with your other hand. Do it.”
While he finished lighting the fire, I approached the vacant armchair and assumed the designated position. I felt stupid waiting like that in front of an empty chair. He must have been making sure the fire took hold because he remained there for some time. I couldn’t see what he was doing, as I had my back to him.
I could tell from the heat that the fire was burning well. Yet I heard nothing but the crackling of the burning wood. Maybe he was admiring my buttocks, still marked with fading stripes. I began to turn around.
“Face the chair and stand still. You have to learn patience and discipline. When I give an order, you will comply. If you disobey me, I will punish you severely. Is that clear?”
I swallowed my too abundant saliva before answering. “Yes, Master. Sorry.”
“Very well. We’ll see if you’re really sorry. I’ve been thinking about all this. As you’re only seventeen, you’re still a minor, so I can’t ask you to come and live here for your training; your parents would object. And because of your age, there’s a part of your training I won’t be able to achieve.”
“But...” I started without thinking, fear of not being able to see him again, either here or anywhere outside of school, filling my mind.
“Place your head on the ground, legs apart, hands at your nape.”
I followed his instructions. The position was particularly humiliating. He left me waiting a moment. My ass in the air contracting and relaxing, my hole opening and closing nervously. Then he approached.
“When I command you to ‘present your ass’ or just ‘present,’ this is the position you will adopt immediately. Whichever position I ask you to take while waiting, whether standing, kneeling, squatting, sitting, lying down or bottom up like now, you must always spread your legs so that I always have easy access to every part of your body.”