NATURAL SLAVE MEETS NATURAL MASTER

[This story was published in Issue 54 of Bound & Gagged, Sept/Oct 1996. If Cory ever looks at this website, I'd love to hear from him again and learn what has happened to him since the last time he wrote.]

CANBERRA, AUSTRALIA. My first bondage experience occurred three years ago. First a bit about myself. My name is Cory. I am now 24 years old. 75 kilograms, dark brown hair, blue eyes, with a swimmers build and am naturally fairly hairy. After going to university I moved to Canberra, Australia’s answer to Washington, to take up a job in the Federal public service. At the time I was straight, or thought I was, and my sexual experiences had never extended to anything as way-out as bondage, to say nothing of SM, submission, or slavery. As far as the world was concerned I was a fairly regular young Australian male—interested in sports, alcohol and girls (in that order), and definitely straight.

The small section that I worked was composed of eight people—six guys and two women. Being the most junior member of staff I was given to Brad to supervise. Brad was 26 at the time, six foot one, very well built, broad shoulders, dark brown hair on his head, a bit of chest hair and a very light smattering of downy hair on his legs and backside. At first Brad was a fairly easy going supervisor but looking back I can see the signs of what was to come. He cheerfully put up with the minor stuff ups that anyone new to the public service would make but always made it very clear how disappointed he was when I made them and that I would be expected to change for the better. I must admit that I can be a bit sheepish when I make a mistake and am deeply embarrassed when these are uncovered; in addition I am a fairly passive sort of person (always have been) and respond well to someone taking charge. There were no personality clashes between us whatsoever and we got on quite well.

Every now and again a few of the younger members of the section would go out for drinks and I got to know Brad a bit better outside of work. Soon after joining the section, I was invited to a party at Brad’s house on the weekend. The party was great—lots of great guys, booze and girls. I got drunk and stoned (marijuana is semi-legal in Canberra) and found myself chatting up a thin, good looking dirty blonde from another Department (in Canberra virtually everyone is in one Department or another) called Amy, a friend of Brad’s. We hit it off and ended up in one of the bedrooms, making out. Amy was soon on top and suggested that I try something new. Being a little bit stoned and very horny I said ‘yes’ and she quickly produced a piece of rope with which she bound my hands. Before I knew it I was turned over, my newly bound hands extended straight forward and tied up to the frame of the bed. She then tied each ankle to a separate bed post and I was pretty much helpless. By this time I was getting pretty scared (I wasn’t that stoned and drunk) and started to plead with Amy to let me go—the last thing I wanted was for someone to stumble in to the bedroom and catch me tied up like some kind of freak. Amy just laughed and said that it was no use changing my mind. She then produced a fairly thick cane from under the bed (in Australia corporal punishment in schools has traditionally involved the cane, we were, after all, once a British colony) and started laying in to me. Between every six strokes or so she would reach down and stroke me till I became hard. Eventually, I came in between hand jobs. After this embarrassing discovery (I had never imagined that I could get off while being tied up, let alone while being caned) Amy got dressed and slipped out of the room. Around twenty minutes later (during which I tried unsuccessfully to get loose) the door opened and in came Brad.

To say that I was humiliated would be an understatement.

Brad was smirking, obviously highly amused, and I started to make excuses. He shook his head, sat down on the bed and quietly told me to shut up. I didn’t so he reinforced his point by grabbing me by the hair, forcing my head back. He then pushed a smelly sock up to my face, trying to force it into my mouth. I tried to keep my mouth shut but a squeeze on my nuts was enough to get me to open up nice and wide. Brad then strapped the gag in with a strip of leather that he got from a drawer in the bedside table. He then untied my hands, only to attach them to separate corners of the bed frame. I was extended, face down in the classic X pattern. Brad then sat down on the bed beside me and started talking in his gravelly, masculine voice. He said, ‘Amy says you get off on having your arse thrashed. I thought you’d make a good slave but I reckoned it would take a while before you got to like it enough to come like that. You must be a natural slave, Cory. Lucky you, because I am a natural master.’

He got off the bed and walked to the door. I heard a loud ‘click’ as he turned the catch, locking the door shut and ensuring some privacy (one problem solved, I thought). He then took his top off, slipped the belt from his trousers and the next thing I heard was a ‘whoosh’ as the belt swished through the air before landing on my backside. This continued for what seemed like ages (I was way too upset to keep count) and the blows got gradually harder and harder. All the while I was thrashing about, uselessly since Brad had retied me quite securely. Eventually I broke down and started to cry my eyes out (you must remember that this was my first experience at bondage and corporal punishment and Brad was extremely strong—he had rowed and played Rugby Union football at university; gym work since then had ensured that he maintained considerable upper body strength—and a thrashing from him was never to be taken lightly). When he noticed that I was crying Brad stopped, came over to the bed, patted me on the head and said that I had enough for starters. He then dressed and left the room to rejoin the party.

Some time much later (the music from the party had ceased by then and the last of the guests must have gone home) Brad returned. He sat down beside me, his breath smelt of beer but I don’t think he was drunk. He reached under my chest and started playing with my nipples, twisting, squeezing and pinching them. This continued for quite a while and, to my surprise, I was as turned on by this treatment as I was, initially at least, disgusted. Brad got tired of this after a while and began feeling me up—stroking, gripping and poking me all over, examining his captive as best he could with me in the position that I was in. He got tired of this too and stood up. This time he stripped naked and began whipping me with his belt again, mainly on the backside (which was incredibly sore by then) but also on the upper and inner thighs and legs. Again these strokes started off relatively light but became increasingly heavier. This beating was accompanied by a lot of verbal abuse; Brad called me his whore, his poofter-slave, his fucking property, his cunt etc.

Suddenly Brad started in on my back and shoulders. The pain from this was worse than the pain on my butt and thighs. After quite a bit of this (which soon had me crying again) he stopped and put down the belt. He lightly stroked my inflamed back, shoulders and butt. I felt his hands part the cheeks of my arse and his fingers, now smeared with lubricant, invaded the crevice. Sure enough, Brad followed through with a solid fuck (my first from a man). The pain was pretty intense but with experience I can now say that, by his standards at least, he was being reasonably gentle about it.

After finishing with the fuck Brad untied my hands and retied them behind my back, untied my feet from the bed only to retie them together. With me safely bundled up Brad untied the strap around my head, took the sock-gag out of my mouth and climbed onto the bed, drawing some bed clothes around us both. He told me to get some rest and then rolled over and went to sleep. I was pretty stunned by the night’s events—sore from the physical punishment, humiliated by the bondage and my own helplessness, shocked by Brad’s anal fuck and disturbed by the fact that, though upset, I was not that upset. More than anything else I was surprised and uneasy at the recognition that at least a part of me derived some sort of satisfaction from being used like that. Eventually I too dozed off to sleep.

The next morning I was awakened by a squeeze on my nut sack. Brad was awake and ready to introduce me to the first day of the rest of my life—a life of bondage, slavery and submission. Once I was awake he wrapped a slave collar with d-rings on it around my neck, cuffed my hands in leather cuffs, which he attached to the d-rings and untied my legs. Suitably mobile, I was dragged off the bed by the collar and marched to the main bathroom down the hall. Brad was completely naked. Being naked where a third party might see me (Brad lived with a friend of his, a systems or computer specialist who also worked in the same Department as us) awakened strong feelings of anxiety and shame but I was not in any position to object. Even if I got loose from the collar (though there was no chance of that) Brad was more than athletic enough to dominate me physically. I was obviously completely at his mercy.

Once in the bathroom Brad turned on the shower and climbed in. He showered, seemingly oblivious to my presence, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to have a nude, collared captive watching him. After finishing with his shower he got out, took me by the collar and pushed me under the warm spray. When I was good and wet he turned off the water and produced a can of shaving gel. Being a complete innocent, I did not realise precisely what this was for but once he started rubbing the gel across my body, lathering me up, I realised and started to complain. This got me a couple of very hard slaps across the face and the warning that if I was not cooperative I would be given reasons to wish that I had been. He then proceeded to shave off all of what was once a substantial endowment of hair—chest, stomach, pubic hair, arms, legs, the works. Even the hair on my forearms and the tops of my feet. Also, embarrassingly, the hair in the crack of what had been my virgin arse.

While he was doing this Brad was lecturing me on the care of the male slave. Slaves, he said, were not real men, especially the kind of slave who got fucked by their masters. Only real men need hair on their bodies. It occurred to me later that since he regarded body hair as a major part of masculinity, he was probably embarrassed at having less chest hair etc. than a mere slave. Anyhow, before long the only hair I had left was my eyebrows, my eyelashes and on my scalp. Hairless I felt humiliated but the novel experience of extended physical contact, and fairly intimate contact at that, with another male was a bit of a turn on as well. I was disturbed by having a man run his hands over me, shaving me (thereby robbing me of part of my masculinity), but it was undeniably sensuous as well. Brad then proceeded to give me an enema to clean me out. I had never seen an enema before but vaguely knew what it was when he showed it to me. Again I had no choice and before long I was cleaned out down there. The enema was far more humiliating than the depilation—sitting on the toilet letting out an enema into the bowl while another man was watching really shook me up and reinforced my sense of total degradation. After the enema was over he pushed me into the shower again and rinsed me down, this time with cold water.

After a rough rub down with a towel I was dragged out and led towards the kitchen where Ryan, Brad’s housemate and our mutual colleague, was sitting at the table in his boxers eating cereal. Ryan (then 26, with wine-red coloured hair, smooth skin with just a light patch of hair at the centre of his chest and extremely well built) laughed out loud when he saw me and asked Brad if I was the new slave boy. Brad said yes and asked Ryan if he wanted to examine me. Ryan did and the second man got up, walked over and started feeling me—feeling the muscles in my arms, slapping my butt, forcing my mouth open to examine my teeth etc. Being naked, in bondage, in front of two semi clothed men (Brad had put on a pair of boxers after his shower) and examined like an animal once again brought home just how helpless and slavelike a condition I was in—again my feelings were as intense as they were mixed. Brad parked me in a corner of the kitchen and I watched them eat their breakfasts. Only after they had both finished did Brad put his bowl on the floor, fill it with cereal and milk and let me have mine. I did not like eating from a bowl on the floor, and complained but a tap to my nut sack from Brad’s foot put an end to that.

After this I was led back to Brad’s room and instructed in various aspects of slave life—never to speak unless spoken to first, always to address Brad as ‘sir’, never to look him in the eye unless told to do so, how to stand, how to squat with my balls exposed etc. Since these lessons were quite literally belted into me I learnt fast enough but not before my shoulders, back and butt once again felt as though they were on fire. I was uncuffed and forced to clean up the mess from the party, spurred on by the belt and strap applied by Brad and Ryan respectively. I soon learnt that not all masters are interchangeable. While Brad’s punishments were meted out to make me a better slave or more satisfying fuck toy, Ryan’s were delivered to satisfy his sadism. Brad was a master and his abuse was an extension of his need to demonstrate his physical and psychological dominance. Ryan was a straightforward heterosexual sadist and was never interested in me sexually. My pain was his pleasure.

After I had cleaned up the house Brad again tied me face up on his bed in the X position. He wrapped my balls with a leather thong, gagged me with the sock from the night before and placed a pair of nipple clamps on my tits. As a reward for being fairly compliant, he gave me an extremely long, very sensuous jerk-off session after which he smeared my cum across my face and chest. He then left me.

Hours later, I could tell by the position of the sun as it moved around the room, he returned from a neighbourhood game of touch football, a weekly ritual for Brad and Ryan who were both very sporty types. Once again Brad untied me only to rearrange my bondage—this time with my feet free but my hands cuffed behind my back, my tits liberated from the clamps but with my balls still wrapped in their rawhide prison. With Brad suitably sweaty and grimy from the football he proceeded to instruct me in the basics of body worship. I learned to lick his sweaty limbs, suck on his toes, clean out his pits. Fortunately, he did not get me to lick out his arse crack (that came later in the relationship). When I showed insufficient enthusiasm or energy the belt was liberally applied (by this time my back and shoulders were so sore that any touch, even a breath, was real agony). Finally satisfied with his tongue bath, Brian again fucked me.

After this Brad asked me if I liked being his cunt. I admitted that I sort of did. Throughout Sunday I had been getting aroused from the bondage and also, to a lesser extent, by the submission and punishment angle too, so I couldn’t help but admit that there was something to this after all). What had happened was the most extreme, most intense experience of my life and though aspects of it disgusted me at the time (especially getting fucked and having the enema) I was deeply moved by it too. Brad then said that he would train me. I was then released from the bondage gear. Brad removed the leather thong from my balls but only to replace it with a light cock and ball harness. I was allowed to dress and leave for home with a final instruction to get to work extra early on Monday morning with the harness in place or else.

The next day I arrived at work extra early, as ordered. Brad arrived at his usual time but did not give any indication of what had happened on the weekend. This did not puzzle me—the Department is one of the most conservative in Canberra and Brad was wise to minimise the risk of our secret getting out. Work proceeded as normal and no one in the section would have guessed from Brad’s behaviour or demeanour that anything was wrong; I may have been a different story since I felt so guilty and self-conscious. as if someone would only have to look at me to guess the truth. However, I tried to follow Brad’s lead and act as if nothing had ever happened. Later that morning I got an e-mail from Brad ordering me to the disabled toilets on our floor. I was told to lock myself in and wait for a knock. I followed the orders to the letter: I went to the disabled toilets (which, unlike the cubicles in the regular toilets, were self-contained rooms with maximum privacy). I locked myself in and waited. Soon enough there was a knock and I opened the door.

Ryan, whose job took him all over our national office fixing computer problems, stepped in, locked the door behind him and slapped me hard across the face. Stunned by this I followed his order to drop my trousers and underwear. He then felt my balls, making sure that the cock and ball harness was in place. When he was satisfied that it was all in order he ordered me to kneel and lick his shoes. I did so. He then ordered me to get dressed which I did. He let himself out and disappeared. I returned to my desk and everything proceeded as per usual. From time to time Brad came over to my work station to check what I was doing but he did not mention Ryan or the toilets. Later in the afternoon, I received another e-mail from Brad, this time ordering me to the storeroom where I was told to lock myself in and wait. This time it was Brad who came in to check the cock and ball harness; he also inspected my bum, which had bruises from the weekend’s session all over it. He asked if I felt sore. I said yes. He laughed and said that was the way it would stay. I was ordered to dress and we returned to our work stations.

That pretty much set the pattern for things at work. Most days there were little inspections from one or other of the two. Inspections of my genitals to see if they were properly harnessed. Inspections of my skin to see that I was hairless. These kept me reminded of my new status as a slave. They lasted only a couple of minutes or so and always involved some light physical abuse—a slap across the face, a punch, a light kick, twisted nipples—and some submission from me—which meant kneeling down in front of them, kissing or licking their shoes or sniffing their pits. Because of the need for discretion there was no opportunity for real bondage or SM at work but most days I had to wear a light cock and ball harness of one sort or another and during winter, when I could wear a jumper inside the office, I would have to wear a body harness or slave collar on under my shirt. After I was trained to suck cock I performed this service as well. After I was toilet trained I had occasionally to drink piss too.

Proper training sessions were confined to the weekends. Since these were invariably pretty heavy going I needed at least a week to recover. This was my introduction to the world of bondage slavery. I have never looked back.

This wonderful letter left me with a lot of questions unanswered. I invited this excellent Australian slave to indulge me with a little interview by correspondence.

Are you still the slave of Brad and Ryan?

No. Our situation together lasted about a year. Eighteen months ago Ryan got a job in private enterprise in Sydney. Brad later fell in love with a young man and moved in with him so our Master/slave relationship came to an end. Incidentally, I got a promotion and moved out of Brad’s section before he found his present lover.

So they didn’t see your letter before you sent it to me? I can’t help wondering what Brad would have thought on reading your remark that “since he regarded body hair as a major part of masculinity, he was probably embarrassed at having less chest hair, etc. than a mere slave.”

Ryan doesn’t know about my letter to you and possibly never will: his only interest in sexually graphic literature was, and as far as I know still is, confined to the works of A.N. Roquelaure. I would not completely rule out the possibility that Ryan will learn of the letter should you publish it, but since the characters are pseudonymous I doubt that he would be upset. Brad used to read BOUND & GAGGED (I still have a few of his old copies) and may still do so. He might be a bit irritated by what I wrote but I do not really care all that much about that.

Are you someone else’s slave now?

At the moment I do not have a Master but I have been looking and have had a few experiences with tops.

From the tone of your letter I get the impression that despite the conservative climate in Canberra, Brad may have frequented a milieu in which relationships like yours could exist without having to be hidden…?

Canberra’s social climate is complex. Due to the high rate of public sector employment it has historically been a left leaning city politically (hence it has liberal laws on marijuana and adult videos) though we now have conservative, Newt Gingrich style, governments at both the national and territorial level. Some Departments are gay friendly (notably the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade and the Department of Health and Family Services) while others are conservative. The Department I am in is fairly conservative. There is a small gay scene here in the city but much of the scene takes place in private homes and private networks rather than in clubs so is exceptionally cliquey. It is possible to be totally out in Canberra but generally the younger and more outrageously-inclined head off for Sydney anyway. The quieter, more conservative ones, stay put here.

Was Amy in some way a set-up? She certainly seems to have been well equipped with rope and to have known where the cane was.

When Brad started experimenting lifestyle-wise he got involved with a small group of sexually adventurous straight and bi couples. From what Brad told me this circle did a little bit of partner swapping and a few couples experimented with very light bondage. Canberra has a number of sex shops and the circle of friends toured these from time to time out of curiousity. The activities of this group largely revolved around adult video evenings and a few parties…That said, Amy was definitely a set-up. Brad asked her to do it as a favour for him. He knew Amy from his bi period.

Were you later introduced to her as Brad’s slave? Were you introduced to others as his slave? Or was this always kept secret between you?

I was presented as his slave to Amy and a few other of Brad’s small circle. This involved being a slave at the parties, serving drinks or trays of nibblies while wearing only a collar and cuffs. My backside would get a paddling before the event so the guests could see that the bondage was not just a costume. The guests, never more than seven, ogled and poked me and ordered me around. As a special treat, a kind of parlour game, Brad would provide a paddle for his guests to try out on me. The women were always tickled pink by having a captive male on which to work off however many years of female resentment against men. The guys, being guys, liked to show off how hard they could apply the paddle so this parlour game was pretty intense. I found these parties, with the element of display before relative strangers, deeply embarrassing and humiliating.

Was Brad homosexual or was his homosexuality just a sometime thing?

Brad’s sexuality is a bit complex. While he had had girlfriends in the past and continued to pick up women occasionally during the year of our Master/slave relationship he also fooled around with guys. From what I now know about these things I suspect that Brad was always gay but was just using the girls as a sort of prop for his self-respect—you must know the kind of guys who think male on male sex is fine so long as they can maintain some sort of heterosexual credentials as well. One or two of Brad’s male conquests were bondage inclined and I think that Brad’s interest in all this developed from there (either that or his trendy friends). While he experimented with a few bottoms (I think that these were the ones Ryan referred to on my first morning as a slave) I think that I was Brad’s first genuine, long term, slave though I accept that I may be mistaken here. Our relationship was confined to the Master/slave scenario, which was fine by me.

Ryan was a heterosexual sadist, you tell me, who took no interest in you sexually at all.

That’s right. Ryan was and remains exclusively heterosexual. As far as I am aware he has never been fucked by a guy or expressed any interest in it though I would not entirely rule out him having experimented. He also used buttplugs and dildos during scenes but these were for inflicting rectal pain. His interest in gay guys, however, is fairly strong. From what I learnt from Brad, this is because of the relative shortage of female masochists who want (or will tolerate) the degree of abuse that Ryan enjoys inflicting. Given a choice between a female masochist who wants to get spanked with a slipper and a gay slave who will either look forward to (or at least put up with) a heavy duty beating, Ryan will choose the latter. Given his good looks and physique he has no trouble attracting gay masochists. Were a heterosexual male masochist to turn up Ryan would, I think, be willing to do his thing. Ditto for a serious female masochist. He is turned on by sadism and used to jerk off after beating me (he usually smeared his come all over me or got me to lick his hand clean).

What was the nature of Brad’s relationship with Ryan?

As for their relationship before I arrived on the scene, I can not be certain as I was never in a position to interrogate either of them and most of what I know was gleaned from off-hand remarks on their part mixed with plain old speculation on mine. My understanding is that they met through work. Brad would have been going through his “exploration” phase then. Ryan would not have been upset with Brad’s growing interest in his own sex (Ryan is definitely no homophobe) and would definitely have encouraged any interest that Brad had in SM. I suspect that Ryan and Brad bonded over their then mutual role as Masters. I am certain that they shared points of view on the subject but have no idea if they ever shared slaves though I am sure that Brad would have shown off any bottom of his to his house-mate. The history of Ryan’s involvement with SM before Brad is entirely unknown to me—he never said anything to me about this—but given the centrality of sadism in his life (and the intensity he aimed for) I expect that he was set in his ways well before meeting Brad.

You say that it took you a week to recover from a typical weekend spent with Brad and Ryan. I wish you’d describe such a weekend in detail.

A typical weekend started with me arriving home on a Friday afternoon, changing into jogging gear (depending on the weather this would mean either a tracksuit or a pair of shorts and t-shirt or just the shorts) and jogging over to Brad and Ryan’s (I never lived with them). This jog would take about half an hour. By the time I arrived there I would be fairly sweaty and ready for a shower with Brad. This shower always involved me getting a total neck to toe shave and an enema (after a while I got used to these though I disliked both at first). After that I would be taken into Brad’s room and tied up. Bondage wear with Brad meant me wearing a leather collar with D-rings and leather cuffs.

If Brad was going out he would tie me face down on the bed in an X position (Brad loved the classic way of doing things) and give me between twenty and thirty strokes with either a cane, belt, strap or paddle. Then he would place some bedclothes over me to stop me from getting cold and leave me until he came back later that evening or early the next morning. Brad would then punish me for my shortcomings during the week (there were always plenty of those). By the time he finished I was invariably crying and whimpering into my gag, usually a sock, sometimes a pair of jockey shorts. After this he would lubricate and then fuck me. He would undo my bindings, retie my hands to my collar and go to sleep.

If Brad was staying at home that night I would usually get tied up with chains attached to hooks in the ceiling. Nipple clamps would be put in pace and clothes pegs attached. I would then be belted repeatedly across the back, shoulders and buttocks, each session lasting around twenty minutes, after which Brad would go off and watch TV, leaving me to recover a bit. After an evening of this I would be let down, led to bed, suitably secured in place and fucked.

Saturday would involve household chores, performed by me in the nude under the lash or strap. If Brad needed some help shopping (ie carrying grocery bags) I would accompany him to the supermarket. On the way back I would usually be dropped off at a distance from the house and left to jog back. If I was late getting back I could expect another dose of discipline. Since Brad had the watch he was the one who determined if I was late or not and it was a rare occasion when he declared that I had been on time.

Sundays usually involved sex in the morning, an extended period of bondage in the afternoon as Brad and Ryan were away at touch football and some post football tongue bathing for Brad. On Sunday evening, by which time even he had become exhausted with paddling and spanking etc., Brad would drop me home.

If Brad was away for the weekend I would be left in the custody of Ryan. This invariably meant a far more intense session of discipline without the consolation of any sex except the punishment kind (punishment sex with Ryan consisted of being violated with butt plugs and dildos of varying sizes, a session of this was always painful and totally unerotic). Brad used paddles, straps and belts. Ryan preferred whips and crops. A weekend with Ryan involved being gagged with a sock and chained to small hooks in the wall. A thorough thrashing with a crop or small whip would follow. Usually this meant getting flogged until I was bleeding from very light, but painful, cuts which Ryan would clean up with medical alcohol. When he was finished for the night my wrists would either be attached to the D-rings on my collar or simply secured behind my back; I would be dumped on the floor at the foot of his bed where I would sleep (not being gay Ryan did not see the point of having me in his bed). When he needed to piss during the night (and he always took care to drink enough so that he would) I would be woken up for toilet duty. Since any session with Ryan involved considerably more pain than one with Brad I preferred the latter. However, I never had any choice in the matter.

Did you ever show any signs of insubmission?

There were certainly moments in the early months when I had trouble obeying orders. I was never a stroppy or sulky slave but a novice has his share of problems through sheer inexperience. When I was introduced to Brad’s piss, for example, I spat out as much of it as I could. Not surprisingly, I was beaten for this (Brad’s beatings were not as cruel as Ryan’s but they were still enough to leave me very tender and sore throughout the week, Brad was athletic and not all backward about using his muscles to good effect).

Did you ever raise your hand to resist when Brad or Ryan smacked your face in the disabled toilet?

I never minded being slapped or anything like that. To be frank, a slap across the face usually gets me half way to hard.

Did anyone ever catch any of you emerging from that disabled toilet?

We successfully avoided detection at work—the disabled toilets opened onto a small corridor leading on to a larger one. The only reason to go to the smaller corridor would be to use the disabled toilets so there was no “through” traffic that we needed to be wary of and no disabled people in our building (the facilities had been provided to comply with local building regulations). So long as we left at decent intervals there was no danger of detection.

Did you ever have occasion to wear so few clothes in public (or among your friends) that your being shaved was apparent to others? Did anyone ever comment on it? If so, how did you deal with that?

My shaved body was a source of embarrassment to me on occasions (ie at the parties where I waited on Brad’s guests). During summer Brad insisted that I make my jog to his place wearing only a pair of shorts, sneakers and socks. Being acutely conscious of my hairless condition this provoked a certain degree of embarrassment but this was more due to excessive self-consciousness on my part than anything else. Anyone seeing me jogging by in my shorts would have just assumed that I was smooth skinned. I never raised my arms high enough to reveal my shaved armpits so that give-away was not an issue. I certainly never got any comments or stares about it from other joggers whose paths I occasionally crossed on my route.

My house-mates (two straight males around my own age) were a different story, however. They knew that I was not naturally smooth and they certainly gave me one or two odd looks as I set off shirtless for the weekend. Initially, I expect that they assumed my shaved condition had something to do with sports (after all bodybuilders, swimmers, cyclists, etc shave various parts) or with effete vanity (models shave too) but before Brad outed me to them they said nothing.

Brad outed you to them?

After a few months into our relationship. He showed up at my place one Friday night after work as I was getting ready to leave, ordered me to my room where he tied me up and applied his belt to my shoulders and backside. When he finished with this he went off (to the living room, I assume) and waited for my house-mates to return. When they did he led them into my room and explained that I was his property. They were, I think, a bit shocked (perhaps more embarrassed than shocked) but accepted things in pretty good grace. Overall, their attitude was initially one of curiosity and bemusement but they got on well with Brad who is the matey sort. In time Brad felt confident enough to ring up the house to question my house-mates about my behaviour. From time to time they asked me a few questions, ie what was it like getting whipped, etc.

You say that your original interests were mainly in “sports, alcohols and girls (in that order).” Was your interest in girls less powerful than you’d hitherto thought? Or had you truly never had a conscious homosexual thought before that weekend?

Before I was made into a slave I had always considered myself to be straight. I had gotten laid on and off since the last year of high school, had had a couple of steady girlfriends and had done all of the “normal” things that well adjusted heterosexual males do (ie played body contact sports through high school and university) and I enjoyed doing all of these at the time.

With the benefit of maturity I think that I was just going along with the sexual and social norm because I had no real idea of any alternatives. It should be noted that while Sidney has a reputation for being up there with San Francisco and Amsterdam as a gay Mecca this reputation should properly apply only to two very small enclaves within the city. Life in the suburbs I grow up in is as straight as it comes. While I knew what gays were and joined in the usual schoolyard harassment of guys we thought to be insufficiently red blooded, I had never had any contact with anyone who was out. I had never had any openly sexual experiences with any of my friends. I now realise that I tended to make friends with and hang around with the kind of guys who are the type I now find physically attractive. Also, my interest and participation in body contact sports was obviously a socially approved outlet for my subconscious homoeroticism.

You apparently adjusted very quickly to becoming a man’s bondage sex slave without, it seems, trying very hard to resist the experience. You tell me you were always of a submissive nature, but did you never pause to consider how strange that whole business with Brad was, or consider fleeing? What was it that kept you from running away or seeking help once the first weekend was over?

My reaction to what Brad did to me that night and that morning was (and to a degree remains) a bit of a mystery. My feelings were very, very mixed. I was disgusted but also turned on. I went back for more because the whole thing was just so intense—a thousand times more meaningful than anything I had done before then. It took a while for me to get used to it all of course (to relax a bit while getting felt up, to build up my tolerance for pain and my readiness for submission and obedience on demand etc) but right from the start I realised that there was something in it all that I liked.

Comments

[Pete]

I find being tied in the X position most arousing, perhap because it is the most vulnerable position?

[Jordans 3]

This post really had me thinking about this particular issue in way I havent before. Its something I do believe we need to talk about more. Thankyou.

[Lisa]

when I get a little bit older I want to be a slave! but at the same time I'm scared because what if the master takes to much advantage and you e
want to leve the master slave life but he kills u instead? so i dont know? I want too!