Committed

by Allen Baker

"Of course, if you really want to become my permanent slave, you know what's expected." Master Carlton towered over me. He stood six foot three in bare feet. But from my vantage point of using my tongue to lick his thick heeled biker boots, he was skyscraper height. Above the boots, bare skin all the way to his bulging, black leather cod piece. The leather harness inched out of the top of the pouch and emphasized his endowed chest and protruding nipples. "You could be the best I've ever owned. You have the attitude, the mouth talent, eager ass. All you have to do is say the words, and I'll make you my own."

My eyes were focused on the lips that issued those beguiling words. They rested just under the half-hood of black. In all the months of our intense relationship, I'd never seen what lay behind that leather mask. But the eyes were dark and as hard and threatening as his voice. The harshly cruel tambour of his words mesmerized and enticed. So often I found myself nearly uttering the requested statement. So often, that I woke at night trembling with fear that I might have actually said those words out loud. I wanted to be his slave. I needed to be his slave. I had to become his slave. But the fear constricted my throat and dumbed my tongue. Again, I found myself trembling with the need to satisfy his request. To make him happy. To live up to his expectations of me. Again, I failed him. Saddened him.

He accepted my silence. "All in good time. But for now, I will take out my anger on you. I will punish you. Bruise you. Bloody you. All for my pleasure. Your pain will sooth my disappointment. Your screams and begging will satisfy me for now. But you and I both know that sometime in the near future, we have an appointment to seal our bargain. That day will come. And the longer you prolong it, the more drastic the measures to follow. The more painful the exacting of my demands. The more you will suffer. And the greater will be my pleasure."

The boot swung swiftly. My eyes had been worshiping his other boot and not seen it coming. It plowed into my crotch and flattened my already swollen balls against my pelvic bone. The air swushed from my lungs, and I grunted in sudden agony. White shafts sprung from behind my eyes and blanked my vision. Moaning escaped my throat. My hands clutched the ankle of the boot that was receiving my saliva polish in desperation. They wanted so badly, but knew better, to grab for my groin. To baby my balls. To caress and nurse them. To sooth and protect. But they knew better. Such action could end in broken fingers and, even worse, in hours of confinement in a ball press. It had happened before. I'm no fool. I'd already learned that lesson. I bit my tongue and held on dearly to keep my hands from betraying me. And waited for the next swing of the boot.

It came. Harder. Poker hot pain. Knotted up stomach roiling in retch. I dare not vomit on his newly shined boot. The foot struck again, glancing off my nuts and punching the steel toe into my cock, smashing my Prince Albert ring and twisting it through my slit hole. "Thank you, Sir."

The flogger slams into my butt cheeks. Then again. And again. He establishes a rhythm with it. One cheek. The other. Both. Then the shoulder blades. Left thigh. Right. Lower back. Return to the butt. The tempo quickens. The blows become harder. And still I lick. And still I moan. And still I thank him as he stimulates my endorphin level. I begin to soar and float. I lean into the pain. Flow with it. My body demands it. He can tell I've crossed the barrier. I've turned the corner and thrive on hurting for him. Suffering for him. It urges him on. The flogger's replaced with the strap which is replaced with the whip. The heat on my ass turns to welts then to open cuts. The blood lubricates his desire. And mine.

He drops the whip and swings the cane. "I'm going harder and faster. I won't stop until I cum." He grips the snaps on his pouch and yanks it off. Flings it to the floor to expose himself. But he won't touch himself. Nor let me. His only stimulation is my pain. My torn, mangled body. My flowing body. My muffled screams.

"That's it, you worthless shit. Scream for me. Beg me to stop. Bleed for me. I'm splitting you open. I'm bruising your hide. Scarring it. Breaking it for my pleasure. You'll be usable to function for days. Yes, that's it beg me with your torment. Make me cum. I'm getting close. Go on now, boy, beg. Beg me to make you into my permanent slave. You know the words. Say them, and I'll cum. Say them, and I'll lather your back with my juice and put down the cane. Go on, you want it. You need it. Say it. Say it!"

He was right. I had to do it. And I was so lusted up that it seemed right. Of course I would beg to be his slave. My rock hard cock slid rhythmically across the carpet in time with his punishment. I needed to shoot. But I wouldn't without his permission. As much as I wanted to. Needed to. I wouldn't until he came. Until he said I could. I began to babble with need and desire. My eyes fluttered with each blow, threatening to roll back and blank me out. I struggled to not pass out: I'd miss the pain. Suddenly, in horror, I heard my voice say it. "Sir, oh please, Sir. Do it. Make me your permanent slave. I give them up to you. They're yours anyway, so take them. Castrate me and make me your obedient, full-time slave! Please, Sir. I'm yours."

Suddenly the cane became a flurry of strikes. I screamed myself raw. "Yesss. Oh, yeah! I haven't even touched myself, and I'm going to shoot!" Hot fluid singed into the cuts on my welted rear. "Now, boy. Shoot. Soil the floor with cum. Your very last cum. The last of your seed. Go ahead and waste it on the floor in the dirt. It's where your worthless seed belongs: in the dirt. Do it, boy. Do it now!" And I did. I knew I'd given myself to him. He owned me and my soon-to-be-destroyed nuts. I envisioned my crotch as a smooth plane and orgasmed against my belly and the floor. I shook and trembled in pain, ecstasy, and fear. I had just consented to becoming his eunuch slave. I shot and shot and shot. And passed out.

* * * * *

The bucket of cold water thrown on my face and chest did the trick. I was instantly awake. I wasn't on the floor any longer. Master Carlton had taken advantage of my comatose state and had me buckled onto the St. Andrews cross, spread eagled and totally vulnerable. To the side stood his utility cart covered with a black cloth. The surface bulged here and there with the objects the cloth was intended to hide. That sight always inspired dread and apprehension – and an erection.

"Ok, boy, you said it once. Now I want you to repeat it. Just to be sure you meant it. And to give me the pleasure of hearing it one more time. Do you willingly desire to become my full time slave knowing full well the sacrifices involved?"

"Yes, Sir. I do want to be your twenty-four hour a day slave." My voice trembled, but I didn't hesitate. I'd already made the commitment, and he'd hold me to it, no matter what I said now.

"I want to hear it all." It wasn't a request. His menacing voice threatened. It hung over my head and demanded every word.

"Please, Sir. Please make me your slave. Please cut off my balls. Castrate me. Neuter me. Cut off my prick. Deprive me of my maleness. Turn me into the ‘it' that I deserve to be. Please, Sir, flatten my crotch. Smooth it into a bald area of nothingness. Then, I will lose all desire for my own pleasure and live to serve as a vessel for your pleasure. Yours, Master. Yours, and yours alone."

He moaned through his parted lips. His slit eyes flicked back, and he shuddered as my pleading words triggered another climax in his groin. His spunk splattered my abdomen and thighs. It splashed onto my cock which was rapidly thickening. He groaned his pleasure, and his ooze continued to slither out to drip and puddle onto the floor between us. He reached out with a remote control and started three video cameras from different viewpoints. This would be part of his permanent library.

"Yes, oh yes. You'll be my slave this very day. But I won't make it easy. You've made me wait. You've frustrated me, and I will have my revenge. You will regret not having committed sooner. This will be painfully slow. Agonizingly brutal. And totally satisfying to your Master. I'm eager to hear your pitiable screams, to see your blood flow, to crush and cut and mutilate. Say a last goodbye to your manhood."

Master Carlton's face broke into one of his rare smiles. Its cruelty sent shivers across my immobilized form. I watched as he folded back the black cloth to expose the cart's cluttered surface. What I saw made me nearly swoon. Hammers, pliers, thin wire, and clamps. Nails, screws, drills, and utility knives. A blow torch. Oh, dear God!

He took two wide boards and trapped my equipment between their edges. Then he anchored the two together with metal straps and screws. Very tight – very permanent. He purposefully stripped the screw heads: he did not intend to ever take them apart again. The completed project formed a two-foot square that framed my cock and balls. That focused attention on my cock and balls. They began to deepen in color as the engorging blood made them throb.

He slapped my bobbing prick. "I'll need to keep him out of the way for a while." Master picked up an eight penny nail and his hammer. Pulling my cock up toward my chin, he rammed the nail point into my piss slit and aimed the hammer at the nail head. "Breathe deep, boy. We're starting." It took four hits to drive the nail out through the top of my cock head and secure it into the wood. Drops of blood gurgled up from the slit and slowly slid down my cock. He leaned down and licked it away. He stood up with red-streaked lips and a grin.

"How does that feel, boy?"

"It hurts wonderfully, Sir."

He turned to the cart and picked up an electric sander. "This should tenderize that leathery sack, don't you think?" He bent over to plug it in, not expecting a response. The machine vibrated to life. Then slowly, almost gently, he pressed it against my nuts. The sandpaper brushed against the surface of my skin, relentlessly wearing away the top layers of skin. Gradually he leaned into his work. The pressure, the vibrations, the motion caused a warring of sensations. The skin began to tingle, then burn. I couldn't see, but envisioned the area beginning to ooze blood like a scraped knee. My nuts reacted to the pressure by attempting to pull back through the opening between the boards, but could not. Instead, they sent waves of nausea up through their cords into my lower abdomen. The muscles there began to cramp and pull. I groaned and gritted my teeth. The reaction he had desired all along.

He set the sander aside. "That should be tender enough for now. Maybe they should get some salve to sooth them." His hand went to a tube of Ben Gay. With a cloth he massaged gobs of the stinging ointment into the raw skin of my nut sack.

Just the touch of his hand was painful, but the deep burn that began to spread made me cry out and beg. "Oh, shit! . Sir, please wash it off. Oh, god, please."

He just grinned and turned back to his cart. When I saw what he came back with, I instantly forgot the Ben Gay. It was a gleaming shish kabob skewer over a foot long. He placed it on the side of my left nut and began to push. I had indulged in skin piercings and had even experienced a Prince Albert. I'd also played some with needles. But nothing had ever felt like this. The dual hit of pain and pressure in my testicle produced an instant spasm in my gut. My bowels threatened to cut loose. Bile rose in my throat. And my cock stayed hard. I didn't scream, but a deep animal groan hummed from my throat, growing in intensity as he relentlessly powered the metal completely through and out the other side.

I was desperately panting for air to clear the spinning blackness in my head.

"Half way there."

"Noooooo...." The groan had a word in it now. But it was more a rejection of reality than a protest. My mind wouldn't accept that this was real. But it was. The second one was even worse because it had to continue its grating motion through the first and pressed the two together as well. Finally the tip popped through the skin on the other side, and he finished off by pressuring them to the center of the rod. Only now was I beginning to face the fact that I was truly to lose them. Suddenly my cock lurched, and I was shooting bullets of red-tinged white manjuice all over the board.

"I meant this as a punishment. Perhaps I was mistaken. You seem to be enjoying this far too much."

I could only shake my head slowly in denial.

Master then placed a stand in front of me. On top stood a small grill. He lit the charcoal as he began to softly sing, "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire . . . " And he chuckled again. "As soon as the coals are hot, were going to cook those babies. They'll make a delicious appetizer. We can each eat one."

I thought I'd pass out. Not from the pain, but from the thought that I was about to be forced to be a part of my own unmanning. And still, my dick remained rigid.

Master took my skewered balls and stretched them low with one hand while he used his other to tie them off with thin, cutting wire. Some blood began to ooze down over the sack in a gentile trickle that gathered in drops at the bottom of my sack. Then he tightened the wire enough to slice the skin and expose the cords inside. The blood was flowing freely now. "I'll just tie these off now so that when they're cooked we can just slice them off and eat." He worked with a needle and sutures. Each thread was needled through and around each cord. Each pierces of the needle added new agony.

He slid the small grill toward my thighs. I could feel the heat begin to singe the hair on my legs. The stand had to uprights over the grill. Master grasped the metal ends of the rod through my balls and pulled them out to attach to the uprights, placing my nuts squarely above the white coals. Immediately the skin on the underside of my sack charred, and smoke began to rise where the blood dripped onto the coals. I'd never felt such agony. The stench was something that I had not bargained on. The smell of burning flesh rose to my nostrils and gagged me. I wanted to retch. Waves of massive pain flowed through what was left of my connection to my jewels. It seemed to go on forever.

"I think they're done."

When I heard him say that, I knew he was right. I had just watched him stick needles into the roasting delicacies without even feeling it. They were no longer a living part of me. I still watched in shock as he took the two ends of the wire and pulled tightly. They completely severed the last connection between my body and those two orbs that had been part of me since birth. My mind still could not accept that it had happened.

He took a bite of one and smiled. "Delicious." He chewed and took another bite. "Here." I refrained from saying that it was impolite to speak while chewing. I took a deep breath and gently bit, half expecting to feel the teeth as they bit down. Damn it, he was right. In spite of myself, I found it delicious. And my cock returned to rigidity.

After we finished our appetizers, he completed the surgical job of closing up the area below my prick. Once healed, it would be hard to tell I'd ever had a pair of balls at all.

Master stood and gave me a deep, long kiss. "Good boy. We're half way there." He smiled as I gave the groan that he'd expected to hear. "You'll soon be my it slave."

He uncapped a magic marker and grabbed my rock hard manhood. In one smooth swoop he circled the base of my cock with a black line. "A guide line for cutting." Then he stunned me by placing a second line around the base of the head. "How I'm going to enjoy making you suffer."

Before I knew it, the marker had been replaced with a razorblade utility knife. If one fell swipe, he cut through the shaft just behind the head. Blood spurted out over his hand and dripped from the tip of my detached dick that now hung free on the nail. I screamed and my vision blurred. Master attached a huge clamp to staunch the blood flow, causing more pain. I blubbered and wailed. And Master smiled. He wrenched the separated prick glands from the nail and pressed it to my lips. "Open up." He stuffed it into my mewling mouth. "Just suck on it awhile."

He reached up to detach the clips holding my right wrist. Then he handed me the knife. "You know that what I demand of my slave is obedience. As your first act as my permanent slave, you will complete the cutting. Go on, boy. De-man yourself." He held the clamped end of my penis still and waited for me to comply. My hand shook as I held the knife. I stared into his face, my eyes pleading to not make me do this. But I knew I had no choice. Finally, I made one last request. "Please kiss me, Sir."

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. His tongue flicked out and outlined my lips, then pressed in to glide along my teeth and lick at the cockhead inside. I shuddered and gave a final sigh of submission. He drew back, and we both stared down at my crotch. It was the most difficult thing I'd ever done. It took a couple of shaky attempts before I finally took a deep breath and quickly jerked my arm to finish the work. The blade slid through skin and tissue to sever my boner from my body forever. The blood drenched both our hands. Quickly Master grabbed his needles and sutured me shut with a plastic tube shoved up my urethra for drainage.

Master levered a finger into my mouth and pulled out my dick head. Both pieces of my mutilated manhood went onto the grill. We necked as it roasted. When it was done and tender, Master placed it on a bun and fed us both with it. I'd never had a more delicious meal. Nor would I ever again.

It was done. I was no longer a man. I was a permanent slave. My Master's slave.