How We Met

****************************************** How We Met Part 4 - 'Excitement' ****************************************** contact sharper@inorbit.com ******************************************

I'm reluctant, in fact, to carry on with this story.

On Monday morning I rushed home and changed into my suit stopping only to examine my 'new' body before I had to rush out again. Fuck, I looked horney. The restraint just allowed me to touch the firey underside of my dickhead. Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeez... but I couldn't come. I mustn't come. The excitement was such that I could have wanked and wanked and wanked and wanked and wanked and wanked and still have juice to spare for the night, when I knew I would be seeing him again. I had to wait.

I turned round and strained to see the red welts on my back and - christ - the thick black and blue of my ass. Some ridges bubbled with a slight line of blood. And there on the backs of my legs, the red lace criss-cross of the crop and cat. Wow.

He had thought of almost everything. Beaten me almost everywhere. Suffered me every humiliation.

Pride of place in my admiration went to the shiny chain which ran from a ring round my cock and scrotum, up the centre of my chest and round my neck to a gorgeous little brass lock, centred between my collar bones. This was to replace my collar while I was out. No one could see it, but I knew it was there. And next to my left tit there was the burn.

As I walked to work that first Monday - after a whole weekend abused - my heart was beating and my prik was hard. So hard. I knew I had to soften it down or I would have to cum.. and I couldn't do that. The thought... I wanted to touch it. I felt it move in my clothes as I walked and once or twice put my hand in my pocket to caress it. No one could see - I was wearing a suit and had a bag I could hold in front it things got too out of control.

In addition to this stimulation there was my hole, which felt comfortable, happy and good after all the attention it had had. And there were red patches and welts brushing my trouser legs and shirt - pleasantly warm and sore. And there was the burn always present, always pulsing some new pain into me.

• I've got what I deserve - I thought to myself as I walked along - At long last I have got what I deserve!

I was hyper as I walked along in this heightened eroticised state. The sunshine was bright, shining in my eyes as I tried to examine the crowds of office types coming towards me and flowing around me in the street. Everyone looked horney. I could have had sex with anyone (any of the men). Everyone was looking at me. Everyone was looking at me and I was looking at everyone, eyeing their packets, watching their bodies move, trying to catch them glancing in my direction. Fabric is an amazing thing, isn't it? Hiding and revealing. Hanging and stretching. How they walked: clomping like horses or taking mincey little steps. I imagined each of them in my scenario. How would he behave? Top or bottom? Would he hit me? Would he be any good? "I like them Toppy," I thought. Not those silly ineffectual vanilla boys groping around in their beds. Blonds can be cruel because they fancy themselves and they never get as good a deal from life as they expected. Deep down they are angry. I imagined them being cruel. "I can take it," I thought. Or the dark haired ones with their rough faces kissing me raw - hungry for someone like me: submissive, obedient and eager to please.

The blood was racing in my ears. I could hear it. I could hear each blood cell careering along, bustling and bumping and throwing itself forward past the drums.

Here was a traffic stop. I had to be careful. The burn throbbed again to me ever so slightly. I had to look both ways. Who was this one? An older guy in a suit. Short silver hair. Briefcase. What was in it? Put me over your knee and Spank! I could come to your office, strip off, dive under your desk, suck your dick and lick your balls and probe your hole and caress you belly with my nose. You making phone calls, one hand stroking my hair. Would you like that? You would like that? Because I'm good. I'm very good. I have a burn.

I knew I was good.

He had told me I was good. And from the moment he presented his dark hairy ass to my face for licking I knew I was very very good.

The smell of his unclean hole made me breath in deeply to the furthest parts of my lungs. I shut my eyes and leaned forward as far as I could go, burying my face in his ass cheeks, the rough black fuzzz pushed tight against my eyelids. I forced my tongue out as far as I could and searched deeply in his crack, certain he would be pleased by my enthusiasm. I tried to taste his shit inside. Where was it? There. I poked my tongue in ahead of me like a miner shining his torch into the coal face. I was doing well. He took his hands and pulled his cheeks further apart to let me further in, pushing against me so that the back of my head hit the cabinet door. I could hardly breath but the smell of him was fantastic. I pushed him away with my forehead to gulp some air and he reacted by pushing back even harder with his body. I was caught and forced to feed more and more deeply into him. I opened my mouth wide - like I could take a big bite

• I was born for this, I thought to myself, opening my eyes and seeing his big hairy back stretching away above me.

He started to breath more deeply and wank himself.

• Yeh that's good... you're good, you're very good, boy.

I felt his hole relax and get slightly bigger.

I was pleased. I wanted to thank him and show him by licking his feet but decided not to stop performing my best trick. He started to wriggle and rub his hole all over my face.

• You're very good. Lick me out. Lick me right out there. Ohh yeh...

He arched his back and stuck his arse out, full in my face.

• Lick your tongue all around and inside me, boy, like you can... PUSH

He thumped his ass against my face, forcing my tongue as deeply into him as it would go. I could taste the inside of him. I wanted to please him so much but then he changed... He took his ass out of my face and marched off to another room. I was left alone again wondering what he was up to. He came back with a cigarette in his hand, squatted down to look me in the face, which he examined for some time. I didn't say anything, just looked at him. I was completely adoring him.

He took the cigarette and twiddled it in his fingers, vaguely directed it towards one of my tits. The smoke drifted up towards my face.

• Like poppers?

• Yes Sir.

I stuttered.

• Yes Sir-rPlease Sir, Thank you Sir.

He smiled slightly.

• You are going to need some real training.

• Yes Sir.

• I mean some 'real' training... I can't afford to have you go getting it wrong.

• No Sir.

I was conscious of the cigarette. So was he.

• 'No Sir'... No Sir. You like this cigarette? You like this cigarette... here?

It went towards my tit and I felt it. I groaned slightly.

• You like it, son. That's good boy. Now - he stood up, his cock hard and swinging about - that contract...

Jesus, a contract? But we've only just met! Am I supposed to move in right away and take up residency in some cage at the bottom of his bed? Eating dog food for the rest of my life? Well it's a marvellous idea, but so impractical. And even if I could do it, and wanted to do it, and didn't care about the rest of my life.... even then, surely I need to think about it. I couldn't be forced to give him everything could I, just because he decided it would be so. We had only just met... Who was he? Did have enough money to support me in crops and dog-bowls? Did he promise to control and protect me forever? What if he died? I'd be found sniffing around his corpse weeks later, thin and starved and looking desolately loyal.... confused and unhappy. I should say 'Let me think about it please Sir, I'll give you a call... or I'll come back tomorrow to tell you.' But that was no way to go about it. I couldn't start making demands and preconditions. He'd want me to obey him and trust him and not question him - that was sure to be article one on the list of terms of contract. Certain to be.

• There.

He signed a piece of paper, or appeared to.

• You have agreed to this.

I was spellbound.

• If you break this contract you will be punished. It won't be nice.

• Sir.

• Now I am going to take those cuffs off. Its time you did some real work.

I was reluctant to feel the dull ache in my arms when they were released. Inside my head I was begging him: Hurt me Please Sir, Hurt me. I kept my head pointing towards his feet unless he manually forced it up to look at him or push my face into his groin or onto his dick. He did this now and I feasted on the thick bulging rod. Wow. What a marvellous instrument! He was really well hung and it had a marvellous shape. And it was dirty, like cheesey and sweaty and all him. I felt honoured and so proud to be allowed to have it in my mouth. It's amazing that men allow you to do this... well, not so amazing. Just amazing. I did my best to please him - so much so I took it too deep and almost choked. He pulled me off, coughing and spluttering, embarrassed and with tears in my eyes.

He slapped my face.

• Don't try too hard, slave. You were doing well enough.

• Yes Sir. Sorry Sir, Thank you Sir.

I felt grateful.

• Good. Now about that contract. On your knees, boy, follow.

He walked off to the adjoining lounge-dining room, and I chased after him as closely as I could on my hands and knees. You know what it's like. Everyone has tried to walk on hands and knees at some point, even if only as part of a childhood game. It's difficult. Painful on the knees at speed and, christ, so humiliating. Trying to keep up. I felt stupid. It was magnificent.

• Squat there.

I squatted, balanced on my toes, which isn't a very relaxing pose for me.

He sat on a comfortable chair and looked at his piece of paper, smoking his cigarette plus nursing a drink, sitting and smoking and staring at the piece of paper, occasionally looking up at me and sometimes he would smile - or rather, smirk - at me. I squatted awkwardly in front of him the discomfort and pain in the various parts of my body gradually being replaced by the pain in my legs and feet and back, from where I had to maintain this position. Gradually my hard on went down and I was just a guy squatting down in front of another man.

It seemed like a long time... but he still hadn't finished his cigarette when he said

• Approach.

I made to move.

• On your knees.

• Yes Sir.

And there it was again, my hardon. Just beautiful.

I crawled towards his slouched body and put my face between his legs. He sat up and indicated that I should kneel upright by placing one finger under my chin and kind of lifting me. He rolled the final stages of his cigarette between his thumb and finger so that it was just a centimetre or so from my nipple. I could feel the heat from it and started to ventilate in anticipation of the extraordinary pain that I was certain was about to follow. He placed a hand on my face and gave it a slap.

• Calm down, son.

He reached over and found something. It was the poppers.

• Here, take a shot of this.

I took the tiny bottle and exhaled fully before taking a deep hit of the stuff. Immediately I felt wild and ... just hungry for anything.

• Oh Sir, I whispered.

• Yeah, that's right. Now, boy, to seal our contract once and for all, hold still. This is going to hurt a lot.

• Yes Sir, thank you Sir

He held me by the waist and took his cigarette and I watched him and he put it out. It went towards my tit and then sort of veered away like a spacecraft missing the docking port and - smash - into the open skin of my left pec, about an inch away from the tit and he ground it in, holding me very tight so that I couldn't get away - had I wanted to.

F F U U C C K K

Next thing I was crying into his neck and the searing pain wouldn't go away. He was rubbing my hair and saying "good, that's very good boy, you've done very well, I'm very proud of you..." and stuff like that.

• We're going to keep that raw - he said and gave me some more of the poppers. I inhaled them greedily. The pain wouldn't go away until, quite quickly, it just went away, like evaporating, and the poppers filled me with renewed excitement. The wound seemed like a trophy now and I wanted him to tease it. He could hurt me with it, like really hurt me with it, whenever he wanted to now.

• Yes Sir. Thank you Sir.

And he allowed me to bend down and suck on his dick for a while.

****************************************** How We Met Part 4 - 'Excitement' ******************************************

****************************************** contact sharper@inorbit.com ******************************************