My life-altering ordeal began on a spring day last year when I responded to an ad for the selling of a 1960 Porsche. I didn’t have nearly the $14,000 the owner was asking so my curiosity was really a complete waste of time. I promptly arrived at the owner’s hillside home and he greeted me with earnestness. He was in his late forties or early fifties - I couldn’t really tell with his silver goatee and baseball cap. His first question was if I’d ever owned a Porsche. I responded in the affirmative which was not the truth. I didn’t want him to misrepresent the car regardless of my intentions. This turned out to be a mistake since he was an aficionado and grilled me extensively about my imaginative 356. His barrage of questions stopped when he got into the car and fired it up for me. He sat shotgun and patted the driver seat as I reluctantly took the helm of his re-conditioned coupe. I felt strange trundling down the alley knowing full-well I could not afford this machine and had no intention of buying it. The car whined down Queen Anne Avenue and we toured around Seattle for 15 minutes or so before heading back.
“You’re not going to buy this, are you?” the man asked out of the blue.
I hesitated at first.
“It’s well-worth your asking price, sir, but I simply don’t have nearly the amount you’re asking,” I confessed.
“You knew that before you even called.”
“I’m sorry about that, sir,” I said.
Then he paused and stared at me while I watched the road. “That’s okay, I like people with similar interests and it’s a nice day for a drive.”
I nodded uncomfortably and slowed to turn up his alley.
Just then he reached over and grabbed hold of my crotch hard.
I was in shock and as I stared down at his hand, I sideswiped a fire hydrant. The man cranked his head out the window to assess the damage and told me to keep driving. We pulled into his carport and got out. The hydrant’s bolt had gouged a tear the entire length of the body. He rubbed his beard and breathed heavily through his nostrils. I could sense he was extremely upset as I assured him I was covered and the car would be repaired.
“You’re going to pay for this, young man.” He said.
“I know, I know…I apologize and will make this okay,” I said.
“I mean you should be punished!” he quipped.
“What? Hey…you grabbed my cock back there! This wasn’t entirely my fault!” I argued. “I’ll give you a check for $2000 and that’s it.”
“I don’t want or need your money you little fuck. You’ve not only wasted my time but my energy, too, and now I am going to punish you.”
“Punish? I’m a grown adult! What exactly do you mean by punish?” I asked.
The man pointed towards his house and said, “Go down to the basement, strip off your clothes and kneel on the floor until I arrive.”
I was agape as a wave of heat crossed my face. I couldn’t believe he was giving these orders with a straight face. “No way, man. No fucking way am I going down there!” I protested.
“You will do as I say and you shall address me as ‘Master’, OR you can go down the hallway and exit out the basement door on your right. In that case you can keep going and never come back here. Got it?”
The niceties were over as he stared me down. I looked to the ground and over at his house. I took a few steps away from him then glanced back to see him rubbing the car’s scrape.
I walked down the outside steps and into the basement.
He wanted me to call him ‘Master’? Was he implying that I was his slave?
I was completely flush as a strange sense of excitement and curiosity swept over me. I approached the exit door and turned the knob. It opened and I could see my car still parked at the curb. I must have stood there for at least a minute before deciding to close the door and prepare for my punishment. I knew that if I drove away now I’d always wonder about this moment. I turned around and slowly undid my belt in the dank of his darkened basement. I couldn’t believe myself as I unbuttoned my slacks and shirt. “What was I in for?” I thought. Was this a brief spanking session or a long-term confinement? Isn’t that a gay thing? No one even knew I was there.
The cool air added a chill to my perspiration and I shivered.
I stood next to a punching that was hanging from the ceiling and held onto it while I pulled my socks off. I tucked them into my shoes that sat next to my neatly folded clothes. I was almost naked and had my thumbs in my waistband preparing to strip when I stared down the dark hall to freedom. This was reminiscent of my younger days at St. Benedict’s where Sister Paula would make me wait in her office and think about my bad behavior before returning with a heavy leather strap.
That was a rite of passage however this was real life with a real decision. I chose to accept this. In a society with civil justice built around judgment, compensation and restitution, this man had his own brand of justice in store for me and I was both curious and excited.
I removed my briefs and could feel a draft of air caress my genitals. Then I remembered I was to kneel on the cement of his basement floor. I sort of laughed at my situation but grew increasingly erect at the thought of this depravity. Soon I had both hands over my crotch in an attempt to suppress my excitement. But not soon enough.
I heard his footsteps approaching down the stairway and then he opened the door. He had changed his clothes and had donned latex chaps with what appeared to be a black satin g-string. The stretchy briefs offered little support as his cock swayed with each step; this man was hung like a horse. He was also shirtless but had a full latex hood and mask.
For some reason I let out a little laugh.
Suddenly, I was truly scared. It would be one of those long-term ordeals! A Pulp Fiction moment for sure.
He turned and walked to the door down the hall and locked it with a key. I could see that he was wearing women’s panties backwards that sort of gave the appearance of a thong He was very serious and his little exhibition would pale compared to the pain and humiliation I would probably endure.
There were a couple keys on a ring attached to his belt as well as a set of handcuffs.
He walked by me and pulled the heavy bag off a hook.
He then turned to me and told me to raise my arms. His crotch was within three inches of my face as I began to tremble. I could smell his cologne. I reluctantly brought my arms up as he swiftly cuffed both wrists and dragged me to my feet.
He lifted my bound wrists over the hook in the truss of the ceiling and cuffed my ankles together.
“Are you a cop?” I asked.
The man grabbed my nuts and squeezed them like a vice.
“I told you to address me as ‘Master’! Now, we shall start with the first of many contrition.”
When he released his grip I nearly collapsed from the dull but intense ache.
The man had just unabashedly handled my privates, I remember thinking.
He turned to grab a black leather belt out of his work bench then reached up to closed a window.
“What are you going to do to me…master?” I reluctantly queried.
The man replied, “Have you ever been whipped, slave?”
“Not really…I mean, as a boy I was given…”
“You have not been whipped until today, I assure you.” he said. “You will be whipped until you bleed and then whipped some more. Let’s begin.”
He wasted no time in meting out one lash after the other. He spared no part of my body as I thrashed in cadence to his whip. I screamed as each lash stung the welts of previous blows. I was shocked that this complete stranger had no problem administering corporal punishment on another. He circled me no less than a dozen times making sure he’d hit my privates repeatedly.
He was sweating heavily and gritting his teeth as he wound up for the next stroke. His muscles were tone and his nipple rings were taut as he swung.
“How much more?” I gasped.
He took a moment to reach over to my underwear, wad them up and shove them in my mouth. I bit down to help endure the seemingly endless lashes I would receive. He grabbed a quirt and landed the remaining shots with painful accuracy. My semi-erect cock didn’t go unnoticed and my nuts were not spared from the diabolic lash. I could feel my testicles begin to swell from the trauma which only made them an easier target.
Anyone who has never been whipped doesn’t know the shock and burning of each lash. The pain was awful.
The time between whips began to increase and I knew it was probably near the sessions’ end. This was little comfort since the bulge in the man’s g-string was stretching the shiny fabric to capacity. He uttered a breathy “100” as he wearily tossed the whip aside.
It was at that point I lost consciousness.
When I awoke there was silence. I had been released from the ceiling and was bent and bound over the length of a saw horse. I felt as though I had the worst sunburn of my life as the crease of my arms strained in the confines of the cuffs.
The faint squeak of the man’s latex was audible as he quietly approached me from behind. I turned my head and could see him reach under and tug his g-string to the side releasing his erect shaft and balls. This time it didn’t sway. His cock was fully erect with a menacing presence. He rolled a thick rubber ‘O’ ring down the length of his shaft. I looked away as he pulled down a jar and removed the lid. I was naïve in hoping it was a salve and he would mercifully tend to my burning skin but this was not to be.
“Sir, I…I am not gay,” I reminded him.
My comment fell on deaf ears as he replaced the lid.
I could hear the familiar sound of him slather and stroke his penis with lubricant. I jolted as he fondled my nuts with his jellied hand and then felt a finger probe my hole. “OW!” I shrieked, as he twisted it around.
“This is part two of your penance, slave. I’m going to enjoy teaching you a painful lesson.”
He paused for a moment before delicately resting his member like a wiener between my buns and clutched them tightly.
He began gliding back and forth like the bow over violin strings but then stopped, took a deep breath and stood up. After ten seconds or so I turned my head to get a peripheral view of what was happening when he said,
“Shall I discontinue, slave?”
I laid in silence wondering why I hadn’t instinctually agreed.
That hot feeling of excitement and embarrassment rushed across my face as he discovered my secret longing to be violated.
He crossed his arms with true concern as his bare shaft stood in waiting.
“Shall I stop?” he repeated as if stepping out of character.
“I. I’m…well…” I stuttered.
“Would you like for this to stop?” he asked impatiently.
I paused for a moment and said with resignation, “No, Master.”
I could not believe I had just given the green light for this man to penetrate me here bound like this.
The truth was: I needed him to dominate me in the most emasculating way.
I was unsure why he gave me an option at all except that it placed the burden on me as a willing participant instead of victim. It became easy to shamelessly enjoy and embellish the session without contradiction.
He readily moved back into position as the cold head of his penis made contact with my ass hole. My entire body shivered with adrenaline as master’s rubber clad legs straddled mine.
“Just relax and breathe, little girl.” He whispered in my ear. “Good slave.”
“Oh, my god! Ouch!” I yelled.
I was being stretched beyond belief as his cock’s head penetrated my burning hole. With the head in place he slid his palms against my buns and slowly parted them open. My sensitive skin felt like it was tearing as it most definitely was. His knees bent slightly as he let gravity do the rest.
I breathed and grunted like a scene from a child birth film as his shaft descended slowly into me. Each passing vein and rib of his erection seemed distorted as it wedged past my tightest opening. My mouth was agape but I couldn’t bring myself to scream; just the tears of unbearable pain streamed down my face.
“I’ve broken in hundreds of boys and women before. Just relax,” he said.
His ‘punishments’ were evidently a regular thing but I was slightly comforted by the thought of his expertise and domination.
The pressure against my insides produced a strange sensation that worsened as he buried his member deeper. Then I felt his weighty scrotum rest against mine when he could go no further. He stopped and there was only the sound of our heavy breathing. He reached under and handled my rigid shaft while rubbing his thumb over the slippery tip to see if I was aroused. He released his grip but I still felt I was going to come at any moment. A bead of sweat ran down the end of my nose and eventually dripped to the floor in the minute before he decided to back out. I thought he was about to exit but then he began to plunge back in - this time a little faster. Again, I gasped and nudged forward as his heavy balls bumped mine.
“It’s okay to scream,” he reminded me. “I want you to scream.”
This seemed more like a request on his behalf and one which I honored but not once did I scream for him to stop.
He slowly slid his hands around my throat and said, “You are a whore and a slut and are enjoying this to no end, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I uttered.
“Yes? Yes what?”
Master’s grip was intense and I couldn’t respond.
“Yes, you’re a whore…”
“…that needs this punishment.” I interrupted with my remaining breath.
He removed his hands from my throat before repeating the pumping at a faster pace. He was relishing this moment I could tell.
I began to shriek in cadence to his pumping.
“This is not punishment for you, you dirty whore!” he seethed.
He rose from his prone position and grabbed my waist as he cursed under his breath. He was close to coming as he grabbed my blonde mane and yanked my head back before slam-fucking me.
He called me every nasty name imaginable.
I was shrieking continuously as he pounded away.
It strangely occurred to me that no condom was in use but I didn’t care. Slaves don’t need that consideration, I didn’t deserve it and I preferred it this way.
I felt the pulsation of his cock as it coated my inside one load after the next.
When he was spent he collapsed onto me and whispered, “Pay back is certainly a bitch! You shouldn’t have lied to me earlier.”
“Thank you, Master - I deserve it.”
What?! I couldn’t believe I had just said that but it felt extremely naughty and at that moment I came involuntarily.
He continued laying on top of me caressing my long hair. I could smell the rubber of his hood and the odor of our sweat.
“I’m think I’m coming, Master,” I whispered.
He sighed and proceeded to pull out. My hole was numb and his exit was hardly noticeable. He gave my butt a sound smack as he tucked himself back into his pouch.
“It’s over,” said Master.
After cutting my rope and undoing my cuffs he walked down the hall. He unlocked and opened the exit door and then returned to the room and said, “Please take your clothes and leave. We’re done.”
There was the sound of the dead bolt and he was gone.
I was ambivalent with his parting words, to say the least. I sat on the floor and bawled for quite awhile before regaining composure. Oddly, the pain was not the source of my anguish; it was the longing to be controlled and owned by this Master and the sudden realization it was through. No one had ever dominated me or even tried. Once he took over I dropped the veneer of resistance and found tranquility in submission. He must’ve sensed I needed a heavy hand from the start to force the issue and for this I’m grateful.
I carefully put my clothes on and walked to my car. My skin felt raw and my anus was burning. The evening air felt good but my surroundings seemed familiar yet different. In fact, everything after that evening seemed different. I still think of that ordeal often and not with a trace of resentment. I cannot see an old Porsche without becoming sentimental and I drive past his home regularly. I masturbate constantly - sometimes two or three times a day. My office has a closet that is way too convenient but I am always cautious. I consider myself hetero in spite of all this. I have no interest in other men but cannot forget the look Master first gave me when he knew I was his: the silent, unwavering leer that made me shifty and unsure. But I don’t foresee this happening again.
My punishment and subsequent violation has yet to lose its erotic novelty and my only hope is that someday we’ll meet again and he’ll take me as his slave and property.
Next month I will pay visit to a ‘house of pain’ here in Seattle. I fear this could be an expensive hobby which is why I’m willing to live in bondage should the right master make him/herself known.
Well, this was supposed to be a written experience of me buying a vintage car. Thank you for letting me share my depraved experience with you.
Note: If you come across this, Master, please contact me at the link below.