Description An enormously large, muscular man has only one thing he wants out of life: to be a good boy for his master. He is searching for a new master to take him in when he finds someone who is willing to give him a try-out, and who is not turned off by his enormous balls and knee-length caged cock.
|Updated||07 Sep 2019|
I approached the bouncer timidly. There was no reason for me to be nervous, but I’m always a wreck until I find a master. I don’t like doing things of my own accord, it feels like I’m being bad. I want to obey. I am a good boy.
I stood at the bottom of the three concrete steps leading to the club entrance so I wouldn’t scare him too much. I guessed from the few furtive glances I had allowed myself that the bouncer was maybe six foot two, and very muscular. Still, despite the fact that he was at the top of the steps and I was standing on the ground, our eyes were at the same height. I refused to look at his face, though. A good boy keeps his gaze cast down when addressing his betters.
“M-May I c-come in, sir?” I stammered. “My m-master said I-I sh-should wait f-for him i—i-inside.” The lie made me sick to my stomach. Lying is bad. But I needed to look for a master, and my best chances were in a place like this. I didn’t even know if the lie was necessary; maybe he would have let me in if I had simply asked for permission. I so rarely go anywhere without a master to tell me what to do that I just don’t know what the rules are.
I kept my eyes on the bouncer’s feet as he nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was probably wondering what he would do if I started to cause problems inside. Or maybe he was wondering what he could possibly do to stop me from coming in.
“Sure, dude, whatever,” he grunted.
“Thank you, sir.” I bobbed my head in respect. Then I climbed the three steps. The bouncer had to scrunch himself at the very edge of the stoop to make room for me. I tried my best to not get in his personal space, but my shoulders are really, really wide and my back muscles make my arms stick way out. I turned sideways to squeeze through the doorway. First my right arm, then down with the shoulder and head, then kind of shuffle sideways until my left arm was inside. What was I going to do when I couldn’t get through doors any more?
Once inside, I stepped away from the door as soon as I could; I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone by blocking the entrance. I looked around the large main room with relief. There were people talking and eating and drinking and walking around, but I only cared about who was here, rather than what they were doing. This place would have lots of masters by the end of the night. Masters often look like regular people, but slaves like me are easier to spot. It was early, but already I saw several guys wearing leashes; one of them had on a pup mask. I knew from experience it would be a mistake to talk to those guys. Though I felt a kinship with them, I would make them feel too uncomfortable. I tried to ignore my loneliness as I scanned the room for a hallway that looked like it would have a restroom at the end. Seeing one, I hitched up the backpack that was too small for my back and headed over to it.
It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet, so there was no one else inside the restroom. As quickly as I could, I ripped off my plain white t-shirt. I might have gotten it off without ruining it, but it would have taken forever and I wanted to display myself to potential masters as soon as possible. I did take a moment to pause and look at my bare chest in the mirror. Written permanently across my enormous pecs were two words: “Slave Boy”. My name. I was so proud of that tattoo. One of my favorite masters, Master Ruben, had gotten that done for me. I smiled fondly and mentally thanked him again for that gift.
I stuffed the now-tattered t-shirt into the backpack and took out a stringer tank top I had prepared that I hoped would attract a master. I didn’t need it to show off my muscles—the t-shirt had been practically bursting—but stringers are just easier to get on and off. I put the shirt over my head and stretched it down over my pecs. It dug into my armpits a bit, but I would be fine. Hopefully my new master would give me permission to go shirtless.
I looked at the front of my shirt, on which I had written “Yes Sir Thank You Sir” in Sharpie. The back said, “Hard Worker Good Boy”. I sincerely hoped that would get my point across. I reached into the backpack again and fished out a chain-style dog collar. Hanging from it was a single key. I put it around my neck with some relief. I had to do everything in exactly the right order, or I would screw it all up.
Knowing this would be my last chance to do so for a long time, I hefted my grapefruit size balls up to make sure they were snugly secure in their special jock strap. Next, I pulled a pair of handcuffs and a zip tie out of the backpack, letting it fall to the ground. I felt guilty for leaving the backpack for someone else to pick up, but when I was done here it would be very difficult to pick up. Maybe whoever found it would want to keep it. I tugged down the waistband of my sweatpants to reveal the first few inches of my chastity cage where it reached over the top of my jock strap. I didn’t even need to be locked up to keep from using my penis. It was just so large, reaching exactly down to my knee, that if I allowed myself to get an erection, I would pass out. The chastity cage prevented that.
I laced the zip tie through my cage and around the chain part of the handcuffs, then tightened it until the cuffs were firmly attached. I refused to wonder what I would do if this didn’t work. I just had to want a master badly enough, and one would come to me. I couldn’t stand another night without someone to tell me what to do.
I pulled my sweatpants back up, thinking gratefully about whoever had invented them. Without sweatpants, I would have had to stop going out in public years ago; how would I ever have found new masters then?
Now I had just the two open cuffs sticking out of my waistband. I slipped my left wrist into one and closed it tightly with my right hand. Now came the tricky part, but one of my former masters, Master Joe, had particularly enjoyed watching me render myself helpless in just this way, so I had practice. I put my right wrist into the remaining cuff. Then I wriggled the cuff and my body around until it was wedged between my abs and my right thigh. It took a moment, but soon my hands were essentially cuffed to my dick.
I really hoped this would make me look suitable to be claimed. I needed to seem harmless yet useable. I knew that eventually I would find someone to own me, but the time between masters was always a painful one. I’m a good boy. I need someone to obey.
I squeezed myself out of the restroom and shuffled into the club. I needed to be here early because I needed a table. I picked the smallest one I could find, off the the side, so that the back of my shirt would be legible to passersby. I gently nudged one of the chairs to the side with my foot so I could kneel at the table. This would ensure that if a prospective owner sat down, my head would still be lower than his. Kneeling with cuffed hands and oversized genitals was another tricky task, but again, this was a skill I had practiced more times than I could remember. I managed to position myself without bruising my knees or landing on my dick or squashing my balls too badly, and settled down to wait.
There was a server several tables away. I wished he would come over and sell me a beer. He glanced disinterestedly around the room, his gaze passing across me where I knelt, rather than sat. Then he looked back at me with a startled expression. He had suddenly realized I was much larger than he had expected any patron to be. He sauntered over to the table I was at. I don’t know how or why, but whenever I really need something while I search for a master, I usually get it. Maybe it’s just that I’m so grateful.
“Well hello, big boy,” he smiled. I didn’t like his smile, but I needed his help. “What can I get you?”
“Thank you for coming, sir,” I stated humbly. I held my hands as high as I could so he could see they couldn’t move much. “There’s some money in my pocket, sir. Could you please reach in, take out a 20, bring me a beer, and keep the change, sir?”
He stood there for a moment with one eyebrow raised.
“Are you shitting me?”
“No, sir. Please, sir?”
“Oh my God,” he sighed. He reached into my pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. “Dude! There’s like, fucking $500 in here! What if I decided to take all of it?”
“I hope you won’t, sir,” I begged, bowing my head. “But I really need the beer, please, sir.”
“You are seriously messed up.” He took a 20 and shoved the rest of the money back into my pocket. A few minutes later he brought the beer. This time he got a good look at my shirt and paused to read both sides.
“You really are fucked up,” he smirked.
“Yes, sir. Would you please put the beer by the other chair, sir?”
“Your master coming to meet you?” He put the beer across the table from me.
“I very much hope so, sir. Thank you again, sir.”
The server shook his head and hurried off. He stayed well away for the rest of the evening.
I took a deep breath, settling myself for a long wait. My new master might not come for another six hours. He might not come at all tonight. No, I couldn’t think that, my new master would come for me. I waited patiently. Good boys are patient.
A part of me was aware that people were walking past, doing double-takes at my size, commenting on my kneeling position, chortling over the messages on my shirt. They didn’t really matter to me. I was busy “feeling” for my new master.
A couple times, I felt the little tug inside my gut that signaled someone who could be a master was looking at me or thinking about me. One man tugged at me for a full minute, but moved on after that. I wondered if this was what it was like to go fishing. I had only ever gone on one fishing trip, and my master forbade me from touching his reel or tackle or anything. I was there to clean the fish after master caught them. But I heard him and his friend talking about it, and fishing did sort of sound like what I was doing here. Except when I’m fishing for a master, the bait is me.
I just waited. The music got louder and louder. It made me anxious. To distract myself, I repeated my Good Boy Rules in my head. Good boys obey. Good boys work hard. Good boys don’t whine. Good boys do what is required. Good boys anticipate their masters’ needs, but get permission before they act. Good boys show deference and respect. And on, and on. There are many, many rules.
It was about one in the morning, and I was starting to worry that maybe tonight wasn’t my night when someone showed some serious interest. I felt a strong tug as a man approached me from behind.
“‘Harrrd worker…gooooood boy’,” slurred the man standing behind me. “Hey! Are you? Are you a good boy, boy?” A boot nudged me in the small of my back. “Whoa, what the fuck, you’re kneeling? Fuck, I thought you were in a chair, you’re fuckin’ huge.” The man walked around to stand by the chair opposite me. He read the front of my shirt out loud.
“‘Yes sir, thank you sir.’ Hey, you didn’t answer my question. Answer me.”
A command! I felt a jolt of relief and exultation. I could obey! It had only been three days since I had a master, but that was already such a long time to go without obeying!
“I try to be a good boy, sir. I really, really try all the time, sir,” I assured him. The tug became a steady pull.
“You wanna be a good boy for me?”
“I would be deeply honored, sir.” To further drive the point home, I bowed my head as low as I could. It wasn’t very low, because I couldn’t get all my bulky muscles to move out of each others’ way. But good boys always try their best anyway.
“Whose is that?” He nodded to the beer that was still sitting on the table.
“It’s yours, sir, if you’d like it.”
The man sat down heavily in the chair and put his boots up on the table. He had on jeans and a long-sleeve, bright orange t-shirt. It looked like he had come here from work, probably in construction. But his jeans weren’t very dirty, so maybe a foreman or something? Or maybe he did inside things like electric stuff. He picked up the glass of beer, took a sip, made a horrible face, and spit it out. Some of it sprayed on me but I didn’t flinch. Good boys don’t whine.
“This shit’s warm! And flat!”
I was horrified. My masters either forbid me from drinking alcohol, or order me to drink a whole lot at once because they think it’s funny to see me drunk. I know very little about drinking, but it should have occurred to me that the beer would go flat! I should have kept refreshing it as the night wore on. I mean, the server never came back, but a good boy would have figured out a way to get another beer. This was all my fault!
“I’m so terribly sorry, sir! Please, sir, I-I have some m-money, I-I can b-buy you a new one!”
The man gave me a look that was part contempt, part disbelief, and part drunken sleepiness. He set the beer back on the table.
“Nah, I’ve had too much anyway. Tell you what, boy, you can make it up to me by cleaning my boots.”
Another command, and a chance to redeem myself! I scrambled to obey as quickly as I could with my hands cuffed at waist level. I had just opened my mouth to start licking when he slid his feet sideways off the table, gently kicking my nose as they went. I knew not to look the man in the face because it would have seemed like a challenge to his right to to do as he liked. Still, I could tell he was watching to see how I’d react.
I simply followed his boots to the floor. It was awkward, given how bulky my muscles are, and I tipped forward. I couldn’t stop myself with my hands bound, but I did manage to land on my left shoulder instead of my face. It hurt, but I am a good boy and I don’t complain. I landed about a foot away from my target so I had to wriggle my body forward until I could get my face next to his right boot. I knew I had to be very careful because if I hit the tabletop or pushed the table out of carelessness, that beer could tip over and spill on the man. That would be unforgivable, considering that he was so generously offering me this chance to obey.
I started licking the outside of his boot with long strokes of the tongue. Despite the awkward position, this was a skill I had practiced thousands of times. I was immensely grateful that he only had loose, dry dust on his boots and not caked-on mud. My tongue sometimes hurts real bad after cleaning dried mud. I finished cleaning the outside side of his boot and needed to reposition myself. I squeezed my powerful abs and pressed as much as I could with my left elbow and barely managed to get myself into a doubled-over kneeling position. I shuffled on my knees until I had gotten my head between his feet.
The man decided to cross his legs at that moment. He lifted his left foot to his right knee, kicking me on the side of my head. I was expecting that. By now I could tell this was my try-out and the man I hoped would become my master was testing me to see if I was truly a good boy, or just boasting. Every single master I’ve ever had has tested me, and I’m proud to say I have never failed a test. Not once. They always see what a good boy I am.
I finished cleaning his right boot, including the back part behind his heel, which a less experienced slave might have missed. Now I needed the man’s other foot, but it was up on his knee.
“May I please clean your other boot, sir?”
“I’m waiting, boy,” he smirked. He didn’t move his foot. I scooted myself out from under the table, grateful to have more room, and hitched my body up to match the height of the man’s knee. I began to lick the toe of his left boot, then all along the arch all the way to the heel. He graciously allowed me to rest my head on his leg while I worked on the back of the boot’s heel. That was a good sign that he would be an especially loving master. Finally, I leaned down so I could reach the outside edge of the boot, currently on the underside of his foot. Again very graciously, he moved his foot slightly so I could get to the last little bit. I was very proud of my thoroughness.
I retreated a few inches and again bowed my head, hoping for another command I could obey.
“May I do anything else for you, please, sir?” I didn’t get a response. I dared to look up into the man’s face. He had the appearance of a man in a trance.
This also happens with every single new master. At some point he will sort of freeze and just stare into my eyes for a long time. I don’t know why it happens, but then he snaps out of his reverie, he asks me some questions, then takes me home to consummate our bond. After a very long pause he blinked quickly and sat up a little straighter. I took that as my cue to avert my gaze back downward.
“Why’s a big boy like you wanna be a slave, anyway? Shouldn’t you be the one telling men to lick your boots?”
“I would never do that, sir!” I stated. The idea of people obeying me was appalling. I obeyed. “I’m a good boy, and good boys obey.”
“Huh. What’s your name, boy?”
“Slave Boy, sir.”
“No, like, your real name.”
“Slave Boy is the only name I’ve ever had, sir. I even have a tattoo, see, sir?” I proudly straightened up so he could read my chest. The man uncrossed his legs and leaned forward so he could move the straps of my stringer tank out of the way. With a slight smile he hooked first one side, then the other, under my nipples; the bulging shape of my pecs kept the straps in place.
He looked at my chest for a long, long moment. I wasn’t sure if he just read slowly or if he was appreciating the hard mounds of muscle the words were inked onto. Either way, I was honored to let him look as long as he liked. If I was to be his property, he ought to have a chance to examine me thoroughly first.
“So. My fucking ass hole of a ‘buddy’ ditched me for a hook-up. I’m gonna call an Uber. You ready to come home with me?”
“Yes, please, sir. I have some money for the fare, sir. I’d be honored if you would accept it. It’s in my pocket, here.” I waddled on my knees until the correct pocket was close enough that he could reach into it without getting out of his chair. With a smirk, he reached into the pocket and found the wad of money.
“Holy mother of fuck, how much is this?” he exclaimed.
“Hopefully, it’s $1,180, sir, unless the server took more than he was supposed to for the beer.” The server had assumed the bills were all 20’s, but some were 100’s. “It’s for you, sir. For my upkeep. My last master gave it to me when he couldn’t keep me anymore.”
Technically, my former master had given me permission to withdraw it from his account. He said he wouldn’t be needing it anymore anyway, so I might as well put some use to it. I wanted badly for my future master to have it.
The man agitatedly took a breath to say something, but then suddenly paused. I peeked up and saw he’d gotten a sort of a glassy look in his eyes. Our gazes locked on one another and he stared into my eyes again for a long while. I really wanted for him to just accept the money and not worry about it. He looked vaguely down at the money in his hand.
“Yeah, okay. Your upkeep. That… that makes sense.” He pocketed the large pile of bills. I was relieved someone more responsible than me would be taking care of the money. I hate money. The man messed with his phone for a bit, then stood up.
“All right boy, get up.” I stood. His head tilted back as mine rose higher and higher. “Shit, you really are big.”
I’ve noticed, when you’re slightly larger than someone and they say you’re big, it’s a compliment. When you’re much, much larger and they say you’re big, it’s not. I didn’t know if I should thank him, but decided it would be safer in this case not to. Instead I stood there awkwardly, twisting my hands back and forth in their cuffs. The man looked down at them.
“So what’s with the cuffs, anyway? That some kinda fetish you got?”
“It’s your pleasure that is important, sir, not mine. The cuffs are there so people will know I’m harmless. People sometimes are… a-afraid of me.” I looked to the side in shame. I was a good boy. I couldn’t help my size. I hated when people looked at me with fear on their faces.
“Hey,” he patted my butt. “I ain’t gonna be scared of you. I can see you’re a good boy.”
“Thank you, sir!” I gasped. Now, that was a compliment! The best ever! I desperately wanted this man to be my master. He gave me a kind little smile, like he felt sorry for me.
“Why do I feel like I’m taking home a seven-and-a-half foot tall puppy?” he mumbled, then reached up to the key hung around my neck. “So, is this for the cuffs?”
“Want me to take them off?”
“I would be very, very grateful for that kindness, sir. I swear to you, I won’t run away.”
“Ha! Sonny boy, you just gave me $1,200. I know you ain’t goin’ nowhere without me. Well, you’d better bend over or I ain’t gonna get that key off of you.”
I happily doubled over so he could reach the key. After fiddling with it for a few seconds, he undid it from the dog collar. I stood back up so he could reach my handcuffs. He unlocked one side, then the other.
“Thank you very much, sir.” I shook my hands gently, leaving the cuffs to hang out of my sweatpants.
“What did you hook these to, anyway?” The man grasped the front of my waistband and pulled straight out so he could see. He gasped when he saw my chastity cage, the handcuffs now clacking against it, and leaned down for a better look. “What the fuck?“ He let my waistband go with a snap and placed a hand directly on my crotch where my dick curved downward. His eyes grew wider and wider as his hand continued patting my caged penis lower and lower where it descended along my left leg. When he finally reached the end, right at my knee, his face was just at the height of my scrotum. He put his other hand on my balls then used both hands so he could scoop under them and sort of heft them upward. Two larger-than-softball-sized bulges moved up and down inside the sweatpants. The man suddenly looked up into my eyes. He was too quick, and I wasn’t able to avert my gaze in time.
“That’s all you? You’re not stuffing or something?” he questioned.
“Those are really my genitals, sir.” I was getting anxious. I hated this moment, when a new master discovered the size of my privates. I always worried they wouldn’t like me because of them. I fervently wished he would be okay with them.
“You put silicone in them, or what?”
“N-N-No, sir, they…they j-just grew.” I desperately wanted him to not worry about my genitals. I was a bottom, anyway, they didn’t matter. I wanted him to like my ass and my mouth, not my dick and balls. “Please, please, please let him like my privates,” I thought frantically. He spent some more time feeling my balls through the sweatpants: he hefted them up and down, reached his hand as far behind them as he could, squeezed each one just hard enough so that they ached slightly.
“Un-fucking-believable,” the man muttered to himself. I was deeply relieved that his tone wasn’t disgusted or jealous. Then he addressed me again. “You are a bottom, right?”
“Y-Yes, sir. I couldn’t use my penis even if I wanted to, sir.” He roared with laughter when I said that.
“No, I guess there ain’t a bun anywhere big enough to hold that weiner, eh?” he guffawed at top volume, patting my cock cage through the leg of my sweats. The last remaining patrons in the bar all turned and stared. I saw them and blushed in shame. “Hey.” He stood up, reached his hand all the way up to my cheek and turned my face back toward his. “Don’t you worry about them, I’m here. I’ll keep you safe, sweetheart.”
I felt such intense joy when he said that tears came to my eyes. He had put his finger right on why I was so desperate to find a master. When I was owned, I was safe. He would protect me, just as I would serve him.
“Thank you, sir, thank you so much.”
“Let’s go.” He patted my cheek and led the way to the exit. Encountering the doorway, he looked first at it, then at me, then back with much amusement on his face. “You know what? You go first. I want to watch this.” He stepped back with a chuckle.
I approached the doorway and reversed the cumbersome process of entering. First my left arm, then down with the shoulder and head, then kind of shuffle sideways until my right arm was outside. I hurried down the steps to give the bouncer space while my soon-to-be master sauntered out.
“What, are you telling me you’re…his master?” the bouncer chuckled. Instantly I felt a surge of red-hot rage. How dare he disrespect this wonderful, kind man, how dare he? In two steps I was at the base of the stoop with my nose touching his.
“You do not disrespect this man!” I screamed, spittle flying into the bouncer’s eyes. When I raise my voice it is like a lightning strike. I am not boasting, one of my former masters said that about me often. The bouncer flinched away from me. He was an idiot. I would never have flinched.
“Oh fuck, sorry, man, sorry. Have a good night, sir,” the idiot babbled.
“You do not speak to me, I am nothing. You will address this man with respect and apologize properly.” I saw out of the corner of my eye that my soon-to-be master’s face was white and his eyes were wide.
“Y-yeah, yeah, um. Yeah.” The idiot turned and addressed my future master with proper respect. There was a puddle on the concrete at his feet and a dark spot all the way down his jeans. “I…uh, uh…I apologize for my rudeness, sir. I-I-I hope you can forg-give me. Please? Sir? Um, please, h-have a good night, sir. Thank you. Sir.”
I took some deep breaths to settle myself and stepped away from the idiot. I cast my gaze at my feet. I saw the wonderful man’s feet come up toe-to-toe with mine. His face looked up into mine and he put a hand gently on my chest.
“You good?” he murmured. For some reason he looked worried about me. I didn’t understand; he was the one who had been wronged.
“Yes, sir,” I beamed down at him. “Thank you for your concern, sir.” He gave me a mystified look for a brief second.
“Well, let’s go then, sweetheart.”
The wonderful man walked along the alley we were in toward a bigger street where there were many cars. I followed.
“This ain’t exactly a luxury resort, but I’m still surprised they’ve got that guy out here on the door,” he was telling me. “Must be filling in or something. Their regular bouncers are much more professional.”
I didn’t respond. Good boys only speak when it’s clearly necessary, or when asked a direct question. Masters often tell me lots and lots of things because they want an ear to hear their words. Their ears don’t need my words.
Inside me, Master Reuben and several of my other former masters were telling me they thought I should say something about how rude the bouncer was, but I shushed them.
“Looks like our Uber’s here,” the nice man continued, as we stepped onto the sidewalk of the big street. “Of course it’s a Prius, I guess an F-350 was too much to hope for.”
On the ride to the man’s house I earned several bruises and a scrape on my bald head from shoving myself into the back seat too quickly. Fortunately, the driver didn’t object when I laid myself down diagonally across the entire back seat. All three of us were silent for the entire trip. I think the driver was quiet because he was afraid of me; he kept nervously looking at me in the rear-view mirror. I’m not sure what the kind man was thinking about, but other than munching on a couple of protein bars, he seemed to be thinking hard. He occasionally turned to gaze at me over his shoulder for long moments. His expression was a mixture of calculation and puzzlement.
I peeked at his face enough to gather more detail than I had been able to see in the club. I guessed he was in his 30’s. His hair was a rich, dark brown, cut in a short, clipper-cut style. In contrast, he had a long, generous handlebar mustache and bushy eyebrows. His face was very square, with a wide jaw and wide cheekbones, which gave him a very solid, confident appearance. On the other hand, his cheeks were youthfully rosy and there were deep laugh lines around his eyes, making me feel like he probably smiled easily.
That “tug” in my gut that had turned into a strong pull when the man sat down was feeling very, very strange. For the first time I could remember after so many years and so many masters, I was feeling a pull in both directions. Half the time, it felt like my gut was pulling on the man, then half the time he was pulling on my gut like normal. I found this back-and-forth sensation to be deeply disturbing. I did not think my gut had any right to pull on the man, but I could not tell my gut to stop it. I could only hope he was not feeling it. That would surely make him think I was a bad boy.
When we reached our destination I literally crawled out and closed the door with care so it wouldn’t slam. I knelt in the kind man’s driveway as the Uber-that-was-actually-a-Prius pulled out. I could smell ocean and heard waves surprisingly close by, but couldn’t see anything in the dark. Two of my former masters were very impressed with the neighborhood. Master James was debating with Master David about the likely value of the kind man’s property. Master David was skeptical that a construction worker could afford a place like this.
The kind man stood next to me with his hand on my shoulder until the Prius was gone. Then…he changed. Without growing physically, his demeanor seemed to grow enormous. I saw it in the way he breathed and held his head and stood taller. But most significantly, I felt it in my gut. I can’t describe it properly, but it felt like he had been hiding or dimming down his commanding presence until now, and it was swelling to the surface now that it was just me nearby. His kindness didn’t go away, but in an instant he felt regal to me as well. All my former masters were impressed or intrigued. They knew this man was going to give them a show.
I tried not to make a noise, but a little gasp escaped my mouth. My eyes grew huge as I watched and felt his not-physical-transformation. Without looking directly at me, a tiny smile crinkled one corner of his mouth and he stroked my bald head once.
“Follow,” he ordered, snapping his fingers. He marched off toward the house, showing me that he had absolute confidence I would obey. I stood eagerly. This man understood me! If all went as I hoped it would, this man was going to use me the way I had always longed to be used. I was so excited I could hardly keep from dancing along behind him.
We entered his house, and I was delighted to notice he had a very large front door that my colossal bulk fit through easily. His house was quite large. The majority of my masters had apartments or modest one-bedroom houses. This was not a mansion but it was astonishingly large. I wondered if the man had a family or roommates.
We passed a set of stairs and stepped into his living room where he fiddled for a moment with one of a number of dimmer switches. Track lighting on the ceiling softly lit one area of the room; the rest of the room could be seen, but dimly. I counted four expensive-looking leather couches arranged in a sort of semi-circle around the largest television I had seen in my life. There were a number of tables that held sculptures of various kinds; two enormous, expertly woven rugs on the hardwood floor; and pictures and paintings in a variety of sizes on the walls. The general impression of the room was that its owner was a collector of fine arts and crafts. The man snapped his fingers again. He spoke in a calm, quiet tone and gestured toward the couch he had illuminated.
“Slave Boy. Clothes off. Knees, couch. Arms, back of couch. Ass low. Then stay.” I was elated. Crystal clear commands, given firmly but without malice. I scrambled out of my sweat pants, jock strap, and tank top, folding them neatly with quick, efficient flicks of the wrist. Unsure where else to put them, I set them carefully on the floor near the wall. The handcuffs I had used earlier clacked against my cock cage with each movement of my naked body. I had never had a chance to cut the zip tie, but I could tell now was not the time to ask the man for some scissors.
I folded my massive, seven-and-a-half foot tall body over the couch and knelt on the cushion, leaning my upper body cautiously over the back. I worried that the couch would tip over, but it seemed to either be extremely heavy or bolted to the ground because it didn’t budge, even when I gave it a tentative push. Resting my arms on the back of the couch, I let my ass project slightly off the front of the couch and spread my knees very wide so my ass would be as low as possible. I felt my balls dangle on the leather. I hadn’t been told to do so, but I also extended my back to make a pleasing curve for the man to look at. Good boys sometimes have to anticipate a master’s needs.
Pushing my balls out of the way, I also took the liberty of draping my cock off the edge of the cushion, in the event that I came while the man was fucking me. I would get his permission first, of course, but it would be easier to clean the cum off of the hardwood floor later. If I was going to be burdened with the world’s most humiliatingly long dick, I should at least be able to aim it where it would make less of a mess.
The man had left the room while I prepared myself for him. But I had been told to stay, so I stayed. I did not call out for him or turn my head to look for him. A good boy only obeys patiently, and I am a good boy.
I think the silence was about fifteen minutes. It was long enough for my leg muscles to begin to ache. Then, out of complete stillness, I felt the man’s hand rub the small of my back. At the same time, he spoke in a gentle, praising tone.
“Good boy. You are patient and obedient. I can tell you like being a good boy, don’t you?”
“Very much, sir. It is the most important thing in the whole world to me, sir.”
“It shows.” I felt his hand begin to spread to my sides where my muscles go very far outward like wings. “And you like to obey, don’t you? Perhaps you even feel like when you have no commands to obey, you can’t be truly happy?”
“Yes, sir, that’s exactly right!” The man chuckled at my surprised tone. His hips were between my legs. I could feel that he was naked too. He reached down and hefted my balls a couple times.
“Sweetheart, you don’t know it yet, but we both struck the jackpot tonight.” He fondled my balls for a moment longer, then put both hands on my ass and addressed me in that same firm-but-kind tone.
“Slave Boy. I’m going to enter you. You need to prepare yourself, because I have reasons to believe that when I do, it will be a much more intense experience than you’ve ever had. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir, this might be very intense, and I should prepare myself. Thank you, sir.” His statement was puzzling, but if a good boy is confused, he must simply accept what is told to him at face value. I wondered if he just meant that he had a very large penis, but it didn’t sound like he meant it that way.
“Lift your ass three inches.” I did. “Good boy.” He pressed his penis just the tiniest bit into my hole. His penis was lubricated, so his comment about intensity wasn’t referring to bareback sex. I did note to myself that he was quite thick in the cock. That made me happy. He would soon be my master, and he would likely fuck me with his thick penis all the time. Good boys are allowed to enjoy getting fucked, as long as they understand that their master’s pleasure is what really matters. Maybe that’s what he meant about jackpots.
He inserted himself very slowly into me. His caution wasn’t necessary. I had had thirty-nine masters, and most had made a habit of pushing fast and hard on the very first thrust. But I was honored that he was treating me with such care. I felt like this man was going to be the best master ever.
He also had a surprisingly long penis, because he entered me for a very long time. I was just at the point of wondering if he would like me to moan a lot or remain silent when I felt my muscles lock up. I was frozen rigid and couldn’t move. The man had frozen, too. I could feel his hands gripping the sides of my ass, hard enough they would probably leave bruises. I was very frightened; even breathing was difficult. After a moment I began to tremble all over. All of the masters were silent, too; that was unnerving because they never all shut up at once.
The trembling grew worse. Within half a minute I was shaking violently. I got really terrified. A high-pitched noise started to come out of my throat. Despite my fear, I was humiliated. The fact that I couldn’t stop my voice from whining was terribly embarrassing. I worried he would think I wasn’t a good boy after all.
The man’s penis was growing thicker and longer inside of me. It began to hurt. I felt his hands come back to life and grip different parts of my back and butt. He could move again, but I could tell he was trying to pull out of me and failing. My whining sound grew louder. He began to growl as if in frustration; it was a very different voice than the voice he had used to speak to me.
He was growing taller now. He stopped straining to pull out of my butt and grabbed me around the middle with hands that were now larger than mine. He started to thrust into me, hard enough to move my heavily muscled body. His penis was now so big that it really, really hurt when he did that. His thrusts were coming almost frantically quickly, like he was desperate to cum. He was thrusting down into me instead of up because he was so tall. A trickle of something wet was running down my legs; based on the pain I was feeling and the fact that neither of us had cum, I guessed it was blood.
I could feel his balls pressing against the insides of my thighs, as if he had placed one of those giant exercise balls between my legs. My knees would be lifted off the couch soon because he was growing so much. I am ashamed to admit that if I could have, I would have been screaming hysterically by now. I am a good boy, but I guess I am not that good.
Finally, he roared like a lion and I felt his cum explode inside of me. It was like having my guts filled with flame and electricity and lava. I was cumming too and much to my consternation, my stupid, ridiculous sideshow of a dick was squirting cum on the sofa. The man had lifted me high enough that my cock had slipped back onto the cushion. Leather is easier to clean cum off of than fabric, but leather sofas have all these creases and wrinkles for cum to get trapped in. I would likely be cleaning until well past dawn. And I would be in trouble for not asking for permission to cum. Maybe I would be forgiven, since I had been unable to move my mouth.
The man leaned over me. He must have been colossal, but before I could turn to look, he ordered me not to move.
“Remain perfectly still and silent.” His voice rumbled in my gut like thunder. I nodded once. With a feeling of intense relief, I realized this man was now my master. He had consummated the bond. Knowing that helped me settle my nerves a lot and I relaxed.
A strange voice spoke up from somewhere behind me; it sounded as if the person were standing in the doorway.
“Um…boss?” His voice held surprise but not utter shock at the two enormous giants copulating on the living room couch. Whoever he was, he was definitely an adult, for which I was glad.
“Go to bed, Miguel. We’ll talk tomorrow,” the colossal man rumbled again.
“Yes sir.” Bare feet padded away.
“Now, little one, I’m going to try to make this as easy on you as I can.” His enormous bass voice seemed to cradle me. Despite the frightening episode I had just endured, I immediately felt protected and safe. “I think I understand what you are, probably more than any master ever has. Probably more than you do, actually. We’ll talk about all that later, but I need to concentrate. Again, remain perfectly still and silent.”
I remained perfectly still and silent. I had liked when he called me “little one”. I hate being big, except when my strength helps me serve my master, or when I can intimidate someone who has mistreated my master, like that idiot at the club. I felt Master’s body shrinking gradually. I carefully lowered my ass as he became shorter. I needed to adjust my arms forward on the back of the couch and I worried about what that meant. I also felt my balls taking up more room on the cushion than they had before, and I definitely knew what that meant. Why was I growing so soon?
The searing pain of his enormous penis inside me turned to a sullen ache, then suddenly his penis slipped right out of me, along with a surprising gush of cum. Normally, cum never leaks out of me. He spoke in his normal voice.
“Oh little one, I’m so sorry. You must hurt like hell.” He was rubbing his hands on my back, as if trying to comfort me. His efforts only made me feel awkward. Masters shouldn’t comfort me, that just wasn’t how this was supposed to work. “I have some cream that should at least help the pain. Stay.” I didn’t tell him that probably wouldn’t be necessary. I was remaining silent.
Master walked out of the room, leaving me to wonder at what had happened. My former masters were all babbling at each other and at me. I rarely do this, but I was completely out of patience and told them to shut up. They ignored me. I had to threaten to put them in the Quiet Room before they would settle down. Suddenly I felt Master’s finger spreading something soothing inside my anus; then I felt a soft towel wiping my legs and ass crack. All of that made me feel horribly awkward and guilty, though a small part of me was secretly enjoyed the kind treatment.
“Stand and turn around,” he ordered quietly. I stood and faced him. I was dismayed to discover the difference in our heights had increased. I knew I had grown, but he seemed to have shrunk beyond his original height as well. Master sighed as he clearly realized the same thing. “I did what I could to keep you from growing, but the pull was just too strong to completely resist.” I understood immediately what he meant. It’s what so often happens when a master fucks me, though not usually this quickly or soon: I suck the size out of him. I sank to my knees, being careful of my newly enlarged balls. Sure enough, Master’s balls were quite small, which probably meant I had taken some of his size there as well.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” I groveled. “I don’t know why it happens, and it’s never happened so much at once!”
“Slave Boy. Stand.” This time the command was much firmer, with steel inside it. I stood up like a jack-in-the-box pops up. I couldn’t stop a tear from running down my face. The size-taking shouldn’t have started already! This must mean I was going to grow more than ever before and what was I going to do?
Master lifted a beach towel from a pile of towels on a nearby table—he must have brought those while I was waiting for him to fuck me. He unfolded it and laid it on the hardwood floor in front of one of the other couches. Snapping his fingers, he pointed to the towel.
“Sit.” With extra care for my privates and still-sore anus, I sat on the towel with my face toward the couch and folded my legs. My balls took up all the space inside my legs and stuck up pretty high as well; I draped my caged dick over my balls and ankles. Master sat on the couch before me.
“So, let’s do some proper introductions. You’ll be calling me ‘Master’, of course, but in the event you need to refer to me in the third person, you may refer to me as ‘Master Mondo’. It’s short for ‘Armando’ but I despise that name, and if you hear someone call me that, you have my permission to beat the shit out of them.” His eyes twinkled when he said that. I giggled.
“And your name is Slave Boy, is it?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” I replied. What a joy it was to call someone Master again!
“We’re going to have to come up with a nickname. There are eight other men who live here and they all have nicknames, so you need one too. Got any suggestions?”
I remembered how happy I felt when he called me ‘little one”. I almost asked for that as a nickname, but good boys gratefully accept what is given to them. Good boys never make demands.
“Anything will be fine, sir.”
“Slave Boy,” Master stated slowly, “tell me what nickname you were thinking just now.” If he had phrased it differently, maybe I could have wriggled out of confessing. But it was a direct command, and I had to obey.
“Little One, sir,” I mumbled. Remembering that good boys answer clearly when asked a question, I spoke up. “I mean… sir… I really liked when you called me ‘little one’ a while ago. I hate being big. I should be little, sir, because then I could serve and obey without being so… attention-getting.” He gave the softest smile any master has ever given me. He seemed to understand exactly what I meant.
“I’ll take that into consideration, and let you know what I decide.”
“Thank you for your kindness, sir,” I whispered.
“I think I know what happens between you and your masters, boy. I have… certain effects on those I command as well. I understand the process somewhat because I’ve had opportunities you haven’t. I can’t completely stop it, but I can control it. Well… most of the time.” His last comment sounded rueful.
“This time,” he continued, “you took me by surprise. I knew there would be a compound effect, but it was much more powerful than I expected. I tried to interrupt it but in the end I realized I would just have to ride it out.” Some of what he was saying made sense, while the rest left me confused. “So, I’m afraid you’re an inch taller, and… these got bigger.” He leaned way forward and caressed my hairless ball sac. It felt quite pleasant, but I still worried my balls would disgust him. It turned out I didn’t need to worry.
“Stand,” he ordered. I did. “Feet spread. Stay,” he said firmly. He knelt down in front of me so he could heft my testicles up and down. Each was now bigger than a grapefruit, but elongated. He continued in a more meditative tone. “These are magnificent. Did you know that? You have a magnificent set of balls right here. I can tell they’re natural, because they don’t have that inflated look that siliconed balls get. How often do you shave?”
“Oh, I don’t shave, sir. I lost all my hair from all over my body many years ago. The master I had back then, Master Stephen, said I caught a disease, sir. Alo… alopia?”
“Alopecia,” he corrected with a smile. “But you don’t exactly catch alopecia. Not like a virus.”
I guessed this would be news to Master Stephen. Master Stephen liked to know things, but didn’t put much value in knowing correct things. Maybe I would ask him about it later.
“Incredible,” Master mused, stroking my balls again, almost lovingly. “As you can see, I have a bit of a fetish. Your balls and I are going to spend a lot of time together.” He sat back on the couch and snapped his fingers at the towel. “Sit.” I obeyed. “So, this Master Stephen. Where is he now? Why are you not serving him today?” Now Master was giving me a penetrating look. He already knew, or guessed, so even if I wanted to lie, I knew it wouldn’t work.
“He… He’s in here, sir,” I admitted, patting myself on the chest. “And in here.” I pointed to my forehead.
“But you don’t mean that he’s in your memories.”
“No, sir, he lives inside me, though he can move around outside my body as long as he doesn’t stray too far. You already know that I… absorb my master’s body over time. That’s why I’ve grown so huge, sir. Eventually, his body shrinks away completely, and when that happens, I invite him to stay in me. Then he lives in and around me and watches my life. And sometimes my former masters help me with their knowledge and experience. Like, Master William was a metal worker, so he taught me how to make my cock cage. Master Gregory owned a textile factory and knows all about sewing, so he showed me how to make the special jock straps I wear. And Master Reuben was familiar with this area, so he helped me get to that club where you found me.”
“Do they always stay? Every single one?”
I paused, terrified. Did he know what I had done to Master Viktor? How could he? It happened so many decades ago, I couldn’t even remember how long it had been. If Master Mondo found out, would he hate me? Would he kick me out? It had been a terrible thing to do, but Master Viktor had been a truly terrible person. Surely Master Mondo would understand. Still, I couldn’t bring up the courage to confess entirely.
“There was one master, sir. I didn’t invite him in.” My voice was hard and angry. I couldn’t help it. “I’m just a slave, sir, but that is one decision that is within my power.”
“Actually, you are not ‘just’ a slave, and you are not simply obedient. You are Obedience. You’re made of it, just as I’m made of Command. Well, Command and a few other things…” he muttered. Master caressed my face once, which cheered me up immediately. “I’m happy I found you; we’re uniquely suited to one another.
“You and I are what are called spirit hosts. A spirit is like an elemental, only rather than being made up of a physical element, spirits are made up of…well, spiritual things. There are spirits of Wisdom, of Greed, of Charity, of Lust, and on and on. I am host to a number of spirits, several of which are spirits of Command, but I host other kinds as well.
“Spirits live in a host as a way to interact with our physical world, and will influence their host’s personality and actions. In return, they feed their host life force from various sources, and for the most part, attempt to ‘improve’ their host, though they see improvement from a very particular perspective.”
“Like my former masters, sir?”
“Well… I’m not quite sure about them. There’s a lot about you I don’t understand yet, and your former masters are kind of a puzzle to me. What I do know is that you are host to at least a few spirits of Obedience; given how intensely you embody Obedience, I suspect you’re host to many. They don’t just cause you to want to obey, they’ve rewired you so that you need to obey. And in return, they feed you quite a lot of life force, some of which is taken directly from your master.
“You know, it’s been many hours since you cuffed yourself in that club. You hungry?” he asked. There was shrewdness on his face, like he knew my answer already.
“No thank you, sir, I don’t need to eat, now that I have you.”
“You feed off of my life force.”
“I-I’m sorry, sir. I honestly d-don’t mean to.”
“No worries. The other eight men who live here do eat a lot of food, but they also each get a tiny bit of my life force whenever they obey one of my commands. Since they’re all my employees, that happens quite a bit. All that extra nourishment has turned them into some pretty big boys over the years. Not as big as you, but they’re quite a sight when they’re all together.
“Because some of my life force is constantly being diverted to my boys, I have to eat like a maniac all day long. Among other things, that’s one way I keep from being absorbed by them. Do you know how to cook?”
“Yes, sir, if it’s not boasting too much, I am a very good cook.”
“Then you will make good friends with all of my boys, and I am already very glad to have you. Not that the sex wasn’t good, because you’ve got a real nice hole.”
“Thank you, sir,” I blushed. Master had said so many nice things to me tonight!
“You up to making me a snack? You’ve been through a lot, but I’m fucking starving.”
“Of course, sir! I can’t wait! Where is the kitchen, please?”
The kitchen looked more like a restaurant kitchen than what you typically find in a house. It was a ranch-style kitchen, meaning there was a big family-size dinner table at one end with nine chairs. Master Alexander observed that the table and chairs were clearly made by a master craftsman, and not the poor-quality mass-produced pieces one typically found nowadays. I silently acknowledged his delighted observation, and he went over to ooh and ahh over the quality of the sideboard. A few other masters wandered over to join him out of curiosity, or nostalgia.
At the business end of the room there was an actual walk-in refrigerator, and a separate walk-in freezer, two enormous commercial-size ovens, a range top with six burners, and a griddle and a grill. My eyes got very, very big. I was going to get to cook in here? Master saw my awestruck face.
“Whenever my boys aren’t out on a job with me,” Master explained, “they put their skills to practice on our home. This whole place has been remodeled more times than I can remember. We took out the family room and home office to expand the kitchen, but it was absolutely worth it. Tomorrow you can go out and look at the back yard. It’s pretty damn nice.
“Why don’t you make me a couple of ham and cheese omelets? If you make them big, that should get me through until the boys wake up.” He looked at his phone. “Dawn will be in a little over an hour, and the boys will be up an hour after that. I’m going to catch some z’s in the living room. Bring my snack to me when it’s ready.”
“Yes, sir!” I marched into culinary heaven. Every single item in every single cabinet was neatly placed; every square inch of every surface was sparklingly clean. The pantry was enormous and tightly organized, and had not one speck of dust in it. It took me almost no time to find everything I needed, despite the fact that I had never worked in this room before. The refrigerator was also well-organized and packed with food. I had never seen so many eggs at once outside of a market. While the omelets were cooking I took the liberty of snipping the zip tie holding the handcuffs to my cock cage with some kitchen shears. Not knowing what else to do with the handcuffs, I set them on a counter that was as far from the cooking areas as I could find.
I plated the omelets together on one plate and set the snack on a T.V. tray with a fork and napkin and a glass of orange juice. I hoped Master would approve that I anticipated the need for a beverage. I carried the tray out to the living room and set it down near where Master was dozing. I cleared my throat and Master instantly opened his eyes. He sat up and I set the tray in front of him.
“Good boy, this smells excellent.” Taking enormous bites, Master ate one of the four-egg omelets in less than a minute. He gulped down half the juice, then snapped his fingers to the side of the T.V. tray. “Come.”
I stood next to the tray. Master ate his second omelet with one hand while fondling one of my balls with the other. “Fuck, I’m gonna get horny again,” he muttered. “Thank you, Little One. Go back to the kitchen and wash your dishes. Put them away exactly as you found them. Then report back to me.”
I smiled all over my face as I was washing up. Master had said so many kind things in just a few words. He had said I was a good boy and praised the food I cooked. He had implied that my balls made him horny. He had thanked me. And he had called me “Little One” as if he’d always planned to call me that in the first place. I liked the name Slave Boy, but Little One felt so much nicer.
I sternly reminded myself that this was only the first night, and that I must not get used to so much kindness. If I wasn’t careful, I would come to expect such posh treatment, and good boys didn’t expect anything but commands from their masters.
Once the kitchen was just as pristine as I had found it, I returned to Master.
“Shall I clean up the mess on the couch, Master?” I inquired.
“No, just put a towel over it. I’m beat, and I want you to come sleep in my room when I sleep. You will clean the couch tomorrow—that’s only a few hours anyway. Get your things and follow,” he ordered with a finger snap. I grabbed my balls to keep them from swinging around; ran to the kitchen for my handcuffs; scurried back to pick up my clothing; and followed him into the entry hall, up the stairs, and from there to the farthest door on the left. This room boasted a double door, so I could walk through it without sidling, though I did have to duck my head. Master shut the double doors behind me.
In contrast to the magnificent kitchen, or the artistically-decorated front room, Master’s bedroom would best be described as plain and homey. It was smaller than a master bedroom would be in this large of a house. If I had wondered whether Master had a spouse or significant other, it was becoming more and more clear that he didn’t. The bed was king-size, but rather than having a bedside table on each side, there was nothing on one side, and a mini-refrigerator on the other—evidence that Master really did need to eat constantly. On top of the refrigerator was a single reading lamp and a digital alarm clock. There was a wide, low chest of drawers under the window. Along the wall opposite the door, there was a closet with mirrored sliding doors.
The hardwood floor was covered with several woven rugs in a plainer style than the gigantic masterpieces in the living room. Master Gregory assured me that, despite their simple appearance, he recognized signs that these rugs were nevertheless created by a master weaver. According to him, one of the rugs in the living room alone was worth many thousands of dollars. He continued to enthuse about the floor covering, but I tuned him out after that.
“Little One. Fetch two blankets from the top shelf in the closet. Spread one blanket on the rug at the foot of my bed. That’s where you will sleep from now on, unless you are given other instructions. Actually, I should ask, do you require sleep?”
“Yes sir. But now that I have you, sir, I will only require an hour or two per night.”
“You have had quite a long day, and I hadn’t planned to own a slave when I woke up this morning. I know you’re dying to serve, but I’m only going to have a limited amount of work for you tomorrow. You are to sleep as long as you can, and I mean it. When you wake, if the boys and I are still home, do not leave this room until we are gone. I will introduce you to them this evening when we get home. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. Sleep as long as I can, don’t leave the room until you leave the house.”
“Can you read?” He handed me a pillow.
“Yes, sir. And write, sir. And thank you, sir.” I accepted the pillow with a little bow.
“I will leave you a list of chores on the fridge. Have them all complete before 5:30 p.m.”
“5:30 p.m., yes sir.”
“Lie down. Silence.”
I spread the first blanket on the rug, leaving a corner of the rug exposed so Master Gregory could examine it in detail while I slept. I lay down on the blanket and arranged the other blanket over my naked body.
I had to ruthlessly force down a delighted giggle. I had a master again! And his commands were so clear and no-nonsense! I was sorry there wouldn’t be much for me to do tomorrow, but it had sounded like Master would be giving me more work in the future, and for that I was grateful. I closed my eyes and slept.
I woke up not quite an hour and a half after I went to sleep, completely refreshed. When I have a master to feed me commands, I normally only need an hour or two per day. I sat up and quickly but silently folded the blanket that had been covering my naked body while I slept, then the one that I had spread on the floor at the foot of Master’s bed to sleep on. Despite the fact that I am over seven and a half feet tall and outrageously overstuffed with muscle, I am also quite good at moving with efficiency and silence. Good boys must be able to serve their masters without distracting or disturbing them, and I am a good boy.
I put the blankets neatly away and was trying to figure out where the pillow should go when Master Mondo’s alarm clock began to play soft and gentle piano music. I was delighted. Some of my masters have used alarm sounds that ranged from gratingly unpleasant to downright frightening. Soothing piano was a treat.
The instant the first notes lilted out of Master Mondo’s clock, his eyes popped open and he immediately looked at me where I stood, uncertainly clutching the pillow he had loaned me.
“Place the pillow on the head of my bed with the others, Little One.” Different masters’ commands feel different to me. Some masters give orders that feel like concrete to me: hard, heavy, cold. Others’ commands feel like a dead rosebush: spiky, sullen, brittle. On the other hand, some are like steel beams: strong and secure, but uncompromisingly rigid as well. But for me, the best masters’ commands are like a hardwood floor: immovable, yet just the tiniest bit flexible; somehow both soothingly cool and nurturingly warm at the same time. Master Mondo’s commands were exactly like that. I glowed inside as I obeyed.
Master was laying on his back with only a sheet on, and I noticed he had morning wood. I knew a slave’s duty in this case, but it made me nervous because of what had happened last night. I worried desperately that I would grow even more. But a good boy puts his master’s needs before his own.
“Yes, Little One.”
“Um, m-m-may I help you with y-y-y-your, um, uh, e-e-erection, sir? A q-quick b-blow job, perhaps? Um, many masters find it gets the day off to a, uh, nice start, sir.”
“Good boy, Little One, that’s an excellent suggestion. Yes, you will blow me.” He removed the sheet, revealing his penis. My mouth was watering already. It was a beautiful penis. Master was maybe only five foot seven, and his testicles were tiny thanks to my sucking some of his size away last night. But his penis was nice and large; thank goodness it wasn’t as huge as it had been last night during the fucking Master had given me! I figured it was ten inches long and six inches around, circumsized, with a gloriously swollen mushroom head crowning it, and cable-like veins running majestically along its length.
Master was lying closer to the far side of the bed, so I walked around, rather than clamber about on his bed as if I belonged there. I leaned over his crotch and began to lick the mushroom head first, then quickly proceeded down his shaft. Master occasionally uttered little grunts of pleasure, but otherwise lay still and let me do my work.
I have had a few masters who were wine connoisseurs. They would talk about what kind of grapes the wine was made from, and where and when they were grown just by tasting and smelling the wine. Semen is a bit like that for me. I can learn much about my master’s personality from the taste and feel of his cum in my mouth. As my tongue traveled over every square inch of Master Mondo’s beautiful manhood, I tasted his semen from the night before. It had a robust flavor that was a lot more salty and a little more sweet than most masters’ semen. It matched his personality: pleasant, but strong and utterly confident. I could just barely detect my own sweat on his penis; since my body doesn’t make shit, that was all of myself I could detect on him.
Once I had gotten to every part of Master’s pole, I relaxed my throat and swallowed him all the way. It was nice to have a penis thick enough to really fill my throat, and what made the moment even more enjoyable was that the only sound or movement Master was making was deep, calm breaths.
When a master just relaxes and lets me pleasure him, the blow job becomes very meditative for me. The even rhythm of pumping up and down, and the conscious relaxation of keeping my throat open and my tongue flexible, and the deep breathing I need to maintain whenever my master’s manhood isn’t blocking my airway is actually a lot like meditation. Master Tomas taught me that, long, long ago.
Please understand, I also enjoy when a master orders me to open wide so he can face-fuck me; that just has an entirely different feeling of excitement and submission. Still, this meditative way of doing a blow job was delightful for first thing in the morning.
I was listening for cues from Master, since he wasn’t giving me verbal directions. His breathing was getting faster, so I gradually built up my pace. When he began to arch his back, I held my breath and really got moving. Soon, I was rewarded with a flood of lovely-tasting cum, as he pressed his hand on my basketball-sized shoulder and sort of panted slightly. When it was fresh, his semen had a liveliness to it; it was almost fizzy. Tasting and feeling it as it slid down my throat made me imagine that I heard a fond chuckle. In my mind’s eye I saw that tender smile Master had given me the night before. I could almost feel a few gentle caresses on my head, like I was being petted.
“So, Little One, how was that? I think I managed to keep things more under control.”
“It was a treat, sir. If I may, sir, your cum tastes wonderful.”
“Really?” He smiled, as if indulging a child’s imagination. “It doesn’t just taste like cum?”
“Not at all, sir. Every master has a unique flavor.”
“So what do I taste like?” he grinned. I thought for a bit, searching for a single word.
His face got surprise all over it and his eyes got wide, as if I had guessed some huge secret just by luck.
“My cum tastes like… kindness.” He didn’t seem angry, but it worried me nonetheless.
“I hope I haven’t offended you, sir. Please forgive me,” I groveled. Or, tried to compress my massive body into a grovel, anyway.
“Don’t worry, Little One. Stand.” I did. “You just surprised me. You are… well, you’re shockingly perceptive.”
Without explaining further, he got out of the bed. I stepped aside and averted my gaze. Many masters are quite comfortable having me see their privates during sex, but don’t want me to look at them when they’re nude at any other time. I didn’t bow. Master Mondo seemed to prefer a minimum amount of obeisance.
He stepped through a doorway into a modest little bathroom and closed the door. I heard the sound of a shower turning on, and all the little noises I typically expected to hear from a man preparing for his day. With no other instructions other than not to leave the bedroom, I sat on the floor where I hoped I would be out of the way and practiced my Good Boy rules.
Master came out from the bathroom and got dressed. He put on a long-sleeve T-shirt similar to the one I had seen him wearing last night, only this one was lime green instead of orange. I got a good look at the back and it said “Redemption Contractors”. Between those two words was a cartoony picture of a group of muscular men all wearing giant grins and holding various construction tools.
“Those are my boys.” There was tremendous pride on Master’s face as he looked at me over his shoulder so that I could still see the back of his shirt. “Each one is holding something that represents his specialty. They’re the finest group of men the world has ever seen. I can’t wait for them to meet you. They are going to adore you, I swear it.
“By the way, one of your standing orders will be to have dinner ready at 5:30 every evening. But listen: my boys and I eat a lot, and we always try to have leftovers in the fridge to snack on. You’re going to need to cook as if you’re serving about 36 to 40 people. I’m sure you’re up to the job given enough warning, but do you think you’ll be able to manage that for tonight?”
I tried to recall the food I had seen while preparing Master’s omelets the night before. There was a pile of packages in butcher’s paper that were labeled as tri-tips. And I had definitely seen sacks of potatoes, carrots, and onions in the pantry. I was pretty sure there was enough asparagus that I could roast; if not, there were heads of lettuce that would make a nice salad.
“Would the boys like roast beef with roasted potatoes and asparagus, sir? The leftover meat is good shredded for sandwiches, or just reheated with the gravy and potatoes in the microwave.”
“I’ll say it again, Little One,” Master grinned, “you are going to be incredibly popular around here. So yes, you will prepare roast beef, potatoes, and vegetables for dinner tonight, to be served at 5:30. I’ll leave a list of additional chores on the refrigerator. You are to consider each task as a command.”
So many commands to obey! And the chance to cook again in that gorgeous kitchen! If I truly was made of Obedience, then Master was giving me a feast—and he had said he “wouldn’t have much” for me to do? Some masters left me to molder without anything to do all day; most just gave me single, broad commands like “clean up around here”. It was terribly dull and lonely when my master went off to work and only left me with one command. They so rarely understood that each command was precious to me. I was starting to feel overwhelmed with his generosity.
“Thank you, sir.” My voice cracked and a tear rolled down my cheek. Master stretched up to catch the tear on his finger and gave me a gentle smile.
“Don’t forget, Little One, I get just as much joy from having my orders followed as you do from following them. It took me weeks to train each of my boys, but I could trust you to obey quickly and precisely before we were even bonded. I’m having as much fun as you are.”
“Yes, sir,” I beamed.
“I’m running a little late. Remember, wait until we’re gone before you come out. I want the boys to meet you when we’re not rushing off to work.”
As Master slipped out and shut the doors behind him, I wondered how I would know when they had left. Fortunately, the window looked out over the driveway. I kept watch, and about half an hour later, three vehicles pulled out, all bearing the name “Redemption Contractors” on their sides. One large pickup turned left out of the driveway, while another pickup and a large passenger van went to the right. Looking toward the horizon, I saw a wedge of ocean between the lush foliage and palm trees that grew above and around widely spaced homes.
Master David and Master James renewed their debate from the night before about how construction workers could afford to live in such a posh neighborhood. I pointed out to them that there was a difference between a single construction worker paying the mortgage and a contracting company where all the employees pitched in, but both of them brushed my argument aside. In case you’re wondering if it’s fun having thirty-eight opinionated ghosts-or-whatever living in and around your body… no.
The very first thing I did was read Master’s list of chores on the refrigerator:
Cleaning the couch was a simpler task than I had feared, thanks to the fact that most of the mess had dribbled down the front of the couch onto the hardwood floor, and none had reached under or between the cushions. I was relieved to finish that chore quickly.
I wanted to make sure there would be enough food for tonight’s dinner, and also do a food inventory so I would be able to plan the next few dinners as well. I suspected that, if these boys ate as much as Master had indicated, they must replenish their food stocks several times a week. Even the enormous capacity of that incredible kitchen couldn’t hold a week’s worth of food for such astonishingly hungry men.
I did have all the foods I would need to make the dinner I had been assigned. I also wanted to make a dessert, and found all the ingredients on hand to make three different kinds of cookies whose recipes I knew by heart. Master seemed like the kind of master who wouldn’t mind if I took a little initiative, and it sounded like his boys would probably enjoy a treat as well. It seemed like a nice little gesture to tell them thank you for sharing their home with me.
For just a moment, I paused when a terrible thought occurred to me. I would eventually be absorbing Master, and that meant I would be taking him away from them. Guilt stabbed at my gut. Normally, my master is single and lives alone, and when I absorb him and he comes to live in me, there is hardly anyone around to miss him. I consoled myself with the thought that Master Mondo seemed to understand whatever process caused me to absorb my masters. Maybe he would be able to resist, to keep the inevitable from happening. I clung to that hope.
I went downstairs in search of the laundry and discovered that there was an enormous basement with a fascinating assortment of furnishings. There were a treadmill and a couple of easy chairs facing a big-screen TV, a large table with nine comfortable-looking chairs surrounded by many bookshelves holding more board games than I even knew existed, several easels and a large array of artist’s painting supplies, and the largest home weight lifting gym I had ever seen. Except for where there were mirrors for the gym or bookshelves, the walls held a wide variety of breathtakingly beautiful artwork. There were photographs, paintings, tile mosaics, wood carvings, even metalwork sculptures. The hardwood floors were covered everywhere with more of the exquisitely woven rugs that Master Gregory was so fond of.
There were also a commercial size washer and dryer, with eight large laundry baskets, labeled in black marker with some very peculiar titles. “Speedy”. “Mouth”. “Bedrock/Paul”. “Boss”. “Stitches”. “Ox/Sven”. “Tripod”. “Other”. It took me a few moments, but I eventually recalled that Master had said every man in the house had a nickname, so these must be Master’s Boys’ names, except for “Boss”, which would be Master’s name.
If I was going to do seven loads of laundry today, I figured I’d better get started. I picked up the basket marked “Boss” and headed to Master’s bedroom. My laundry also needed a wash, and my heavy balls were getting very uncomfortable without the support of my jock strap. I decided to do his laundry first, and to throw my jock, sweats, and tank top in at the same time. Master didn’t seem the type to object if my laundry touched his. I started those clothes washing, then went back upstairs to gather the rest.
As I collected the other rooms’ laundry, I also explored, as Master had ordered. Each bedroom was neatly organized and quite clean. Even the bathrooms were sparklingly clean, with not one razor or toothbrush left out. Clearly these men were neat, which was a big relief. I assumed that cleaning duties would fall to me, now that I was here, and this house had five bathrooms. That was a lot of scrubbing, but it would help if the men who used them were tidy.
The more I explored the house, the more I came to suspect that the awe-inspiring artwork and craftwork I saw literally everywhere was all created by its inhabitants. Each room in the house was like an art gallery, and each bedroom was packed with books and tools, all meticulously organized, that pertained to one or two particular forms of art or craft. Many of my former masters were thrilled with all the beauty, or at least impressed with the skill in their creation; I felt a bewildering mix of awe, delight, and anxiety that I might break something. Master Alexander pointed out to me that even the hardwood flooring was a work of art; each room had a subtly unique pattern in the way the planks were laid and in the variations of color and texture. Master Brian observed that he had not found one single display case in the house; everything was out where it could be touched and handled. And dusted, I thought.
Perhaps the most fascinating bedroom was the one that had once been the house’s attached garage. It was quite large for a single bedroom; much to Master Gregory’s delight, there were three looms, including one enormous loom large enough that it could have been used to create the giant rugs upstairs. There were also two different sewing machines, including one that looked heavy-duty enough to make my special jock straps. Although it was clear there were many projects in progress, everything was quite neatly organized. The walls had floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with plastic boxes filled with fabric. Master Herman, the first master I had ever invited to live in me, noted that even his notoriously hard-to-please Grandmother Mary would have approved of the craftsmanship of the quilt on the bed.
My former masters can stray a certain distance from me, and I was noticing them wandering off in all directions like a herd of three-year-olds. They typically stayed close, but this house seemed to be a pirate’s cave of treasures to them. I didn’t mind; they would return when I got too far away, and would chatter to one another about the wonders they had discovered. There was one thing that all the masters could agree on: the men who lived here were not “mere” construction workers, they were craftsmen and artists of the highest quality. The mystery deepened when I went out to see the back yard.
The very first thing I noticed about it was its size. This neighborhood must be very old and very rich to have such a large plot of land, so near to the ocean. Masters David and James didn’t need to tell me that properties near the ocean tended to be tiny. But this house was set on about two acres of land, making the back yard seem to go on forever.
The second thing I noticed was that trees, tall shrubs, and fencing had been carefully arranged so that no part of the backyard was visible from any part of the neighboring properties. Clearly, Master Mondo and his boys valued privacy. There was a covered carport large enough for the three vehicles I had seen leaving that morning, with a long paved driveway that led through a sturdy wooden gate to the front of the house.
Finally, I really looked at what was in the back yard, and was amazed. There were not one, but two enormous grills, plus a third thing that could have been a grill, but looked too oddly shaped to be one. I couldn’t tell much about them, because they were all carefully covered, but based on their size, I could easily grill enough steaks or burgers and hot dogs for the boys, as well as maybe corn-on-the-cob or baked potatoes. I almost did a dance—more culinary fun for me, I hoped! There was also an enormous, fantastically-shaped pool with not one but two spas attached and a pair of breathtaking waterfalls that flowed cheerfully down into the pool.
There were three wrought iron tables on the patio, each with three chairs to match and a large umbrella for shade; the metalwork was beautifully intricate. One set had a theme of winding ivy leaves, one had ocean waves and fish, and the third had birds and swooshes that reminded me of the wind. Nine Adirondack chairs were spread around the pool as well. Elsewhere was a lush, grassy lawn bordered by a rose garden and several other flower gardens, all exploding with color. The two large outbuildings I saw were beautifully built, with brightly-colored tile mosaics on their sides. Even the smallest details had been made beautiful: the tile along the sides of the pool, the designs and textures etched into the cement paving, the hand-crafted wooden window boxes with masses of flowers cascading exuberantly out of them.
I lost quite a few former masters who wanted to explore the back yard; I enjoyed a momentary relief from their commentary as I returned inside to bustle around the kitchen. I could only feel Masters Herman, Oscar, and Zachary watching me as I worked, which made sense. They were the three of my former masters most interested in cooking and baking.
The day flew by. I split my time between the laundry and cooking; I could have accomplished more, but Master Mondo had been clear that I was to touch nothing except what I needed for that day’s tasks. After I had made the cookie doughs and left them to chill and my laundry was finished, I showered and put my jock strap and sweat pants back on. I didn’t bother with the tank top. I don’t like wearing shirts, and decided to put mine on just before Master and his boys got home. In between tasks throughout the day, I often found myself gazing wonderingly at some compelling piece of artwork or little detail of craftsmanship I hadn’t noticed before. By 5:10, all the laundry was folded and placed on beds, all the parts of dinner were ready or nearly so, and the table was set.
And I was a nervous wreck. Worries had begun to occur to me all day long, and had piled up to overwhelm me: would Master’s boys accept me? Would they resent me? They hadn’t been consulted about my being included in their household; what if they were jealous for Master’s attention? What if they asked Master to send me away? What if Master asked me to serve them, but they fought over how to use me? What if, what if, what if?
I was pacing around the kitchen, fiddling unnecessarily with the table settings, when I saw through the back window that all three vehicles were parking in the back yard’s carport. I stood nervously by the refrigerator as nine men wearing the colorful long-sleeved T-shirts that seemed to be their uniform lined up at the back door. A babble of voices drifted in through the window as they executed what was clearly a daily homecoming ritual. Each paused just outside the kitchen’s sliding glass door to stomp the dirt off his boots, remove them, and set them just outside the door; then the man would proceed inside and around the dinner table to make room for the next. They were quite efficient about it, and as they gathered in a group around the dinner table to wait for the rest, their conversation turned to the subject of dinner.
“Holy cow, it smells so good!”
“Oh man, am I ready to eat.”
“I’ve been looking forward to this all day, roast beef is my favorite.”
“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that a few times already!”
“Well, it is.”
“Holy mother-of-fuck, it smells good in here!”
“Hey guys, the table’s already set! I told you he would set it. Sven, you owe me five bucks.”
“All right, boys.”
That was Master talking, now that everyone was inside. He didn’t have to raise his voice, but instantly there was silence and all nine men were looking at me. And I was looking at the handsomest, sexiest, most muscular group of men I had ever seen. I don’t often think about my own sexuality, as my master’s pleasure is always more important. But confronted with these men, each a different aspect of masculine perfection, I felt my cock pressing on the confines of its cage. With a blush, I realized I was longing to see them with their shirts off. If I hadn’t been wearing my cock cage I would have started to get an erection, all the blood in my body would have rushed to my dick, and I literally would have swooned from the sight of all the sexy men before me. I was suddenly twenty times more nervous than before, and realized with horror that I had forgotten to put on my tank top.
“Little One,” Master addressed me with a twinkle in his eye, “Join us in the back yard for just a moment before you serve dinner.” He gestured with his hand, waiting for me to obey. I walked anxiously outside, followed by all the men. “Stand right over here, Little One. The boys and I are going to welcome you to the family. Just stay put and don’t move.”
I stood wringing my hands as the other men surrounded me. Almost ritualistically, each patted me on the back or the shoulder and softly murmured, “Welcome, brother.” Then, when all had finished, they suddenly grabbed me and lifted me up. In a blink of an eye, I was lying flat on my back, supported by nine pairs of amazingly strong hands. I was not used to being picked up, given that I was dramatically heavier than any other human being I had ever met, and was feeling somewhat terrified. But good boys don’t scream when they’re being tossed around by a gang of strange men, at least not when their master is helping with the tossing. Much to my dismay, there was more.
They began to chant slowly, bouncing me up and down with each syllable, and bouncing me higher whenever there was a louder syllable.
“Sha- ma- RAH! … Sha- ma- RAH!” they chanted. Then, apparently on cue, they began to chant much faster.
“Welcome, welcome, Little BRO-ther,
Welcome, welcome, Little BRO-ther,
On “MA”, they dipped me quite low; I gasped in alarm, thinking they were dropping me. On “RAH”, they actually did toss me several feet into the air. I managed to confine my reaction to a soft whimper, which I hoped they didn’t hear. They caught me safely and returned me to my feet as smooth as could be. It was only after I was securely on the ground that I could think clearly enough to realize that “little brother” had been referring to me. I liked being called that, just not while I was being flung into the air. They all stood there looking up at me.
“Thank you,” I managed to whisper. They all chuckled, and I was pummeled by several brotherly slaps on my bare back.
“All right boys, go sit down. Let’s not let your little brother’s hard work go to waste. Little One, serve dinner.”
With that, everyone trooped inside and I got to work. Serving the boys was fun. I handed serving dishes to one or another, and they passed them around family-style. They smiled and were polite to me, but very serious about eating. Not a word was spoken other than requests for more or thank-yous. But they kept telling me with their faces and little grunts of pleasure that they were liking my food quite a lot, and I began to glow from all the wordless praise.
I hadn’t found any alcohol or soft drinks in the house, so I assumed the boys drank milk with dinner. I brought out a gallon jug of whole milk and held it before Master like a sommelier with a wine bottle. Without pausing his chewing, he nodded and pointed around the table, so I filled each glass, then returned to the refrigerator for a second jug on the suspicion that the first would be far from sufficient. When I returned to the table, all nine glasses were being held high, and all nine faces were turned to me.
“Thank you, Little One, for this outstanding dinner.”
“Thank you, Little Brother!” the boys chorused, then they all drank and returned to frantically shoveling more food into their mouths. Their eagerness to eat was even more gratifying than the toast had been.
When I saw them begin to slow down, I cleared some of the serving dishes and fetched the enormous tray of cookies I had prepared. On one side were peanut butter cookies, on the other were oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, and in the center were frosted sugar cookies. Most of the sugar cookies were completely frosted, but I had written one letter on each of eight cookies to spell out “T-H-A-N-K Y-O-U”. As I carried the tray to the table there was a roar of approval.
“Cookies!” they shouted, as if they were a crowd of little boys and not huge, brawny men. I stood next to the table holding the cookie tray, smiling shyly at them.
“I… uh, I b-baked these to s-say th-thank you for, for sharing your h-h-home with me. I am truly, truly grateful for y-your kindness and h-hospitality.” I set the tray on the table and was surprised to find myself suddenly surrounded by heavily-muscled men waiting their turn to give me hugs. The tallest of them could fit under my chin, yet I felt like I was being engulfed by them. The last man to hug me put a meaty hand on my bulky shoulder. He was Latino with surprisingly green eyes and a ponytail that reached down to his shoulder blades. I recognized from his voice that he must be the one that had walked in on Master and me last night.
“Little brother, this was a wonderful gesture, and believe me, you can bake cookies for us any time you want,”—that got a hearty laugh from everyone—”but it’s really important for you to know how thrilled we are that you’ve joined our family.” Quiet rumbles of agreement came from all around.
“Plus, you’re fuckin’ hot!“ called out another one of the boys, the tallest and most muscular of the eight. “Look at all that sexy!” He was an African-American man with a shaved head, a heavy brow, and a lantern jaw; but despite his powerful features, his expression and body language were so infectiously cheerful I couldn’t keep from smiling bashfully in return. Everyone else at the table nodded and chuckled while I blushed.
“Do we get to make love to him, boss?” That was a white man built like a brick wall with very long, dark-blond hair hanging in a braid down his back and a long, braided beard that draped over his bulging chest all the way down to the abs I wished I could see.
A clean-shaven Latino man, with a leaner bodybuilder’s frame but with a chubby, boyish face and a hint of deep burgundy dyed into his fashionably-styled hair chimed in: “Pleeeeeeeeeeease?”
“What do you think, Little One?” questioned Master Mondo. “Sex with me is part of our bond, I’m thinking, but would you enjoy spending some time with each of the boys as well?” I looked around wonderingly at the eight impossibly sexy men, then back at Master. My eager expression must have said it all because they chuckled again. “That looks like a yes to me,” Master teased, his eyes twinkling. Addressing the boys, Master said, “I’ll make a free-time roster for ‘Time with Little One’. When it’s your turn with him, you can have him help you with chores, with your projects, make love, or… bake cookies; it’ll be up to you.
“I know I already explained this to most of you, but I’m saying it again. He needs commands to obey, and you may give him commands so long as they don’t conflict with mine, but he is nevertheless to be treated well. In the case of sex, that means anything that might hurt, or cause him distress, requires his permission and a safe word. If you have even the tiniest of doubts, ask him first. You’re all good boys, so I’m not worried, but just so we’re clear, if I find that one of you has been treating him badly there will be Hell to pay. Is that clear?”
“Yes, boss,” replied all eight boys solemnly.
“Very good. Eat your dessert, then.” They all sat down again and proceeded to demolish the mound of cookies. This time, there was more conversation with many flattering comments. I hardly heard them. Many of my masters had shared me or loaned me out for sex with people they knew. I had even acted as a prostitute from time to time when my master needed money. I am a good boy, and good boys do what needs to be done for their masters. But none of my other masters had ever been quite so protective of me, and hearing Master’s orders to that effect made me get a lump in my throat.
And! I was going to give sex to the sexiest hunks on earth! My heart was beating very fast with excitement. I fought off the temptation to skip as I went to fetch yet another gallon of milk.
That night, Master Mondo took me to his bedroom promptly at 9:30. He insisted that 10:00 p.m. was lights out for the whole house, and I saw that none of the boys seemed likely to argue—even Mouth, who seemed to enjoy arguing just for its own sake.
While Master brushed his teeth and readied himself for sleep, I tidied his room—I secretly think he was messier than he normally would have been, just so he could order me to clean up after him. Little kindnesses like that seemed to be a part of who he was, just as being a good boy was part of who I was.
When he emerged from the bathroom, his bedroom was spotless, his bed was turned down, and I was kneeling at the foot of his bed, ready for any other commands he might be willing to give me. I was thrilled at the approving look he gave me.
“Good boy, Little One,” he crooned, stroking my bald head and running his thumb gently along my cheek. I beamed up at him. “Did you see what a sensation you were with my boys? I haven’t seen all eight of them that excited in a very long time. Not that I blame them.
“Now, then, up.” He patted the bed. I climbed gingerly onto Master’s bed. I had a long, unfortunate history of breaking chairs and beds, due to my extreme weight. I was relieved to find that it didn’t even creak. “Lie on your back, diagonally across the bed, with your head in the corner up there. Dick off to the side. Knees up and spread. Lie still.”
I did as I was commanded, draping my 28-inch-soft, caged cock over my right hip. I expected Master to enter me, but instead he laid himself on his back with his head between my legs and scootched himself right up to my crotch.
“Fuck, I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” he murmured to himself. He reached up and lifted my heavy balls, then scooted himself so that he could lay them on top of his face. When he gently let go, they settled into a squashed shape that completely covered him from forehead to chin. His bushy moustache tickled!
It was not something any other master had done, but it felt quite pleasant. He began to lick and kiss and suck on my balls, while also kneading them with his hands. He slid the wrinkly skin all around on his face and delicately massaged my enormous testicles. That felt delightful. I began to breathe harder. My dick was pressing against the confines of its cage.
“Little One. I’m going to try an experiment. If it works, you’re in for a pleasant surprise, so prepare yourself.”
“Yes, Master.” I wanted to giggle when he talked into my balls, but his command worried me intensely. Last night had not been pleasant, even if I did orgasm from the experience.
“Little One, turn your balls into an erogenous zone so that you will cum when they’re manipulated.” What an odd command! I lay there wondering how I could possibly obey him. He continued to knead and massage and lick and kiss my scrotum.
But then, to my amazement, I started to get an increasingly intense feeling of pleasure that was both bizarrely unfamiliar and easily recognizable: if Master continued, I really was going to cum!
“Oh! Oh, oh, oh Master! Oh my gosh, it’s working! Uhhh, ohhhhhh! Oh gosh, please please please don’t stop, sir! I’ve never felt like this in my life, ah ahhh! Oh, sir!“
“Mmmmm, yeah, good boy. Go ahead and enjoy this. You deserve a treat after that delicious dinner.” Every word he spoke into my balls made me squirm in ecstasy. “Little One. Grow your balls much bigger.”
I was so overwhelmed by the erotic feelings Master was giving me, I didn’t really comprehend what he said. It’s a good thing, because I would have been extremely alarmed. But when I looked down along my body and could see my balls over my colossal chest muscles, I felt a mix of alarm, horror, and fascination. My testicles were the size of a pair of basketballs! The only thing that kept me from going into a proper panic was the fact that I was very close to orgasming. Simply the fact that they were so massive and heavy was adding intensely to the pleasure.
“Uhhh! Uh, uh, uh, Master-please-may-I-cum, please please please sir!“ I begged at maximum volume.
“Little One, make this the most intense orgasm of your life. Now, cum.”
I screamed and screamed because it really was the most intense orgasm I had ever felt. I grabbed the sheet in my fists and lifted my butt off the bed and my whole body shook violently. I felt my balls sliding and bouncing around on Master’s face; he moaned with pleasure, causing me to cum even harder. Master Mondo’s moaning was getting quite loud, too.
My cum was oozing all over Master’s bed. My super-long penis never squirts like a normal man’s penis; instead, it drools the cum out. I also felt wetness on my shin, which I took to mean Master had masturbated on me. My screams turned to gasps, then my gasps turned into a long sigh.
From outside Master’s closed door came the sound of applause and hooting.
“Go to bed!“ Master hollered. “Damn eavesdroppers,” he said in a more normal voice.
“Yes, Boss!” the boys all sang out together. I heard footsteps and chuckling fade away as the boys went to their rooms. I also just barely heard one of them comment, “Damn, that was hot.”
“Thank you so much, sir!” I panted.
“You’re welcome, boy.” Master sat up, carefully setting my balls down so he wouldn’t hurt them. I could feel a very large area of the mattress where they sagged heavily, the two testicles competing with each other for space. They also pressed against my ass and both thighs, even though my legs were spread as wide as possible.
I sat up with sadness filling me. Of course Master could do what he liked with me. I was his property, after all. I would just have to learn to manage with a pair of basketballs hanging from my crotch. I didn’t want Master to see any dismay on my face, but I guess I didn’t hide my feelings well enough.
“Little One, look at me.” I did. He gave me a kindly smile. “It’s temporary, sweetheart. Your spirits would make sure you’re back to your usual self within a day, even if I wasn’t planning to set you to rights. I want you to know, you fulfilled a lifelong fantasy of mine tonight. You might just be the best good boy ever, boy.” That kind of praise would have gotten me out of the worst of moods. I smiled a little. He stroked my obscenely enormous testicles. Both of his hands couldn’t come close to covering even one. “Fuck, these are magnificent! Stand up. I want to see how they hang.”
I stood, barely holding on to my ball sac with both hands, then gently easing it down until it was hanging freely. Gravity pulled the balls into a much more elongated shape, and they hung down to knee level, right next to the tip of my cock. I wasn’t sure I could make a jock strap that could contain them without them flopping and blobbing all over the place. I fervently hoped my condition truly was temporary.
“Well, boy, you’d better change those sheets.” He gave me an impish glance. “There’s clean sheets in the closet, and you already know where the hamper is. Just wipe yourself down with the dirty sheets—there’s still some clean areas on them.”
“Very good, Master.” I removed the dirty sheets, noticing with relief that Master had a mattress protector so I wouldn’t have to try to get the cum out of his mattress. I wiped Master’s cum off my leg with the top sheet, which wasn’t really dirty at all. The fitted sheet was soaked.
I walked to Master’s bathroom, shivering and whimpering with every step. My balls were torturously over-sensitive, like a normal man’s penis right after he cums, and they were so heavy! I didn’t try very hard to smother my vocalizations, because I got the feeling that Master was deliberately indulging in a bit of harmless sadism. I let my discomfort show so he could enjoy it. I tried waddling with a sumo-like stance, so my balls wouldn’t bounce against my legs.
“Ah-ah-ahh,” Master chastised. “Stand up straight like a good boy.”
“Yes sir,” I winced. I walked tall to the closet, making little grunts of discomfort the whole distance. I was actually kicking myself in the balls, as my knees knocked into them with every step. I couldn’t figure out if the sensation was pleasurable or not, but it was almost cripplingly intense. I glanced at Master with an agonized look. I could tell he was enjoying the show.
I had to lean extra far over to put the sheets on the bed, because otherwise I would definitely crush my basketball-size testicles between my ridiculously over-muscled thighs and the mattress. After quite a bit of grimacing and grunting, I managed to get Master’s bed neatly made and turned down. I faced him to ask for another command, but he spoke first.
“You have been such a good boy tonight,” Master praised. With a wicked look on his face, he stepped up to me and pressed his body against my balls.
“Thank you sir,” I squeezed through gritted teeth.
“Little One. Shrink your balls back to normal size.” I felt considerably better with their lighter weight and smaller size, though Master still had not made them normally sensitive. He looked in my eyes with a devilish expression and grabbed my only-grapefruit-size balls.
“Orgasm again, just like before.”
I crumpled to my knees, spasming with another body-wracking orgasm. My screams of pleasure were just as loud as before, as semen flowed sluggishly from my dick onto the hardwood floor. I fell forward onto both hands and knees as I continued to shake and yell. I felt faint and pressed my forehead to the floor to keep from passing out. My dick was swelling painfully against its cage, desperate for the freedom I never allowed it.
Finally, the last erotic tremor passed through me and I was able to catch my breath.
“Thank you for my two orgasms, Master,” I gasped raggedly. “I’m so grateful, sir.” I’m not sure how he looked when I said that. I was too exhausted to lift my head up, though I hoped Master would assume I was simply groveling.
“Little One. Become just as you were before we came in this room tonight.” My balls instantly felt less sensitive, though they ached from the abuse they had suffered.
“Thank you for that, also, sir. I’m so pleased I could help you live one of your fantasies.”
“Good boy. Lick the floor clean, then prepare for sleep.” He slipped into bed and read a book while I licked my cum off the floorboards.
Once that task was complete, I fetched two blankets and spread them on the floor, just like the night before. I picked up a pillow from the pile on Master’s bed, but didn’t lay down quite yet.
“Master, may I ask a question please?”
“Ask, Little One.”
“How did you change my balls like that?”
“It was a theory.” He put his book face-down on his chest, leaving it open so he wouldn’t lose his place. “But I was fairly confident it was correct. I had been sensing that you had more spirits in you than just Obedience spirits, and given how large you are, I guessed that you also had a Transformation spirit. Probably more than one. Come to think of it, I’d bet any money that you have at least one Lust spirit too. Sometime soon you and I are going to do some meditation and I’m going to really take a close look at all your spirits.
“Anyway, I was correct. So I theorized that your Obedience spirits would get your other spirits to cooperate, so that you could obey a command for you to grow and sensitize your balls. But spirits typically only work in concert for a finite period of time, so even if I had decided to leave you with those gorgeously huge balls, your spirits would eventually tire of the game. I’m sorry to say, that probably means we won’t be able to make permanent changes to you by commanding you to do so.”
“We, Master?” Surely he wasn’t suggesting I would give myself commands! That would be shockingly improper.
“There’s no reason the boys couldn’t command you to transform too. As far as your Obedience spirits are concerned, a command is a command.”
Oh! That brought some interesting possibilities to mind. Tomorrow would begin my rotation of one-on-one time with my new brothers. My mind spun, imagining how they might choose to transform me. As long as any changes they made could be undone, it sounded like a lot of fun.
“Oh, and Master? May I please use the weights in the basement? I will likely wake up around midnight, and since I won’t be able to sleep after that, I’d be deeply grateful if I could get a nice workout done. After that, I thought I could start prepping some dough so I could bake pastries for your breakfast.”
“You know you don’t need to lift to keep your muscles big, right? Your spirits do that no matter what.”
“Yes, sir, I’m… keenly aware of that. But lifting weights is just very relaxing for me. I promise I’ll be very quiet. Please, sir?”
“Yes, of course, Little One. After your workout, you are to begin preparing breakfast for me and my boys.” He made it a command so that making breakfast would count as obeying. I beamed at his kindness.
“Thank you, sir! And, Master? Thank you for taking me in and allowing me to serve you and the boys, sir.” Master looked at me fondly for a moment before answering.
“You’re welcome, boy. Now, it’s after lights-out. Lie down. Silence.”