And so, as I grew from my 20’s to my 30’s, I had no expectation that I would ever find The One: the Master who would posess me as I wanted to be owned; the self-assured, self-confident superman who would raise himself to God and lower me to animal. I had certainly hooked-up with tops but found them to be unequal to the challenge. I had come across leathermen who said they liked to be in charge, but found them to be tentative and gentle, filled with “protocol” and safe words. I had even spent time with a Master or two, but found them to be unintelligent, unlikable souls that were unworthy of worship.

And so I decided to settle. I found Robert. There was never any indication that he was anything other than what he appeared to be: a prosperous, good-looking, reasonably-successful suburban homosexual. We liked spending time together. I liked his friends and he liked mine. Our sex was frequent and mostly vanilla: he liked to get sucked and liked to fuck ass, and I was more than happy to oblige.

After several months of increasingly-intense dating, we moved in together. Or rather, I moved into his suburban house. It was big and well-furnished, and while farther away from my work than I would have liked, it made more sense than my tiny downtown apartment. We fell into a normal gay partnered life: work and gym during the week, dinner with friends on the weekends. Because we were far from downtown, however, I seldomly saw many of my old friends, and instead fell into Robert’s circle.

Some time after moving in, I was finally able to explore all of the nooks and crannies of Robert’s house. Even though I was living with him, it still felt like his place: his furniture, his decorating, his possessions. In the corner of the basement, reachable only through a narrow passage that I had never noticed, I discovered a door that was inexplicably locked. Perplexed, I wondered what could be inside.

When I asked Robert, he smiled slightly and looked me in the eyes. “I’m just keeping a few things for a friend. I thought it’d be best to keep it separate from everything else.”

I dropped the subject, but kept thinking about that door. Measuring the basement in my mind, I realized that there was a significant space behind the door. There were no windows, only a door and walls. When Robert was away, I checked the door again. It wasn’t merely locked by the door handle, but was bolted and padlocked twice, near the top and bottom. The padlocks were dusty, and hadn’t been touched in months. There was no way in, I saw.

Some time later, there was another clue. Robert and I had met some friends at a gay bar. It was the usual Saturday night crowd, filled with good-looking, well-dressed men. In the corners, go-go boys strutted to the tunes. Robert couldn’t keep his eyes off one little harlot: he had a great body shaved smooth, and wore tight leather shorts, a dog collar, and flip flops. When the light hit him just right, the boy showed faint whip marks on his back and the back of his thighs. I watched Robert: he was practically drooling as he stared at the boy dancing.

We never talked about it—that wasn’t our style—but that night Robert held my wrists above my head as he fucked me. He moaned softly, blew his load inside me, and then collapsed and fell asleep, still holding my wrists. I didn’t come with my dick at all, but hadn’t been so well-fucked in years.

After that, our sex life took a new tack: Robert became more dominant, and I naturally became more submissive. He fucked me more and I came less. I sucked him and now he didn’t bother to reciprocate. For the first time, a question began to build in my mind: might Robert be the One? Still, he wasn’t the type to talk about it, he simply did, and I was OK with that.

More months went by. The weather cooled, and then warmed again. On the first truly hot day of spring, I came home from work to find Robert in the kitchen, still dressed in his work suit and tie, drinking a beer. “Just cooling down a bit,” he said. I kissed him as I always did.

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable if you had no clothes on?” he asked me.

“Sure,” I said. “You, too, probably.”

“Don’t worry about me. I just want to see you cook dinner naked.”

I walked to the bedroom, took off my clothes and put them away, then returned to the kitchen completely naked.

“Excellent,” he said.

As I prepared dinner, he finished his beer. While I was chopping vegetables, he stood behind me. “Keep chopping,” He said. I heard his zipper fall and felt his unclothed, hard penis on my buttocks. Reaching over the counter, he smeared some butter on his fingers, rubbed it on my hole, and slid into me. As he fucked me, he bent me over the counter with one hand, and pushed the butter-smeared fingers of the other hand into my mouth.

After he blew his load into me, he withdrew and stood behind me, his dick still dripping cum onto the floor. He had taken me by surprise and then came quickly; I hadn’t even gotten hard. “I think you should clean me up, don’t you?” He asked. I dropped to my knees and licked his penis clean of the cum and grease.

When I was finished, he zipped up while I knelt before him. “Nice,” he said. “I guess that’s why I wanted you naked.” I nodded and looked submissively downward.

And so a new pattern emerged. When I was at home, I’d be naked. He asked me to do more around the house. Soon I was doing all of the cooking and cleaning, all of the laundry, all of the lawn care. He became a bit harsher in his expectations. If for example, a dish wasn’t prepared to his liking, or a part of the house wasn’t cleaned well enough, he’d swat me on my naked ass to let me know he wanted me to do better.

He improved the small home gym in a corner of the basement. We’d work out together: Robert in workout shorts, a tank top or sweatshirt, and sneakers; me completely naked. Robert pushed me harder and harder and my body reacted, becoming leaner and more muscular. Frequently, while swinging heavy dumbells, he would smash one into my balls, causing me to sink to the floor in pain. As he smiled, I realized that these were not accidents and that he was actually enjoying the pain he caused. As my body improved, he first suggested, then demanded, that I keep my body shaved smooth. Soon, I was shaving myself daily.

One night, I was forced to work later than normal to finish up before a deadline. When I got home, I found Robert at home fuming. “Come here,” he told me as I walked in the door. He pulled my pants down, bent me over his knee, and quickly landed twenty hard spankings on my buttocks. “Never, ever be late again,” He ordered. He squeezed my balls as hard as ever and I wilted under the pain.

From then on, his disprovals were met by harsher and harsher spankings, aided sometimes by a wooden paddle that materialized from nowhere. The paddle was joined by a riding crop, then a series of whips. He would beat my body from head to toe, frequently whipping my cock and balls. I found myself following his precise directions for everything. It became impossible to balance work and home because Robert was so demanding, so exacting.

So when business fell, the company found an easy way to cut costs and I lost my job. When I went home to tell Robert, I expected him to be livid. Instead, he was overjoyed. “Now you can be my full-time servant. You can stay here and concentrate on me.”

Since I would be home naked while he worked, he placed my genitals into a locking device so that I couldn’t access them. Everyday, I would shave my body and clean my colon. Before He came home from work, I’d squirt a few drops of lube onto my anus. Every night, He would rub his hands over my hairless body, then slide his penis into my smooth, clean, moist hole. I loved the way His masculine, still hairy body felt rubbing against my smoothness.

He stopped pissing into the toilet, instead relieving himself into my mouth. When he defecated, I’d lick his hole clean. He promised I’d learn to take all of his waste, in good time. In turn, I was allowed to urinate only by kneeling and peeing into an old pitcher in the basement. Then, I would pour the urine into an unused toilet. Cleaning my colon every day with deep enemas, I stopped having normal bowel movements.

He went through my clothes and possessions and donated virtually everything to a charity. He examined my papers. He made me sign documents that liquidated my 401K, my insurance policies, and my savings account. He said there was no need for me to drive, and so I found myself signing over my car to him, which quickly disappeared. He took my ID and passport and my credit cards. If I had not loved Him before I worshipped Him, I might never have trusted that all was well. I never felt that He was taking advantage of me, merely that He was taking care of me.

There had never been a land-line telephone in His house. Now, He took away my cell phone, saying that it was too expensive for someone unemployed. He locked the mailbox so that I couldn’t see the mail. He protected his computer with a password so that I had no access to the internet. Operating the television or the stereo also required a password that only he knew. I lost touch with my family and friends, and was connected to the world only through him.

He stopped calling me by my given name, and instead simply said faggot or cunt or slave. He insisted I call him, “Sir”.

One Friday evening, I greeted Him when He came home from work as I always did, on my knees. He patted my head and simply said, “Stay there for a minute. It’s going to be a big weekend.”

He returned in a moment, dressed in jeans, a tight T-shirt, and thick leather biker boots. “Come,” he said simply, and I followed behind him. He led me into the basement, down the hall and into the storage room with the secret door. Producing a key from his pocket, he unlocked the padlocks and turned the handle. He opened the door and switched on a harsh overhead light.

“You may enter, but you may not walk inside this space. Come inside the door and kneel.”

I gingerly entered the room and knelt immediately on a hard, cold concrete floor. Looking around, I saw that it wasn’t a small store room, but a windowless, fully-equipped dungeon. There was a padded exam table, a sling, a toilet, a rim chair, and a large dog cage. There was a spigot and hose and a big floor drain. Around the walls and on the ceiling rafters, there were dozens of eye hooks. And, there was a large cabinet that I presumed held various tools of torture and control.

He ordered me onto the table. I crawled across the room, climbed up on the table, and layed down flat on my back. He was at my side immediately, locking my wrists and ankles to the table. He pushed straps across my chest, hips and thighs. Then, he held a large leather collar in front of my face where I could see it. It had metal contacts on the inside, small studs and several eye hooks on the outside. In the back, it closed with a small lock and key.

“Up to now,” He said, “we’ve just been playing around. If I put this on you, it’s for real and forever. You’ll be my slave, my property. I will not be your lover but your Master and God. I will control your body and mind. You will worship me and live only for me and will never be free again. You will have no opinion, no will, no desire other than to service me. I will ask you only this one question: What do you want me to do?”

I knew what it meant and was amazed that we had ever got here. “Please put your collar on me, Sir.”

He smiled, slid the collar around my neck and locked it into place. I heard more clicks as he connected it to the table, holding my head in place. “Let us begin your new life as My property,” He announced.

Unable to look anywhere but straight at the ceiling, I no longer could see what He was doing. I simply laid there in the cool basement air. He retrieved items from the cabinet and placed them on a tray near my feet.

“I want you to know that I had no intention of making you My slave. I had given up on finding one, actually: too many flakes, too many punks. So I put it behind me, and locked the door to this room. I thought I’d eventually clean it out, maybe make it a movie room, or something. Then I met you and we became such great friends. It was good, it really was: just two normal guys in the suburbs. Sex was OK, if a little tame, and I liked being with you. But then I’d revert to the old me, and the miracle is that you weren’t repulsed. Sometimes, you’d lead me on too, like you wanted to be a slave as much as I wanted to be your Master. And so here I am, back in the dungeon, this time with My real slave.

“You’ve let me strip you of your job, your family, and your friends. I’ve thrown away your clothing and your possessions. I’ve taken all of your money and closed all of your accounts. I’ve taken your ID and passport. As a human, you really no longer exist. Soon, you will fade to an ever distant memory. I don’t allow you to be polluted by the outside world, so that your mind can think only of Me and My needs. You eat what I tell you to eat, drink what I tell you to eat. We are near the end of our journey to my complete Mastery of you, my complete ownership of you. So there is only one question left.

“Slave, when was the last time you came?” He asked.

I was hypnotized by His words. “Sir, about a week ago. It was totally by accident.”

“Tell me how.”

“Sir, You were fucking me in bed. It felt so good, and though it was locked up, the head of my dick rubbed on the sheet. When you came, so did I, Sir.”

“Right. I remember; I made you lick it off the sheets. You didn’t want to cum, did you?”

“No, Sir.”

“Why not? All guys want to cum.”

He was testing me, I knew it. “Slaves don’t want to, Sir.”

“Why would that be?”

“Sir, it exists only for Your pleasure.”

“OK. What about the time before that?”

I thought for a second. “Sir, a week or so earlier. I was sucking Your penis while You watched TV and I touched my dick by accident and came immediately.”

“Yes. I made you eat that, too. An accident also, correct?”

“Yes Sir.”

“And before that?”

I thought hard. “Several days before that, Sir. You were fucking me. I don’t remember why I came.”

“It seems like you cum a lot for a faggot that says it doesn’t want to.”

“Never on purpose, Sir.”

“Yes, my point exactly. You seem to cum once a week or so even if I tell you not to, as I have on many occasions. I beat you silly, and still you insist on cumming. When I fuck you, I want you to concentrate completely on Me. When I’m in your mouth, it’s for My pleasure, not yours. When you cum, you’re depriving Me, your Owner, of the enjoyment.”

“Yes, Sir, the slave understands, Sir.”

“Yeah , that’s nice, but I don’t really care. You’re a slave, remember? As you go to sleep, remember, you’re a slave.”

He pushed a pill in my mouth and told me to swallow. I saw him poke a syringe into my thigh and push the plunger. Seconds later, I--the slave--was asleep.

I awoke some time later, feeling tiny electric shocks on my neck. I was still strapped to the table, though now I was covered with a heavy blanket. It was dark and I was apparently alone. My crotch felt odd, like it was attached to something. I suspected immediately that he had modified me in some way. I realized the collar was sending out small electrical shocks. They were not painful, but could definitely be felt.

The door opened a few seconds later. My Master strode in and turned on the lights. He was dressed differently now, in shorts, a tank top, and flip flops.

“You have a pleasant sleep, slave?” He asked. “We’ve kept you under for several days, so I imagine so.”

I tried to talk, but found only whispers. “What has happened? How long?”

“Yeah, don’t try to talk. I’ll explain all. First, after our talk the other night, I had a friend of mine stop over. He’s a doctor, but doesn’t want anyone to know that he’s a little kinky. If it were up to me, you’d have been wide awake. Anyway, we made a few changes. Want to take a look?”

“Yes, Sir,” I whispered.

He removed the blanket and unstrapped the restraints holding me down. The collar stayed in place, but he unlatched its connection to the table. He helped me sit up slowly. I could barely imagine what had been done. As I looked down, I first saw two silver rings through my nipples. Further down, a ring was pushed through my navel. And, in my crotch, there was a pile of white bandages, which He gingerly removed to reveal that my testes and scrotum had been removed. A tiny tube of skin, formerly my penis hung limply, a large silver ring pushed through the head. After several days, a there was some stubble that would have to be shaved away. Below where the scrotum once was, a new piss hole was cut, filled now by a yellow-filled catheter tube.

“Thank You Sir,” I whispered. My voice was slowly coming back after days of non-use.

“As you can see, your balls and sac are gone. Obviously, we didn’t take the penis, but we removed the tissue inside so that it will never get hard. Besides, I like to know that you’re really a boy and I like to feel a soft flapping dick when I fuck you. And without balls, it doesn’t need to get hard, right? There’s a little slit down there to piss with, which you’ll have to do sitting or squatting down from now on. And of course, I’ve had you ringed for better control.

“By the way, your collar can send out electric pulses. I can vary them from minimal, like you just felt, to debilitating, which you don’t want to ever feel. It operates under my control; rest assured I can shock you whenever I desire and whenever your behavior warrants.”

He removed the catheter and replaced the bandage. “It will take you some time to learn to control your piss. If you feel as though you are going to have an accident, you will tell me immediately.”

“Sir, my ass feels kind of funny, too.”

“Right. Your prostate. The doctor injected it with small drops of acid, just enough to destroy it. After you get cleaned up, I’ll give it a little exam.”

He led me back to the main floor of the house. I could see that nothing had been cleaned in the days that I was out; there were dishes, half-eaten food, and unlaundered clothes strewn everywhere.

“You will shave your body and prepare your ass, then begin cleaning the house. It will be spotless again before you sleep.”

On my way to the washroom, the most incredible feeling of contentment washed over me. I was really a slave, truly the property of a God-Master. I squirted water into my rectum and shaved the hair from my body. I touched the flap of skin that was formerly a penis and became breathless in anticipation of serving Him.

In a few hours, I had the house reasonably clean again. He watched me as I sat on the toilet to piss. “Don’t get used to it, faggot. You’ll use the basement again soon enough.”

He had me lay on my belly on the living room floor and gingerly slid a finger into my ass. I felt him poking around where my now ruined prostate gland was. “Feels OK to me. Still smooth and warm, just like an ass should be. I killed your prostate so that there was no chance of you feeling sexual pleasure independent of me, slave.”

With that, He crawled on top of me and began fucking. Finally released from my own genitals, I felt only my Master and His power. He turned me over and began fucking me face to face, between my legs. I held His shoulders and hips as He fucked. When He came into me, moaning loudly into my ear, I was happier than I could ever imagine.