Kinky Roommate Adventures Pt. 05

The next morning, I wake up from a night of intense dreams (none of which I remember) to discover I can't get out of bed--my ankles are chained together and to the bed frame. It all comes back to me in a rush--walking around the apartment for weeks, wearing progressively less and less, testing how far I could go before my roommate says something; getting surprised at gunpoint (a paintball gun), tied up, and humiliated; then finally agreeing to be my roommate's personal slave as a condition of being liberated. I recall being forced to cook dinner for him wearing nothing but a butt plug which he inserted himself, then chained to my bed for the night.

I don't know what to do. I have to use the bathroom, shower, and get to campus. I have two classes to attend and one class to teach, not to mention research to accomplish, which I typically do at my tiny, shared office in the Applied Mathematics department. But I'm chained to my bed and the keys are nowhere in sight.

I know I have to call for my roommate to come release me, but I'm ashamed to. For starters, I'm naked. But even more important, calling him over will reinforce what happened yesterday, create "facts on the ground," and further acknowledge between us that I am indeed his slave. I think part of me is hoping that yesterday was just a crazy, wild trip and that today we'll go back to normal.

Whatever 'normal' means anymore. I started messing with it first, my roommate followed suit, and now I doubt there's any normal to go back to.

I don't even know if Mitch is up or not. The door to Mitch's room, which I can see across the entryway from mine (he left my door open all night), is closed. I'm not exactly an early riser, but I don't think he is, either. If I wake him up, he might get upset; and given the current power dynamic between us, I don't feel like that's a good idea.

But I have to pee. And I have to get to class. Somehow or another, life has to go on. Whatever the new 'normal' is, we have to figure it out soon.

"Mitch!" I call, trying not to keep my voice emotionally neutral.

Nothing.

"Mitch!" I call again, steeling my nerves and risking his wrath. After a moment of nerve-wracking silence, my roommate's door opens and he steps out into the entryway. He's wearing shorts but no shirt, I notice--a difference from his normal attire, which nearly always includes a polo or short sleeve button down shirt. His upper body is beautiful and very clearly the product of a strict workout regimen. His cut body doesn't surprise me (he and his friends struck me as the athletic, gym rat type the moment I first laid eyes on them), but his lack of a shirt does. I note this and wonder what it means for our new normal as he enters my room.

"Good morning, slave." His voice is calm, condescending, and matter of fact. Sitting on my mattress, ankles chained to the foot board, completely exposed, I cannot contest his choice of noun. Instead, I say nothing, waiting for him to dictate terms to me. He stands there for several seconds, looking down at me and taking in my body, from head to foot. I let him, because I can't do otherwise and to attempt to cover my body in a protest of modesty would be utterly absurd. I feel my penis start to become erect as my inner exhibitionist wakes up and gets excited.

"I have places to be, as I'm sure you do as well," he says, finally, "and I can't be bothered to babysit you all day. So I'm going to unchain you from your bed."

I can't believe how quickly that happened. I was sure he was going to make me work for it.

"But," he continues, "I don't want you thinking this means you aren't my little slave anymore." I remain silent, waiting for the other shoe to fully drop. "What that means exactly is entirely up to me. For now, I just want you to keep in mind throughout the day that you're a slave--even though others won't know it--and that you have to submit to whatever I choose to do with you."

Sitting there, chained to my bed, my erection continues to slowly grow.

Traitor, I think. This is not the time to encourage him.

Sure enough, his gaze takes in my penis. He smirks and says, "And I'm sure you're excited to find out what that is." I blush furiously but don't say anything back. I mean, it's obvious he's right and any retort coming from the naked guy is bound to fall flat.

After that, he releases me from my bondage, I take a shower, then head to campus. In most ways, my day proceeds totally as normal. I sit through two classes, grab lunch from a food truck, teach my afternoon class, and sit at my computer the rest of the day writing code. But in the back of my mind I know everything is not normal--a subtle yet profound shift has occurred that I'm still getting used to. Mitch's words follow me everywhere I go: "you're a slave, and you have to submit to whatever I choose to do with you."

I've never been a slave before. I've never had to submit to whatever someone else wants to do to me. Certainly I've never been a slave to a roommate before, someone I share living space with and interact with on a daily basis. I have to face it, I have no idea what's going to happen and the ball is definitely in Mitch's court.

The anxiety builds as the day progresses. As afternoon shades into evening, I get a text.

"You're cooking dinner again tonight. On you to pick up food and prepare the meal. 7:00."

I feel a sinking weight as the nebulous worry and dread concentrates into something concrete.

I can manage dinner, I think to myself. I can scarcely concentrate on work after that and leave earlier than I normally would. I decide on a simple meal, swing by the store to pick up what I need, then head home. No point avoiding it and I definitely don't want to be late on day one of whatever this is. I suspect that specific instructions such as '7:00' are an excuse to punish, so I hurry home, fully intending to have dinner ready by 6:45.

Wow, he's already winning, isn't he? I wonder, realizing how obedient I've already become. I'm not even putting up a fight, am I?

But what can I do?

I browse my options for resistance. I could refuse to obey, or ask for a housing assignment change (we both live in student housing), but either of those moves would mean that my family and friends back home would see pictures of me naked, tied up, and gagged on Facebook. And the posts would be from my account, too. I could try and get him in trouble for that, but would it be worth the fallout for me? Getting him in trouble would mean little to me; minimizing the personal and social humiliation of having the details of the past two weeks come to light definitely did.

It seems that all my options for breaking free of the hold Mitch has me in involve a lot of collateral damage to both of us. Submitting, on the other hand, is certainly its own can of worms, but it is also exciting. At least, part of me is excited. And I'm genuinely curious to see where this goes. Like I said, I've never been a slave before.

Climbing the stairs to my apartment, bags of groceries in hand, anticipation builds. The space I'm coming home to feels different already--not home, exactly; it feels almost like someone else's apartment. Mitch's apartment. I'm coming home to a place that does not belong to me any longer. I don't belong to me any longer. Not when I'm here, anyway.

I open the door and step inside. The lights aren't on. Against my better judgement, I look left into Mitch's room. It's empty. I look to the right, into my room. The door has a sticky note attached to it. Leaving the groceries where they are, I walk over and inspect it.

It's a numbered list:

Get changed (your uniform is on your bed)

Make dinner

If you're done early, sweep the floor

So this is what it's like to be my roommate's slave, I think to myself. I get to be his little bitch. I sigh deeply. Was I expecting something more... exciting? Dramatic?

I flick on my room light and walk to the bed. Resting on it are two items: the metal butt plug from yesterday--chrome bulb, narrow neck, and flared base with a pink, plastic jewel set in bottom; and a tiny tangle of spandex straps that I finally make out to be a thong of some sort. It's gold colored, and after some examination I work out where to put my legs and my junk.

I bet this is going to be more embarrassing than being naked, I predict. And I'm not wrong. Already having decided to submit to my roommate rather than resist, I dutifully strip off all my clothes. That part doesn't feel so weird--I rarely wear much when I'm at home alone, and I wore very little when at home with Mitch around--but doing it knowing I'm being told to, and that I will shortly be putting on a show for a watcher felt different. My penis was already getting harder by the time my clothes were on the floor, but the process of lubricating the butt plug and slowly teasing it into my ass hole gets it quite firm.

How am I going to get the thong on, I worry as the plug slides into place behind my anus. It settles in with a sense of inevitability. It's not going anywhere, I think. Just like my new status as Mitch's slave. It's in until Mitch decides to take it out.

The thought that Mitch is going to examine whether the plug is in there or not sends a wave of feeling over me. I'm not sure how to describe how it feels, but I settle on the word 'property.' I feel like his property.

The thong does indeed seem to pose a problem--until I pull the tiny straps around my hips and realize that the pouch is very narrow, long, and forgiving. As I pull it around my junk, it stretches to accommodate my erection, capturing my penis and balls in the narrow opening and holding them straight out. The end result is that my penis isn't directly visible, but the shape is very nearly the same as if I were naked. The straps around my hips and along my ass are snug, tight, and very thin such that it doesn't look like I'm wearing anything at all except a thin, tight cloth wrapping around my erect cock, which is incredibly noticeable and outrageously on display.

Worst of all, I notice that my erection pushes against the tight fabric of the pouch, producing a continuous, low-grade stimulation so long as I'm already erect.

That's why he had me put the butt plug in first, I speculate. In any case, this erection isn't going away any time soon.

Fully aroused, feeling a constant pleasure from my anus and penis, I head back to the entryway to collect the groceries. I turn all the lights on, feeling my nudity acutely, and begin to prepare dinner. I chose to make tacos, so dice tomatoes, chop lettuce, and make guacamole while pan frying ground beef. With the oven warming and the evening sunlight through the kitchen window bathing my body in its warmth, I start to feel hot and notice my nipples have gotten large and soft again.

Oh man, I sigh. They're such targets. Especially after yesterday.

The door opens and I startle. Frantically, I check the time on my phone: Still only 6:50. I hear Mitch's steps heading toward the kitchen and busy myself at the stove, pretending not to notice or care but painfully aware of my bare ass on display, not to mention my long, slender, naked legs and back. The tiny 'T' of the golden thong at the top of my butt just adds to the humiliation I feel.

"Well, well!" I hear Mitch's confident baritone behind me and that sinking feeling returns, like an emotional analogue to the reality of settling into the bottom of a hierarchy. "So obedient." He steps up behind me, places his hands on my ass, then slides one hand around to grip my still firm penis.

"So excited to see me?" he asks. I moan in reply. It feels so humiliating and submissive, but it seems more honest than saying "no" or pretending I'm not aroused. "You love this, don't you? God," he says, with a hint of disgust as he relinquishes my cock and sits down at our little table. "This is the best thing that's ever happened to you, isn't it?"

My inner Slut nods in agreement with my inner Exhibitionist and Captive.

Instead, I decide I need to say something (if for no other reason than to avoid establishing the expectation that I communicate only in moans), so I reply, "That's a stretch." I try to sound as sarcastic as possible, but it comes out flat.

"Like the fabric around your penis?"

Touche. There's nothing I can say to that, so I continue to stir the frying beef while Mitch looks me over.

I serve him dinner, waiting on him while he eats. He reaches out and strokes my cock every now and then to keep me hard since he knows that it humiliates me and gives him the ability to say that my captivity turns me on. While he eats, he makes small talk, taunting me with questions like, "So, when I moved in, did you visualize yourself as my obedient little slut?" And, "When you were walking around the apartment in your skimpy underwear, you were just begging me to fuck you, weren't you?"

After dinner, he instructs me to do the dishes, so I do. When I finish, he calls me into the living room. He's watching a show, but he has the coffee table pushed off to one side. I immediately surmise he's up to something.

"Get down on all fours, your horny slut." He indicates the space directly in front of him.

Unsure of exactly what he wants, I ask, "With my ass facing you or with my side facing you?"

"With your head pointed that way," he gestures with his left hand, "and your ass pointed that way," as he gestures with his right.

I get down on my knees on the rug in front of him, then lean forward onto my hands, feeling my bare ass stick out. I wait apprehensively to see what he's going to do to me, only to feel the weight of his legs and his places them on my back. Without saying another word, he continues to watch his show.

I stay there for what feels like a very long time. With nothing else to do, I watch the show out of the corner of my eye along with Mitch, occasionally glancing down my body at my nipples, belly, erection (somewhat subsided by now), and thighs, verifying for myself for the millionth time that I am still quite naked.

Finally, right when maintaining the position was starting to feel unbearable, I feel his feet withdraw from my back.

"Lie down on your back with your ass toward me," he commands. I hate being ordered around, and I hate knowing that obedience creates the expectation of further obedience. But absent a coherent plan of resistance to which I am firmly committed, I roll onto my back as ordered and look up at him between my open thighs.

"Take off your thong."

This gives me pause. I feel a quiet thrill rip through my body.

What's he going to do to me? I wonder. This isn't cooking and cleaning.

Pushing my hips up, I strip off the tiny, golden thong, tossing it off to one side. Surprisingly, given how little cloth it amounted to, I feel substantially more exposed than before. My penis, which had been trending toward flaccid through my long hour of serving as a footrest, flops out of its silken pouch and starts hardening again.

The tv show still playing, Mitch looks down at me with wicked dominance. And why shouldn't he? His every command has been obeyed without protest or refusal. He smiles a cruel, indulgent smile before saying, "Pull your thighs up to your belly and hold them there."

Dear goddess, this is just about too much. But there's no turning back now, so I reluctantly grab my legs and roll back, pulling them tight to my chest. My anus, filled with a sparkling jewel, feels so terribly and humiliatingly vulnerable. I feel the same of my balls. He can do anything he wants to them right now, I realize. I look at my captor between my legs, my naked body in a position of total submission. Mitch gazes back with an intense look in his eyes.

I hold this position for a long minute before he slowly reaches out with his bare foot and gently presses his big toe against the jeweled base of the plug protruding from my ass hole. Instantly I feel the plug press inward against my body.

"Oh!" I moan in response, prompting a wicked smile from Mitch.

"You like that, don't you, slut?"

It's actually more complicated than that. The array of sensations are more than just 'pleasurable.' Mitch begins rolling his toe in a circle as he maintains pressure on the base of the plug, producing all kinds of swirling, pressing, and probing sensations inside my ass. Some aspects of the pressure are distinctly uncomfortable; others are oddly erotic, in a way I don't fully understand. I've never had anyone tease my ass in this way before, so it's all rather new to me. The combination of all the feels, however, gives rise to one indisputable sensation: some of the most intimate parts of my body are being stimulated and explored while I lie helpless to stop it. When I fully realize that this little fucking will go on for as long as Mitch wants it to, a wave of helplessness washes over me, my erection hardens to an impossible degree, and I relinquish a soft, involuntary moan of defeat.

The swirling, pressing, and probing does go on for quite a while. I completely lose all track of time as the unpredictable, uncontrollable sequence of erotic sensations goes on and on. Eventually, I abandon all semblance of dignity, swirling and thrusting my hips in response to the motions of Mitch's toe, trying to maximize the pleasure. I moan openly and shamelessly.

I mean, I'm lying naked on my back with my legs pressed to my belly getting butt plug-fucked by my new captor/owner/master. What do I have left to lose?

Eventually, the pressure against my anus stops. I relax into the rug and try to catch my breath.

"You little whore," Mitch says with just the right mixture of disgust and truth. I look off to one side, not daring to meet his eyes. I mean, my behavior over the past minutes was pretty humiliating and revealing.

The TV continues to drone on, playing out a drama neither of us is paying any attention to.

After a long minute left to stew in my own degradation, I hear Mitch say, "Get up on your knees, slave."

I still have a hard time accepting that he means me when he says 'slave.' It sounds like such a medieval term, and yet it applies to me perfectly right now. I look up enough to see him pointing to a spot immediately to my left. Again resigning myself to a reality of submission, I obey.

"Face me and put your hands on the back of your head."

Again, I obey. Mitch checks out my exposed, slender torso; soft, brown nipples; round belly button; erect penis and balls; naked thighs. I feel him examine every inch of me, but I don't dare look him in the eye.

"Play with your nipples," he commands.

This takes me by surprise. So far, I haven't had to do anything; Mitch has been doing things to me. Now I have to take charge of my own pleasuring, but for his satisfaction.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Get to it!"

I take my hands from their position on the back of my head and look down at my naked body. I had thought I was fully humiliated by now, but discover that it's yet a new kind of embarrassment to be forced to pleasure yourself at the command of another. Feeling newly ashamed of their size and shape, and intensely aware of his gaze and mine looking them over, I gently pinch the tip of each nipple between thumb and forefinger. As I have done in private many times, I softly rotate back and forth.

The sensation is electric. I soon start to moan.

"Don't stop until I tell you that you can," Mitch orders. I try to slow down, lighten my grip further, do anything short of taking my hands off my nipples to reduce the intensity. But no matter what I do, the mere presence of my fingers on my tits, combined with my roommate's gaze, is sufficient to create an infuriating, incessant teasing.

Mitch goes back to watching his stupid show. I start to pant. My moans grow louder. My dick is impossibly hard. I don't know how much longer I can endure this. I crave release from the sensations, from the torturing pleasure. My moans grow more desperate as I attempt to communicate my need without sinking to the level of verbally begging.