The next four installments of the Eric and Dean Saga were all published in the now out-of-print Issue 26, January/February 1992. I'm going to post the four of them individually here. BW
5
Reaffirming Vows
Immediately after returning to school from spring break my freshman year, Eric said he wanted to hear me reaffirm my vows in which I promised, not only to be his "slavegirl," but also to wear his chains as a symbol of his ownership and my submissiveness.
I knew that this was on the agenda for Monday evening and was equally certain, having had Eric as my big brother during my pledge period, that he would not be able to resist making this little "ceremony" as humiliating as possible. Immediately following dinner that evening I headed off to a faculty recital, which all music majors were required to attend, having promised under threat of firing squad that I would return the instant it was over. As I entered our room, the dim light, the music—Mussorgsky's "A Night on Bald Mountain" with the "Dies Irae" pounding ominously away—not to mention one quick look at Eric, told me more than I needed to know about what was likely to happen to me. Just looking at Eric's bizarre outfit gave me the cold chills.
Most of what Eric was wearing I had never seen before except in horror movies. His head was covered with a black leather executioner's hood. His muscular torso was magnificently framed in a studded leather harness which was the perfect complement to his black leather shorts, the codpiece of which was filled almost to overflowing. Even his hands were encased in fingerless black leather gloves. His feet were shod in his high, lace-up Marine Corps fatigue boots, under which he wore a pair of white, over-the-calf athletic socks with black stripes around the elastic tops.
I could feel myself becoming mesmerized as I gazed upon this awe-inspiring sight, and found myself instinctively diverting my eyes toward the floor. Eric obviously liked this, remarking that my posture was very fitting for a slave who was about to learn his place. "However," he continued, "a slave who is undergoing training is to be naked in the presence of his Master." As I quickly stripped off jacket, shirt and tie, while trying desperately to keep my hands from shaking, I couldn't help noticing that a pair of my prettiest, most feminine pink silk panties had been carefully laid over the back of my desk chair. When I had finished peeling off my clothes, Eric nodded abruptly toward the panties indicating that I was to put them on. After I had been ordered to my knees, Eric clamped his Marine Corps leg irons to my ankles and slowly, almost erotically, pulled my wrists behind my back and handcuffed them. I had suspected for quite a while that it was only a matter of time before I would be introduced to tit clamps and, as Eric began to work my nipples, I had a distinct premonition that the time had come. I couldn't help gasping as Eric gave me my first taste of what it feels like to have nasty little clips biting into my nipples. Strangely, even though I was experiencing exquisite pain, and was more than a little frightened. I felt my cock beginning to stiffen; a condition which did not go unnoticed by Eric.
Eric was unable to resist the urge to prod my bone-hard penis through the silky nylon with the toe of his boot, while telling me how much I looked like a sissy slavegirl kneeling there in my really pretty, feminine panties. "You really are a born slave," he concluded. Then he ordered me to assume the proper posture for taking my vows. Since I was already on my knees, I wasn't at all certain what more was expected of me until Eric began to push down firmly on my shoulders, saying quietly, "I want you all the way down." When my head was within six inches of the floor, I felt Eric's boot pushing down on the back of my neck as he hissed under his breath, "I said all the way down."
After I had been smashed as low to the ground as I could get, Eric made me take my vows, repeating them after him in a loud, clear voice. I'll not elaborate their content here, other than to say that the bottom line was that I would be Eric's personal property to use and abuse until he graduated from college. When I had finished taking my vows, Eric took his foot off my neck and forced me to spend a few minutes carefully cleaning his already spotless boots with my tongue. Then, after yanking me onto my feet and skimming off my panties, Eric took two lengths of dog leash chain and placed the shorter one around my neck. The slightly longer chain, which ran down my tummy to my genitals, he attached to the neck chain by means of a small brass padlock which lay flat against my chest. A chain of a slightly smaller guage was then wrapped around my cock and balls and connected to the long chain by another padlock. Eric was careful to point out that both padlocks were made by "Master"—an irony which he thought was especially appropriate given the use to which they were being put.
After my new chains had been installed, Eric announced that it was his intention to initiate me formally into my slavery by giving me a whipping. Since the hour was late, in order not to disturb the tranquillity of the frat house, Eric sealed my mouth shut with duct tape. After removing my handcuffs and leg irons, my wrists were tied to a rope suspended through a hook in the ceiling. My ankles were then fastened to one of the leg-spreader bars which Eric had appropriated from the fraternity's initiation storage room. After I had been suspended so my toes were almost off the floor, Eric picked up a nasty little whip he had made out of strips of black rawhide during his Marine Corps days and began to work me over, slowly and deliberately, from my shoulders down to my calves. As he continued to lay the whip on me, Eric explained that he had wanted me to experience the kind of punishment most slaves are accustomed to receiving. Although it stung, it was nothing like as bad as the world-class, ass-blistering Eric had inflicted on me the week before in my parents' barn back home. My biggest fear was that the whip would leave marks which would be hard to explain in the communal shower—which indeed it did. The welts kept me from wearing shorts in public for a few days. They did not, however, exempt me from having to wear Speedos at swim practice, which elicited some curious stares from a few of my teammates as well as from the coach.
When Eric had finished whipping me, he ripped off the gag saying that the time had come for the slavegirl to pay special homage to her Master's cock. As soon as my hands were released from the overhead hook, they were quickly retied behind my back, since Eric has this thing about its being more humble and submissive for a slave to be deprived of his hands while doing cock homage. After making me assume a kneeling position once again, Eric removed his codpiece and allowed his beautiful cock to tumble out into my open mouth. Since there is little in life that Eric loves more than having his penis sucked, I had been made to spend literally hours on my knees as a pledge being trained to do it exactly the way he likes it. Eric had stood over me with a doubled-up belt and would strap my back whenever I accidentally nicked him with my teeth or displeased him in any way. It had taken a lot of effort and a lot of lashes before I had finally been able to overcome my gag reflexes so that Eric's cock could slide easily down my throat. However, by the time Eric had finished with me, we had turned the sucking of his cock into a new art-form.
Eric seemed well pleased with my performance that night—at least if his ecstatic moans and the half-pint of cream I was able to siphon from his cock are any indication. For me, the worst thing about that evening was that I was denied any sexual release of any kind, and was put to bed with my hands still cuffed behind my back to insure that I would not be able to bring myself off. Eric's justification for this was that a slave needs to get accustomed to putting the needs of his Master ahead of his own gratification.
It took several days for me to become accustomed to the feel of wearing my slave chains. Eric had fitted them so that, when standing up straight, there would be a slight tugging on my cock and balls which kept my whole basket in a somewhat upright and forward position inside my panties. This, plus some occasional pinching—sometimes excruciating—caused by the chain links wrapped around my balls, made it extremely difficult ever to forget to whom I belonged.
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