Tag: collar

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mastera6:

A collar is such a simple thing yet it states so much.

Eddy reached up and touched the leather for the seventh thousand time that day. It was his first time wearing it out of the house, and he just felt like a million dollars – polished, well-dressed, and handsome. Now that he was working a real, grown-up job, he could afford nice clothes and his Master had shown him the best places to shop – and the benefits of a tailor. His body was staring to show the work of all that time in the gym too, and Eddy felt like he was transforming. People glanced at his ass in public now; women’s eyes lingered on his face. He’d gone from a fat slob to a prime cut of tenderloin, and god, it felt great! Eddy dropped his hand. He had to remember to be humble and not be spoiled or narcissistic. He reveled in the benefits but the process was not his. This was his Master’s work.

His Master – bless him, for Eddy didn’t know how he did it – looked at the nasty piece of trash he used to be and saw how miserable he was. The transition to healthiness and fruitfulness had been brutal, and Eddy had wanted to quit and drown himself in pizza and porn so many times. If he hadn’t started falling for his Master and the reward of sex with him, then Eddy would have likely ran. But he didn’t. Looking back on it, Eddy realized what he wanted most of all wasn’t a smaller waistline, but love. He wanted to belong and be missed and be desired. His self-esteem was in such tatters, he couldn’t believe anyone would wish that upon him.

But his Master had. He’d taught Eddy so much that it was like going through college all over again. Four years of training, and they still weren’t done. Now though, it was more fun than ever. They had a bedroom just dedicated to kink and play, and his Master had perfected how to spank him in just the right way to make him cum without being touched…

Eddy shuddered. He hoped his Master fucked him when he got home from work tonight. He didn’t think he could crave dick until now – but god, his Master had such a strong and beautiful cock! It was a physical extension of his Master’s personality. He sighed dreamily and got on the train as it stopped in the station.

Eddy sat in a seat and absent-mindedly began to finger his collar again. The woman across the way eyed him. He smiled. He was his Master’s prize work, and he wanted everything to know it. Eddy was a success.

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Captions are fictional.

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torontopup:

www.recon.com/torontoslave

“Such a heavy collar and chain. Locked up tight. Someone wanted a guard dog, it seems. But your diet is poor, and it is way too warm out here to leave you in leather pants. And look at this! Your water bowl has dried up in this heat. Poor puppy. You are too adorable to be neglected. You are at risk of heat stroke too. Don’t worry. we are going to take you back to the shelter where you’ll get a nice cool bath. We’ll have a stern talking with your owner too. If he doesn’t want the responsibility, well…I’d be happy to foster you.”

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Captions are fictional.

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“Thank you for returning him. When the report is filed, you shall receive your reward,” Master Torres says with a nod of his head.
“No, thank YOU Sir. The money is insignificant. I’m glad you got your boy back. Did he really run away? Didn’t seem to put much effort into it.”
“It’s more accurate to say he got out. He’s been mad at me a little cause I with-held his milking date cause he misbehaved and I found out. Also some jealousy issues. General frustration. And he’s not so good at communication. It happens sometimes with slaves. So they get out and go wandering around, only to realize an hour later that they are totally lost without their alpha there to guide them. There’s nowhere to go. Home is in my basement. Inevitably, as in this case, they wander toward the nearest area with lots of men and hopes someone knows what to do.”
“Ooohhh. Yeah it was pretty obvious what was going on once we realized no one was keeping an eye on him. It says ‘slave’ on his back too.”
“He often forgets its there,” Master Torres says with a soft chuckle.
“Well, in this case it helped.”
“Indeed. Thank you for calling the hotline, again. I’m now going to go take him home, feed the hungry welp, and punish the hell out of him for scaring me like that.”
“…Will he get milked?”
Master Torres tilts his head. “Maybe. Depends how he takes his whipping. Alright, boy let’s go.”
“Bye now, take care!”

I watch Master Torres escort his boy out, talking softly to him. I barely catch a glimpse of Master Torres kissing him softly on the cheek. I don’t think I was supposed to see that. I could tell he was really happy to get his boy back. I’ve heard horror stories of boys getting kidnapped. I’m glad I could be part of a happy ending. I set my duffel bag down and start to get ready for my work out. God, I wish I could afford to care for a slave one day! With this reward money, I’m even closer to the pricepoint. I feel invigorated. Life goals, life goals, man. 

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Text is fictional.

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“Still adjusting boy? I know for so long you held onto some smug sense of superiority about your cock being bigger than mine…but now that I’ve pushed it up and locked it in that tiny thing, I’m bigger. I’m in charge. I hold the leash to your collar, and you will obey me or be punished. Get a good look at it boy – my small cut cock is bigger than yours, and yes, you will be worshiping it soon.”

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Text is fictional.

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Making sure your slave waits for you like a good boy. He hasn’t earned the privilege of being unsecured your home yet, so he’s kept in the bathroom like a good pet until you return. Lucky for him the bathmat is soft and he can get in a good nap, which will help pass the time and leave him well rested for his Master’s affection when he returns. 

One might pity the boy, left there, probably bored, but the slave is grateful. After years of rough living in the projects, in foster care, on the streets, with gangs…this quiet type of peace is what he craves most of all. And knowing someone is eager to come home to see him? It’s the cherry on the cake of the life he’s always wanted and needs.

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Text is fictional.

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mastera6:

A young pet.

“Aww, you look so frightened. My poor pet. The first few days are always so scary. Don’t you worry, I’m not going to torture you and lock you in a cage downstairs. That is, unless you want me to.” His eyes go wide. I try not to laugh at how easily he scares.
“You must be hungry. That was a long trip to my home from the auction center wasn’t it? Ah, you nodded. Haven’t found your voice yet hm? We’ll work on that. Well, lucky for you I made some pork congee last night. You probably don’t know what that is. It’s like Chinese comfort food, but once you add bok choy, it’s also perfect pet food – protein, vegetables, rice.“ I take a portion out of the fridge and put into his bowl, then pop it into the microwave. “Now some Masters don’t heat up their pet’s food, but honestly cold congee is disgusting and I wouldn’t wish that anyone, not even a pet.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see a teeny smile. “Thank you Sir,” he says oh-so-softly.
“Good boy,” I say gently in return with nod. He shifts. It must be hard for him to sit on the floor, with how boney his butt is. I make a note to get him a pillow so he can sit on the floor next to my chair at breakfast. “After you eat, I’m going to groom you – bath, hair, nails. You desperately need a haircut. Then, I’ll give you your wardrobe, show you your quarters, give you a tour… so much to do.” The microwave beeps. I take out the congee and stir it, then pop it back in.
“Maybe we’ll go on a walk so you can stretch your muscles. I’ll guide you through dinner, and then perhaps if you’re not falling asleep we can start on your first Mandarin lesson?”
He blinks owlishly.
“You were told I live in Shanghai and Hong Kong December through February right?”
“No Sir,” he responds.
I raise an eyebrow. “Huh. Well, I do. And I expect you to be able to communicate with my guests and serve their needs there too.” The microwave dings again. “Ah there we go.” I set the bowl down and fill a matching tin cup with water. I can hear his stomach growl from here. “Now you will have to earn your silverware, but you knew that. Let me get a cushion from the living room for your knees though. I don’t want bruises on you.” I fetch the flattest one I can find from the sofa.

I crouch next to him and set it down, then unlock his hand cuffs. “There you go. Eat up boy. Don’t worry about a mess. You’re getting a bath when you’re done anyway.”
He licks his lips. “Thank you Sir.”
I pat him on the head. “Good pet. I like that you know respect and manners. Saves me from having to break you in. Now, eat, eat. You don’t want it to get cold.”

I stand back and watch him bring the bowl to his face and eat. I then fold my arms. “Hm, now to come up with a name for you…”

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Text is fictional.

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“Amir! Amir!” The press gather around him as he exits the Theatre, peppering him with dozens of questions:
“How does it feel to win your first Academy Award?”
“Amir, how do you feel about taking the win over Tom Cruise?”
“Amir, what comes next?”
“How will you celebrate?”

Amir freezes, trapped on all sides by journalists, unable to move. The lights are bright and dizzying. For a moment, his anxiety flourishes. He’s still high from his unexpected win and everything is just so over-whelming. However, Amir prevails because he remembers his training. He remembers that the approval of the public and the film industry and his fans comes second to his Dom. Caïn was there first, and Caïn taught him resilience and courage and patience Amir needed to go from a struggling actor to a household name. Caïn also taught Amir that someone would always love him, even if he failed. Amir momentarily closes his eyes and takes a few deep breathes. His fingers drift up to his neck without them even meaning to. He presses his fingertips against the starched white linen and feels for the metal circlet underneath. Amir is aware he is on camera, and that his Dom is probably watching. 

A lot of people were probably watching.

Amir thinks about his collar, and the still healing stripes on his back from their session last night. He thinks about how proud Caïn might be of him.

The press falls quiet. Someone asks if he is alright. Amir turns a little pink and opens his eyes. “Sorry everyone. I just – this is a very overwhelming night for me. I am still in a stupor. Mostly, I feel unworthy because as a young actor, I don’t feel like I deserve it. Well, yet, maybe. I’m still learning, every day. I hope Tom Cruise isn’t mad at me. I really respect him as an actor.”
Light laughter floats up.
“I have two more films in production right now, so I am going to focus on being a better actor and a roll-model for gay men in the film world. And mostly, I am going to celebrate by being not a good Muslim and getting very very drunk tonight.”
More laughter. Amir waves at them and makes his hasty exit to the awaiting car. Inside the privacy of the car, Amir is able to finally check his phone, which has exploded. He scrolls through the text messages until he finds the ones from Caïn:
There’s a few, but a new one pops up at that moment: “So very proud of you, boy. You handled yourself beautifully on TV. I know you are super nervous about live work. Also – when I saw you reach for your collar, it made me very horny. I cannot wait until you come home. Love you, and congrats again.”
Amir smiles and texts back: “I must be the only person depressed that I have to go to an Oscar party instead of being home.”
“Stay out all night if you have to, as I will tie you down tomorrow. I will be here, oiling my leather strap…waiting for you…I think champagne goes well with leather, don’t you think?”
Amir moans and adjusts his chastity device he wore tonight to control his boners, which have a mind of their own. “Thank you for permission to stay out Sir. I think champagne and leather is a great combination.”
“You’re a good boy Amir. You still locked?”
“Thank you Sir. I am, Sir. Happy you locked me Sir, as I am very excited right now.”
Caïn responds again: “So proud of the boy you’ve become Amir. It pleases me very much to know that everyone will want a piece of you tonight, but your cock still belongs to me.”
Amir groans. “I’m going to be thinking of that all night now, Sir!”
“Good. Now go celebrate. That’s an order.”
“Sir, yes Sir!”

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Text is fictional. This is Zayn Malik of the band One Direction apparently? Or ex-One Direction member? This caption is not fan-fiction and in no way attempts to personify him or assume his sexuality.

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“You found him?” I repeat.
“Uh huh, just wandering around the streets, when I was out on my beer run,” Sully explains.
“Poor thing, he’s in shock,” Marcus adds.
“It’s pretty cold tonight.”
“He’s cute, can we keep him?” Marcus asks.
“Marcus, he’s not a puppy. Sully, did he say anything?”
“He just said that his Master got mad at him for ‘getting in the way’ and told him to take a long walk. He got lost. Then he clammed up, said he’s not allowed to speak to men without permission.”
I cup his chin, check his teeth. “He’s well cared for. Well-nourished. No scars or burns. Not neutered.”
Sully sips his beer. “Should we call the cops?”
“No, he’ll stay here tonight, where it’s warm and safe. If this slave meant so much to his Master, he would not have sent him out so late at night for something so unspecific. That’s how slaves get kidnapped on the black market. I’m going to make that Master fret all night about his boy.”
“Are you sure we can’t keep him? Sully never does the dishes around here.”
“Marcus!” I sigh. “No. He’s got a collar on. If we kept him, that’d be considered theft of property.”
“…But he looks so cute with that rope we found.”
“Why don’t you just get a puppy?” Sully wonders.
“I should, shouldn’t I?”
“Alright, it’s time we all went to bed.” I stand up.
“Can he sleep in my room?”
“He’ll sleep in the guest room, on that futon in there.”

“Thank you Sir, that’s kind of you.”
Everyone looks at the slave boy.
“It’s important that you’re well rested. An exhausted slave is useless.” I reply with a shrug. “Are you finished with your broth?”
“Yes sir.”
“Alright, bed time then. We’ll work this out in the morning.”

We tidied up the living room and trooped upstairs. After we put the boy down to bed, Marcus asked me again. “Are you sure we can’t keep him?”
I told him ‘no’ for the millionth time, and told him to go adopt a puppy.

If I had known that said Master had sent his boy outside to purposely “get kidnapped” by blackmarket slave traders in exchange for a huge pay-out, I would have never gotten involved. Because they would come looking for him, and we would put up the fight of our lives just so one slave could have a good home because, well, we grew attached him. He even got along well with our new puppy.

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Text is fictional.