It was 3 o'clock and Martin was my next appointment. I looked forward to meetings with Martin. He was easy to talk with, rattling off facts, figures and anecdotes with the ease of a politician. His sessions fulfilled something in me that was hard to explain. In fact, it represented the kind of work-a-day task that when you remembered you had to do it, you became elated.
As usual, Martin was 10 minutes late. I would take him to task over his tardiness as he knew I would. I was beginning to think that Martin purposely planned to arrive late in order to evoke a response from me.
At three-fifteen he rushed into my den in a state of apologetic anxiety. I work at home incidentally, as it is more private and I can plan my daily productivity schedule without losing time on travel.
"Greetings and salutations, sir." he beamed radiantly. "Sorry I'm late, but the traffic was terrible and I had to stop at my lawyers to sign a few bits and pieces of papers of litigation. Please excuse me."
I replied to this by saying that his tardiness was of no great problem. It was a lie. I was in fact anxious to begin.
Martin placed his brief case on the floor close to my desk. His action was tantamount to secrecy and I assumed that it might have contained papers from his work. In his other hand he cradled a canvass bag bulging with printed material. I could see the loose pages above its rim and the outline of hard backed books that lurked deep within. He held on to this satchel with a certain protective manner. Finally, he placed it upon my desk like a cat would deposit the night's hunt at the feet of the master.
Martin worked for the government. His education and military background created a strong foundation for his position as Deputy Minister for The Department of Strategic Planning. He had recently assumed the position and was most articulate at describing in vague terms, as is the ilk of government personnel, of the more humourous occurrences that he had been party to since his appointment.
I asked the questions that I knew would draw him out and the stories that he related were absolutely fascinating. He loved to describe what he did. More so, he relished the authority that he held over other people's lives. Albeit, he was careful to caution me that this very power that he was able to exercise over others, oft caused him concern. He had said that its premise bordered upon the tactics previously perfected by history's worst despots and dictators alike. Alas, he would sigh, he tried to balance power with employment objectives, biased on the side of common sense and humanity. I believed his sincerity; but I distrusted his objectivity.
Our routine for these consultations had been devised between us over a period of months. There were no surprises, well at least not many, and we were both ready as the swirl of our meeting began to accelerate.
I moved out from behind my desk and walked over to the settee area. My office is arranged like someone's living room. A couch, two comfortable chairs, coffee and end tables were arranged in balanced harmony. Two lamps graced the end tables and a four-foot tall statue of a naked David stood anatomically correct, off to one side.
I watched Martin's eyes when I completed this first and all-important gambit. They flared and became intense. His rate of breathing accelerated and he began to fidget. It was all a part of the pleasure of course and he reveled in its manifestation.
Next, I asked him to stand. I then directed him to move into the centre of the room where he would be as isolated from furniture and other support. Personally, I wanted to rush into things, but savouring the slow method, I reined myself in. Martin felt the same, admitting to me that the movement to the ultimate end was more exciting then the end itself. How true!
"Remove your clothes." I casually uttered in soft tones, confident that he would obey. I further instructed him to accomplish this in a feminine manner. He happily complied, as I knew that he would. He became demonstrably dainty in his motions and once naked, he pranced about arranging his discarded clothing in neat piles.
When he returned to the designated spot in the middle of the room, I ordered him to raise both arms above his head and join his hands in that upraised position. He was very pliable and obedient. I stood up and walked toward him when he had done as he was told. My gait and demeanor were determined. Standing in front of him I ran my hands gently over his chest. I playfully pinched his nipples causing them to stiffen. That was not the only thing that stiffened and as a consequence I grabbed his maleness firmly and commenced an undulating stoking motion. Martin groaned in pleasure. I then cupped his scrotum with my right hand and manipulated his tiny male pearls in concert with the stroking. His penis became fully engorged and with both hands exploiting the manifestation of his singular excitement, Martin hung his head.
It was not sorrow or regret that caused his eyes to descend downward into a position that some may equate with embarrassment. It was Martin's resolution that I was in charge, and that he was succumbing meekly to my dominance. It was an act articulating his own slavery of his selfish desires. To me, he was just another client who desired to be trained, punished, humiliated and humbled. In the vernacular, Martin was really an unabashed submissive male slut!
I let go of my manipulations on his body. His hands were still joined; his arms still strung high above his head. Martin was malleable. But we both knew that. I barked questions directly at Martin concerning his fidelity to submission. He answered them all correctly. He loved this inquisition and I pressed even further. "Are you a slut?"
"Yes sir." he admitted ashamedly
"Are you ready to submit to a most embarrassing grid of humiliations that I have planned for you throughout the whole of this afternoon, Martin?
"Yes sir." he replied between gasps of breath, his breathing becoming more uneven.
"Then let us begin." I stated forthrightly.
He immediately relaxed his arms and knelt down in front of me. He bowed his head forward and with long and loving movements of his tongue, he licked my shoes. The toes, the sides, and when I lifted one foot, the entire bottom.
I ordered him to stop when both shoes were glistening wet. He immediately stood up and resumed his previous position. "Good boy." I said and patted him on his head.
Today I planned to conduct the consultation somewhat differently. This highly placed civil servant wanted the ultimate in humiliation and I had decided to escalate the stakes. I didn't know exactly how he would take to it, but considered that his opinion simply did not form a part of the equation.
Into the centre of the room I brought a unique plant stand that stood about 3 and a half feet tall. It had a flat circular top about 18 inches in diameter and it was 3 inches thick. It was joined to the base by a thick tubular column. The base anchored the entire structure with four firmly placed 'feet'. On top of each foot there was a steel eyebolt. This stand, more often used as a training device for Martin then a place for a floral arrangement, was a very sturdy piece of furniture.
"Get over here!" I ordered. "Bend over and put your stomach on the flat top. Drape your entire body over the stand and arrange yourself so that your feet do not touch the floor." Martin complied obediently, without question or sound. Soon he was perfectly balanced, bent double over the pedestal. I then encircled each ankle with a set of leather cuffs, and then tethered both wrists with rawhide strips. Next, I joined the ends of these rawhide strips to the 'D' ring of each ankle cuff. The only thing left to do was to clip the locking device, attached to each ankle cuff, to the eyebolts fitted into the support feet of the stand.
When I finished, I checked my work. Martin was rendered immobile, clear of the floor, his body stretched taut over the stand. His legs were pulled forward, secured to his arms that were pulled back. And this joining of his limbs was tethered to the eyebolts on either side of the base. He was 'pegged' like a tent. Perfect!
"Well Martin, do you like this new position?"
"Y ess ss.ir. Thh..ank you ss..ir." he panted out his reply, stuttering through each syllable.
"Have you ever wondered Martin," I ruminated aloud, " what it would be like while you were totally in my hands as you are now, if I were to invite some guests into this room to witness your precarious situation? To laugh at your predicament. And perhaps Martin," I whispered conspiratorially, " to participate in your humiliation?"
"Now just a minute here," Martin spoke forcefully, wrenching himself abruptly out of the submissive character I had lashed him into. "This consultation is just for us. You understand me and what I like. Now untie me, I don't like where this seems to be going. Untie me, please." he wailed and squirmed, trying to rock with enough momentum to topple over onto the floor.
My response was nothing short of draconian. I took an over the shoulder swing with the buggy whip I had surreptitiously located while Martin had been exercising the denial of his situation and seared a bright red welt to the cheeks of his very exposed posterior. When he went to speak again, I reigned five more slashes upon his body in rapid succession. I was expert at this and left equal length marks across the expanse of both buttocks.
"Shut up." I commanded. He remained silent as instructed. I did not want to loose him to his regular, daytime personality. I wanted him in his altered state. As a slave, a submissive male slut, dependant upon me for his salacious act of submission. I held power over him and I enjoyed it.
"Well Martin, what was that all about?" I enquired condescendingly.
"You've never mentioned about bringing other people in here." he said with obvious fear. "I thought you and I understood my vital need for discretion. I can't be seen...doing this, this sort of thing!" he spoke calmly. "Please untie me, right now. I want an end....."
He abruptly ended his diatribe in mid sentence, opened his mouth and groaned pleasurably. His hips moved rhythmically and he tried to spread his legs further apart than I had originally tied them. Failing this and still moaning with erotic pleasure, he attempted to raise his legs. This action, should he have been able to complete it, would have had the same effect. Martin desperately attempted to open up his buttocks to expose as much of the deep recess that lurked therein.
