Once outside, he walked to the far corner down the block. Then, and only then, did he turn around to see if I had followed. No, that’s not right; he turned around precisely as if he was positive that I had followed, and fully expected to find me there.

“Hm. A little slow on the uptake, but you catch up quickly enough. You’ll do for now.” And he turned again, crossing the street, and stopping before a dark sports car. I stood there as he unlocked the door and got into the car and started it. I heard a soft click, and realized he’d unlocked the passenger door. Hurriedly, I jumped in, closed the door, and fastened my seat belt.

He didn’t immediately start driving, however. “Are you nervous? Worried? Excited?”

It was all I could do just to nod back at him, before blurting out, “I’ve never done anything like this before. I guess … I’m all three things.”

He glanced at my crotch, “I can tell about the excited part without you saying anything. We may have to fix that, later. I think I’d prefer you concentrate all your attentions on me, although … it is something of a compliment to me. What’s your name?”

I just looked at him.

“Hello? Am I talking to myself? You have permission to speak, son; I’m extreme in sexual pleasures, but not in practical matters.”

I remained nervous to the point of feeling dizzy. “My nuh-name is J-Jim. Sir.” The last word slipped out by itself, just a heartbeat after the rest.

He raised an eyebrow, then nodded approvingly at my use of his title, “Either you’ve had training elsewhere, or are just a natural at this. I will call you `Jimmy.’ That works.”

I’d never accepted the diminutive form of my name from anyone else, but I wouldn’t have dreamed of correcting him at that point. He continued, “My name … well, that’s not really important at the moment. However, you need to have something to call me other than just `Sir.’ Mmm…you may think of me as ‘Master Dirk,’ and use that title when addressing me formally. Normally, you may answer questions using just `Sir.’”

“Yes, Master Dirk.”

“Fine, we’re off.” And with that, he started the car, and smoothly pulled into the late evening traffic. We drove for about 35 minutes, ending up at a large modern tract house in an isolated housing development, pulling into the driveway as he punched the garage door remote. While waiting for the door to open, he made a “stay there” hand motion, and said, “You will only enter or leave my car while the garage door is closed. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir…uh…”

“You sound confused, boy. Which part of my statement was unclear?”

“I was not questioning your orders, Sir. I was just wondering why.”

He barked, “I don’t have to have a reason for anything I tell you …” and suddenly , his voice softened, “…but that was a magnificent blow job you gave me earlier, and you’ve behaved impeccably so far, so I will indulge you this once. The answer is, it’s none of my neighbors’ business what I choose to do in my own home with the person or people of my own choice. I don’t feel like being asked awkward questions if or when some one I bring home disappears.”

As the last word left his mouth, he thumbed the remote to close the garage door again. I suddenly broke out into a cold sweat. Had I just accepted a weekend with a hot master or a homicidal maniac?

“Now, come with me into the house.”

He led me through the house; each room was furnished in a simple, elegant yet masculine style. The overall effect project a sense of order, calm, cleanliness, and – oddly enough – power. We walked up a stairway surrounding a 2-story atrium, and he ushered me into what was obviously a playroom. It was equipped like no playroom I’d ever seen before.

The room was floored in what appeared to be industrial grey carpet. In the dead center of the room, sat what appeared to be a black, padded electric doctor’s office table, complete with a set of stirrups at one end. In one corner of the room hung a substantial black leather sling, also generously padded. Under the table and sling, modular rubber mats had been laid. The corner opposite the sling was tiled rather than carpeted.

There were several halogen spotlights on ceiling tracks, along with a small electric fan and stereo speaker at each corner of the room’s ceiling. A partially-open closet, one of two in the room, appeared to contain some kind of electronic equipment, perhaps a stereo system. Large floor-to-ceiling mirrors adorned three of the walls, and there were a couple of video monitors suspended from the ceiling, one of them at each end of the sling.

Pointing to first a second doorway, then a built-in set of drawers, he said, “Strip. There’s a bathroom in there, which you may use if needed. When you are done, place your clothes and shoes in that large drawer, and sit on the edge of this table. I will join you shortly.”

I immediately entered the bathroom, taking a moment to survey the room. Everything was tiled in matte or semi-glossy black, except for the upper walls, which were washed in bright white. Even the sink and toilet were black porcelain. The lack of color made the chrome plumbing fittings shine like finest silver. There was a bathtub and shower, but also a separate, extra-large shower stall. There was a peculiar, large drain in the shower stall, and I noticed there were two sets of fittings, one with a European-style hand-held shower massage head, and another terminating in what appeared to be an 8’ long metal hose with a screw fitting.

I took a piss, feeling even more nervous, then quickly returned to the playroom and removed my clothes, placing them in the indicated drawer, which I noticed had a lock on it. I sat on the table.

After a few minutes, Master Dirk returned, dressed in close-fitting black leather chaps, boots, and vest. A biker cap sat on top of his head, and a studded leather band fit snugly around his massive left bicep.

“Have you cleaned out yet, Boy?” I shook my head.

“Good. I didn’t tell you to, so you can be trusted to follow simple directions. Hop down off the table, and follow me.” He walked into the bathroom.

Looking me up and down with a practiced eye, he reached into a drawer and pulled out a metal shower shot nozzle which was vacuum-sealed in plastic. “This was cleaned and sterilize in the autoclave.” He took a pair of scissors and opened the sealed plastic. “Do you know how to use one of these?” I nodded. “Good. Remove this from the plastic, connect it over there, and use it to clean yourself out. If I detect any trace of shit, you’ll be sorry. I only like playing with clean assholes.” With that, he left me alone, closing the door behind him.

This wasn’t what I’d expected, but I decided to make the most of it. I attached the shower shot to the hose on the wall, and spent quite a bit of time giving myself a series of enemas. Fortunately, I like getting fucked, and I’ve found that I can clean myself out pretty well using a shower shot in under an hour.

As I filled and expelled, filled and expelled, I was too nervous to be excited. What if I was taking too long? What if I wasn’t careful enough?

Finally, I finished, toweled myself dry, and went back into the playroom … which was now lit very dimly, with slightly eerie “space” music playing in the background. “OK, boy … up on the table, and let’s see what you’ve got. Put your feet into these stirrups.”

I don’t know what I was expecting, but I felt a probing finger at my hole, then something cool and slick, and then … jeezus, what WAS that? “Relax, boy; this is just a speculum … I want to see exactly what I’m taking ownership of.”

My cock sprang to attention at his last few words. “Hm. I see you like that idea. Well, let’s see how your balls are doing.”

He removed the jelly cockrings from around my scrotum, and massaged the area until my balls descended. “Not cold or clammy, so you’ve got plenty of blood circulation. Good. I’ll put this back on you now. A slave shouldn’t have balls.” With that, he pushed each of my testicles up into my scrotal cavity, and secured them using the cockring he’d just removed. It looked just like I had an empty scrotum … which I did.

As he examined my painfully throbbing cock, I let out a groan. “That’ll never do. Let’s see what we can do to fix that.”

My head began to throb with the beat of my pulse as I watched him pull a loaded syringe out of one of the drawers on the table. “This will be temporary … for now.” Squeezing something out of a tube onto a gauze pad, he started wiping it onto the base of my erect shaft. It felt cold, then it tingled.

“Should be numb enough now.” And with that, he injected something into the base of my cock! I felt a stinging sensation as the liquid flowed under the skin, then tingling, then … nothing. He flicked the tip of my cock with his finger. I felt only a distant thumping, even though I could see his finger making contact with my glans.

By this time, I was so overcome – a balance of arousal and terror – that I nearly missed his next words:

“I'm ready to begin.”