He was naked. Exposed. Vulnerable. Before he had entered the room, he had a name, an identity, a sense of self. But as he crossed the threshold to his Master's bedroom, he lost it all. He has no name, as objects have no need of names. He has no identity beyond that of a toy; his master had no need for another boyfriend. He has no sense of self, only a sense of obligation to his Master.
He had to prepare before he could enter the room. First, he bathed himself washing away all the distractions of his life. Then he shaved himself smooth, creating a vast canvas of skin for his Master to work on. He then went to his Master on his knees presenting his body for inspection. The Master examined him with the upmost scrutiny. He was nervous, the slightest error would result in Master ignoring him for the night.
The Master's hands started at the feet, feeling the callous and the ridge. Then the hands moved to the freshly shaved calves. The hands glided over the supple skin barely making contact. The Master's hands then reached the knees. The Master forced his knees apart exposing his stiffening cock. The Master's fingers trailed the inside of the thigh reaching the underside of the balls. The Master gently cupped the tender balls in his strong hand. Without warning the Master's hand tightened, closing a fist around the balls. He muffled a cry, his Master hated a loud toy.
"What are you?" the Master asked gently, wiping a tear from his face.
"Yours," he squeaked out. The Master loosened his grip.
"Excellent," the Master said. He beamed in the Master's praise.
"Assume the second position," the Master ordered curtly.