By TheBadOne

Chapter 5 – Orientation

After finally being released from the leather and rubber cocoon that was my home for almost an entire day, it took me quite some time before I was in my right mind again. I still felt hypnotized, still felt bewildered about what had happened to me- not the intense mindfucking scene I had just endured, but all of it over the past several weeks. Meeting Master Shephard for the first time, the quick but thorough learning curve he put me through on my way to becoming his. And yet, I was happy.

Despite being incredibly horny all the time thanks to the chastity belt, I actually found myself more satisfied sexually than I ever had in my life. And with Master Shephard’s guidance, I found myself making leaps and bounds at the gym, looking and feeling the best I’ve ever felt in my life. Not only was Master Shephard training me for himself, but he was training me into being the best version of myself, too. And plain ‘Shephard,’ when we were living our ordinary lives in front of our friends, was a loving and affectionate boyfriend, our obvious chemistry making us the envy of our single friends.

If Master Shephard was the one that put me through my paces, Shephard my boyfriend was the one who showed up for aftercare.

I was relaxing on the couch in a full lycra getup like I normally wear at home, just letting the waves of emotion wash through me. Shephard walks into the room.

“Dax, come back over into the playroom, would you?”

“There’s more?” I blurt out without thinking, but Shephard only laughs.

“Just get over here.”

I make my way over, timidly. The room is dimly lit, the rubber liner on the bed has been swapped out for fresh cotton sheets, and Shephard is leaning against the wall with a bottle of lotion in his hands.

“What’s all this?” I ask.

“Lay down. Your body just went through a thing, let’s take care of it. Do I need to order you? Strip.”

I smile and pull the gray longsleeve lycra shirt off over my head. Shephard clicks his tongue and grins as he looks over my torso- defined muscles, more like a gymnast than a bodybuilder, with a light smattering of fuzz over my pecs and lower abs that barely qualifies as chest hair. I smile bashfully back at him, still not used to his or anyone’s reaction at my body. I may currently look like I fell out of an underwear ad, but that wasn’t until very recently. I then pull down my leggings to reveal my legs and ass and my belted cock, looking very small in its cage. Shephard gestures at me, and I lay face down and close my eyes.

First I hear him rubbing his palms together, and then I smell the lotion, and then I feel his hands take hold of me. I moan. Every part of my body is stiff, and tight, and sore. Shephard takes his time, pressing into and manipulating every individual muscle. The release of endorphins, combined with the wash of lactic acid into my veins, makes me feel drunk. Bit by bit my body eases up on itself, coming loose and letting go, and the pain recedes as quickly as the massage itself seems endless.

As I lay there, I feel Shephard shifting away, like he’s done with the massage. I stay put, too blissed out to budge. And then I hear him pick something up, and suddenly he is right by my side, pulling something around my neck.

It’s a silver chain, not like something you’d lock up your bike with, but an actual necklace. I hear the clasp close. Sitting up, I pull up a portion of the chain to look at it- it’s handsome on me, it looks like something I’d wear to a party. “Wow, Shephard, I love it. Thank you.”

He leans in and gives me a kiss, then shows me something in his palm. It’s a key.

“It may look stylin’, but that totally innocuous looking clasp is locked. You’re wearing this all the time from now on.”

How is this man so devious? He has found a way to insinuate his control of me farther than just in a session- now, around the clock, I’m locked into his perfectly disguised collar. A grin spreads across my face.

“I’m glad you like it,” Shephard continues. “You’ll be wearing it tonight while you help out Donovan.”

This is news to me. “Yes Sir. Um, what am I helping Donovan with?”

“He’s short-staffed at the bar and he needs you to cover the back room.”

Donovan owns the only gay bar in town- and it just so happens that the bar comes with a bathhouse attached. It’s a labyrinthine dungeon, with so many interconnecting corridors that it’s impossible not to get lost in them. Amongst the patrons that can do as they please with each other are a couple of professional Dominants and gimps, identifiable by their uniforms. Besides a handful of guidelines to assure their safety, the gimps are available for anyone’s use— to any end. The same gimps have served since the bathhouse opened three years ago, and it’s anyone’s guess how many hundreds of loads they’ve had pumped into them, how many cocks they’ve sucked, how many men have pissed all over them.

The main rule in the dungeon is that everyone- every single person, dom or sub- is required to obey the House Dominants. They are primarily there to enforce safety, but they’ll also slip into and out of other people’s scenes, like coaches that make everything a little hotter, a little more intense. Occasionally, if someone is getting out of hand, the House Doms will perform corrections. You have two choices- receive your correction, or be banned from returning. Corrections can be anything from a rough fuck to being a bukkake bottom to serving as a boot licker, and they can be over in minutes or last you hours.

Whatever they choose to do to you, it’s designed to fuck with your head in a surgical manner. Men who used to be impositions become good play partners. Dangerous-seeming men with sinister intents often opt not to return at all. So good are the House Doms that few people have ever actually been outright banned. Their positive influence is why The Labrynth is always going and always filled with the hottest men in town.

I gulp at the prospect of being a gimp for the night. I’ve only ever served two men in a serious way- Shephard and Donovan. My heart starts to race in my chest, but Master Shephard calms me.

“You’re covering the ticket booth, not the floor.” He ruffles my hair, laughing. “Not that I don’t think you could handle it, but you’re greener than you think. Those gimps live the 24/7 lifestyle and they have for years.” He smirks, obviously remembering times when he’s used them himself. “Donovan will be back to pick you up at 9.”

Donovan is waiting for me in the back alley at the service entrance. He’s wearing tight jeans and a pair of well-worn combat boots that look so good I almost drop to my knees automatically. His tan chest is bare, but his forearms are wrapped in a pair of thick leather gauntlets that compliment his formidable physique. Master Shephard and I may share a gym-rat physique, but Donovan’s body always looks like he’s just stepped off the competition stage.

“Thanks for coming, boy.” He gives me a once over as he approaches me. Standing directly in front of me, leans forward and whispers in my ear. “Now strip.”

The abruptness of his order must have caused me to hesitate, because suddenly my nipples are on fire as he takes each in his hands and clamps down hard with his fingers. I gasp and groan in surprise as he uses them to pull me to my knees, then to the floor. He places a heavy boot on my back.

“Shephard told me I have free reign over you anytime he’s not around.” I hear him unzip his pants. “When you come to my dungeon, don’t ever hesitate or question my authority, or you’ll end up as a gimp in the back.”

“Yes, Sir, sorry Sir,” I grunt.

“And don’t you ever show up here dressed like a preppy twink again.” I feel a warmth, a splash against my back. He sprays his stream all over me, up and down the length of my body, drenching me in his piss. The smell is overwhelming. “If you’re not wearing gear when you come, you’ll be wearing my piss. And count on wearing these clothes home, too.” I feel the humiliation of walking across town reeking like this already, and it’s hours away.

“Get up and follow me.”

Donovan leads me to a small locker room adjacent to his office. On a hanger is a Slick It Up bodysuit, see-through in all the right places to show off my body and also the outlines of my chastity belt beneath. A flat-brimmed Nastypig ball cap is next to it, along with what are definitely the coolest pair of sneakers I’ve probably ever seen. I put it on and check out my reflection in the mirror- I have to say it, I look incredibly good. I could hit the stage as a go-go dancer and be buried in cash in no time.

I see Donovan in the mirror, behind me. He reaches around me and slides the leather strap around my neck, pulling me back into his chest as he slightly restricts my bloodflow. I feel his erection against my ass. “How does one notch too tight sound to you, boy?”

I gulp. “Anything you say sounds good, Sir.” He laughs, then places his big hand firmly over my mouth.

“You’re too much, Dax. No wonder Shephard is obsessed with you.” His fingers rise on my face, and now my mouth and nose are both sealed shut- no air for me. I try to stay calm as I keep eye contact with Donovan through the mirror, but my chest begins to burn. My hands come up involuntarily, tugging at Donovan’s arm, but it’s no use- I’m not nearly as strong as him. I begin to beg and moan, and gasp a huge breath of relief when his hand finally comes off my face- but before I’ve even begun to recover, I find my neck in the crook of his elbow, his massive biceps squeezing me into his forearm. It’s just on the edge of too much- I can breathe, I’m not passing out, but there’s no question about it- Donovan’s in control and I have no choice but to go along with it.

His left arm tugs at a zipper along my ass, and he wastes no time lubing up his fat cock and sliding it right in. I go limp with pleasure, the only thing holding me up Donovan’s arm around my neck and my hands holding onto it, futilely. After my extended immobilization session, Donovan fucked me like a bucking bronco, but this time it’s smooth and controlled, bringing me to the brink of ecstacy and keeping me there, and I go completely out of my mind managing the sensations- a full ass, sexy skintight gear, breath control- and I barely even notice when Donovan counts down.

“Three, two, one… and sleep.”

Blackness.

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Metal would like to thank TheBadOne for writing The Story of Dax!