Pleasure's Ordeal

His dominance has continued. He continues to torture me. His nature seems only to focus upon my submission...complete and total submission. He knows there is nothing I will not do for him. He knows there is nothing that I will do to please him. He uses that to his advantages. He teases me. He tempts me. He tests me. He forces me to test the raw power of male sexuality. I am weak. I continue to crumble beneath his power. His sharp, cold voice continues to terrify and arouse me. There is nothing that I can do. I am his slave. I am his concubine. He uses me at his will. I am but a mere temple, a body to house his lust within. He believes himself to be God, how he towers above me. He dominates me. I have no shame. He stole that for me. I have no guilt. He forced me to lose such weakness. I have nothing...nothing except him, my Master.

How it began...

Most people thought I was a heterosexual man. It was said that people were but 'actors' in their lives, playing out their 'roles'. In truth, I was the perfect enigma of an 'actor'. I was deceiving the masses. I was a sinner. I lied. I hid the truth. Someone, however, knew. Someone knew of the dark fantasies that lay beneath my mind. I only wished I knew who it was. Each morning, I would awake to see a letter posted through the door. I would open it. I would read it. It would always say the same thing.

I know the truth, M.

Who this M was, I did not know. Within the envelope, there were photographs. Photographs of naked men being beaten. Photographs of naked men being whipped. Photographs of naked men being abused and tortured. Each morning, I would see this. I would find myself deeply aroused. I was ashamed. I was guilty of a dark sin; to be aroused by a man was a sin in itself, to be aroused by a man's pain was worse. Each morning, I would find myself sitting upon the small leather chair with my hand gently stroking my penis, looking at the photographs as I slowly brought myself to the pinnacle of my orgasm. I would always scream that letter 'M' as the white crème spurted from my tip and landed upon the photographs.

I would continue my day with the knowledge that I would have no more elusive letters from the one known as M. Whoever it was remained anonymous to me. It was all the same. Day in, day out. I would find myself trapped within my world of deceit. I was lying to the world. I would always dream about those men. I wished I were those men. I wished I was being beaten. I wished I was being whipped. I would scream out in hidden pleasure as I sought my release throughout the day. Over and over again, those images would flash across my mind and I would be forced to bring myself to an orgasm.

This day was different. As I gently stroked my small penis, watching my hand moving upwards and downwards, the uncut foreskin rolling across the purple head in a fast motion, I heard the knock upon the door. I heard the sound of a muffled voice. As I rushed to complete my orgasm, a letter was slipped through the letterbox. I tried to muffle the sounds of pleasure that were escaping my lips. I bit my lip -- hard. I bled. I screamed out. I tasted the blood upon my tongue -- it was sweet. I screamed as the taste of blood set off my orgasm, the white crème dripping onto my stomach. I rushed to the door as I pulled my trousers on.

As I opened the door, the figure was gone. I'd lost M. I looked at the letter on the floor. I grinned. I opened it up. It was different. It wasn't the usual message. This time, he was frightened but this fear built up his arousal. This was M's game. This was his way of submission. He read the short message.

How many more orgasms are you going to have before you seek me out? M.

I whimpered. How could I find this person? How could I find this M? I didn't even know who he or she was. I sighed in resignation. This was one sick bastard. I loved it. I wanted so much to know who this mysterious M was. I looked into the envelope, more photographs. Only this time, they were different. There was another person; man, woman, I couldn't tell. The figure was cloaked in a long trench coat and hat. It was obvious this was M. M had a whip in hand, beating a young man who was clearly frightened but his large cock showed his arousal.

I fought to hide my arousal. What was happening? How could someone know? I wanted to scream and report this to the police. I knew what they would say; it was a cruel joke. How could I tell them that I secretly desired this? I couldn't. Instead, I ploughed onwards. I embraced it. For days, I didn't receive any letters. I presumed this was the end. I presumed that, because I hadn't sought M out, M no longer wanted to catch my attention. I was oh so wrong. On the fourth day, I received a phone call. A deep husky voice came upon the phone. I knew who it was. M.

"You listen to me, you little fucker, I know exactly what you do every night. I know exactly what you desire. I'm coming to make your dreams become reality. Get ready, slut." The click of the phone ended the conversation. I screamed. I sobbed. This wasn't what I wanted, was it? I didn't even know anymore. It was too much to think about. Get ready? What did this person mean? I looked at myself. Was there something wrong with me? I tried not to think about it. For all the fear within me, how M spoke to me made me so hot and aroused. I could feel the bulge in my trousers, seeking relief. I wouldn't. I waited for M.

M never came. I guess I wasn't ready for him. There were no phone calls. There were no letters. This was just a cruel prank, I hoped. Or did I? This was a game. I was the prey. How could I not want more? I chuckled. Nothing was happening and I was strangely sad. That was until the next week came by. I was producing some documents for a client when I heard a familiar knock upon my door. My eyes glistened with anticipation. Was this it? Was this M? I peered through the eyehole of my door. The figure was well concealed. Man or woman, I couldn't tell.

I opened the door slowly. M barged in. He grasped my wrists. My eyes grew wide with fear. I didn't know what was happening. My body deceived it. It was enjoying this.

"What are you doing?" I rasped. I couldn't believe it. M didn't even respond. M simply grasped at the wrists and pushed me against a radiator. Metal handcuffs came from the pocket of my mysterious assailant. With very little resistance, he locked me to the radiator. I was smiling inside. Outside, I was sobbing. I was so afraid. I believe that's what M wanted. He wanted me to be afraid.

"Wait here." The voice didn't even give a hint of gender. It was so...erotic. M left, taking a key for the door with them. M shut the door and I was left trapped. I was chained to a radiator. My penis was rock hard. I couldn't even get relief. This was cruel. This was truly cruel. It took hours, or what seemed like hours. I couldn't tell. Time was always relative to me. At long last, I heard the distinct sound of a key in the lock. When M entered the room, I was pleasantly surprised.

M had removed the clothing which concealed them. Before me was a tall and handsome man. My eyes glazed with desire. He was muscular, his body taut and masculine. His face was beautiful, if not rugged in some sense. His hair was long and brown. He was the complete opposite to me. I was quite athletic but hardly muscular. I had the face of a child. My hair was short and cropped. M looked at me. I looked at him. He smiled at me. I smiled at him. He slapped me hard across the face.

"Don't smile unless I tell you to." He was so strict, so very strict. I didn't even know his name and already I was beginning to like where this was going. Of course, I would never tell him that. Questions buzzed around my head. What did the letter M stand for? Michael? Marcus? Mario? I didn't even know. In fact, the anonymity of this man made it all the more arousing.

M revealed a blade from his pocket. He was going to kill me! I tried to escape. My shuffling brought me only to the radiator. I was trapped. This was the end. He slapped me hard again. I stopped moving. The knife was used to cut the front of my shirt open. I breathed a sigh of relief. He heard. He slapped me hard again. My cheek was growing red from the pain. I could taste blood in my mouth. He'd cut my lip with his hand. God he was good, I thought to myself.

"What do you say, slut?" I didn't know what he meant. He slapped me hard again.

"What do you say?" This was so confusing. This man was giving mixed signals. He slapped me. I suddenly realised what the M stood for. It wasn't a name, or at least, not in the official sense. M stood for Master. I whimpered with delight. He slapped me. I couldn't do anything right around this man. Or could I?

"Thank you, Master." I responded. He nodded. I was getting to him. At least now I knew what to call him. He was no longer anonymous to me. I was his. That's who I was. I was but a slave, a pawn in his twisted chess game. I couldn't help but think of him as the King, the immovable piece that made the chessboard come alive, only to protect this majestic piece. The next piece he brought out was frightening and yet at the same time, I made me want to stroke my cock to orgasm simply at the sight of it.

A long whip protruded from his hand. He looked so natural with it. It was as though, without it, was not a real man. He grinned. I did nothing. I was silent, completely solemn. He flicked his wrist and the whip cracked in the air. I jumped backwards in fear. God it looked like it would hurt, I thought. His second flick of the wrist made the whip lash across my bare chest. I screamed. He slapped me.

"Be quiet, you dirty little slut." I nodded my agreement. I bit on my lip. He lashed me again. I bit down harder. I could feel my teeth breaking the skin. I could feel red welts rising up from my chest. He lashed me again. I couldn't help myself. I screamed. The whip lashed across my face.

"Shut up!" He was the perfect representation of a Master. He wanted everything. He owned everything. He dominated everything. He lashed me across the chest again and again. I could feel blood seeping from several wounds. When he stopped, I noticed a dozen lashings across my chest, red marks that seemed to rise up and exist without me. I whimpered but he allowed me this simple sound. I was so aroused. I think he knew it. The next thing I knew, I heard the sound of his belt unbuckling and he dropped his trousers.

Before my face was a long and hard penis, fully erect. I didn't have a chance to say a word before he rammed it into my mouth. His hand grasped my hair and he began to push my head backwards and forced onto it. I didn't even get a chance to enjoy the cock in my mouth. Instead, I was simply forced to open wide and accept it. I gagged and sobbed every time it hit the back of my throat. I could hear his grunts of approval. His hips were thrusting in time with the motion of my head bobbing on his penis.

"That's it, slut. Take it. Take it all." I couldn't take it all, I cried to myself. It was so erect. It filled my mouth. I was tempted to bite it but the pleasure he came me overrode that sadistic thought. He was the Master, not me. He continued to fuck my mouth. His thrusts were growing harder and faster. Tears ran down my eyes. I couldn't believe I was doing this. I was sucking...no, that wasn't right. I was being fucked by a man's cock. I could feel him tensing up but he stopped. Why did he stop? I couldn't understand it.

"Get up onto your knees." He growled. I could see his face, twisted in a grimace of pleasure and domination. I resigned myself to him. He bent over, my ass high in the air. I knew what was coming. I wanted to beg him not to. I had never prepared for this. I didn't even know what to expect. I was oblivious to it. I was so scared. I was sobbing. I was crying. Secretly, M knew I liked it. He knew that I wanted it, however much I put up a struggle.

"Please don't." I begged. He didn't listen. He cut my trousers off. There before him was my bare ass. I whimpered. His hand smacked across the flesh. It wobbled. I cursed. He did it again. I was beginning to like it. He spanked me over and over again. My ass was growing red. I could feel his fingers gently circling my asshole. I could feel him pushing into me. It was painful. I didn't want to say anything. He pushed inwards. After a long while, he managed to get inside me...preparing me.

He fucked my ass with his fingers, pushing two more inside me. I screamed. I felt like I was being torn apart. He seemed to approve. Replacing his fingers were his cock, the head pushing against my asshole like a piston from a machine. In one swift motion, he was inside me. The pain, the horror of it all...it forced my cock to explode. I was thankful that I no longer had trousers on. My crème simply splattered across the floor. He continued to fuck me, oblivious to my own orgasm. He grew faster and faster, ploughing into me with force. I grunted. I moaned. I was beginning to enjoy this. I could feel my ass being filled with hard cock. He was getting faster. He was rougher. He pulled on my hair. As he moaned and groaned, I could feel him tensing up and he pressed his cock deep within me. I could feel his essence spurting into me. The thought forced me to ejaculate once more, adding to the pile of crème that was slowly mounting up on the floor. He withdrew quickly. I looked at him. He smiled.

"Did you get all that?" He asked. I didn't understand. I looked to where he was looking. Another man was stood with a camera in the doorway. It was recording. I was horrified. I was being blackmailed! The man with the camera nodded. M rose from his position and unlocked the handcuffs. My wrists were sore and red. He dragged me up. The man with the camera closed the screen and turned it off. I was relieved. My ordeal was over...

"Now it's time for you to meet M..."