“Yes, Ma’am.” I’d call her “Ma’am” even if I knew her name, but I don’t.
“How old are you, slave?” she asks, then pinches one of my cheeks. “You look like such a baby—young enough to be my son.” She twists my head upward so I’m staring into her piercing gaze.
I tell her, eliciting a chuckle. “Ah, exactly half my age—very good, very good,” she says, as if to herself. “When I was your age, I’d have been down on the ground swallowing that pretty cock of yours, but I’ve wised up in my later years. I know there are better things to do with dicks like that than merely sucking them.” Said cock is now leaking a more than minimal stream of fluid, brought on by the image of this elegant rich woman doing anything on her knees, followed by curiosity about what she has in store.
She slips a hand into her pocket and pulls out a small silver bell, letting it ring through the air.
“Everyone, this is Chris.” I haven’t told her my name, so Mistress Karen must have. “He’s mine—well, on loan from Mistress Karen. And look how excited he is to be here!” She points to my cock, then lightly traces that same nail along it until she reaches the dripping tip.
“You’re wet for me, aren’t you, Chris? I wonder where else you’re wet…” she says suggestively. My ass clenches instinctively. I know what she wants to do to me, and as much as I’ve thought I was ready for anything, I thought wrong.
“My mouth?” I say, hoping to get a laugh out of her.
“Funny boy, are you?” she says, and proceeds to ring the little bell right up against my lips, making them tingle. Her fingers wrap around my cock, stroking it absentmindedly, lazily, like her mind is elsewhere. “Why don’t you turn around, slave Chris?” she says. She’s combined the word Mistress Karen calls me, “slave,” with my name, making me truly her own. My mistress only ever calls me “slave,” telling me I haven’t yet earned the chance to be called by my name.
“Do we need to blindfold you, or can you keep those pretty eyes shut?” she asks me. She has a way of saying “pretty” that makes it sound like an insult.
“I can keep them shut, Ma’am,” I say.
“‘Mistress Yvonne’ will do just fine,” she says, and I shut my eyes. Sinking into the darkness is actually a welcome relief. It sharpens my hearing, makes me hyperaware of all around me. Like the click of heels approaching. Like the two sets of hands spreading my asscheeks. Like the implement, a paddle, perhaps, that strikes my butt firmly. I think I hear Mistress Karen talking, but she’s far away, her voice more of a faint echo. Then I feel nails digging into my ass, swats hitting my cheeks and the backs of my thighs, then teeth biting into the soft flesh of my ass.
“He’s so good and quiet,” someone says approvingly. I smile softly to myself, my forehead against the wall, my arms starting to ache slightly, but my dick still absolutely hard. Then I feel the lube slowly gliding along my crack. “Get a photo!” someone says excitedly, and even with my eyes closed, I sense a powerful flash going off. I briefly wonder whether I’m recognizable, then realize I don’t care. Three, maybe four or even five women are touching me, hands stroking, slapping, sliding along my skin. Then something else is there, knocking against my hole like it really is a back door. It’s a dildo, and a big one. I’ve had butt plugs in my ass before, sure; I mean, what guy hasn’t, submissive or not? It just plain feels good.
But this is bigger, more like a dick than a toy. It doesn’t go in as smoothly or simply as my favorite plug, the hot-pink one Mistress Karen makes me wear, then admire in the mirror. No, this is an altogether different animal. “You can do it, Chrissy,” says the voice I recognize as Mistress Yvonne’s. She whispers into my ear and runs her strong fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp, soothing me even as she presses against the back of my neck. I shudder as she says, “All I want to do is fuck you, baby. You’ll like it, too, I promise. Here, let me show you how wet that ass of yours is making me.” Then she’s giving me her wet, musky fingers to taste, and I long to crumple to the ground, get on all fours so I can get fucked properly. But Mistress Yvonne doesn’t want that, so I don’t. Instead I send my butt back slightly, focus on opening myself to the dildo, and soon a mystery woman is pushing it slowly in and out of me, fucking me like, well, a girl. That’s the only analogy I can think of, as I remember the first time I fucked my first girlfriend, Mandy, in the ass. There was a sense of awe and power and amazement, and I wonder if that’s what Mistress Yvonne feels.
I hope it’s what my mistress-of-the-night feels. I hope I’m doing a better job of being these women’s man-candy than any other slave would have done. I hope I’m giving them a good show, that my ass is not just taking the cock, but looking sexy doing so. And then I’m not hoping or thinking or wishing anymore. I’m just feeling, because Mistress Yvonne in her latex dress has slithered between me and the wall. She’s breaking the previous proper attitude by kissing me and reaching around to grab my buttcheeks while other women fuck and slap and pinch me. I kiss her back, fully, my tongue mingling intimately with hers.
“Too bad you can’t come until you leave here,” she says, almost wistfully. “I’d do this,” she says, letting her hand again stroke me, but more firmly this time, “and tease you, easing off when you were getting closer, then working you up again. But Mistress Karen had one rule, and that was that you couldn’t come in the presence of so many women. I’ll have to do it for you,” she says, and I hear her fingers slipping between her legs, slithering along her sex, making herself wetter and wetter. We stop kissing, and I just feel her quickened breaths landing on my neck, my chin, my cheek, while her friends continue to fuck me. I want to enjoy it, and indeed I do, but not as much since I know I can’t come. I have to hold back just enough to remind me that I’m their exhibit, their plaything, not the other way around. After what could have been ten minutes, I feel Mistress Yvonne slump against me. She again places her fingers in my mouth, and I feel her reach up to untie my wrists, before she moves one of my hands gently along her cunt. I know she just wants me to gently, gracefully feel her wetness, rather than fuck her myself. That’s another thing we’re apparently saving for Mistress Karen.
“Take it out,” Mistress Yvonne says, emerging from between me and the wall. “Let’s get a photo of that ass again,” she says. Someone snaps another photo, then I’m beckoned to turn around and open my eyes. When I do, Mistress Karen is staring at me with something between a glare and a grin. It’s a look she’s managed to perfect, one I equally welcome and try to avoid. I know better than to ask, “What?” even though it’s the question I most need the answer to.
Whatever I’ve done wrong, I’ll find out once we leave. Then she fishes out the collar and chain she purchased especially for me. I know, because I went with her to the store and we waited while they engraved it. Right now it only says SLAVE, but someday—she teases me with the promise—it could say SLAVE CHRIS. She leads me around the room to thank the women who’ve enjoyed my body tonight, and lets me bend and kiss the tops of Mistress Yvonne’s feet. Whatever misdeed I’ve committed tonight, Mistress Karen is sure to let me know, in actions if not words. And like a good slave, sub, bottom (I answer to all of these), I’m ready for whatever she doles out.
A DIFFERENT KIND OF REALITY SHOW
D. L. King
The contract was for a week. I’d have everything I needed to live—everything but the physical presence of others. The ad in Soul-Bound had suggested thinking about the service period like a kinky reality show; it would, after all, be televised for an exclusive paying audience. Pay-per-view kink, yeah, I’d been there before—a lot—but, never as the star of the show.
It got me thinking and kept me thinking for days; I couldn’t pass it up. I’m sure I wasn’t the first to feel that way and probably wouldn’t be the last. They were going to pay me very well for a week spent in confinement. It would be a week spent alone in a posh condo, naked, submitting to the voice commands of an exclusive audience of women. I would be on camera and on call twenty-fou
r hours a day for seven days.
I’m kind of an exhibitionist at heart. I like being naked and I don’t mind being watched. My dick isn’t bad; at least I’ve never had any complaints. I think it’s pretty nice when it’s up and ready for action—like I said, no complaints.
I sent in my application with the required photos and waited. About five months later, an envelope came from Soul-Bound. I had to think for a second: who the hell was Soul-Bound? I was about to throw it in the recycle bin when it hit me—starring in pay-per-view kink! I’d all but forgotten about it.
They wanted me. Cool. Of course they did. Why wouldn’t they?
I took a week’s vacation from work and on a Saturday night, drove across the Verrazano to an industrial-looking building in Midtown with its own underground garage. The elevator opened onto a reception desk on the fifth floor. The guy manning the desk asked for my ID, and after scrutinizing it, announced my presence to someone at the other end of a phone line.
“Okay, follow me,” he said after hanging up the phone. “You ever done any professional work before?”
“Well, yeah, I’m a CPA at a firm in Jersey.”
“No man, porn work. You know, sex work. You done any sex work before this?”
“Oh, I see. Porn. Yeah, well, yeah. I mean no. I mean—porn?”
“Yeah buddy; porn. Waddya think? I mean, you’re gonna be naked, on camera, for a week. Waddya think it is? But hey, if you got a problem, you gotta let me know now. No one’s gonna let you outta there unless you’re sick or somethin’ once you go in, ya know? So? You still wanna do this?”
“Well, um, yeah—I guess. I mean, yeah, sure. Why not?”
“All right then. Everything’s on this floor. We got the whole loft. Inside, it’s nice. You got everything you need. There’s food and stuff to read and tapes ’n’ stuff to watch. You don’t get TV, but there’s DVDs and stuff. All you gotta do is what the ladies tell you to.
“Nobody’s gonna come in and you can’t come out until your time’s up or they kick you out. You signed a contract that said you’d do what you were told and that’s all you gotta do. If nobody’s tellin’ you to do anything, you can do what you want, but when somebody tells you to do something, you gotta drop whatever you’re doing and do it. Get me?”
“Yes, I know.” The guy was getting on my nerves. Or maybe the whole thing was beginning to get on my nerves.
“Now look, and this is important, you gotta do everything they say or at least try to do it. If you don’t do something or you refuse, you don’t get paid, see. You understand?”
“Yeah, okay.” He stared at me like I wasn’t getting it. I was getting it.
“All right, so, there are cameras everywhere in the loft. There’s no place you won’t be on camera, okay?”
I nodded. We were standing in front of a door, in a hallway behind the reception desk.
“All right. You can take off your clothes and everything here.” He handed me a locker key and said I should put all my belongings in the locker and take the key inside the living space with me. He said I could put it in a bowl by the door, that way, I wouldn’t lose it.
“Cause you lose your key, you’re gonna be the one who has to pay to get the lock cut off.”
“Yeah, okay.” I very quickly got out of my clothes and folded them up in the locker. I just wanted to get inside.
“You gotta take off all the jewelry and the watch too.”
“Yeah, all right.” Finally I stood in front of the door, completely naked and a little chilled, key in hand. There seemed to be a draft. I hadn’t thought about it before but some of these old buildings, well, you had to expect it. I really hoped I wouldn’t freeze to death for an entire week.
He unlocked the door. “Okay pal, have a good one,” he said, and in I walked.
I heard the door close and the lock slide home behind me but I was too concerned with what was in front of me to pay much attention. There was no draft. There weren’t any windows. Everything was white. I detected a light scent of lavender in the air as my feet sunk into the thick carpet. A white velvet couch faced a huge plasma screen on the opposite wall. In front of the couch was a large white plastic low table, one of those really expensive ones you see in magazines. Below the TV was a table with a white DVD player and two shelves of white-sleeved DVDs. There were small white speakers on stands at each corner of the room.
If I continued in a straight line from the door, I came to a white dining table with one straight-backed chair and then the kitchen. The kitchen was no different; white counter and sinks, white appliances, white dinnerware but stainless silverware and pots and pans. The glasses were a frosted white. I wondered if the food would somehow be white too.
The bedroom, off the living room, held a king-sized bed with a white anodized barred head and footboard. The bathroom had a white tile floor and mirrors covering the walls opposite the sink, shower, toilet and tub. Back in the bedroom, I noticed a nightstand by the bed with a shelf of white-covered books.
Walking back into the bathroom I lifted the seat and began a much-needed piss. It was slightly weird, gazing at myself in the floor-to-ceiling-mirror behind the toilet.
“Don’t make a mess, boy. You’ll have to clean it up with your tongue. No one likes a messy boy, do they?”
I stopped in midstream and looked around, my hands automatically going up to cover my cock and balls. I heard a chorus of female voices commenting on messy guys and then the first voice said, “What do you think you’re doing? Take those hands away!”
I removed my hands and said, “Sorry, Ma’am.”
“Pretty shouldn’t speak unless he’s asked a direct question. But he is very pretty, isn’t he?”
“Prettier than his pictures, I’d say.”
“Finish going to the bathroom, boy.”
I was frozen in place with one hand holding my cock, looking around the room for the cameras, but I couldn’t find them.
“What’s the matter, Pretty? Don’t like an audience? We’ll be quiet. Just pretend we’re not here.” There was some quiet snickering and whispering and then nothing but the occasional quiet cough.
This was what I was getting paid for, I guessed. I had never truly thought about what “on camera 24/7” really meant. But I had to go and so I went. As I was washing my hands, the first voice spoke again.
“Hurry it up boy. It’s time to learn the rules. Go back to the living room and take a seat in the middle of the sofa.”
Once I was back in the living room, she continued. “Spread those legs. Whenever you sit, your legs are to be spread as wide as possible. Better. You’ll do what we tell you. Whatever we tell you, or you’ll be forced to leave without pay.”
I have to say, I was beginning to feel like I might not have made such a good decision. She talked about how any of the women, at any time, could give me a command and I’d have to execute it. And if they told me to stop, I’d better stop whatever I was doing.
She said there were lots of toys in the apartment, which they might direct me to play with. She said there were magnetic restraints which, once I’d put them on, only she and her friends had the power to remove. She also said I would have plenty of free time to do anything I wanted. There were movies to watch and books to read.
“Any questions, Pretty?” I could hear in her voice this was my new nickname, capital letter included.
I thought of about a million things to ask, but simply said, “No, Ma’am.”
“That’s fine then. Masturbate for us.”
And that was my introduction to the house. Of course, I didn’t mind jacking off to the cameras, I enjoyed it, being the exhibitionist I am. It was when I got close to coming that the point of their control was driven home.
“Stop.”
I didn’t stop right away.
“I said, ‘Stop!’ If you come, you’re out of here right now. It would be a shame to get kicked out less than an hour after arrival.”
I stopped, right hand still wr
apped around my shaft, which stood hard and straight.
“You’ll get used to it. Now, on the dining table you’ll find a set of wrist and ankle cuffs. Put them on.”
I found them. Fitting with the theme, they were white leather. I couldn’t see how to fasten them on because there didn’t seem to be any buckles or locks.
“Just wrap it around your wrist.”
I did as I was told and felt the ends come together with a strong magnetic pull. I gave it a yank but it refused to budge.
“Magnetic restraints. I told you.”
When I had them all fastened, another voice told me to go pick out a movie and put it in the DVD player. My hard-on hadn’t subsided yet and the cuffs were adding to my arousal. I don’t know what it is about cuffs, but you feel somehow more naked when you’re wearing them, or at least, I do.
The movies didn’t have any titles or cover pictures but each was numbered. Which should I choose? I opened a box and found a white DVD with a number corresponding to the box cover.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, just put in number twenty-three.”
“I suppose we’re going to have to tell him everything.”
“So many pretty boys are indecisive.”
“It’s all right, Pretty, we didn’t choose you for your brains.”
“Oh look, now you’ve gone and hurt his feelings!”
“She didn’t mean it, Pretty. We’re all sure you’re very smart, aren’t we, ladies?”
I turned beet red to choruses of, “Yes, yes,” “Sure,” and, “Of course we do,” while I put the requested DVD in. They had me go back to the couch and sit down again. This time I remembered to sit with my legs apart. As the opening credits flashed, they told me to put my hands behind my back and as soon as I did, I felt my wrists snap together in magnetic restraint.
It was a porn movie. It figured. It was okay, but it really didn’t do that much for me. It had mostly attractive women with fake boobs swimming together nude. Then some guys came over and fucked ’em in a few different ways. Pretty standard fare, really. So I leaned back and watched while my cock wilted. They freed my hands and had me change the movie a few times. I guess they were trying to get to know me, or at least my taste in porn.
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