In the Dungeon

I had not known Master had other accomplishments, but he had beautiful, almost medieval penmanship, and expressed himself in a succinct and educated fashion.

This is what the letter he handed me said,

"Dear Lalla;

That is your sub name. If you are reading this you have made the decision to submit to me. I believe the relationship will be most satisfying for both of us. You are my slave. You will not be forthright, or try to be seductive or beguiling. You will not be the one to initiate sex. You will, however, always be obedient, enthusiastic, and prepared to fulfill all my requirements.

If I take my cock out of your ass -- which I will admit is adorable, but which is now my property - to put it in your mouth, for example, you will not hesitate for even a second. You are permitted to scream, weep or otherwise express discomfort, but you may never resist. Your own pleasure will come from pleasing me, and you will educate yourself on how best to do that. You will expect frequent punishment, and its degree of severity will be my decision to make. That should keep you on your best behavior.

You will not come without my explicit permission, here or at home.

Here are your tasks that you should complete before our next meeting.

You have a most beautiful face, and must make the most of it. I want you to learn make up -- a moderate amount -- to enhance your face and sweet lips. You must also dress in a suitably feminine manner; under your clothes, at least.

I like my subs to wear body jewelry. I'll allow you to decide -- for now -- what and where.

Then, I would like you to bear my initial tattooed on your delightful body. This will be a further proof of your sincerity and obedience. It's the Scorpio symbol, and should be placed out of the sight of anybody but me, your owner; on your ass cheek, preferably. Again, you may decide the most appropriate and appealing presentation.

I intend to lead you to a better understanding of submission, obedience and the personal fulfillment they will bring you. I look forward to our next weekend together. Your stern but affectionate Master, Michael.

This letter, which I studied repeatedly, excited me tremendously and I read and reread it. Each time the calm words sent a shudder of submissive passion through me. I resolved to carry out his instructions to a T, and eagerly anticipated blushingly undressing before him in just a few days. Time was short, though, and I had to get going.

The next few days passed in a sensual haze. My welts faded and it became easier to sit comfortably. I spent most of my time reenacting the weekend's events and consequently felt aroused throughout the day. I heeded my Master's order that I not seek my own release, and resolutely stopped touching myself when I knew another moment would take me over the edge. I work in accounting in a smallish firm; always been good with numbers, and easily finish my tasks every day, leaving plenty of time for planning, fantasizing and following my Master's instructions.

He had required me to obtain body jewelry, a tattoo in a very specific place, and some appropriate garments. I investigated Victoria's Secret online and ordered several pairs of lace back thongs, a slim crop top, and some satin shorts. The package arrived quickly, and that evening in my quiet apartment I stripped and laid my purchases out on the bed.

Trying on the thong first, I immediately became hard. The front neatly contained my small (but well shaped) cock and balls, while the thong rode up my divide to flare out lacily at the top of my buttocks, which it left almost completely naked. My bottom - as told before, though I am very slender my ass is full, rounded and feminine - looked incredibly pale and inviting. I hoped my master would agree.

The crop top highlighted my flat smooth tummy, while the satiny shorts barely covered my ass. They had wide legs, however, so that my Master could slide his hand in if he wished to play with my cock and shy asshole. All were in shades of azure that matched my eyes. Modeling them with a critical eye in the big mirror, I felt I would pass muster.

The instruction regarding make up was more demanding. I obtained lipstick and eyeshadow and began watching YouTube videos about their application. (My eyelashes do not require any artificial enhancement, since they are long and feminine.) After a week of practice, I felt reasonably confident in my skills. Looking in the mirror again, with my hair falling gracefully to my narrow shoulders, I saw a slender, flat chested, pretty girl with shapely limbs and a provocative butt. So far, so good.

Now for the tattoo and piercings. I recalled an old world tattoo parlor in a rundown arcade just by the Alamo. Since I don't imagine most guys get a tattoo on their ass, which was where Master had implied I should place it, I needed a source that would be discreet and quiet. I took some time off to drive down there during the week.

I had dressed for the tattoo parlor with some care and a lot of daring. I put on my new top, a new thong and my shorts. Tattooists are artists, and I believed I would obtain the most sensitive work if it was clear who I was: a submissive, androgynous being. Driving down, the satiny feel of the shorts, my bare midriff, and the feel of the thong against my anal entrance made me feel almost naked. But for safety's sake I wore a light raincoat over it all. I didn't want any trouble either on the street or at the parlor, in case I didn't like the vibe.

The parlor had confirmed that they also did piercings, and I concluded that it would be an open minded kind of place. It did look dusty and run down, but there was a reassuring smell of antiseptic. I was greeted by a plump, pretty Hispanic woman in her forties. She was welcoming and put my mind at ease, so I told her what I wanted and she nodded thoughtfully. She took me behind a screen and told me to take off my top and recline on the padded table while she carefully sterilized the appropriate areas and produced an ice pack. I averted my eyes from the shelf of glittering needles, and we began.

Master had not specified the locations of the body jewelry, but I had given it a good deal of thought. Eventually I would have my tongue pierced to improve the intensity of my fellatio skills, and receive a stud in the head of my cock. Today I wanted my nipples and belly button decorated. The lady chatted amicably as she swabbed my chest. "You are a pretty boy. Can I take you home with me? Your lover is going to be very pleased. Is it ok if I ask; is it a boy or a girl that you love?"

Her manner was charming and put me at ease, so I told her he was an older man. "Oh, he will be very pleased with you. But look at the time!" As I instinctively looked for the clock she drove the needle through my nipple. I gasped, but it was not nearly as painful as the kurbash. Two more sharp stabs, and I looked with delight at the thin gold rings decorating my erect nipples and the barbell stud through my navel. She gave me a hug and said she would send the tattooist. "Your boyfriend: he's a lucky man!"

The tattoo artist was a nondescript Asian man in his early forties, with thinning hair. But he seemed to know his business, and attentively listened to my description. It was to be an inked-in Scorpio symbol: basically an M (for Master or Mike, himself a Scorpio) with a prolonged and pointy tail, in a blue tone with red accents. The symbol seemed particularly appropriate, and I wanted it on the lower curve of my left buttock.

The tattooist listened carefully and asked me to take off my shorts. Clearly the thong I wore underneath surprised him, but he held his tongue. But I stripped that off too, and lay invitingly naked on the couch. After all, I wasn't permitted to tempt or beguile Master - that would incur penalties - but I could exercise my wiles on a stranger.

He went to work on my soft bottom. I could tell that he was excited by my nudity; there was a bulge in his loose trousers. I easily survived the repeated stings of the tattoo needle, and contrived to innocently brush against his erection a couple of times. It wasn't long before he was done, and I stood up -- still naked -- and admired his work in the mirror. It was beautiful: crisp and flowing, the pointed curve of the M perfectly representing Master's power and forcefulness and seeming to dance on my soft bottom. I twirled in front of the glass, and was amused to see the artist staring raptly at my sexy body.

Master had said I mustn't come except at his direction, but he didn't specifically forbid me from pleasuring another person. I stepped to the tattooist and boldly stroked his bulging groin through his pants. I was grateful for his artistic work. Putting my lips mischievously to his ear, in a whisper I asked him if he would like me to give him a blowjob. I would confess this later to Master, and gladly (I hoped) accept his punishment.

He looked thunderstruck and could only nod repeatedly. Sliding to my knees, I unzipped his pants and drew out his erect cock. Looking wide eyed up at him, I fondled it delicately, then slipped it into my soft mouth. He seemed about to faint, groaning deeply when I performed a few butterfly flicks on his rather withered frenulum. He came almost immediately in my attentive, teasing mouth. I smiled at him and kissed his parchment cheek, put on my clothes, and asked for the bill.

He quoted me a ridiculously low price; I paid and left tips for both Marta, the piercer, and him. As I walked out the door, elated despite the soreness in various places, he called to me:

"Please come back again! Half price work for you!"

During the following week I reflected on my situation. I was beginning to understand the dynamics of the relationship. Master obviously held the authority, and when I had put on the collar, I was expressing trust in him and surrendering control, which comes with vulnerability. Whether he was repeatedly whacking the same spot on my scorched bottom, or slowly and remorselessly entering my squirming back passage, he had taken control of me by mutual consent. It was a unique form of intimacy that I was finding to be immensely satisfying.

I was feeling empowered by my surrender; I think I must always have wanted to be a submissive. Master sensed this in me, and is bringing me along to the joy that is giving up control and placing myself unreservedly in the hands of another. He had already wrought deep changes in me.

Previously my sexual experiences had been highly unfulfilling. I met no prospective partners that really excited me, so had taken limited interest in sex. Since meeting Master and being whipped and fucked with absolutely no say over the infliction of the intense sensations, I had started thinking of sex - in which I include bondage and discipline -- almost constantly. I was beginning to retrieve early memories of dreams about being blindfolded, tied up, and whipped. Now I was moving to a space where my first concern was always his pleasure. What was now exciting to me was offering him my body and obedience unreservedly, and pleasing him with them.

When he gave a groan of satisfaction or desire as I writhed helplessly under the paddle, or when I was able to swell his handsome cock through my eager oral and anal ministrations: that was what sent a flood of pleasure through me, almost amounting to an out-of-the-body experience. His pleasure was my affirmation.

He did not want me to try to beguile or seduce him: or to take the sexual initiative. But he expected me to be always enthusiastic and obedient, deferential and creative in finding ways to please him. It was required that I hone my sex techniques and maintain my most attractive appearance only so as to serve him well. And it then followed that my will not being my own, I had no right to have rewarded my tattoo artist by sucking his cock. It would need to be confessed.

At last the evening of our next appointment arrived. I had had a tremendous struggle not giving in to the intense desires I felt to play with myself. I was floating on a constant crowd of arousal. Additionally, my new piercings had mostly healed and there was a constant hum of sensation coming from the pierced areas. I had woken up to one shudderingly intense orgasm, but after all I'm 21 and healthy.

I left work on Friday afternoon and drove to San Antonio. But the traffic was bad -- it was a rainy evening -- and the long lines of stalled cars were making me anxious. I finally arrived at his house half an hour later, and knocked on his door with trepidation. He opened, smiled and waved me in. I stumbled inside, babbling explanations and apologies. But he waved them off and brought me a cocktail.

I had spent a lot of time making myself look nice for him. I had shaved my body hair, not that it needed much, the sparse hair I had at groin, legs and underarms being very fine and soft. I was wearing my crop top and satin shorts over a lacy high riding thong, as well as a pair of lace stockings that stayed up by themselves. After looking me over with appreciation, he fastened the collar around my neck and told me to strip.

I knew better than to try to tempt or titillate while undressing, but made sure he had plenty of time to examine my naked form, which I thought must please him. It was exciting to pose humbly in front of him, slowly taking off my top and sliding out of my shorts and stockings; then peeling the close-fitting thong from the crack in my behind. He looked me over carefully, then attached the collar to my slender neck.

He examined my piercings and tattoo with approval and tugged gently on my rings; they had healed rapidly. I turned to show him my tattoo; a faint smile appeared on his stern visage. Then, looking keenly at me, he asked whether I had anything to tell him. My heart dropped like a stone.

Standing stripped bare under his keen gaze, I could not bring myself to prevaricate. Instead, ashamed, I stumblingly confessed my action at the tattoo parlor. He frowned, and I shivered with anticipation. In fact, I was truly regretting that I had sucked the tattoo artist's dick; I should have known how contrary it was to the accord Master and I were establishing. Not because he was jealous; after all, he had shared my mouth and bottom with his mysterious companion. Rather, I had acted without permission, with no concern for Master's authority over me.

He told me in no uncertain terms that I had done wrong. This display of independence ran completely counter to the trusting relationship the two of us had been developing. I nodded humbly and followed him into the dungeon area, where he fastened my wrists to a chain and drew me up on tiptoe to receive my punishment. I hung there, eyes downcast, in fearful anticipation while he collected a pair of switches and took position behind me.

He began by whipping me several times on my lower back, then moved to where my thighs met my buttocks, which proved to be a remarkably sensitive area. Soon I was squealing and begging for him to stop, if only for a minute. But he continued the beating steadily, moving the switch up and down my quivering body, slashing at my soft, tender underarms, which was excruciating, while I gasped and attempted fruitlessly to evade the accurate hissing strokes.

He whipped me on my flat stomach and landed a few burning strokes on my inner thighs. My skin was on fire and I was pleading for mercy. He did not address my buttocks directly this time; he had told me that too regular beating there might coarsen and mar the delicate skin. But the other spots that he selected were excruciatingly painful. I'm not sure how many cuts he delivered; at least fifty. The switch was light and did not draw blood, but delivered an agonizing sting. I was choking on my sobs when he finally let me down, leaving me weeping brokenly.

"Next time it will be the kurbash." I nodded vigorously to indicate my very sincere remorse and regret. He hauled me naked into the bedroom, stripped off his jeans -- he wore no underwear -- and sat down on the edge of the bed. I fought back my tears and stood submissively before him with lowered eyes and the skin of my back, thighs and tummy raw. But the pain was fading, and my arousal growing.

I stole a glance at his cock; it was fully erect, and I longed to take it softly in my mouth to worship it and perhaps make amends for my misdeed. But the last thirty minutes had underlined the danger of being forward or taking sexual initiative, so I merely glanced down admiringly at his impressive shaft, then looked up quizzically through lowered lashes. He nodded and pointed to the floor. I slid onto the carpet between his knees.

I was filled with shame at the damage my thoughtless action may have done to our bond, so wanted to give him a special pleasure. I gently and inquiringly began to pull his thighs up, so that he would be on his back. He accommodated me and grasping his cock delicately I cupped his heavy balls and lowered my head to seek his asshole. I had not rimmed him before, and hoped that what I thought would be a pleasurable service might obtain his pardon.

I slowly drew the flat of my wet tongue across his opening. It smelled and tasted a little musty, but I could tolerate it. Beginning to caress him there repeatedly, I alternated licking him with thrusting the very tip of my tongue into his back passage and sucking his anus. He gave a groan and shifted to allow me more access. Licking Master's asshole was another watershed in my young life; kissing him so very intimately was an apology, a plea for reinstatement, an abasement, a vow.

My cock was rock hard as I rimmed him passionately, but I didn't dare touch it. The only sounds in the bedroom were his deep calm breathing, my gasps, and the wet sounds produced by my tongue in his ass. He shifted slightly, and I took that as a signal to shift my ministrations to his balls. I ran my tongue along his perineum a few times, then I grasped his scrotum lightly and began to lick the thicker skin, taking each testicle into my mouth to suck and lick it carefully.

Five minutes of that, and I moved to his cock, which I caressed with my fingers, flicked with my tongue, sucked lasciviously. I took him all the way into my throat and held him there as long as I could.

I glanced sideways into the mirror as I pleasured him, and saw a slender figure swallowing a thick cock between his full, kissable lips. Narrow shoulders, soft flowing hair, a flat stomach and a round, feminine bottom; certainly I could be mistaken for an attractive girl, or at least a beautiful fem boy, I thought proudly.

I edged him almost to the point of orgasm; then I took him out of my mouth and, holding him delicately, offered to return to his asshole. His silence gave assent and I returned my lips to his dark entrance, thence moving again to his balls, and his cock, which was wet, pink, throbbing, and harder than before.

My whole consciousness was in my mouth, and I placed all my focus and attention in pleasuring him. Suddenly the time was here, and I sucked him furiously as great spurts of liquid filled my mouth. It seemed like he was going to fountain forever, and I frantically collected it. His cock spurted again and again between my soft lips. He had instructed me not to consume his come as it arrived; instead I held the warm, salty seed in my mouth, made respectful eye contact, then parted my lips to show him the pool of white liquid.

There was so much that it dribbled down my chin. Looking at him intently, I stirred the opaque pool with my tongue, then swallowed down the slippery semen in two gulps. Drinking his essence was another life changing action, a kind of communion: a commitment and a symbol of my submission. I could taste his come for quite a while afterwards.

He nodded his approval and, unusually, beckoned to me to join him in the bed. I lay nestled against his broad chest with his arm around me and his hand (bigger than both of mine) on my still stinging bottom. I asked him shyly if he preferred women or men. He told me that he had been married once "but we didn't want the same things." Apart from a few whores in the military, that was the extent of his hetero experience. No, he didn't like men sexually; "unless it's a slim, beautiful fem boy who can be molded into a true submissive. That's my type. Someone just like you."