On Display to Thousands

I don’t need to twirl the condom long.

“Here, spit that out. It’s not chewing gum, you know,” as he puts a waste can under my mouth. It leaves intact.

I get more instructions; these will round out this evening’s activities. “I’m going to let you out momentarily. You are to go back to the bath, take off the ball stretcher, relieve yourself, and freshen your bottom. You are heading out on a date, make that four dates. I have four Dominants here overnight that do not have their subs with them. I’d be a bad host if I let each of them go to bed with out being satisfied. That would be normally done by their subs, but three didn’t bring them and I rented you away from the fourth.”

He continues, “So, you will be their surrogate sub. I will bind you in away that you can service them in their bed any way they wish while your twisted mind will believe you are being forced to abide.  You likely will spend about an hour with each. Your final date will be your own Sir Michael. You will remain with him the rest of the night. Treat them all as if you are their absent submissive lover. I know you hate it, but kissing was moved from your ‘preferred not-to-do list’ to ‘acceptable list’ long before I rented you, so, suck it up, if they want to kiss, you kiss, it’s in the contract.”

 I’d had been put in a ‘romantic cuddling’ situation on a previous trip. Hated it, made me very uncomfortable. That’s the problem of being forced to publish my thoughts after my servitude trips. My tormenters find out the things I loathe, and they find ways to exploit that on later adventures. That seems like the derivation of the immerging plot. Forced to act as a personal sub and lover to four other men because I’m straight. To be clear they don’t mistreat me solely for being straight but is entertaining motivation for them occasionally. And I have come to expect it.

I am released. I head to my chores, different from past trips, I go without restraints, though I’m sure the dungeon is locked tight.

As promised, after I had cleaned myself up, I am returned to confinement. A three-inch-wide white leather belt is locked around my waist. Fastened to each side are short chains that connect to white leather locking wrist cuffs which are secured to mine. The chains should allow enough movement of my arms to pleasure the boys yet make me still feel controlled. He puts on matching white ankle cuffs locked together with a fourteen-inch hobbling chain. To round out my ensemble, I am fitted with a white leather collar. Bad news, it is equipped with a remote operated electric shock device similar to a dog training collar. I can feel its copper prongs pressing against my neck. That just eliminated any freedom of choice the wrist chains granted me.

I am handed the adjustable remote. “Test it.” I am told. With pleading eyes, I look at Master D. “That wasn’t a suggestion,” he barks at my hesitation. I push the center red button and nearly collapse to my knees in agony. Neck shocks are some of the worst. “Be aware that your collar is set at about three out of ten. You will give the controller to each of your dates tonight. It is at their pleasure to use it or not. It is also up to them as to what setting they wish to use. My suggestion is for you to internalize your man repulsions and keep your dates happy and satisfied. Think gay. It’s up to you; it’s your neck out there.”