“Master Seeks Slave,” the headline read. It seemed simple enough, and I was curious and bored, so I clicked to see the description.
I trolled around craigslist occasionally to see what sort of things people were into. It was so much better than looking at classifieds in the newspaper because sometimes people were able to give very long descriptions, and just occasionally they became fantasies for me. It occurred to me, though, that no woman who was posting on craigslist could possibly be as beautiful as she described herself, and I thought that if I responded I would be talking to some pathetic loser who couldn’t get a date outside the internet. The irony of my thinking they were losers for posting, when I would be the one responding, never occurred to me.
This one ad, though, caught my eye - and I was already reading it before I realized that it was from a man.
I am looking for a boy to come and relocate to Louisville, KY, where he will be my live- in slave.
This is not a sexual relationship. In fact, you and I will never have sex, and you will wear a chastity belt for the duration of your contract. You will, however, be completely under my control.
I am 25, white, 6'1, 170 lbs, and straight. Your age, race, or orientation is immaterial; your commitment to being a complete slave, however, must be unquestionable. Once I have you under my control, you can expect to suffer torture, bondage, and humiliation. I will use you to relieve my aggression, so you can expect regularly to be flogged, shocked, gagged, hooded, and kept in tight, inescapable bondage for the duration of your contract. You will perform housework and obey my every instruction without question.
Please be serious about this. Send me an email explaining why you would want to be a slave, why you would make a good slave, and how long of a contract you are looking for.
I was embarrassed with myself for being aroused by this listing. I have always had a deep, abiding love for bondage, but I was straight - the idea of being enslaved by a man seemed uncomfortable to me. But he had made it clear that this wasn’t about sex, and that he was straight himself, so … what, really, did I have to lose by emailing him?
I made up a fake email before I sent my reply.
I was very intrigued by your listing and was hoping that you would consider me as a candidate to be your slave.
I have a deep, abiding love of bondage and control, but most of my life I have had no one with whom I could engage in this passion. I am straight, but no girl I have ever dated has had any interest in the type of total control that you described. I realize that no sane person would truly consider your proposal as a realistic option, because it seems like you have everything to gain and nothing to lose, while I would be giving up my freedom with no reward.
I think though, Sir, that I find myself responding because you have described for me my biggest fantasy. I love being in chains - I feel safe in them, like I’m protected. I love the feel of cold metal against my wrists, of a leather collar buckled about my neck. I’ve tied myself up for hours this way, but I have to keep the keys nearby and I’ve never truly lost control.
This is also ruined for me by achieving an orgasm while masturbating, because after I cum I never feel like being in the bondage anymore. The idea of being prevented from masturbating is terrifying but intriguing at the same time.
I want to lose control. I want my freedom to be beyond my power to regain. I want the knowledge that I am truly and utterly OWNED, and that no amount of begging or pleading will get the chains from my wrists.
I am 29, 5'10", 180 lbs. White, straight, dark long hair. I live in Washington, DC, but am willing to relocate. I am including a face picture of myself for your reference.
I hope that I hear back from you soon.
-Brian
Several days passed before I heard back. I was nervous and excited the entire time. I checked this fake email every hour, sometimes twice or three times an hour, hoping that this guy would respond back.
I wasn’t sure why I was so excited. I knew in my heart that I was just playing a game, that I was never going to submit completely to a complete stranger, and I was not going to move to Kentucky to do it! Still, three days later, when I finally got the response, I stared at the email with nervous anticipation while I dared myself to open it. The subject said simply, “Hello boy."
You neglected to mention what length of contract you wanted to arrange, but I can overlook that. You seem like a serious candidate for what I am looking for, and you have all the right reasons. Maybe we can work this out.
If you are really serious about this, I say we meet up and talk. I know that Washington DC is a nine hour drive from here, but we can meet halfway - maybe next weekend?
Please don’t waste my time with this. If you aren’t really interested, please let me know now so I don’t drive for five hours just to find you missing. We will need to come up with a way for us to prove that you are really serious about this, or at least to make sure that you actually meet with me. Let me know what you think.
-David
He included a picture of himself. I don’t know what I was expecting, but he wasn’t it. Maybe I was expecting a kinky bondage master wearing leather chaps and a thick handle-bar moustache. Instead, David looked perfectly ordinary. He was wearing a black track jacket with white stripes, and his black hair was just barely in his eyes. He wore gauged plugs in his ears, just big enough to stick a straw through. His blue eyes looked friendly and inviting. He was built - he certainly looked like he could kick my ass - but nothing about him looked like a dominant bondage master.
I would like to meet. There is a travel center in Beckley, West Virginia, that is halfway between us.
As far as how I can guarantee that I will come - I have an idea for that. If you have one, you could send me a chastity device without the key. I will take a video of myself putting on the device, and you will mark the device and the lock so you know for sure that it’s yours. You will bring the key with you to our meeting, and if I don’t show up, I won’t be able to get out.
We exchanged more details through email - exact time, date, etc. - but in my mind this was all still a game. This wasn’t really going to happen - this was just a fantasy that I was acting out in the real world. I thought this when I sent him my address, and I thought this when I gave him my phone number.
The fantasy came crashing down to reality, though, a week later, when my chastity device arrived in the mail.
It looked like a simple enough device - rings of metal, a cage, some metal teeth that looked really intimidating. This was obviously an expensive device, and I was both flattered and alarmed that David had sent me something this elaborate. If I was still thinking of this as a game, he obviously was not.
There wasn’t a padlock like I had been expecting. There was, however, a keyhole, and it looked like once I had it on everything would snap right into place. I would have to spend hours with a hacksaw if I wanted to get this thing off, and the idea of putting a hacksaw that close to my balls was terrifying.
I tried it on almost immediately. I was careful not to lock it - I didn’t want that to happen just yet! - but I enjoyed the feel of the cool metal against my penis. The cage was tight, and I felt myself growing hard inside of it, and in that moment I wanted to jerk off so badly that it was all I could do to get the thing off and pleasure myself. After I came, I thought, this is all stupid. I can’t believe I’m really considering this!
But it kept getting more and more serious, and it came to a climax the day David called me.
He sounded as ordinary as his picture had looked. He wasn’t harsh or cruel; he didn’t have a deep baritone voice, or a lisp, or even the hick accent I was expecting from a Kentuckian.
He laughed. "We don’t need to do that ‘Sir’ stuff just yet … not unless we decide to do this. So you got the package, right?"
"Yeah, I did. I’m holding it now."
"Good. I want you go ahead and put it on. I don’t need you to record it - just take a picture afterwards and email it to me. It’s a pretty unique device - I had it special-made a few years ago."
I was curious. "Really? For who?"
"You won’t believe this - but that device was for me. I wore that thing for about four months straight. Drove me nuts the whole time, but I loved it."
"Why’d you take it off, then?"
He thought for a moment. "I wanted to see what the other side was like. It seemed like everyone who topped me sucked at it, and I kept thinking, 'I’d be great at this,’ so I figured I’d try it out. I admit, you’d be my first long-term slave, if this works out. But we are going to meet, then, right?”
I heard the anxiousness in his voice - he wanted this just as much as I did.
“Yeah … yeah, I think we are."
"Then go ahead and put it on, and take a picture. I’ll see you on Saturday at noon."
He hung up, and I was left with the device in my hands. It was only Tuesday - I could have waited until Thursday to put it on and take the picture. I could have masturbated right then and there, and I probably would have forgotten about the whole sordid business and been happier for it. Instead, though, I went to the bathroom, rubbed Vaseline on my dick, and slowly worked my cock into the metal tube.
I wanted to masturbate so badly. I felt a hard knot in the bottom of my stomach, the type of terror that results from making a decision on which there is no going back. Closing my eyes, and all the while cursing myself for eight kinds of stupid, I pushed all the pieces in place, and I gasped in wonderment and despair as I heard that terrible, final click.
There was no help for it, now. I had no choice but to meet him.
The days between the locking and the meeting were a mixture of a nightmare and a fantasy. I really, honestly could not get my dick out of the thing, and the spikes around the side of it made it too uncomfortable for me to try to get off while in the device - every time my dick got really hard, the spiked drove mercilessly into my soft flesh, causing me a type of agony that wasn’t remotely fun or arousing. I spent the days at work worried whether or not anyone would notice the slight bulge in my pants, but no one seemed to, and if anyone had noticed, no one said anything.
The drive to Bickley was especially horrible, though. It was uncomfortable to sit so long while wearing the device, and after a couple of hours my balls felt thoroughly bruised. It was a relief, then, when the Travel Plaza finally came into view.
I found David just where he said he would be, sitting at a table in the corner. He smiled when he saw me, and he stood up, offering me his hand to shake.
"Hey, I’m glad you came,” he said.
“I … I am too,” I admitted, “but I guess I didn’t have much choice with this thing on."
He chuckled. "First things first, then … do you want the key? We can let you out and then talk if you want."
I had been wanting the key all morning - all week, really. If I asked for it, he would give it to me, and then I would be so horny that I would jerk off right there in the bathroom of the Travel Plaza, and then once I’d jerked off I wouldn’t want to be a slave, and …
"No,” I said reluctantly. “Let’s just sit for now."
David looked exactly the way his picture had promised he would. He looked younger than 25, but I took him at his word. He wore a black t-shirt and faded blue jeans, a black studded belt and a brown distressed leather racing jacket. A three-foot chain connected his wallet to his belt, and he wore Chucks, just like I did. We both noticed this about each other at the same time, and we joked about how arch support was for the weak. A half hour of awkward smalltalk ensued before we really got down to business.
"So I’m kind of surprised,” he said, “that someone like you was tempted by … my offer. Now that you’ve met me, what do you think? Is this something you want to do?"
This was the moment when I should have backed out. I should have thanked him politely for his consideration and gone on with my life. That was what I had planned on doing, after all, the entire time I had driven to Beckly, the entire time we had made the awkward smalltalk, and up until the exact moment I opened my mouth to say "No.” But if I had said “no,” there wouldn’t be a story to tell, would there?
“Yes.” The word hung there between us for a moment. I was stunned, and I think he was too. “I want to do this. My lease is running out in a month, and I hate my job anyway. I can come to Louisville and find a job. I want … I …” I whispered, since we were in public - “I want to be your slave."
He grinned then, and a malicious look of triumph filled his eyes. "Oh, you won’t need to find a job. I have … a lot of money. You won’t be leaving the house for the length of the contract - which, by the way, we still have not established."
"A year.” Again the words were out of my mouth before I could take them back, but I was relieved as soon as I said it. Oh, I was filled with a certain kind of despair, too, the realization that my life was about to fall completely out of my control and that I was going down a path from which there was no return, but there was another feeling, too, a sense that one of my deepest desires was being fulfilled.
I couldn’t wait. I wanted this to start now, and the idea of waiting another month was beyond me. Another month to worry, question, and rethink what I was doing? No, no!
“I want to start now,” I said. “I want to start today."
If I was expecting an argument from David, it never came. Instead, he nodded thoughtfully. "You probably need to get some things in order - square your apartment away, put all your things in storage, drop a forwarding address in the mail, stuff like that. I’ve never been to DC myself, so maybe I’ll take in the sights for a couple of days and take you back with me. How does that sound?"
"That sounds great,” I said resolutely. And, much to my own surprise, I meant it.
I was done being shocked by my decision. I had a lot to accomplish in a very short amount of time - I wanted to be completely ready to go by Tuesday at the latest.
Quitting my job was the easiest part. I left a message on my boss’s voicemail. I would lose a week’s pay, but what was I going to do with money anyway?
The harder part was deciding what to do with all my stuff. I was a packrat, and I had an entire apartment full of odds and ends - clothes, furniture, pots, pans, everything that I had collected over eight years of living on my own. David solved this problem neatly by hiring a moving company and renting a massive storage unit in Alexandria. He told me to keep a few changes of clothes and a black leather jacket he especially liked, but otherwise I was to put everything in storage. He told the proprietor of the U-Store facility that I was moving to India for a year to work on a government project. My entire life - including my car - was packed away by Monday night.
Tuesday morning I took the Metro into the city. I wandered around Washington for a couple of hours, taking it all in. I had lived there for fifteen years, and I had never really appreciated it as a tourist. I found some irony in going to the Lincoln memorial, considering what I had in store for myself, but I could not help but smile all day as I wandered from monument to monument. I really considered going into some of the Smithsonians, but I thought better of it - after all, the metal contraption on my dick would hardly go unnoticed by the metal detectors.
I was back at my apartment by noon. David arrived shortly thereafter,
and he smiled at me as I threw my bookbag into the trunk of his car.
“You’re really sure about this, right, buddy?” he asked me again.
"All right. I’m going to ask you this one more time when we get home, and you’ll answer by putting on my collar, which you’re not taking off for the next year. Until then, you can consider yourself my prisoner.” He pulled from the glove box of his car a pair of hinged handcuffs and a set of leg irons. “I thought about having you wear a gag, too, but not only would that make for a pretty boring ride back, but I’m not sure how we could avoid notice that way."
I was a little self-conscious about putting on the handcuffs in the parking lot where anyone could see, but David took me roughly by the arm and threw me against his car, twisting my wrists so the palms faced away from each other behind my back. With a ratcheting noise I heard the cuffs lock into place, and I felt the cool metal dig slightly into my wrists.
"Too tight?"
"I don’t think so."
"Good damn thing, 'cause I wasn’t loosening them.” He kicked my legs apart and gave my ankles the same attention, and I found that I could now neither run nor do anything to defend myself. I had well and truly placed myself under his control.
He helped me get into the car. He let me sit in the front seat, and he helped me fasten the seatbelt as we departed. I knew that what I faced next was going to be a long, awkward journey back to Louisville. I didn’t dare ask him how, cuffed as I was, I was going to go to the bathroom along the way.
I found out all sorts of things about David as we drove. We had nothing to do but talk, really, and actually learn more about each other. He was in a rock band, and he had a lot of money because he had inherited it from his rich father who, though a deadbeat dad his whole life, had nonetheless in death provided an ample sum of money for the son whom he barely knew.
When we got to Louisville, it was dark. My arms ached from the discomfort of the position in which they had been held most of the day, and I really wanted nothing more than to lay down and take a nap. I knew, though, that I wasn’t going to have a chance to relax.
I got my first and only view of the outside of the house when we arrived.
It was an old Victorian mansion in what looked like an older part of the city. It looked creepy, and I was a little apprehensive when we walked inside. David brought me inside and invited me to sit on the couch. I was almost comfortable, except for my restraints and the constant throbbing of my dick inside its cage.
He came back into the room with two glasses of water and a traditional pair of handcuffs. He cuffed me in the front this time so I could get somewhat comfortable, but I didn’t bother to ask if I could sit without wearing the restraints at all. He sat in the chair across from me and pulled it close.
“Alright, this is the really serious part,” he said. “I hope we can be friends, but I want you to know that if you agree to this again, I am going to hold you to this one year. There will be nothing you can do or say to me that will make me release you. I am going to keep you in chains, gag you all night, flog you when the mood takes me, spit and piss on you when you’ve pissed me off - I am going to be a complete dick to you, and there won’t be a damn thing you can do to stop me. You will be my slave for a year and a day, starting today, and you will always call me 'Sir’ or 'Master,’ and you will never say 'I’ or 'me’ when talking about yourself. Most importantly, you will never cum, no matter how much you want to.
"I will milk you, of course, to make sure everything’s okay, and I’ll take you to the doctor when we need to, and I’ll feed you and water you enough that you’ll never be malnourished. I’ll make sure - trust me on this - that you get enough exercise. I will never do anything to you that will harm you in the long term - at least not physically.
"Now,” he finished, “this is your last chance to set any terms. Do you have any more conditions before we proceed?"
I thought for a moment. I couldn’t think of much, but I had been a fan of bondage long enough to know that people did some weird things. "You already said there won’t be sex,” I said. “I assume that goes both ways.
So neither of us will engage in sexual contact with the other one, ever.
“And I won’t eat or drink anything … foul, like shit or cum or anything else that comes from someone’s body. Agreed?"
“And … you won’t tattoo anything on me."
He laughed out loud this time. "I won’t what!"
"People do it!” I protested. “You won’t tattoo anything on me, or burn me, or do anything else to make permanent marks."
"Of course not,” he said.
“And finally …” I felt really silly on this one, but I had to be sure … “… you won’t, um, sell me to someone else, or rent me, or anything else like that."
"Naturally not,” he agreed.
“Those are all my conditions, then."
"All right … go downstairs, and you’ll find a black isolation hood and some cuffs chained to the ceiling. Think about this really hard - if you put on that hood and lock on those cuffs, you’re mine for a year. You can leave at any point up until you do that. I am going to go upstairs and get cleaned up - I hope you’re still here when I get back."
He uncuffed me then, handcuffs and leg irons, and I gingerly rubbed my wrists as he placed a small key - I assumed it was to the chastity device - on the coffee table. He then disappeared up the stairs.
I took the chastity key with me to the dungeon below. I decided that I would jerk off one more time before I made this choice - I knew how dangerous that was, but something warned me that I had to want this even after cumming, or I was in for a year of hell.
The dungeon was everything I could have ever hoped for, all in one place - and all, I realized suddenly, for me, if I wanted it. It was unfinished, of course, so it had a cement floor and ductwork, but the instruments of bondage and torture were staggering in their cruelty. In one corner I saw a rack, just waiting to stretch a helpless victim. In another corner there was a St Andrew’s cross, and in the wall between those things were all sorts of pegs that held chains, manacles, collars, blindfolds, gags, handcuffs … I looked in the closet, and I saw a leather straightjacket and a bright orange prisoner uniform. The most sinister object of all, near the stairs, was an electric chair, painted black with leather straps to hold the feet, hands, and neck in place. And then there was the center of the room.
Just as David had promised, the middle of the room held the chains that would seal our contract. There was a stool there, but it was clearly there only so I could easily find the hood and the five padlocks. The hood had a hole in the front through which I would be able to breathe, but the laces up the back and the collar in the back would ascertain that I would not be able to get the thing off without a strong pair of scissors.
The manacles reached from the ceiling and hung in the middle of the room. I touched them gingerly - I would be pretty uncomfortable while wearing these. There were ankle cuffs, too, fastened to the floor, but the chains on those were pretty short, maybe six inches.
I immediately took off my clothes and looked at my poor dick in its metal cage. Being down here in this room, by myself, and finally holding the key to my release, I watched with amusement as my dick sprang to attention as soon as the device was off.
I wanted to masturbate so very badly. I wanted to take my dick into my hands and jerk until I came, and given my present state of arousal, that wouldn’t take long at all. But I knew that if I jerked off, I wouldn’t put the chains on, I wouldn’t hood myself - I would walk out the door, and, though it would be incredibly awkward to get my job back, and find a way back to Washington …
With resign, I slowly put the chastity device back on, locking it in place, still so horny that I could barely stand it. I approached the chains, and I placed my ankles inside the shackles, and I heard the padlocks click into place. Even if I didn’t finish doing this, I was still firmly and inescapably trapped in this basement. The isolation hood looked intimidating, but I wanted this over with.
The hood - I had never felt anything so intense as putting on the hood for the first time. It was thick, black leather, and as I lowered the hood over my head, all light and sound were blocked out. It took me a while to lace the hood, and then to buckle it into place …
I started to panic a little. This was a little much, but it was far too late for second thoughts. I buckled the collar in place and firmly clicked the padlock around the collar. Feeling for the last two locks, I reached above myself, standing on the tips of my toes, and found the manacles, which took only a moment to lock into place.
I had accepted being David’s chastity slave. What did I have in store now?
