The Journey with No Return (Day 1)
DAY ONE
Things just got worse.
I opened my eyes, lying on my side, not on a bed but a soft cushion with hardness underneath. Was it a mat on the floor?
I couldn't tell for sure since I couldn't see. The whole head was covered with a black hood. The fabric was soft, but no light shone through it. Perhaps it was just a dark room.
Trying to remove the hood; my wrists were tied together behind my back. I'd no idea how long I'd been unconscious. However, my arm muscles ached, and my mouth felt dry, which means it's been at least a few hours.
"Hello?" I inquired cautiously.
No one responded. The room was small, and I didn't hear anyone else there.
"Somebody hear me?" I yelled louder. It dawned on me that I was bound.
After some silence, I managed to touch the edge of the cushion with my fingers. The floor under the mat was smooth and only slightly lower. Ever tried to stand up without using your arms? It wasn't easy, but I managed. The cold, hard floor tortured my bare feet. My clothes from last night were still on, as far as I knew. My nose hinted at it being too long.
Still, I had no idea where the toilet was, even if I found one, I couldn't have used it.
Standing made me wish to pee even more, so I sat back on the mat. "Help!" I yelled.
After some time, I heard footsteps and a door opening. A familiar voice entered the tiny room. "Good morning, sleepyhead."
"I need to pee," I said once more.
He removed the hood from my head. My companion from the night before, who never gave his name, was dressed in a different outfit - a yellow polo shirt, khaki pants, and white sneakers. From his waist hung a black rod, resembling a torch.
The guy gave me a sharp look. He must've showered and shaved since the last time I saw him. I wish I had.
He steered me to a door. Inside was a small bathroom, just big enough for a toilet and a mini sink. "I can't reach my fly."
"Don't worry about it." The guy reached for my groin and unzipped my pants. His fingers explored the area skillfully before finding the zipper and pulling it down. They located my penis and aimed it at the toilet. "Go ahead."
"I can't pee like this!"
"If you don't have to go that badly, then you don't." He re-inserted my penis into the fly and zipped it up again.
"Hey!"
"Hey! It's your first day, and you've got a lot to learn." The man grasped my neck, turning me around and taking me away from the bathroom. I had a momentary glimpse of the room where I'd slept. Nice with wooden flooring and wall paneling, but tiny, smaller than a typical college dorm. The futon filled half the space.
He led me out of the bathroom door into a narrow hallway. In a few steps, we turned right and went through another door into a larger room, dark with black-painted walls. The room floor was covered with a smooth rubber padding.
I recognized it as a gym - dumbbells, other exercise equipment, some of which I wasn't sure about. A bench, a low table with black carpeting, and bizarre furniture filled the room. One wall was a corkboard adorned with various tools I couldn't name. A small wooden cabinet stood opposite the wall.
A shining steel chain hung from the ceiling, right in the room's center. A leather strap hung from its end. The guy pushed me to this setup; the next thing I knew, the leather strap was around my neck, acting as a collar. He opened handcuffs and released my left wrist. Instead of unlocking the right, he lifted it above my head and locked the handcuff onto the chain. I stared in bewilderment as he fastened another strap around my left wrist.
I was getting tired of this. Tugging my left arm out of its captivity, I swung wildly at the guy's face. He moved back just enough for me to miss my target.
We stared at each other for a moment before I took another swipe, unsuccessful due to my restraint.
He grinned. Gosh, he was adorable. "Troublemaker." He pulled out the black baton from his belt and slammed it against my arm. Where the tip touched my bare skin, my flesh erupted in electric agony. I shrieked.
"Next time, I'll jam it into your mouth. Get it?" He hung the baton back on his belt and completed the job of binding my left wrist above my head.
I didn't fight back. "What's that, a cattle goad?"
"If you wish. I call it a hot stick." The man walked over to the wall and hit a red button. I heard a winch start to turn. The chain lifted, pulling my wrists higher over my head, making me feel uneasy. The man only stopped winching the chain when I was standing on my toes, dangling by my neck. I could barely move.
"You're possibly wondering what's happening." The man ventured over to the cabinet, yanked open a drawer, and grabbed a pair of scissors. "Actually, there's no cause for alarm. In truth, you'll never be anxious about anything ever again. Period."
I was very skeptical about that.
"No, really," he continued. "You no longer need to ponder trivial matters, like finding a job or paying bills, or where your next meal is coming from. From this day forward, I'll be taking care of you. Any needs you have, I'll fulfill them."
"Fuck you."
The man offered me a dismayed look. "I'll disregard that obscenity this time. You just utter those words to me since you don't yet grasp your good luck. My role is to mentor you for your new lifestyle. The transformation could be challenging, but I assure you will come out of this much happier than you have ever imagined. Let's start." The man snatched a wad of the fabric from my T-shirt. I watched in dismay as he grabbed the scissors and started cutting. Soon my shirt was nothing but scraps of blue cloth strewn on the padded floor.
"Why did you do that?"
"Slaves don't wear clothes. Getting rid of your T-shirt is part of your new emancipation. You no longer have to think about washing clothes or how to dress or how you look. Those aren't your worries anymore." The guy's eyes swept over my body as he added, "You're one attractive little tramp. Now I'm taking off your pants."
I gripped the chain with my hands and hoisted myself off the floor, raising my feet to shield myself. "Approach me and I'll kick you in the balls." The man shook his head and went back to the pegboard. He plucked a long, red leather bull whip off the wall, holding the handle in one hand and the tip in the other. He raised both arms over his head, circled around me, remaining out of kick range. Then he whipped me.
I shrieked. The crack of the whip was a burning sting against the bare skin of my back. In contrast to the electric shock from the cattle prod, this fire did not cease.
"Twelve lashes for disobedience. You tally them for me. That's one." The man expected a response. I said nothing. A second whip crack. "That's one," he advised.
"That was two!"
"They don't count unless you count them, making it prudent for you to hurry up. Say, 'one.'"
"One!" I spat out the word.
"Excellent. Now say, 'Thank you, Master.'"
"Fuck you!"
Another lash. I screamed with pain and anger. "One...," the man urged again.
"One! Thank you, Master!" I said it with as much scorn as I could infuse into it.
"You don't seem sincere. Nonetheless, I'll forgive it. There's only so much we can complete in a day." He whipped me again. The pain was unbearable, it was also draining. I gasped for air, questioning how much more of this I could withstand. "Two! Thank you, master!"
Another lash, and another expression of gratitude. It carried on until the eighth stroke, when I miscounted and called it number nine, so he made me start over at number one. The second time through, I was extra careful and made it all the way to twelve, though by then I could scarcely manage a whisper, "Twelve. Thank you, Master."
My back was ablaze; my body was trembling in agony. Sweat poured from me, stinging the parts of my back struck by the whip. I no longer had the strength to stand, so I dangled by my neck and hands.
"I'm going to take off your pants now. Okay?" Master raised an eyebrow, but I didn't have the guts to argue. "Good boy. That's better. See how simple it is? Obeying is much easier than resisting. The sooner you grasp that, the better for you." First, the guy rummaged through my pockets. He found my glasses, wallet, and phone and pocketed all three. Then he unfastened my belt and pants and unzipped the fly. He stopped momentarily to slip his hand inside and run his fingers over what was in my underwear. Then came the scissors. A few moments later, my pants and boxers joined my shirt as more shreds of fabric fell to the floor.
I looked downwards, ashamed. The guy grabbed a handful of hair on the back of my head and pulled, making me gaze up at him. He then ran his other hand over my chest. I shuddered.
"You have goose bumps." He smirked. "Are you feeling scared? Feeling vulnerable? It's crucial for you to comprehend: I don't do this to punish you. I do it to educate you. You need to learn what you are now."
He once again lifted the whip. "Now, twelve lashes on the chest. You will count them for me."
"No, God, Master, please—AHH!" I cried out as the first blow struck, but I praised him without being prompted, "One. Thank you, Master."
I counted each of the following eleven blows accordingly. When he was done, I felt like I had been drenched in liquid fire and hung out to dry. Tears streamed down my face. I was too terrified and fatigued to hold them back any longer.
Master observed me sobbing with indifference. "Do you still have to pee?"
I nodded, incapable of speech. Master went to the cabinet and brought back a piss bottle, the kind used in hospitals. He held the opening over my crotch and bade me, "Go ahead."
I relieved myself. It took a long time. Initially, it was challenging to start, and later on, I realized I had more in me than I ascribed to. After I concluded, Master set the bottle aside. He moved near me and said softly, "So we now know this cock can pee. Now, what else can it do?" He brushed his fingers delicately over the underside of my testicles.
I shivered.
"Does that feel good?"
I averted my gaze.
"I said, 'Does that feel good?'" There was a menacing tone in his voice. He gripped my balls and started to squeeze them.
"Yes," I whispered.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Master."
He glanced down. "You're getting hard already. I'm proud of you." I looked down, saw that he was correct, and felt a blush of shame. Master leaning in and kissed one of my nipples, rolling the tip between his tongue and teeth. He inspected my penis again. "And that made you harder still. Good boy. I think you'll do nicely." Master raised his hand and demonstrated licking his fingertips. Then he put the damp fingertips on the underside of my dick and stroked gently. "Does it feel good?"
"Yes," I admitted, swiftly adding, "I mean, Yes, Master."
The light stroking ceased as the guy crossed the room towards the cabinet. By now, my dick stood out vertically, as if eagerly pursuing him.
He returned with a lubricant bottle, waving it in front of my face before making a theatrical production of smearing a sizable amount onto his right palm. "A slave's life consists of two things: pleasure and pain. First, you must learn to handle them. Then, you will learn to revel in them. Lastly, you'll learn they're two sides of the same coin. Now, let's see what this thing can accomplish." Master gripped my dick, but his grip was loose, and his strokes were slow, smooth, and tender. I gasped. He moved closer and murmured, "I'm going to make you cum, slave."
I gritted my teeth and averted my gaze, hoping to keep my dick soft.
It was futile. This man possessed expertise when it came to penises. He didn't only stroke in one manner; he varied it, manipulating my dick like a musical tool. One moment he was rubbing against the sensitive area beneath, then a thumb drew affectionate circles across the tip, then he would halt and let me pause for a bit before sliding a finger on the surface. My faithless dick was enamored with every approach, becoming progressively harder and sending me jolts of pleasure with every caress. I attempted to withdraw, but could not manage to escape his grasp. My heartbeat escalated and my breathing became unsteady. I sensed beads of sweat dripping from my armpits.
I couldn't take it anymore. My hips started to thrust, my expression contorted, and I sighed as the heat of climax rushed through me. I uttered a cry. Instructionally, my dick discharged globs of semen onto the floor.
The man didn't stop rubbing, nor did he slow down. Following a couple of squirts, I was emptied, but my dick remained erect, and incredibly sensitive. I wriggled from the excessive stimulation and begged him to halt.
A short while later, he released me. His hand landed on the back of my head, gripping my hair to force my gaze on him. "Didn't that feel good?" He planted a kiss on me. His lips were tender against mine. "Didn't it?"
"Yes," I gasped, given that it was true.
He hit me hard on the belly. I grunted. "Yes, what?"
"Yes, Master."
"That's better. Now it's my turn." The man approached the winch button but just then my phone chimed. I hoped he wouldn't catch wind of it. He observed me. "What was that? It sounded like a phone."
"My phone."
"No longer." He dove into his pocket for my phone. "Slaves don't own possessions; slaves are possessions. Let's check it out." He examined my device. "A text message," he muttered. "You're acquainted with someone named Matt?" He held my phone in front of me, displaying the notification on the illuminated screen.
My phone effortlessly unlocked itself.
"Face recognition. Riveting." He flicked his fingers across the screen, searching for the message, then recited it aloud. "'I'm sorry I was such an asshole yesterday. Of course you can stay at my place. I hope you're okay.'" The guy stared at me. "Any familiarity with this individual?"
I nodded.
"Should we contact him?"
"Permit me."
"Fine, then." Master explained. He held my phone in both hands, texting with his thumbs, narrating his replies as he composed them. "'Fuck you, Matt... I'm leaving town...and I no longer want to see you again...Go fuck yourself, prick.'" He sent his message and smirked. "That should train him not to treat us this way, correct?" Master then observed my facial expression. "A man who behaves like that doesn't deserve you." He tossed my phone next to the bottle of lube on the cabinet. Then he snatched a 10-pound dumbbell from the rack, precariously lifting it before launching it onto the phone. The splintering of glass and crumpling of metal prompted a wince.
"I hope Matt learned his lesson." Master spoke with triumph after discarding the remnants of my phone in a bin. "A guy with such a solid cock, and he let it escape. Not to mention that great ass of yours." He strolled to the winch controls and lowered the chain, granting my now-relieved arms rest. I stood before him, still trembling from the whipping.
The man wheeled out a device which appeared like a wildly-sized sawhorse, black-painted, with black leather padding on top and rings bolted to its legs. "You knew what that was?"
I shook my head.
He clarified, "It's dubbed a 'fuck bench.' Wanna know why?"
I could guess.
Master unfastened me from the chain and pushed me into a position until I was lying on the bench, my torso pressing against the leather padding. In a no-nonsense fashion, he clipped my collar to the bench's end and my wrists to two of the legs. He spent the next few minutes securing me with other leather straps: one around each arm, slightly above the elbow, one around my waist, each ankle, and each leg, directly above the knee. These last straps he clipped to the sides of the bench beside my armpits. Trapped in this constricting position, my legs dangled helplessly. My feet didn't touch the ground, and I had no way to lift myself. I could feel my bare ass displayed behind the bench's opposite end, with my erect penis and testicles dangling.
I attempted to envision how preposterous I must have appeared.
The man fetched a paddle. It was built like a ping-pong paddle, but artisanally crafted from black leather. "There are ten guidelines for being a slave. You will memorize all of them. Today, I'll instruct you on the first."
I frowned pitifully.
The man, with the paddle, trailed it softly across my butt. Then a vicious strike. "Ow!"
"That was to rouse your attention. Now attend carefully and mimic my words. "'The slave is the property of the Master. The Master may do anything they wish with their property.'" The guy paused.
I struggled.
"'The slave is the property of the Master,'" he recited serenely. "'The Master may do anything they wish with their property.'"
"'The slave is the property of the Master...'" I began, fading off.
"And?"
"I forgot the rest." [
"Bam! Bam!" "The slave belongs to the Master. The Master can do what he wants with his property." Each smack on my cheeks reminded me of this. If I irritated him enough, he might start smacking my balls. He reinforced the point by tapping the paddle against the base of my swinging balls, causing me to flinch. "Got it?"
I tried again. "'The slave belongs to the Master. The Master can do what he wants with his property.'"
"Wrong again." "Bam! Bam!" "The slave belongs to the Master. The Master can do what he wants with his property."
"'The slave belongs to the Master. The Master can do what he wants with his property.'"
"Nice try." Master patted me on the buttocks, causing me to flinch.
Master stood in front of me as I watched him disrobe. He kicked off his sneakers, and then placed his socks, trousers, and other clothing tidily on a nearby table. He had a nicely built physique; muscular, thin, with tufts of black hair. Once he was bare, he put away the paddle, picked up some lube, and approached me from behind. I could feel the cold lube on my anus. Then something penetrated me, harshly and painfully. A finger. I shouted out in pain.
"That's just my thumb," Master said. "You're so tight. But we both know the solution to that."
The second intrusion was far more painful, deeper and more harrowing. Master's dick was inside me. He took hold of my hair, yanked my head back. His other arm wrapped around my throat, the bend of his elbow pressing on my neck. I felt the dick move within me. I moaned with each thrust.
"Good," Master lay on top of me, murmuring near my ear. His breath was close. "Louder," he whispered. "It turns me on."
He took just a few minutes, but those minutes felt like forever. Master's thrusts moved quickly, and they were painful. His torso slid smoothly against my back, covered in a layer of our combined sweat. Finally, he climaxed, the two of us cried out together as he plunged forcefully within me. He thrust a few more times after that, then slumped on me, panting heavily. The pain of his body resting on me made the wounds on my back scream in agony.
After a few moments, Master shifted and exclaimed, "Incredible!" He climbed off me and declared his judgment. "Excellent. Adorable as anything and a firm backside." He rewarded his enjoyment with a slap on my buttocks that made me cry out. "I am going to enjoy our time together."
Master went to the drawers and took out a large glass anal plug. As he lathered it with lube, he inquired, "You know what this is?"
"Yes," I replied hesitantly, anticipating the worst.
Master emerged. "I didn't think you were a virgin. But your tightness overwhelmed me." The plug entered me, so much wider than what my ass had ever taken before. My jaw dropped, and I howled in pain as the widest part pierced through my sphincter, which then tightened around the plug's handle handle.
"That suffices, then." Master slapped my buttocks again. I jerked from the agony. "You hungry?"
"Yes," I confessed. My hunger was gnawing me.
"I'll be back in a bit."
Master disappeared for around fifteen minutes. He came back with a large bottle containing a milky liquid, capped with a dildo. "Suck this." He pressed the dildo onto my face. I declined to open my lips. After a series of abortive attempts to force the dildo into my mouth, he slapped my buttocks. My cries grew louder when he thrust the dildo into my mouth, silencing me. "This is a nutritional supplement. It's got everything you need. Suck on it."
I paused for a moment, but when I began to suck, the milky liquid flowed down my throat. I felt a rumbling in my stomach, eager for food. I sucked more aggressively.
The bottle was soon empty. Master stooped in front of me, his face moments away from mine, and kissed me again. This time, his tongue delved into my mouth. It lingered there, exploring all the nooks and crannies.
Master smiled. "You look so cute, lying down like that." Master retreated from my sight, only to return a short while later sporting a black leather gag with a leash-like dildo. "Now, I'm going to need you to be silent for a while."
Master wedged the leashed dildo through my lips. I understood by then not to resist. The dildo slid into my mouth. Then Master tied the straps behind my head. [
The massive dildo stretched nearly to the back of my throat, forcing my jaw apart and filling my mouth. I was unable to utter a sound or even breathe through my mouth; only my nose served the necessary function.
Master stood in front of me, slowly weighing his decision before moving on. "Cute," he muttered, fondling my cheek. He then securely placed a hood over my head.
The sound of Master's retreating footsteps reverberated in my room. I heard him grope behind me, playfully pinching my erection. "It's astonishing, this thing doesn't die. You've been whipped surrendering the back of it, stroked like that, spanked and sodomized, no wonder it's ready for more than endure, you're definitely a slave at heart. I'll return in a few hours. Stay here and remain unwound, I chuckled at my wit. The door creaked closed as he left.
What can I do to get out of here? I questioned myself silently.
This man was definitely insane. I had become powerless in his hands and he reveled in my state of vulnerability, more so knowing how to maintain my helplessness, inevitable loss of balance, and my scrambled mind.
The way he touched my organ was hitherto unaccustomed to me. The way he sodomized me, he could've been a professional.
After a few minutes, I realized the source of his proficiency - Experience.
Shivers ran down my spine. You aren't the first person subjected to this.
What had happened to the others? Where was their whereabouts?
I could swear he'd never let go of his captives, not after tormenting them the way he did. They'd likely go straight to the police. Which meant, I was up against someone seriously harmful. A Jeffrey Dahmer level of dangerous rapist-torturer-serial-killer.
Hadn't anyone in San Francisco noticed a pattern in missing individuals? If not, Dahmer killed many more than a hundred people known to the world.
I breathed heavily, realizing I was the only one in the world who was informed about my whereabouts: Matt. And I had just told him to get lost.
This guy could ruin your gullet, stuff you in a backyard for eternity, and no one would find you.
Although others might notice my disappearance, they'd have no clue where to start investigating. I'd have to figure it out by myself.
In my mind's eye, I conjured the image of myself, bare, sprinting across the streets of San Francisco during daylight, appealing desperately for help: "Help! Help! A deranged man's after me!"
That very thought, despite its compounding efficiency, would render me conspicuous: the naked appeal, the noisy screaming, and city-wide location lacked secrecy.
He stripped me, reducing my chances of a potential escape. But if I braved the world as it was, naked, I'd demand immediate intervention.
Although you'll surely garner attention, it's all in your actions. Don't mind your lack of clothing.
There had to be a way to flee from this man. At my first opportunity, I'd make a dash at it. The risks were involved. His security: brawn, venues to confine my body, and a cattle prod to traumatize me.
But sooner or later, the chance would arrive. To ensure I don't squander my chances on my initial attempt, I pledged to myself I'd meticulously strategize.
I had to familiarize myself: about Master and his tendencies, how he maltreated my body, and his preference for this location.
Don't risk things. Follow your master's chain of command
Although this option seemed worthy, a disturbing inner voice surfaced. Was I demonstrating caution or cowardice? In Master's presence, I found no resistance. His flick of a cattle prod, slap of rod, and penetration all felt delightful, which he recognized too.
Even though I was at his mercy, my ass burned especially, erection responded. If I can make it so out of here, I'll be a refugee. I'd better plan it right.
All the more reason to abide by his rules, for time being. My sexual abandon, under his orders, became a means to my preferred conclusion: freedom.
What kind of guy enjoys being whipped and spanked? I tightened my eyes and attempted to still my dick.
It didn't work. Considering my dick only brought to mind the feel of those skilled fingers as they touched me, the soft touch on my balls, and the beautiful feel of climax when I unleashed my semen. The Master knew just how to manipulate me.
Wait, did I crave even more of this?
I shoved that thought away. That's what he wants you to believe! He's messing with your head!
I had to escape. I didn't want to remain a minute longer, or obey any more orders. I desired to spit in the guy's face, kick him in the balls, or anything, yet resist...in some way. Yet fighting him was not the response. Better to play along.
Weakling! I reproached myself.
The discussion revolved endlessly in my mind until I fell asleep. Terror, pain, and humiliation were draining.
I awoke some time later—maybe a few hours?—still on that bench, gagged. Examining revealed that my wrists and knees were fastened firmly. I sat around waiting for a long period, wishing Master would return, but when at last I heard the door open, I felt unwell in my stomach.
He walked over and patted me on the ass. It was still painful.
"Sorry that took so long. Slow-moving traffic on the Golden Gate. I'm worn out. Time for both of us to wrap it up. I bet you are starving." He removed the hood and the gag. After a while, the dildo was in my mouth and I sucked it hungrily at another meal. When I finished, he pulled the plug out of my ass, which was no less unpleasant than when he put it in. He released my wrists from the bench one at a time, yet then padlocked them to metal rings on either side of the belt around my waist. Then he shackled my ankle cuffs together with approximately a foot and a half of chain before releasing my knees.
He helped me to my feet. My hands were connected at my hips, leaving them useless, and the shackles only allowed me to walk like a baby. He took me back to the room where I'd woken that morning. I stepped dubiously, the floor swaying beneath my bare feet. He guided me into the small bathroom where he gently held my dick as I urinated into the toilet, then helped me onto the sleeping mat and kissed me goodnight.
Note: This is a paraphrased version that has been rewritten to sound more informal and interesting. The length and markdown format have been preserved while adding minor changes to the words and sentence structure.
Read also:
Source: www.nice-escort.de
