The Rape of a Male Slut

BORN TO BE BRED-THE RAPE OF A MALE PIG-BITCH

PROLOGUE

To this day, I don't know what he used to drug me. All I know is that it was strong enough to make my arms and legs numb. It was powerful enough so that a much shorter man could subdue, then shackle and imprison me for a very long and horrific weekend. It was effective enough to render me helpless so that he could use me for his own sick, twisted and perverted pleasure. Without that drug, he would never have been able to rape and turn me into his personal slave; his personal slave to abuse, to humiliate and to share with his equally twisted friends.

Twenty six years later, I am a bisexual slut of a man who has willingly degraded himself uncountless times in ways that I will share with you at a later date. But this is the story of my rape at the hands of another man. The rape of my mouth, the rape of my ass..... More to the point, it is the story of the rape that unleashed my very soul.

AN INTRODUCTION TO MY RAPIST

My father sent me to him, though he would never know what really happened. John Paulsen was a junior executive, who worked for powerful a head hunting firm in San Francisco. Normally, a young man just out of college, head filled with esoteric candy, but totally devoid of any knowledge that was needed to thrive in the world, would never have gotten in the front door.

But the previous year my father had been recruited to be one of the top executives at Bank of America. In 1980, that bank was as much a part of that city as was the Golden Gate Bridge. Upon graduation from college, I moved out to California to seek employment. My dad had a good friend who was a senior partner with this firm, and as a favor to my dad, he assigned my case to one of his underlings. I was turned over by my dad's friend Harry Johnson to one of the junior executives that, unknown to me at the time, he would fire two days before my rape.

My first meeting with John Paulsen, was brief but quite pleasant. Shamelessly and perhaps fatefully, I even walked into his office to greet him with a huge hard on. At twenty one, I could never control my manhood and I couldn't keep my eyes off his gorgeous secretary as I waited for 15 minutes or so outside his office for my meeting. She was simply stunning. Perhaps in her early 30's, she had long silky black hair, and from what I could see through her business jacket and satin, collarless shirt, she had amazing breasts. She truly had the face of a model, and the most perfect teeth and smile that I had ever seen. However her greatest physical assets only revealed themselves when she stood up to escort me into her bosses' office. On my first glance at her long, shapely legs, my cock immediately sprang to life. Holy shit! I wanted to bend her over her desk right then and there.

This delicious creature walked a few paces ahead of me as we entered his office, and just I couldn't help myself from looking at those legs..... Those

incredible

legs and that firm, apple ass.

"It's very nice to meet you Mark. I trust, that I haven't kept you waiting to long."

Shit! I knew that I was busted as my eyes left this woman's posterior and looked up to introduce myself to the man who would rape me the very next week.

"Thank you sir....uh no you haven't kept me long at all." I sheepishly stammered as I extended my hand to shake his. Unfortunately when I extended my right arm, my unbuttoned suit jacket parted to reveal the fact that my pants now extended six inches straight out. Of course he noticed. The Pope would have noticed. To this day I wonder if my rape can be linked to my then love of boxer briefs. Boxer briefs and that woman's deliciously comely and long legs.

John Paulsen was a short man, dark haired, and far shorter than my 5'11" frame. Standing perhaps 5'6 or maybe seven, I had to look down to greet his eyes. John's eyes were so dark, that they bordered on being black. I swear that they twinkled. Twinkled at the first sight of his prey.

John had a handsomely rugged face, mustachioed with a perfectly straight nose, and teeth so white that they almost rivaled those of his stunning secretary's. Stocky and well muscled for his size, my 185 pound body nonetheless out weighed John's by 15 pounds or so. When he gripped my hand, my first impression was that he wanted to arm wrestle. But having been taught that a man's handshake is an indication of a man's character, I gripped his smaller hand with equal gusto. Yes his hands, while strong, were a bit smaller than mine. I would learn to love this fact later the next week when these hands would be buried forearm deep in my tight virgin ass.

My first meeting with my rapist would be less than a half hour, but I met with him two more times that week so that we could work over my case. I genuinely began to like him at the time, as he showed a real interest in my career. He criticized me freely, but did so in a way as to make me feel that he really wanted to help me. Upon the end of our last meeting that Friday, he said that he might be able to come up with something sometime later next week. He stated that he was working on position for a client who might be interested in me for a training position. I was thrilled, and sensing this he pawed my shoulder as we shook hands goodbye.

"I'll be in touch with you very soon." He said as I parted his office to leave.

"Damn!" I thought as I left his office. "She's not here". His secretary, whom I enjoyed leering at during every trip to this office, must be on a coffee break. I didn't know it at the time, but I would never again get to see those legs. Those incredible legs.

INVITATION TO A RAPE

I received a call from John around 6:30 the following Wednesday evening, late in the day I thought at the time. He said that he might have something, but wanted to go over some things with me first, and prepare me for interviewing. I eagerly asked when he wanted me in his office. There was a long pregnant pause before he said,

"Mark I have a busy week, but would you mind coming to my place in the city Friday evening around six? We can go over things casually here in my Condo, and perhaps grab a bite to eat and a drink afterwards? You don't have any plans, do you?" When he said this, it almost seemed more like a statement, than a question.

"No sir!" I enthusiastically said, thereby sealing my fate. Unbeknownst to me, John Paulsen had been fired that very day.

The instructions to his home, while quite exact, failed to mention that to get there, I had to pass a number of gay bookstores, movie theaters, bath houses, and night clubs. Having only been living in Northern California a few short months, I really had never seen anything like it in my life. I lived outside the city by about 45 minutes or so, having found the rent for even a studio apartment in the city, quite prohibitive. I currently had a job as a trainee at a department store, but I wanted more in life. It paid little, but enough for my Spartan, single existence in a Walnut Creek studio apartment. I worked in Oakland, and had not had a chance to venture to San Francisco, but just a few times.

"John can't be queer, can he?' I thought to myself as I passed numerous queens, transvestites and a bunch of big, burley, hairy guys in a lot of leather.

"To each his own" My naïve, 21 year old mind muttered to itself.

I had known

of

a few gay guys in college, but never really got to know any all that personally. Five months removed from college, I graduated 3rd in my class, was student body president and had won the Scholar Athlete award for my exploits as captain of our tennis team. I was told that I was quite handsome in a "Richey Cunningham" sort of way, although it always gave me the "aw shucks" feeling. Broad shouldered from hours in the weight room, my strong legs moved me quickly past what looked like two extremely large but pretty women. With their backs to me, I at first failed to see their prominent Adam's apples. I actually had to brush by one of them as I went to open the door to John's building.

"Excuse me mam", I said with ignorance. Perhaps I am being kind to myself. Perhaps it was said not with so much ignorance as it was said with total and utter stupidity. Both 'women' just laughed at me in throaty voices. "What a fool", they both must have been thinking. So was I, realizing my mistake. "I guess I have a lot to learn."

Arriving at his door on the 5th floor of his oldish apartment building, I was dressed casually as instructed. Wearing kaki pants with a light blue button down business shirt, I momentarily glanced at my new sneakers, and one of my partially untied laces. Little did I know while bending over to fix those laces, that they would soon be tied unmercifully tight around my cock and balls. I rang the door bell, and after just a few seconds, John Paulsen opened the door sporting a big, broad smile.

"Good to see you Mark, glad you could make it." John Paulsen chimed as he shook my hand as he guided me into his extremely well decorated place.

"Thanks Mr. Paulsen, Thank you for inviting me. I really appreciate this."

"Now, now...We aren't in the office. Besides, I am only 33. Don't make me feel old. Let's dispense with the formalities for the night. Come on, we can relax a bit before getting started, fine with you? Do you care for a drink?" John said as he motioned for me to take a seat in one of two leather, wooden legged chairs separated by a small coffee table. John's apartment was extremely well decorated, with many pieces of expensive leather furniture, and numerous oil paintings adorning the walls. I noticed that like most homes, there were no photographs of family or friends to be found.

"Uh sure, thanks John. I'd love a beer."

"Afraid that I don't drink beer Mark, but I am pretty well stocked with liquor. How about a scotch and soda? I just fixed one for myself." John said with a broad smile.

"You like scotch, don't you?" He turned to get me one before I could even reply.

"Uh sure" I lied. Scotch always gave me a headache in college. I pretty much stayed with beer and vodka tonics, with an occasional shot of tequila.

As he walked over to his bar, I couldn't help but notice John's attire. He wore an unremarkably plain black tee shirt, but when he turned around I immediately thought, "Yeah, John

must

be gay". I couldn't help but notice his trim ass wiggle a bit as they where inside the tightest fitting pair of black jeans, that to this day, I have ever seen on a man or a woman. I also found it odd that he had these pants tucked into what looked like a brand new pair of black leather construction boots that covered his ankles. He told me to dress comfortably, and here I was wondering how he could even walk in those tight black jeans. How could he breathe, or even sit down? I needn't have fretted over it too much. As I would soon learn to my coming shame and humiliation, he wouldn't be wearing them much longer.

Having fixed my drink in a short high ball glass, he handed it to me. It had one measly small ice cube in it. "Salute", he said as we sat down and he clicked my glass. Yep, he could sit down. How he managed that, I will never know. We chit chatted for awhile, and in my nervous state I kept sipping a really, really bad drink. "Oh well, headache tomorrow" I thought to myself. Little did I know then that an aching head would be the least of my problems tomorrow.

After choking down most of my short glassed drink in between about 20 minutes of idle chatter, he downed the rest of his, and then stood up and said, "Bottoms up Mark. I'll go fix us a couple more and we can get down to business." Even though I was already getting quite a buzz, I chugged the rest of my drink and started to stand up to hand him my glass. I instantly fell back into my chair. "Damn" I thought to myself. "My legs feel like I have just finished a five set match." My arm, extended to hand him my glass, even felt like I was wearing those training weights around my wrist that I used often in college for tennis. I usually could handle my liquor well past the first drink.

"This will probably do me, John. Thanks." I mumbled while he handed me my second drink. No ice this time, but I noticed that his had plenty. My head began swimming, and the feeling wasn't all that unpleasant. John just smiled at me. Both of the

two

Johns I was now seeing had big, white smiles on them.

"Yeah, it will do you just fine, my friend. Now drink up. You have things to do for me. Now like I said, drink my concoction"

"Huh? Concoction?" I thought to myself, throwing the thought away. But John's presence began to turn, and I drank. Man I was getting drunk.....or so I thought.

"I have a job interview to send you to next week. It's a sales trainee job with world travel if you make it through their program, but that is not my concern. My concern is making you prepared to get the job, so I can get paid." He lied. He had been fired two days prior.

"

DRINK

my boy!" He now commanded as he stood before my slumped body, seemingly floating in this hard leather, straight backed chair with leather padded wooden arm rests and long wooded legs. A chair that I would spend more time in through out the weekend. A chair that I would spend time in later, drugged and naked, bound tightly with rope, and a hard butt plug shoved up my ass.

"

My Boy

?" I thought to myself. I should have been scared, but my mind was reeling. I couldn't move my limbs. I had been drugged. I had been set up and I was about to be raped by another man. I was about to be tortured, humiliated, degraded, abused and whipped and raped before so many other horrible things would be done to me. I was a few hours away from being sodomized and used by many men. I was a few hours away from becoming a whore for other men's sick pleasure. I was now mere hours from being broken down into a drugged, but seemingly willing sex slave. I was about to be forcibly taken down a road that would change my life forever.

{For those of you still with me after this rather dull and sex free set up to the story of my rape, I now apologize for this. For those of you who are offended by graphic descriptions of illegal and unsafe forced sexual abuse, I apologize for the rest of my story. Up to this point, I have recounted my experience as well as I could remember. My problem going forward is that now, my memory becomes hazy due to my drugged state. While all of what I am about to tell you is true, it is now told through the memory of a 48 year old sexually submissive slut of a man. At the time, at least in the beginning, I was a heterosexual man who would never want another man to touch him, much less abuse and rape him in such a horrible way. Today, I crave such abuse by men, women and couples.

Today I seek it out, and do so in ways that willingly puts me in harms way. In 1980, harm's way found me when I tried to better myself. My ass, my mind and my soul would never be the same again. Ever.}

THE RAPING OF MY WILL

"Here, let me help you get more relaxed." John said as he now grabbed the drink out of my hand. "It will be easier this way. The first one worked just fine, I see" With that he grabbed the hair from the back of my head with one hand, and with his other shoved his thumb, index and middle fingers into my mouth. I had wanted to protest but now I felt like choking as his fingers forced a pill down the back of my throat. After he brought that awful drink to my lips and forced me to swallow, John quickly moved behind the chair, and I felt the blade of a Bowie knife pressed against the side of my throat. My heavy arms lay limp on the arm rests of the chair, as my mind was really too drugged to be scared. I mean, I then knew what was happening, but was all so dream like. It would rapidly turn into a nightmare. It would then turn into my depraved way of life.

"How DARE you boy walk into my office with a hard on! Is that how you are going to act when I send you on an interview? Did you think that I wouldn't notice it you perverted pig? Don't worry though my dear little pig boy, I am going to show you how to control that cock of yours. You are about to be tutored the hard way about the meaning of respect, and it is going to be so much fun. Fun for me boy, but painful for you."

Coughing after gagging on his fingers and that pill that he shoved down my throat, I remember wanting to mouth the words, "I am sorry John...Please don't do this to me...Please let me go!" I tried, but my mouth was cotton dry and my lips were numb. Besides, I now had a Bowie knife pressed against the side on my neck, and the room began to whirl around while I was seeing everything in the room, two by two.

With one hand pulling my hair upwards, John reached with the other arm carrying the Bowie knife, and slipped it under my right arm swinging his bladed hand toward the front of my face. "Say one word and I remove your tongue!" With that, my limp body was dragged across the room, through a dark bedroom and into a well lit bathroom.

There, I was thrown across the side of one of those deep, old fashioned bath tubs with feet on them. My head banged the porcelain as it hit the side, but he pressed his knee against my ass preventing me from totally falling in. There I was, feet on the floor, head in the tub, and my well developed abdomen pressed against the side of this high bath tub. Even though my head surprisingly didn't hurt from the hard bang against the tub's side, it was swimming like a man who just drank a bottle of tequila. I was drugged and feeling no pain. The room began to go dark. My world as I knew it began to grow darker. Much darker.

When I awoke from my drug induced slumber, I was still in that same bathroom. My head was still swimming, and I was still heavily sedated. However now I was sitting on what seemed like a crudely constructed, high backed chair made out of plywood and two by fours. But as I would soon discover, it was no ordinary chair and I was not merely sitting.

Totally naked, my arms were bound at my elbows behind my back with heavy rope. Around my wrists and ankles were some sort of leather cuffs. My wrists were trapped together and my ankles were secured to the legs on this chair. A wide, leather dog collar adorned my neck and rope was wrapped around it and the back of this "chair". More rope was wrapped around my muscular chest and to the back of the chair. More rope still was tightly wound around my stomach and the chair. I felt rope around my knees as well, rendering them immobile.

My naked virgin ass felt a chill. I was sitting in a hole that had been cut out of the seat of the chair. The hole wasn't as long as a toilet seat, but was rounder than one, so that my ass sort of hung through it. There was enough room in that hole for my cock and balls as well. They ached, and I could feel them being tugged downwards. My cock and balls were tightly bound with what I would later learn were my shoelaces, and tied down somewhere underneath the chair. Helpless and alone in an exceptionaly well lit bathroom, I now, drugged or not, was so terribly afraid. I should have been afraid. My life was about to spiral down into the depths of depravity and servitude that only a masochistic sex slave could love.

I tried to yell out, but I soon realized that it was impossible to do so with what I would learn was a rubber ball gag. Today, I adore it when a Master of Mistress shoves a ball gag into my mouth and wraps it tightly around the back of my neck. But up until this fateful night, I had never seen one before in my life.

My fog laced mind began to remember what had happened to me as I weakly tried to

yell for help, but the only sounds that came out were "Mmmmpppff..... Mmmmmmpppff, "MMMMPPFFF!". A short time thereafter, John, still wearing those painted on black jeans and combat boots, but now bare chested and wearing black driving gloves, entered from the darkness of his bedroom.