*IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ*
The narrator of this story is a post-op FTM transsexual.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Michael, it's Trent. Listen, you wanna come over? See what trouble we can get into together tonight?"
"Uhm... Sure?" I chuckled, "Why uh... Why so sudden, Trent?"
"No reason. But I want you here. Now."
"Okay, I'll see you in a minute, I guess. Bye...?"
He had already hung up.
"Okay, whatever you say, Trent..." I hung up the phone and went to grab my keys. I was wearing a pair of Brian's jeans, so I considered changing, but then decided I was too lazy after all. But I was shirtless, so I just threw on a white undershirt. I didn't honestly think my clothes would be on for long, the way he sounded, so I just strapped on a pair of Doc Martens and jumped in my car.
As I drove through to the French Quarter, I rolled my windows down and listened to the music of the New Orleans night. Damn, Trent could really pick 'em... I rolled up 10 minutes later and got out of the car, walking up to the front door and knocking. Before I'd even pulled my hand away, Trent opened the door, wrapping his arms around me and kissing me. I cried out in surprise.
"Trent!!"
He pulled me in and shut the door behind me, and I could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Vaugely, I registered the mechanical churn of industrial music playing in the background. No matter how he tried to deny it, Trent had such a hard-on for Nivek Ogre.
"Mikey..." he whispered between kisses, "I have a surprise for you."
"Mmm?" I had begun to melt into his arms the second he started talking. And a surprise? Wow, I loved my Master.
"Here--"
Wham! The next thing I knew, I had been thrown down on the floor of his bedroom, and gotten the wind knocked out of me. After a moment, I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, choking for air. Lift me up like the sweetest angel, then tear me down like a whore. "Trent! What the--"
"Look at this--" he exclaimed, grabbing a handful of my hair and yanking my head up. My breath caught in my throat. Brian, oh God, my beautiful Brian; my muse and inspiration, was sprawled on Trent's bed, naked, with his hands bound and a leash around his neck. His cock was standing straight up, and running with precum. I could see every vein standing out, engorged. He was gagged with a red ball between his teeth, but not blindfolded, and his eyes... I'd never seen him more afraid. His hair was pulled back out of his face and tied in a ponytail that looked like it had been seriously pulled on recently.
"Brian...?" I choked out. I was still trying to piece together what was happening.
"Shut up, Michael. Get the hell up-" Trent pulled me to my feet by my hair. "Strip. Now."
"No--"
"DO IT!" he shouted, pulling my hair one last time before letting go. I took my shirt off over my head, without taking my eyes off of Brian. I was trying to take it all in, but it was hard.
"...Brian?" It was all I could manage before felt something choking me. I gagged, but then realized Trent was putting a collar on me. It was then that it occurred to me that it wasn't my collar, it was different. Brian was wearing my collar!! Anger and hurt boiled up inside me. That was mine. That was a thing for me and Trent and nobody else. For a split second, an image flashed before my eyes of myself, tearing into Brian's pretty little neck with my teeth, ripping my collar away from his body. It'd look so nice on me after that, stained with his blood... But what the hell was I thinking?! It was Brian! He didn't want this any more than I did!
"Hey, what the fuck is this?!" I demanded, feeling the heat rise in the back of my throat. Here was the one I needed to direct my anger towards. "Trent!!"
He slapped me. "What did you just call me?"
Like he'd flipped a switch in my brain, the slave in me was back. "I'm sorry, master."
He tied my hands together behind my back as I bowed my head in shame. I really was sorry. And I'm not going to lie, I was aroused. It was wrong, but sadly true.
"Now, you come here..." he tied the end of my leash to the bedpost, forcing me back to my knees in front of Brian. Our eyes met again and I wanted so badly to ask him what happened, to untie him and hold him in my arms, to give him the release he needed, but I couldn't. And his eyes... It's like he was begging me for something, but I couldn't place what it was. Sympathy? Relief? Release? Death, even?
"Look at me, you bitch," Trent snarled. Both Brian and I looked over at him, but Trent was looking at me. He had taken off his shirt and knelt down in front of me. "You..." he began, running his fingers over the small bulge in my crotch, "...have been a very bad boy."
"W-what?"
"You little whore, you know exactly what I'm talking about," he whispered in my ear, starting to rub harder. It began to hurt. "You slept with this piece of shit, Mikey, didn't you?" His voice was cold and menacing.
"No-"
"On your birthday."
"No!"
"You fucked him. And I bet you sucked his cock and kissed me right after, didn't you?"
I tried to speak, but he cut me off.
"And you screamed like a bitch when you took him up your ass! I know, Mikey, because I could hear you." He unzipped my pants. "Ah, the pathetic synthetic. As dysfunctional as ever, I see."
The pathetic synthetic. Trent's lovely term of endearment for my dysmorphic little neophallus. My doc's ultimate Frankenstine project was this grotesque little penis, made of grown-in-a-lab clitoral erectile tissue, upper-arm skin, and an inside-out vagina; thrown together with superglue and sealing wax and stitch-witcheried between my legs, slightly off-center. Slightly to the right, if you want to get technical. It looked pretty, it just didn't work. I won't tell you what my testicles are made of, though, because you'll probably want to be able to eat again in your life...
It was incredibly painful to have Trent manhandling me like that. I grimaced and recoiled slightly at his touch, but he pulled me back in, twisting my pathetic excuse for a cock in his hand. Totally hard, I'm only six inches. Compared to Brian and Trent's nine and eight, respectively, I felt pretty emasculated.
"Trent..." I whimpered, "Please, don't d-"
"Don't what? Do this?" He grabbed my testicles and dug his nails in, pulling down. I screamed in agony, arching my back. I heard Brian moan and saw him grimace. White-hot lights began to pop in front of my eyes.
"No, Trent, you're gonna tear them off again!! Stop, stop, please!!"
"Please what?"
"Please, Master! I'm begging you!!"
Immidately, he relinquished his grip and stood up.