How I Found a Keyholder Ch. 03

Well, that was worth the waiting, I thought to myself as I licked my lips, tasting a strong aftertaste and feeling the piss dripping off my body. Being pissed on while I was tied up like this was incredibly hot.

I was still experiencing a warm feeling of arousal and reliving the sensation when I was surprised by liquid hitting my belly. It moved up towards my face and I realized I was being pissed on again.

Sir couldn't have needed to piss again so quickly. So this must be... someone else.

When I realized some stranger -- someone that I couldn't hear or see -- was pissing on me, I felt a wave of excitement that was almost like an orgasm. There was no way I could move, no way I could avoid it. Whoever this was could use me however they wanted. They could have their phone out, shooting a video as they pissed on the powerless slave tied up below them. All I could know is that I was the receptacle for their piss.

When a third person pissed on me a couple minutes later, all of that was amplified by a hundred, and I was so turned on I thought I might come in my cage. The very idea kept echoing around in my head. Men are using me, pissing on me.

There was a long gap after that, and I started to feel a little chilly as the warm piss cooled off and dried from my body. And so I waited once more, tasting the ammonia aftertaste is my mouth.

After some prolonged period of time, I was surprised, jerking involuntarily as I felt a hand on my chest. Unseen fingers stroked, then lightly pinched my nipples. The fingers ran up my neck and over my lips, and then briefly in my mouth. Then they disappeared, and a few seconds later I could feel those same hands investigating my cage, twisting it around a bit and tugging a little at my caged cock.

Then, no hands on me. Then, I was being pissed on again. They mostly pissed on my plastic cage, and that was exciting.

I was still damp with that when I felt hands on me again. This person was less gently curious, as the examination of my cage was followed by a sudden painful flick against my balls. I must have twisted and exclaimed in a satisfactory manner, as they did it again a few seconds later.

As I winced, part of my brain was trying to tell me how exposed I was here... there wasn't much I could do if someone wanted to seriously hurt me. These flicks were painful, but they were held to a certain limit. If someone wanted to do me serious harm, I'd literally never see it coming.

Still, as fingers ran over my stringing balls, I was pretty turned on. Then an open palm slapped my nutsack. I couldn't hear what must have been a shout of pain, but right after that the hand slapped my face, fairly hard. A pause, and then fingers rubbing my balls again. It took an effort of will not to pull away, to the slight extent that was even possible. And even more of an effort to not howl when the hand slapped my balls again.

But that display of learning must have satisfied my tormentor, for soon the hands disappeared and he pissed on me as well.

As thus it continued, for what felt like hours, though I had no way to measure the time. Activity would come in waves, with two or three men pissing on me in close order, followed by long pauses. There seemed to be at least three of them, maybe four, I thought, though it was hard to tell. One continued to touch my body gently and playfully, while another seemed to enjoy causing me pain (the second round was on my nipples, the third back to my balls). There was one that seemed to enjoy pissing in my mouth, and then one that seemed to be mostly indifferent to me, just pissing on me unceremoniously.

Twice I had to piss on myself in between those bursts. I felt some hunger pangs, and some aching in my shoulders.

Then, after what seemed like an even longer wait, there was a grand finale where at least three guys pissed on me at once, drenching me all over. That was quite exciting, and once more I felt so completely exposed and used.

Then nothing for quite a while, long enough that once more, I was mostly dry, except for the piss pooled under my back and butt. And then, the ear muffs were removed.

"Keep your eyes closed," Sir's voice instructed me, and a moment later the blindfold was pulled off.

Even with my eyes pinched tightly shut, the sudden return of light was painfully dazzling. "Don't try and open your eyes for a couple minutes yet," I was told.

I could feel whatever was constraining my wrists and ankles being removed. I let my arms rest at my sides while pins and needles coursed through them. The spreader bar was removed from between my legs, and the wrist and ankle cuffs were removed.

I heard Sir leave the room, but I just lay there, eyes closed, trying to measure my aches and pains and guess at how long I had been bound like that. After a few minutes, I heard Sir return. "Okay, get up, but slowly."

I opened my eyes, and although the bathroom seemed unnaturally bright, I could see okay. Flexing my joints, I slowly pulled myself up. I felt stiff and creaky all over... I knew tomorrow I'd be feeling unpleasantly stiff. But I managed to step out of the tub.

"Go and get dressed," Sir said. "Get out of here."

So that was it. Tie me up, use me, and send me on my way. It was amazing, feeling so dirty and used.

Also literally dirty, as my body was coated all over with (mostly) dried piss, and I was given no chance to clean myself up. I bet I must have smelled pretty ripe.

As I walked to the entryway, I caught a glimpse of the table in the dining room area. It looked like a shot from the end of a Neil Simon play... cards still on the table, a stack of chips on the middle, empty beer bottles all over. It seemed reasonable to conclude that I had served as the urinal for Sir's poker night.

I pulled my clothes over my filthy body, grabbed my backpack, and let myself out. I looked at my phone and it was nearly four in the morning. Work tomorrow (no, shit, today) was going to be tough.

3.c: The Four Folders

On the Wednesday after the poker game, I again showed up to be inspected and was quickly examined and dismissed with barely more than a grunt and a wave from Sir. I didn't hear from him for a few days, until there was a text message from him with an address. "YOU HAVE AN APPOINTMENT HERE ON TUESDAY, 1 PM. NO SOLID FOOD AFTER MIDNIGHT THE NIGHT BEFORE."

I was still feeling a little flustered as I made my way to the gay village to find the address. I was convinced that I was going to get a phone call from the university's campus security after the video I had made last weekend. Or worse... I kept expecting the police to knock on my apartment door. So I was distracted as I locked my bike and found the address, with only a small sign beside the door that read "VILLAGE MEDICAL SERVICES." I entered to find a generically-decorated waiting room.

Unsure what I was doing here, I approached the woman behind the reception desk, saying I had an appointment. With a minimum of fuss, she took my insurance card, tapped some things in a computer, and handed me a clipboard with some forms.

I looked them over as I sat. This doesn't look like a front for some weird, kinky sex dungeon, I thought to myself, somewhat disappointed. I'm pretty sure this is a legit medical office.

The first form was pretty ordinary stuff, address and other regular information. The second was a risk-evaluation questionnaire that made me blush a little, even with its heading mentioning the need to be totally honest and all information would be strictly confidential. Blood was rushing in my head as I checked a box describing myself as "MSM (Men who have sex with men)", as if it were a step into the unknown somehow to confess that on a form. Below that, there were lots of boxes to check off for "sexual activities in the past six months": protected anal sex with strangers, check; oral sex with strangers, check; drinking urine, check; bondage play, check; anal toys, check. There were even a few checkboxes with descriptions I only barely understood. Interestingly, there was even a checkbox for "male chastity". There were also a lot of boxes about drug and alcohol use that I left mostly unchecked.

I finished going through it, returned it to the receptionist, and sat to wait, pulling out my phone to google a couple of those unrecognized things from the checklist. Just a few minutes later (how unexpected at a medical office!) I was called into a small examination room, and again I had just a short wait before a woman came in.

She was perhaps in her mid-50's, matronly, but still looking quite well preserved. (Of course, as horny as I was, I was finding all sorts of strangers on the street and subway to be indescribably erotic in my unrelieved state.)

"I'm Doctor Jensen," she said, sitting down on a stool beside me. "You were referred to us by William Conlan. I take it he's your new dom or master?"

My eyebrows must have shot up a bit at that big of decidedly non-clinical language, and she explained. "This clinic is based on the principles of non-judgmental harm reduction, and we don't use euphemisms when we can avoid it. It might seem a little embarrassing, but please be as fully truthful as you can be here, so we can come up with the best treatment plan for you."

I nodded, and she said, "I have some information on the referral here that isn't on your intake forms, so I know the basics of your situation. Actually, I have one more form for you to sign here, it's a consent that all test results from our clinic will be cc'ed to your dom. Is that okay?"

I nodded and scratched my signature on the form as she looked at something on the computer terminal before her. "You haven't had unprotected anal sex in the past six months? Top or bottom?"

I shook my head, and managed to find my voice. "No, I was told to always make sure anyone who fucks me is wearing a condom. But I've been in some situations where that's getting harder to control."

She nodded. "Okay, we're going to get you started on PReP." And she took a few minutes to explain how that would work. "If you're giving blowjobs to anonymous men, that's not going to protect you against syphilis or gonorrhea, and there are some nasty drug-resistant versions out there. Given the information we have, we're going to put you on our accelerated testing schedule, so after today, you'll have come in every six weeks for blood work. As long as everything is clear, you'll only need to see me every six months for an examination. Speaking of which, please get undressed and up on the examination table."

In an efficient and very un-erotic manner, she investigated my asshole and cock, pulling back the skin around the ring to look for any rashes or abrasions. This might have been the first time where my being locked was just treated as a given, and not commented on as something weird.

After I was dressed again, she gave me a couple brochures on safe sex. "Remember to tend to your mental health as well," she said. "Even if you're bottoming, or being submissive, or a slave, your consent is always important. It sounds like your rules have safety in mind as much as possible, but you are engaging in some unsafe things, so try not to get too caught up in the moment and go beyond your limits."

I must have raised my eyebrows again and she gave me a faint smile. "Yes, it's easy to say when you're in a doctor's office, but do try and be as safe as you can."

With that, she sent me along to a technician, and I had some blood drawn, and then I was done. I stopped at the reception desk on my way out, making an appointment for my next test in six weeks.

On my way out, my eye briefly passed over the other half-dozen men in the waiting area, which was busier now. I wondered what they were all into.

* * *

The next day, my inspection at Sir's place was again perfunctory, and I wondered if he was losing interest in me. I heard nothing from him over the whole next week, but I knew I still had to show up for my weekly inspection. As I undressed, my whole body still felt red and raw from the long sessions I had spent in my shower scrubbing off the marker messages that had been written on me while being locked up at the beach.

But finally, Sir deigned to speak to me, the first time in over a couple weeks.

"I have something to show you," he said, gesturing at his computer monitor.

His browser was open to a plain white page with some links in a directory tree. He clicked on one of them, and the page changed to one that just showed four file folder icons. They were named LEVEL 1, LEVEL 2, LEVEL 3, and LEVEL 4. The last three had little locks in their corners

He clicked on the LEVEL 4 icon, and a pop up message said "THIS FOLDER IS LOCKED". he went back, and numbers 2 and 3 said the same thing. The LEVEL 1 icon, however, opened up to a screenful of picture thumbnails -- even in their tiny versions, I could tell they were pictures of me.

"All of the data I am collecting on you is being sorted into this website," he said. "You already agreed that I can share your pictures and videos as I see fit. I am choosing to post some of them publicly. I am choosing to withhold some information for now."

He clicked back to the four file folders, then clicked an "ADMIN" link at the top of the page. He typed in a password, and when a menu popped up, he selected "ADMIN VIEW". The screen returned to the four folders, but the lock icons were all gone now. He opened the LEVEL 2 folder. A screenful of thumbnails appeared again.

"A few of the raunchier things will only be in this folder, plus anything with information that could identify you." He scrolled down and clicked on a video icon -- it was my exposure video from the college hallway, and the sign above me with my name and phone number was visible. He let that play for a few seconds, closed it, then selected another. It was the video from the previous weekend at the nude beach. He also had the selfie I had taken there, with the word FAG written in marker in big letters on my forehead.

"Level two also makes more of your personal information available." He scrolled further, and clicked on a photo. It was my driver's license, showing my face and my full name, but all the other information was blacked out. There was an image as well as a text file that showed my full name, my phone number, and my email address, as well as a Kik address I didn't know I had.

He clicked back, then clicked on LEVEL 3. "Three is pretty much the same, but it has more information." The image of my driver's license was uncensored here, and there were pictures of some of my other ID as well. The contact information included my full address now as well. "There's also a trigger on level three that will allow search engines to index the site, so people will be able to see this if they google you."

He switched folders again. "Four is pretty hardcore, it has everything. And it keeps getting updated, of course." Besides all the personal information that was in the last one, my workplace contact information was included, as well as a list of all my contacts from my phone and email. The login information for all my social media information was there as well.

He clicked back to the four folders, then looked down at me, on my knees at his side. "So this is how it works. You agree that I am the Master and you are the sub, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"And it's important that if you break my rules you receive a punishment, right?"

I swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"Good. I am using this as a disciplinary tool. Level one will go live tonight. If, in the future, you make a mistake that requires a Punishment, I will unlock level two. And again, if needed, for level three and four. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"I want to be clear here: this is not blackmail. These will only go up if you agree to them, and they will only be released if you allow me to exercise that discretion. So let me ask you plainly: do you agree to this?"

Once more, I wondered what would happen if I backed out. I wondered if I wanted to back out. I didn't want all that stuff online. But I am turned on by having pictures of me being posted online. I always wanted to do more of that but I kept chickening out. Plus I realized we had agreed it was his right to push limits and punish me if I did wrong. That made sense to me.

"Yes, Sir." I tried to hold myself up straight and steady, but I felt a little wobbly.

"Good, we're going to do some paperwork, then." He turned and grabbed a sheet of paper and set it on the desk in front of me.

It was a printed document titled "PUBLIC EXPOSURE AGREEMENT", and it said that my master had the right to choose what pictures and videos of me were posted online, as well as what information. I read it slowly as he handed me a pen, and I signed it at the bottom and dated it.

Then he handed me another one that looked similar but was a little longer. "This is for levels three and four," he explained. The language was more open here, and it said that anyone had the right to share my pictures and videos and information.

Well, if I follow instructions, no one will ever see this, I thought as I signed it.

"All right, we'll do some videos, too. " He took out his phone and recorded me as I read that contract out loud:

"I agree to the following terms.

"By completing this form, I agree without any conditions that any photographs, videos, and personal details of me can and will be made available in the public domain.

"I also agree and understand without any conditions that any photographs, videos, and personal details of me can be copied, posted and spread on any website, forum, blog or any other places.

"I also state that it is my wish to be spread, exposed, and outed with no limitation, both online and off.

"I understand that my reputation may be permanently tarnished once this form is completed and made available on the Internet.

"My decision is final and cannot be reversed. All my media belongs in the public domain and I withhold all rights for them, meaning I can't claim any private ownership if an exposer wishes to post my personal details."

It was a weird rush to say that out loud, and my head was still buzzing as I read the more restrictive version for levels one and two -- though it was weird to think that this was definitely going to be posted publicly where people could see it.

After that, we did a quick photo session. I actually got to stand in Sir's presence as I stood against a wall, holding pages with the different levels of information to go in each of the different level folders. Even after all the exposure videos I'd been making, it felt strange and thrilling to be nude, locked in my cage, and having a picture taken with me holding up a sign with my full name and address. I was told to go get my wallet, and there were also a few pictures of me taken while I was holding my driver's license and other I.D.

Finally, Sir was satisfied, and he beckoned me to kneel beside him again. "So actually, all of this was just in preview mode until now. So now, let's make the website live."

He opened the admin panel again, scrolled down and unchecked a box that said "PREVIEW MODE". A pop-up appeared, asking for confirmation to allow the website to go live. He set the mouse down in front of me on the table.

"Go ahead. Push the button, Frank."

There was a sound in my head like static on an old TV as I reached forward, moved the mouse and clicked OK. I guess I have a website now!

And just as I was at a weird pitch of excitement, he was once more done with me. "All right, you can go now. Just remember what will happen if you ever do anything that requires me to punish you."

"Yes, sir." I shuffled over to the entryway, pensively got dressed, and headed home.