BDSM Library - Controlling The Urges

CONTROLLING THE URGES

By Charles E. Campbell

Control.

Looking back, I guess that's what it's always been about. Really about. Control. It's control over me. My control over it. When it would start. Keeping it in check. What it would require of me to appease it. How long the urge would last. Keeping it as a long held private secret. Mine only. To know and fear, and yet, embrace.

All of these things, and more, it has been for the better part of forty-five of my fifty-two years.

But now, it is complicated. Not it isn't so much about my control, or even it's control. Now it is, quite in fact, completely out of my hands.

It started innocently enough, I'm sure. Subtle little urges that all little boys have growing up. I used to scurry down the stairs to the living room when I was five or six, real early on Saturday mornings to partake in that time honored ritual of Saturday morning cartoons. My parents, still dead to the world from their weekly Friday night trip to the neighborhood tavern, wouldn't rouse themselves for at least three more hours. So I'd turn on the TV, wait the pre-requisite three minutes for it to warm up, adjust the rabbit ears just so, and settle on the floor in my flannel pajamas, glued to the flickering black and white images on the tiny screen.

Most Saturdays I wouldn't get the urge, but every so often, I could feel it begin. Nothing really tangible mind you looking back, just this strange sensation deep inside my penis. An internal itch that couldn't be scratched by conventional means. I would strip often my pajamas and watch the cartoons naked. My tiny little “boner” stiff and proud. It felt so good to touch it, to see it, with the smooth purple “hat” smooth and rigid against my pale hairless skin.

For a while ths was enough to satisfy the urges. Sometimes it would come to me when my parents were out on their weekly Friday night, when I was home with some young junior high school or senior high school baby sitter. Male or female, made no difference. The urge would come, and I would pull off the pajamas in front of them, squealing with delight as they'd try to catch me and get me dressed and off to bed. The feelings I got as my hard-on slapped against my belly while I ran were heaven.

By the time I was in junior high, I was deemed “old enough” to be left home alone on the Friday nights, so I would get out of my pajamas as soon as my parents left. Relishing in the excitement of being naked for four or five hours or more at a time, roaming the house. I especially loved the basement, with it's dirt floor. I'd crawl across it, rubbing myself on the hard dusty earth, getting filthy. Having to shower two or three times before my parent's return. Half ducking down as I'd walk past the windows, the blinds not quite closed.

In high school, the urges took a quantum leap forward. My parents by this time didn't even bother with the formality of “family dinner.” No more false pretenses for them now. Straight to the bar from work, meeting each other there. No dinner or sitter for me any longer. I'd be alone in the house from about 5:30 until midnight or even 2:00AM when the bar closed down, prancing around with clothes pins on my cock and scrotum, jumping on the hard basement floor, making the pins shake loose. One time, I was standing before my mother's full length mirror, and didn't recognize the hairy body that looked back at me. It was that night that I began shaving. Not too much, mind you, but my pubic hair was removed from about two inches below my naval down and around to the top of my ass crack. The rush of memories of my small penis and smooth skin were rekindled. I vowed never to let the hair grow back.

As the intensity of the urges increased, I began to venture outside naked, bringing a pair of gym shorts with me. Of course this escalated. My parents would be trying to sleep it off in their bedroom, and I would sneak out of the house, three or so in the morning, shorts in hand and go for late night strolls through the neighborhood. I would dive into the bushes and behind parked cars whenever a tell tale set of headlights would begin to appear. When this wasn't enough, I would leave my shorts, and my Timex watch with the stainless steel watchband, behind a tree in my yard, and go off with no chance of covering up if discovered, scaling the chain link fence that kept the deer off the Interstate, and I would expose myself to the passing cars as I masturbated.

In retrospect, there were two of these nocturnal adventures that were different, and at the time, I had no idea what happened. On the first night, my shorts weren't stashed behind the tree when I returned. I thought maybe a racoon or something took them. About five months later, both the shorts and my watch were missing when I got back. They just disappeared. I looked for them in the morning light, but never located them.

Then urges came to a sudden halt when I went away for my freshman year of college upstate. I never experienced the urges during those four years except when I was home for semester break or summer vacation.

I found a good job right out of college, working for the local television station. Over the years, I worked my way up the ladder and twenty years ago, I made it to the job I still hold today, co-anchor of the local news. My parents didn't survive long after I started at the station. Alcohol claimed them both within eight months of each other. Being an only child, the old house, and all it's vivid memories, became mine, and the urges returned. Tenfold.

This was, of course, in the days before the internet, so finding “toys” wasn't as easy as it is today, with all the on line services. Generally, I did my shopping in cities that were far enough away, where the chance of being recognized was slim. Philadelphia, Boston, and Baltimore yielded me a wide array of items for my collection: ball stretchers, cock cages, butt plugs, floggers and whips, clamps and weights, cuffs and locks, cock rings, leather harnesses and the like quickly began to decorate the walls in my basement dungeon.

I built a St. Andrew's cross, installed suspension equipment, including a electric motor controlled hoist. I even excavated a pit in the dirt floor under the hoist, making it possible to hang myself from my wrists or ankles from the ceiling over the pit.

And yet, over time, the urges and needs grew stronger, more insatiable. I was forced to take more extreme measures to quell the urges, which were now coming daily. I booked a trip to San Francisco over a long anticipated two week vacation. I located a rather famous tattoo and piercing studio where I got an Ampallang piercing with a very thick ring. The piercing was performed by a beautiful young girl, no more than twenty-three. I remember racing back to the motel when she was through explaining the after-care to me, tearing off my clothes and standing in front of the bathroom mirror, mesmerized. I starred at the steel that now ran through the end of my cock. Even with the dark red and blue discoloration I was intrigued. I jerked off four times that night in front of the mirror, reveling in all the sensations I so intensely felt. The day before my return flight home, I revisited the studio and got both a Guiche and Lorum piercing with rings to match my Ampallang. The piercing this time was done by a man. Huge and muscular, tattoos running from his neck to his wrists. I asked him about nipple piercings, and he offered me a reduced rate because of all the recent work I had so recently gotten in his shop.. So both nipples were done with the same size rings.

By now, the urges were beginning to come before I got home from work, which was usually fairly late. By the time I signed off on the eleven o'clock news and got out of the studio it was generally around midnight. The commute from the station to my house was forty-five minutes. Many nights I would undress in the car, right after I went through the toll booth, and drive the final twenty-five minutes home naked, my ringed rigid cock standing up straight at attention. Once, I drove through the seedier part of town, past the hookers on the street. I turned on the interior dome light and slowed the car down as I approached them, but chickened out at the last minutes when an unmarked patrol car rounded the corner. Panicked, I killed the light, and drove as nonchalantly as possible with one hand, while struggling to pull up my slacks with the other. Fortunately it was a false alarm, and the cruiser passed me without so much as a glance.

Two years ago, one of the local reporters at the station did a piece on unwanted hair removal techniques: waxing, shaving, electrolysis, and laser. This was the first time I was taken by the urge while on live camera. I chatted up the reporter a bit after the broadcast ended, and asked about her research. Right then and there I determined to undergo the laser treatment myself. I had gotten fairly decent at the internet thing by then, so it wasn't too hard to find material to read up on the procedure, the risks, and all, and even to find a place to have it done. Some back water town where the possibility of being recognized was slim to none, or so I thought at the time.

A few months later, after making all the plans, I drove the two hundred and thirty miles to the smallish upstate New York town of Cortland, comfortable with my anonymity. I was beside myself with the excitement of never having to shave all that hair below my waist. I walked into the dermatologist's office and was greeted by the receptionist, a nice enough young woman, who gave me forms to fill out: questions about payment options, risks, and the like. I filled out the forms and waited about ten minutes before being shown to a room and being told to strip down and get on the table.

I short squatty woman came in a few minutes after I had undressed and introduced herself as Ellen. Her voice was low and husky, the product of many packs of cigarettes, and if I had to hazard a guess, I would have placed her age at about her mid to late forties. She had a thick tangled thatch of knotted black hair, streaked here and there by gray. That was tied back haphazardly in a bushy pony tail. A fairly dark moustache was quite evident on her upper lip, and I remember thinking to myself, ‘why didn't she avail herself of her office's services?'

Her scrubs made her shape indiscernible, but she was obviously a good forty pounds or so over weight.

I thought I caught a widening of her eyes when she read my name, and for a fleeting instant I thought she might have recognized me from the television. She said that it would be she who would do the procedure and asked if I had any questions. I told her I didn't, and that was as much as I said. I couldn't help but notice that she kept looking back to my face as she read through the forms dealing with my medical history, but I ignored it, rationalizing that it was just my usual paranoia. “Mr Martin,” she said, “You seem to have filled out all the questions on the form, so I'm going to begin. You will feel a certain degree of discomfort during the procedure, especially because of where I will be working, so if the pain becomes too intense, let me know and we'll take a rest. This should take about and hour and a half or so.”

My urge had taken complete control over me by now, and my erection, three steel rings and all, was as hard as ever. Pre-sum glistened at the tip. Ellen seemed to pay it no mind, pulling on a pair of latex gloves, and taking an alcohol swab and wiping it clean. She then got down to the business at hand, and started zapping the hair at the base of the shaft.

It wasn't really all that painful, at least not compared top the piercings. Ellen made occasional small talk, and frequently asked me how I was doing, always smiling and looking me straight in the eye when she spoke. She stopped twice during the entire procedure, once for a cigarette break, and once for a bathroom break for both of us.

It took her a bit longer than her estimated time to finish up and completely remove the hair, but when she was done, she handed me a hand held mirror to inspect her handiwork.

I was awestruck! There was no stubble, or five o'clock shadow, just smooth flat white skin, pink from the laser in several spots, but just like I remembered from so long ago. She was reciting how I should care for the treated areas when she said something that made my heart jump/ She said that my accent reminded her of where she had grown up, in southern Westchester County, New York. My heart jumped in my chest as I stammered out a hasty answer of how I traveled around a lot as a boy and that my accent was a mixture of many places. All the while my heart was pounding furiously in my chest, because I too had grown up there, and lived there now as well!

She apologized for her intrusion, and said that she had a pretty decent ear for accents and that she liked to try to see how close she was. I made up a lame excuse about having to get home, and dressed quickly, giving her a hearty tip. On the long drive home, I soon forgot about my encounter with Ellen, and spent the time massaging my soft smooth skin, my pants around my ankles as I drove down the highway in the bright afternoon sunlight.

It was about two weeks after I had the laser hair removal when a package came to my door. I was quite surprised, as I live alone, and have no living relatives. I knew I hadn't ordered anything, and was sure the package had been mis-delivered, but the handwritten name and address on the outside were unmistakably clear and mine! I opened the simple brown wrapping paper to find a small white cardboard box, wrapped in a thick coating of bubble wrap. Removing the tape, I opened the box and was face to face with an old Timex watch with a stainless steel band. It only took me about two seconds to realize that this was the watch my Aunt had given me so many years ago. The very same watch that had disappeared from behind the tree in the yard that night when I slipped it off for fear of it's reflection in the street lamps as I traipsed about on my nocturnal jaunts.

I clawed at the wrapping paper looked frantically for a return address, a note, a name, something! But all I found was the cancellation stamped, postmarked from Cortland, New York. I knew, of course, that my only connection to Cortland was the dermatologist's office, and that the only person I really spoke to at all up there was Ellen. I had shared a few sentences with the receptionist, of course, but it was Ellen who I spent two hours with. It had to be her! I didn't have the slightest idea what she could want, or how she could have come by the watch, or even known it was mine! I forced myself to calm down, thinking that there was nothing I could do at this point. It was completely out of my hands, so patience would be the prudent course of inaction at that time.

As the following days turned into a week, I waited anxiously, assuming that if she was going to contact me, that it would be through the mail. One week became two, and then two turned into three, and I kidded myself into thinking it was some kind of joke. That is until I got home from the studio one night to see the message light blinking on my answering machine. Fearfully, I pushed the button and listened to the message that would change my life as I knew it:

“Johnny Martin,” the husky low-pitched female voice began,” I wonder if you still remember me? Any clues from the ‘present' I sent you? In case you're wondering, I don't have the gym shorts any longer, but I was the one who took them. I found them behind that big sugar maple in your yard when you were a teenager. Just to set your mind at ease, I don't want any money. But.....there is something I want. I'll let your imagination go to work on that for a while. I'll be in touch.” And the message was over.

FOUND OUT! I had been found out! After all these years, my secret was no more. I spent that night pacing and wondering who she was, what had happened. What did she want, what did she mean that there was something she wanted?

By dawn, I had calmed myself down a bit. The only thing I knew was that she had found me out when I was still a kid in high school, and I was comforted slightly by the knowledge that she had kept the secret all these years as well. She didn't expose me back then, maybe she wouldn't now either.

A few weeks later, a manilla envelope arrived at the station for me. The return address was a post office box in Cortland. During my dinner break, I went down to my car and read it's contents. All it contained was a letter, printed on a computer, which read:

“You are to put in for an emergency leave of absence. The reason you give is yours alone. This Friday, you are to be at My office at three in the afternoon. You will be given further instructions at that time.

You will have no need of a suitcase or any toiletries or clothing except what you are wearing when you arrive. If you do not follow these directions, to the letter, a video of your laser treatment will be sent to the television station where you work at three oh one!”

I couldn't catch my breath. I felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach, driving the wind out of me. It was Thursday! I had less than eighteen hours to comply, or be ruined. I had no choice. With trembling hands, I called my station manager at his home, and explained that my only living relative had been in an accident and had fallen and was badly hurt. I requested an emergency leave and said I would call him as soon as I knew anything. I then called up to the program director and told him the same tale. As soon as I hung up, I started the car and headed for home.

It goes without saying that sleep was not in the cards for me that night. I couldn't even busy myself making preparations for the trip, as there was nothing I was to bring. So as soon as the dawn was breaking, I headed back up to Cortland, arriving at noon. I tried to eat lunch at a small diner outside town, a read the local paper, trying to calm myself. I was actually doing alright, until I came to the advertisements. It was there that I saw an ad for Ellen Olmstead's dermatology practice. Then it hit me: Ellen Olmstead! She lived across the street from me for about two years when I was in college. They moved in the summer before I left. She was about six years younger than me. I was eighteen and she eleven or twelve. I never even noticed her that summer. She had to have seen me, watched me, followed me!

At five of three, I parked my car in the small lot adjacent to her office, and with sweat on my forehead and running down my back, I walked into the empty waiting room, the receptionist the only other person there.

“Ah, Mr. Martin,” she smiled, “I'm glad you could come back.” She handed me another manilla envelope, and stood up, saying, “excuse me for a moment, won't you?”

I muttered something as I fell back into one of the chairs and opened the envelope. I pulled out the sheet of paper, and read it:

“If you are reading this right now, congratulations! You made the right choice. If not, my secretary is on her way to the post office with a copy of the tape.

“You will do whatever Marie instructs you to do, and you will do it quickly and without pause or question. If you do not, she will mail the tape anyway.

“I look forward to seeing you again, Johnny!” And it was signed simply “E”.

As I was reading the letter for the third time, Marie returned carrying a green plastic laundry basket, which she set at my feet.

“Get undressed and put all of your clothes, including your shoes, in the basket.”

Remembering the words in the letter, I stood quickly and disrobed before the pretty young woman. When I was naked, she took out a set of spiked metal balls and clipped them to my nipple rings. They were quite heavy, and stretched my nipples down as they pricked the skin of my chest. She clipped three similar balls on my three penis rings. Then she bent down and reached into the basket, pulling out my car keys. “Go out the side door, and get in your car. Drive down the back alley out of the parking lot and turn right. Drive four miles until you see a large billboard advertising a restaurant. Turn left at the first road after the sign and take it to the end. Park your car behind the garage and go in the back door.” And having said that, she went back behind her desk and started typing on her keyboard.

Cautiously, I walked down the narrow hall to the side door. Looking outside, I could see that the lot was vacant, so I sprinted across the hot asphalt and fumbling with the keys, opened the door and got it. I drove out quickly, but made a conscious effort to drive under the speed limit by a few miles per hour. I found the billboards uneventfully, and drove down a long road that turned to dirt about two thirds of the way down. After a few more miles, I could see a modest ranch house with a detached garage. I parked the car as instructed and went through the door into the garage. A dungeon/torture chamber greeted me. Much bigger than mine and far better equipped.

“You never enter My domain on your feet, slave,” Ellen's husky voice commanded loudly. “Get on your knees. From this moment forward, I will control you. You are Mine!”

CONTROLLING THE URGES

CHAPTER 2

BEGINNING mY NEW LIFE

By: Charles E. Campbell

The life that I knew, the life that I had lived for the past fifty plus years, had ended. Abruptly, instantly, forever, as I entered that garage upstate in Cortland, New York that fateful Friday afternoon. Everything would forever be different. Everything would be twisted and turned upside down. Nothing would be the same as it once was. No longer being the person I was. Now I was to become a full time servant and slave to a person I didn’t know. When Ellen Olmstead barked out, “You never enter My domain on your feet, slave. Get on your fucking knees!” I obeyed without even the slightest hesitation or qualms or pause. When she spoke the words, “From this moment forward, I will control you. You are Mine,” I knew right away that I was now, finally, after all these years, never going to have to worry about controlling those urges that had been with me for so long. Having any control was in my past. Relinquishing control was my present and future.

On my knees, my face pressed hard against the dirty cold concrete floor, I couldn’t see Ellen. She didn’t speak again, and I didn’t dare move. Time stood still for me. I could feel my pulse was racing almost out of control, and my cock was hard. The needle like spiked balls Marie had hung from my cock piercings hung perfectly still. Tiny droplets of blood had formed and dried from the multiple pricks they had inflicted on the drive over here from Ellen’s office. I heard the sound of spike heels purposefully strolling across the floor in my direction. The sound stopped right by my head. The next sensation was that of a boot pressing down on the back of my neck, forcing my face into the grimy floor, the tip of the stiletto heel scratching the side of my neck. “Whenever you are in my presence, this is the position you are to assume, bitch,” Ellen hissed. “ I want you as low as you can be. You should be a part of the floor.”

“Okay, Ellen,” I answered her.

Sudden pressure on my neck greeted my reply as she stood solely on the foot that held my head to the floor. “You will speak only when I grant you permission, cunt!” she screamed, “And only then! Your thoughts and needs are of no consequence to me. Only I matter.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I uttered.

Quickly, she shifted her weight from my neck, taking her foot off, and kicking me hard in the side, knocking me off my knees. “Silence, whore. Are you so stupid as to forget the simplest of commands?”

“No, Ma’am.”

Another swift kick, but this one was to my gut, hard. So hard, in fact that I coughed several times and threw up.

“Fucking pig,” she yelled. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

This time, I was silent. I was learning.

Ellen waited a few moments to make sure she had gotten her point across to me, then she said, “That’s more like it. Now, I want you to pay strict attention to what I have to say to you, slut, because I will not repeat myself. I’m going to leave you here for a little while. How long I’m gone is of no concern to you. When I return, this puke had better be cleaned up. And you will be waiting for me in the position I taught you. I want your ass pointing to the door so it will be the first thing I see when I come in. You are to spread your cheeks open with your hands so your little hole is exposed.”

She kicked me once more in the stomach and left, locking the garage door behind Her as She went, although in truth, there was no chance I would even attempt to leave.

I retched again and doubled up on the floor, lying in my own vomit. My throbbing cock still hard, like it had never been before. I wanted desperately to pound it, but thought it wiser not to.

I lay there waiting for the pain to subside before looking for something, anything, to clean up the mess I had made. Panic started to set in once I came to the stark realization that Ellen had purposefully left me nothing to use. The drab dirty garage had an old work bench, some garden tools, old cardboard boxes, and the like, but no rages or anything else to clean up the mess. Reality hit me at that moment, when I knew that she expected me to lick up my own vomit from the filthy concrete floor!

My puke was cold as I slowly began testing it with the first tentative laps. I threw up again as the repugnant combination of taste and smell seemed to combine in the pit of my stomach. Ever so slowly, I began the hideous task again, this time getting some of it actually swallowed before throwing it all up yet again.

It was after about eight or nine attempts before I was finally able to get myself past the sickening smell and taste and successfully lick up the entire mess. Praying that Ellen would be satisfied, I got on my knees with my head on the floor, my ass facing the door, and spread my cheeks apart with both hands, as I had been ordered. My stomach was churning in part due to the vomit I had eaten and also due to my nervous anticipation of what was to befall me at the hands of my tormentor.

There was no way to estimate the time, except for the cramps in my legs and back from the position I resolutely held. I heard a key turn inside the lock, and closed my eyes. Soft foot steps approached, not the spiked heels of Ellen. “On your bitch knees, slave!” It was Marie’s voice commanding me.

I obeyed, and knelt, stealing a quick glance at Ellen before bowing my head. She was wearing a leather halter top with matching leather hot pants, so tight that her labia were well defined, as if she wore body paint. Her smooth lean legs glistened in the muted light, and she was barefoot.

“You’ll have to learn to do a much more thorough job of cleaning up after yourself if you want to please your Owner, cunt. The floor is all smeared in your puke! That may very well be the only food you’re allowed, you know, so you’d best develop an appreciation for it, or you’ll sopend many evening hungry.”

I shuddered at the vivid and disgusting images she had instilled in my brain. “I hope, for your sake, that you are a good listener and a quick learner,” she continued, “Because if you’re not, I will make your miserable life very painful. A co-operative and compliant bitch slave is what I’m looking for, is that understood, cunt?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I answered her with another noticeable shudder.

“Good. Now, the first order of business is getting you cleaned up before Goddess Ellen returns. Resume your position, face to the floor, legs wide, spread your cheeks and present your shit hole to me!”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I answered quickly, getting into the ordered position.

“Goddess hates filthy slaves, cunt. She requires an internal cleaning twice a day, morning and night. Because you’re new, I will administer this cleaning, but from this day forward, it will be your responsibility to maintain a clean insides for Her.

“Yes, Ma’am,” I answered.

“Two quarts is what She prescribes,” Ellen added as she pushed the nozzle deep inside me. Almost immediately, I was overwhelmed by the sensation of the icy cold liquid invading deep into my inner recesses. The pressures quickly built as more of the enema was pushed through the hose.

“Five minutes,” she announced. “You will retain it five minutes, or else, you will lick the floor clean of it and we will start again!”

“Y......yes, Ma’am,” I stuttered, the cramps already growing unbearable. I didn’t think I would be able to hold it in for five minutes.

I stole a peek at my distended stomach and could hear the loud churning sounds deep within. The minutes passed in an eternity, before Ellen finally announced, “Five minutes. Get up and squat on this bucket, cunt.”

Slowly, fearful of dispelling any liquid, I pushed myself up and saw the used compound bucket

I was expected to expel into. Carefully sitting down on the rough rim, caked with hardened dry wall compound, I relaxed and a torrent of liquid and shit exploded from within. When it finally subsided, Marie announced, “To more times should be enough.” And I was made to endure two more enemas, with the third one being three quarts in volume.

After making me dump the contents of the bucket into a filthy toilet in a corner of the garage, Marie lead me outside, where she picked up a garden hose and hosed me down head to toe. She made me spread my cheeks and bend over, making sure none of the dislodged feces was present

Returning to the garage, Marie had me kneel on the floor, my hands clasped behind my back. Standing behind me where I couldn’t see her, she pulled a tight fitting leather hood over my head, shutting out the light. Marie took her time lacing the hood at the back of my head, getting the form fitting leather to encase me like a second skin. Carefully lining up the small breathing holes with my nostrils, she zipped the mouth closed. The hood covered my entire head, including my chin, and descending about halfway down my neck, where she tied it snugly with the supple leather laces.

Tightly encased, almost reassuringly so, in the sweet smelling leather, my eyes useless, my hearing drastically reduced, I knelt as I felt her slide a leather single glove over my hands and up my arms. She buckled the straps across my shoulders snug, but not too tight, and then began the slow deliberate process of lacing the glove up, beginning at my wrists.

I could feel my shoulders being drawn back each time she pulled on the laces. As she got the laces up above my elbows, I could feel the strain in my chest as my arms were pulled together, making my elbows touch.

When she was finished with the glove, she locked iron darby cuffs onto my ankles, connected by a fifteen inch hobbling chain. “Be right back,” she said, leaving me helpless on my knees.

When she returned, she knelt down in front of me and began massaging my ball sac, probing the loose skin between the testicles. Her deft fingers probing the area where the sac meets the base of the penis and down near the anus. Pinching lightly, tugging on the skin, lifting the sac, sliding my balls around, the attention felt good, making my still hard cock twitch, almost to the edge of release.

The manipulations ceased, and she pinched the skin between her fingers. “Don’t move, cunt.” she admonished me. “I want you to take a nice deep breath and hold it in until I tell you.”

I inhaled deeply, as she had ordered, not knowing what was to follow. A sharp stabbing pain burned into my sac, as she skewered the wrinkled skin with some kind of sharp object, in one side, straight through, and out the other. My body tensed in reaction to the invasion, and I moaned at the burning pain centered in my groin.

“This is a thick one,” she commented matter-of-factly. “Relax and take a breath, the worst is over.” I felt cold metal being pushed into the hole she had bored through my nut sac. Not being able to see at the time, I didn’t know what it was that Marie was putting in the new piercing. It turned out to be a large steel ring, 1 1/2 inches in diameter, made of surgical steel that was O gauge. I could feel the weight of the ring as soon as she had gotten it in place. Using some kind of clip, Marie connected the new ring in my sac with the ring at the end of the single glove, so any pulling from my arms would immediately be transmitted to my scrotum. “I wouldn’t pull too much,” she warned me sarcastically, giving my arms a tug to emphasize her point more clearly.

I felt her fiddling with the barbell in my ampallang piercing. I sat still while she unscrewed one of the caps and pushed the bar through the hole. I felt her replacing the bar with some other jewelry, which turned out to be a thick ring matching the new one in my scrotum.

“Stand up, cunt,” she ordered.

I obeyed. She grabbed my cock with her hand and clipped a dog leash to the ring in the end of my cock. “Now listen up, cunt,” she began, jerking the chain and tugging my cock by the ring. “Goddess Ellen awaits. You would be wise to do whatever She, or anyone else tells you to do. And without pause,” she added. “Otherwise, you will face severe and instant consequences.

“Come with me,” she said, pulling the leash.

I followed, taking quick tiny steps, impeded by the short hobble at my ankles.

Unable to see, I felt us exit the garage, as the concrete under my feet was replaced by gravel, which dug into my bare feet with each step. A cold light rain was falling and I broke out in goose bumps. The gravel abruptly ended, and I felt cool wet grass under my feet.

“Watch yourself on the steps, cunt,” Marie warned me.

A split second later, I stubbed my toe. Carefully, I started to feel my way up a set of wooden steps. There were four in all. I stubbed the same toe once again on the door saddle as we entered a house. I could hear muffled conversation from somewhere within, both male and female voices talking and laughing. The topic of conversation was shrouded from me by my hood.

Marie urged me forward with a quick jerk on the leash, and I followed her down a soft carpeted hallway. The sounds of the conversation grew louder as we went, and then, quite suddenly, all was quiet. I strained my ears for some sound, but all I could hear was the rapid staccato beating of my heart.

I felt someone unclip the leash from my ampallang ring, and then there was nothing. I stood still, shaking slightly from nerves and the cold rain coating on my naked flesh.

Out of nowhere, two hands grabbed me by my arms and pulled me forward a few steps, before forcing me to my knees. My head was pushed forward and locked in place with a rough wooden board. ‘Stocks’ my mind guessed. Straps secured my legs both above and below the knees as well. I felt a coarse thick leather belt being drawn tightly across my lower back. Then nothing. No talking, no sounds of motion.

Abruptly, a hand began manipulating my nut sac. Squeezing it, twisting and pulling on it by the ring. “Nicely done, Marie,” a man’s voice! “I like it.” He slapped my balls with a flat hand as he said it. Waves of nausea hit my churning stomach. He grabbed my arms by the single glove and pulled up. The ring on my nuts felt like it would tear through the skin as he lifted my arms up high behind me.

“Thank you, Sir. I thought it would be visually pleasing, and also, as you can see, it has some practical uses as well,” Marie responded politely, observing how he tested and inspected my unique bondage.

“Yes, Marie,” it was Ellen, “I agree with Mr. Mason. Although, I think in time, a thicker ring would be even better.”

“Of course, Goddess,” Marie replied. “You are right, of course. I wasn’t sure what gauge I could do initially. But it can easily be enlarged whenever you wish to whatever size you would require.”

“I’ll inform you of my decision, Marie. In the mean time, please see to the needs of My guests, while we prep our new cunt slave for some play.”

“Yes, Goddess.

“May I be of service to anyone,” she asked?

“Attend me,” a deep male voice answered.

“Of course, Sir,” Marie said courteously.

“Lisa, would you be so kind as to warm the cunt up for us,” Ellen asked?

“Certainly, Ellen. Anything special?”

“No, nothing really. Just don’t be gentle. I want this cunt to suffer tonight. Give him a good idea of what’s in store for him now that he belongs to Me!”

“As you wish, Ellen.”

“Thwack!”

I yelped in pain through the hood as a large paddle hit my right ass cheek very hard. “Thwack,” another followed on the left cheek, then the right, and left, alternating. Each one very hard. I was screaming, trying to break free of my bonds, all to no avail. Each stroke made me flinch, and tug with the glove, hurting the ring in my nut sac as well.

Lisa didn’t limit herself to just my ass, she paddled the backs of my thighs as well. I felt as if someone was backing me into a fire, the heat was so intense. The pain was so great I was out of control, screaming, crying, begging for mercy, twisting, turning trying to evade the blows. Nothing worked. Finally, after what seemed an absolute eternity, the paddling stopped.

“Having fun, cunt,” Ellen asked, mocking me. “We certainly are, even if you’re not.”

“May I use the switch on him, Ellen, a woman’s voice asked?’

“Good idea, Raven. Let’s see how much his skin can take before it breaks.”

“Does that mean you want me to avoid cutting him, Ellen?”

“By no means, no, Raven. Make him bleed if you like. What’s mine is yours. Feel free to do with him as you wish.”

“Thank you, Goddess,” Raven replied.

There was no warning at all. No more talk. Just a vicious intense white hot fire lit across my ass as she swatted me with the birch rod.

“I see blood already, Ellen,” Raven remarked, feeling the already thick welt she had drawn with her cool fingers.

“Impressive Raven. One lash and you drew blood. Please, continue.”

I passed out sometime after about ten more strokes, the pain more than I could bear. When I awoke, moaning, I was still bound in the stocks, still encased in the hood, but someone was fucking my ass hard. I had no way of knowing if it was a woman wearing a strap on, or a man. It did, however, bring me back to the here and now very quickly!

“Ah, I see our slave has decided to rejoin us,” Ellen remarked noticing I was coming to..

The pressure deep in my bowels from the relentless pounding of my anal raping was unbearable. It felt as if my intestines might burst with each thrust. I had never experienced anything like this before. Sure, I had inserted butt plugs in my ass, but that was always slow, at my pace, with lots of lubrication. This was so fast and hard that I feared my asshole might be torn as it was stretched beyond it’s limits.

Who ever was fucking me, pulled out, and I heard a woman’s voice say, “My strap on’s filthy, I want it cleaned up!”

“The cunt will clean it, Eva,” Ellen offered.

The woman unzipped the hood zipper covering my mouth and said, “Clean my cock, slave,” as she slid the condom covered dildo into my mouth. Even with the deep cleansing Marie gave me, I could still smell and taste the waste from deep within my bowels as Eva fucked my face. I felt a pair of hands grab hold of my hips, as another invader drove into my gaping ass. Quickly, Eva and my new rapist fell into a rhythmic accord. Eva forcing her strap on into my mouth, and the rear attacker driving forward at the same time. I almost thought the two phallus’ might meet somewhere in the middle of me, they both were plunged so deeply inside.

At once, Eva stopped driving into my mouth, and who ever was behind me pulled out as well. I was drained, totally fatigued. But before I could catch my breath, the person who had been taking me in the ass, came around and slid his, yes, his cock into my mouth, while yet another unknown person replaced him in my ravaged rear.

When the man in my mouth came, shooting his cum to the back of my throat, I heard Ellen say, “You had better make the most of that gift, cunt. It may well be your only nourishment for a while.”

I swallowed the salty strands of hot seed. The person fucking my ass mounted my face, while yet another replaced him. I lost count as to the number of times I was anally and orally raped, and I lost track of how many were women and how many were men. I do remember, however, that when it had finally ended, the hood and glove were removed, and I was released from the stocks, collapsing on the hardwood floor, too tired to even try and survey the assemblage.

As my eyes began to focus, I could see that there were ten people in the room with me; six men and four women, including Ellen and Marie. Only Marie and I were naked, everyone else was dressed. “Looks like the cunt is bleeding, Marie,” Ellen commented. I didn’t know right away what she meant. “Lick the floor, cunt,”Ellen commanded.

Marie grabbed me by my neck, and twisted me around, pushing my face to the hard floor. It was then I saw the small pool of blood from where I had been sitting. My ravaged asshole was bleeding!. “Clean it up, cunt. It’s your mess,” Marie ordered me, mashing my face into the blood.

I licked it up as ordered, and when I was finished, Ellen said, “Stand up and face me, slave.”

It was no easy task, getting upright. Physically, emotionally drained, my ass burning, I could feel wetness making it’s way down the inside of my thighs. A quick glance and I saw it was blood.

“Hands behind your head, spread your legs apart,” Marie barked. “You should feel pride in having your Mistress wish to look at you. Show yourself proudly to her!”

“Here’s the way it is, cunt,” Ellen started, standing up, and walking over to me. She took hold of my balls with her right hand a started squeezing. “You have two choices. You may leave, right now. Get dressed, and go home. Although, I don’t know what you’ll be going home to. Your entire evening has been filmed, and I will send copies to your boss, your neighbors, and your friends. That is, if you go.

“Or,” she paused, softly caressing my cock, making it stand out straight and hard, “Or, you may stay here with Marie and Me. You would be my personal slave. You would sign a contract giving me ownership and control of everything you have: House, bank accounts, life insurance policies, everything.

“The choice is yours, and yours alone. Tonight I gave you a taste of how I will treat you if you become mine. And trust me, that was only a tiny little taste. If you choose to become my slave, you will give up all rights to yourself. You will deny me nothing, ever. You will do whatever I want, at anytime.

“Do I make myself clear, cunt?”

“Yes, Ma’am” I answered her. I was shaking, standing naked in front of her.

Ellen took hold of the rings in my nipples and pulled them. “In fact, just to show you what I am capable of, cunt, that is, if you choose to stay,......... I am going to put thicker rings deep into your tits, and then................., and then I’m going to use a razor blade and slice both of your nipples off. And then I am going to feed them to you! We’ll all watch as you chew and swallow your own flesh for Me.

“So it’s for you to decide. And it must be right Now!”

There really was no decision for me to make, and it had nothing to do with Ellen’s threat of exposure if I opted to leave. After all the things I had done throughout my life. Searching, experimenting. I finally felt that I was where I had always belonged. I was where I always was meant to be. No more would my urges have to be controlled, hidden, suppressed. I had found a kindred, and would give myself over to her completely.

“If it would please you, Goddess, please cut off my nipples, and have me eat them for you. I want nothing more than to give myself to you, for your use and pleasure.”

“So be it, cunt,” Ellen said, pulling on the new ring in my scrotum. “Marie, get me the largest and thickest rings we have, the biggest needle you can find, a razor blade, and some bandages. I’m going to mark this cunt as mine!”

“Yes, Goddess,” Marie answered, scurrying from the room to gather the required items.

“Mr Mason, if you and Mr. Leeds would be so kind as to bind this slave still while we make the modifications?”

“Surely, Ellen,” Mr. Mason said. Two sets of powerful hands grabbed hold of my upper arms and bent them back behind me. They dragged me backwards to a St. Andrew’s cross that was bolted to the wall. Meticulously, they bound me to the cross. Wrists, forearms, shoulders, ankles shins thighs and waist, all held fast with heavy leather straps pulled tight.

Marie returned with a tray carrying the things Ellen requested, and she set them on a small table to the side of the cross, just out of my view.

Ellen clipped a chain onto the ring in my left nipple. “Pull this tight, Marie, as tight as you can without tearing it out.”

“Yes Goddess,” Marie replied. My left breast started to stretch straight out from my chest. Looking down, I could see the ring distorting the tiny hole in my nipple.

Ellen held a twelve inch long half inch thick needle in front of my face and smiled. I nodded by way of assent. Beginning at the side of my chest nearest my arm pit, Ellen placed the point of the needle against my taut skin and began to increase the pressure. The level of pain was more than the other piercings I wore, and still the needle didn’t break the skin. Marie had to use both hands and lean with her body to drive the needle into my chest. I screamed when the needle finally broke through and deep into my breast.

Ellen eased up on her pushing, wanting to make sure that the angle was right, and that my torment would last as long as possible. The burning tearing sensations were agonizing, and I cried and moaned as I endured it for her.

When the needle erupted out the opposite side, Ellen’s guests applauded. Marie helped her insert the massive stainless steel ring in the hole and guide the ring in as the needle was pulled out. Blood streamed from the two huge holes in my chest. They were six inches apart! Ellen picked up the balls that capped the ends of the ring and screwed them into place. Each ball was one inch in diameter.

She repeated the exact same process wit my right breast, and then announced, “I need a rest before I continue. If any if you care to use my slave, please feel free.”

“May I,” Marie asked?

“Of course my dear. What do you have in mind?”

“A little cock and ball whipping would be fun.”

“By all means. Enjoy yourself.”

Marie disappeared for a moment and returned with a flogger. A really big one, with a thick braided handle and at least two dozen long thin leather strips emanating from it. Each strip had been carefully and individually knotted. She dangled the wicked whip in my face, and said, “You may scream, cry, beg for mercy, and I will not stop. I am going to seriously hurt you. I just wanted you to know that before I begin.”

My head fell forward to my chest, as I answered, “I understand.”

My eyes were closed, but I could hear the swishing of the leather strands as Marie began with a circular motion away from my body. Once she got the whip moving, she gradually moved it closer to me. I could feel the air around my balls as the knotted leather got nearer. It began with a light sensation, a slight burning. But as she brought the whip closer to my balls and cock, the pain quickly became unbearable. Waves of nausea twisted in my stomach as the quickly moving strands cut into my sensitive balls. I was screaming, trying to pull away from the cross. I pleaded with her to stop. Begging her. Offering anything I could think of. But nothing stopped her. She was intent on hurting me, and nothing would prevent that.

I blacked out, my voice raspy and hoarse from all my screams. When I finally woke up, I was in a swirling daze of sensory confusion. My balls ached, throbbed, yet my cock was hard and alive. I gazed down at my crotch. It was dark red, bleeding in places. My groin and balls were all swollen and covered with welts. Marie was kneeling before me. Her face in my crotch. My cock buried deep in the back of her throat.

“He’s awake, Marie,” Ellen noticed. “Don’t bring him off. He hasn’t eaten yet.”

Marie’s expert tongue swirled around my cock as she pulled away, leaving me on the edge of bliss.

Ellen stood up an approached me with a single edge razor in her hand. “Ready to eat your own nipples for me, cunt?”

“Yes, Goddess. Anything to please you.” I was floating in ecstasy. Adrift in a world I only knew existed in my mind and imagination.

Ellen lifted the chain on the ring in my left nipple. “Take this, Marie and pull.”

“Yes, Goddess,” Marie obeyed, pulling my nipple out once again.

Ellen held the razor to my lips and said, “Kiss it, cunt.”

I kissed the edge of the blade, and she pulled it slightly across my lip, cutting it. Then she lowered the blade to the edge of my areola , and in one fast flick of her wrist, she sliced off my entire areola and nipple, with the ring and chain still attached. Blood poured from the wound, as Marie undid the chain and pulled the ring out of the severed nipple. She placed the nipple on a small china bread and butter plate and set it down. Then, she took the chain attached to my right nipple and pulled it tight as well.

Ellen looked into my face, and whispered, “Remember, cunt. You’re doing this for me.”

“Yes, Goddess. For you.”

She cut off the other areola as well, and watched as Marie placed it on the plate next to the first one.

“Remove my slave from the cross,” Ellen commanded.

Mr Leeds and Mr. Mason unbound me, and helped me kneel at Ellen’s feet. The blood still running from the holes in my chest, but the flow was starting to ebb.

Marie handed me the plate, which I received with both hands.

“For me,” Ellen said.

“As you wish,” I answered her, taking one of the nipples between my fingers, and without looking, slipped it into my mouth.

It was slippery, rubbery feeling in my mouth. When I bit down on it, I was surprised at how tough it was. Almost like a chunk of gristle on a low grade steak. I chewed it a bit, and then swallowed it down. I ate the second one faster, as I thought I might throw up if I thought about what I was doing.

“Now you belong to me, cunt,” Ellen declared.

“Thank you, Goddess,” I responded, feeling elated.

“Marie, suck his cock and make him cum.”

“Yes, Goddess. As you wish.”

“Hold his filthy seed in your mouth, and then spit it into his mouth for him to consume. He will be consuming all his secretions and excretions from now on, so it’s best he gets used to it right away.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

It took Marie all of about ten seconds to bring me to the most mind numbing cum of my life. I moaned in paradise as I filled her mouth with sperm, which she dutifully, took, and held there, until she positioned herself over my face and waited for me to open my mouth. She dribbled every drop of my cum into my mouth, and I held it there until she was through. Then, I swallowed it, as ordered.

“You may clean my feet, cunt,” Ellen commanded, having returned to her seat. I crawled over to her on my hands and knees and bent my head down to her bare feet and began licking them clean.

“Welcome to your home, cunt,” she said, and she patted the back of my head.

“Thank you, Goddess,” I responded, thankful and content in finally arriving where I had always belonged.

CONTROLLING THE URGES

CHAPTER 2

BEGINNING mY NEW LIFE

By: Charles E. Campbell

The life that I knew, the life that I had lived for the past fifty plus years, had ended. Abruptly, instantly, forever, as I entered that garage upstate in Cortland, New York that fateful Friday afternoon. Everything would forever be different. Permanently. No going back. Everything would be twisted and turned upside down, inside out. Nothing would be the same as it once was. No longer being the person I was. Now I was to become a full time servant and slave to a person I didn’t know. When Ellen Olmstead barked out, “You never enter My domain on your feet, slave. Get on your fucking knees!” I obeyed without even the slightest hesitation or qualms or pause. When she spoke the words, “From this moment forward, I will control you. You are Mine,” I knew right away that I was now, finally, after all these years, never going to have to worry about controlling those urges that had been with me for so long. Having any control was in my past. Relinquishing control was my present and future.

On my knees, my face pressed hard against the dirty cold concrete floor, I couldn’t see Ellen. She didn’t speak again, and I didn’t dare move. Time stood still for me. I could feel my pulse was racing almost out of control, and my cock was hard, pulsing with blood. The needle like spiked balls Marie had hung from my cock piercings hung perfectly still. Tiny droplets of blood had formed and dried from the multiple pricks they had inflicted on the drive over here from Ellen’s office. I heard the sound of spike heels purposefully strolling across the floor in my direction. The sound stopped right by my head. The next sensation was that of a boot pressing down on the back of my neck, forcing my face into the grimy floor, the tip of the stiletto heel scratching the side of my neck. “Whenever you are in my presence, this is the position you are to assume, bitch,” Ellen hissed. “ I want you as low as you can be. You should be a part of the floor.”

“Okay, Ellen,” I answered her.

Sudden pressure on my neck greeted my reply as she stood solely on the foot that held my head to the floor. “You will speak only when I grant you permission, cunt!” she screamed, “And only then! Your thoughts and needs are of no consequence to me. Only I matter.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I uttered.

Quickly, she shifted her weight from my neck, taking her foot off, and kicking me hard in the side, knocking me off my knees. “Silence, whore. Are you so stupid as to forget the simplest of commands?”

“No, Ma’am.”

Another swift kick, but this one was to my gut, hard. So hard, in fact that I coughed several times and threw up.

“Fucking pig,” she yelled. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

This time, I was silent. I was learning.

Ellen waited a few moments to make sure she had gotten her point across to me, then she said, “That’s more like it. Now, I want you to pay strict attention to what I have to say to you, slut, because I will not repeat myself. I’m going to leave you here for a little while. How long I’m gone is of no concern to you. When I return, this puke had better be cleaned up. And you will be waiting for me in the position I taught you. I want your ass pointing to the door so it will be the first thing I see when I come in. You are to spread your cheeks open with your hands so your little hole is exposed.”

She kicked me once more in the stomach and left, locking the garage door behind Her as She went, although in truth, there was no need to lock it, there was no chance I would even attempt to leave.

I retched again and doubled up on the floor, lying in my own vomit. My throbbing cock still hard, like it had never been before. I wanted desperately to pound it, but thought it wiser not to.

I lay there several minutes waiting for the pain to subside before looking for something, anything, to clean up the mess I had made. Panic started to set in once I came to the stark realization that Ellen had purposefully left me nothing to use. The drab dirty garage had an old work bench, some garden tools, old cardboard boxes, and the like, but no rags or anything else to clean up the mess. Reality hit me at that moment, when I knew that she expected me to lick up my own vomit from the filthy concrete floor!

My puke was cold as I slowly began testing it with the first tentative laps. I threw up again as the repugnant combination of taste and smell seemed to combine in the pit of my stomach. Ever so slowly, I began the hideous task again, this time getting some of it actually swallowed before throwing it all up yet again.

It was after about eight or nine attempts before I was finally able to get myself past the sickening smell and taste and successfully lick up the entire mess. Praying that Ellen would be satisfied, I got on my knees with my head on the floor, my ass facing the door, and spread my cheeks apart with both hands, as I had been ordered. My stomach was churning in part due to the vomit I had eaten and also due to my nervous anticipation of what was to befall me at the hands of my tormentor.

There was no way to estimate the time, except for the cramps in my legs and back from the position I resolutely held. I heard a key turn inside the lock, and closed my eyes. Soft foot steps approached, not the spiked heels of Ellen. “On your bitch knees, slave!” It was Marie’s voice commanding me.

I obeyed, and knelt, stealing a quick glance at Ellen before bowing my head. She was wearing a leather halter top with matching leather hot pants, so tight that her labia were well defined, almost as if she was wearing body paint. Her smooth lean legs glistened in the muted light, and she was barefoot.

“You’ll have to learn to do a much more thorough job of cleaning up after yourself if you want to please your Owner, cunt. The floor is all smeared in your puke! That may very well be the only food you’re allowed, you know, so you’d best develop an appreciation for it, or you’ll spend many an evening hungry.”

I shuddered at the vivid and disgusting images she had instilled in my brain. “I hope, for your sake, that you are a good listener and a quick learner,” she continued, “Because if you’re not, I will make your miserable life very painful. A co-operative and compliant bitch slave is what I’m looking for, is that understood, cunt?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I answered her with another noticeable shudder.

“Good. Now, the first order of business is getting you cleaned up before Goddess Ellen returns. Resume your position, face to the floor, legs wide, spread your cheeks and present your shit hole to me!”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I answered quickly, getting into the ordered position.

“Goddess hates filthy slaves, cunt. She requires an internal cleaning twice a day, morning and night. Because you’re new, I will administer this cleaning, but from this day forward, it will be your responsibility to maintain a clean insides for Her.

“Yes, Ma’am,” I answered.

“Two quarts is what She prescribes,” Ellen added as she pushed the nozzle deep inside me. Almost immediately, I was overwhelmed by the sensation of the icy cold liquid invading deep into my inner recesses. The pressures quickly built as more of the enema was pushed through the hose.

“Five minutes,” she announced. “You will retain it five minutes, or else, you will lick the floor clean of it and we will start again!”

“Y......yes, Ma’am,” I stuttered, the cramps already growing unbearable. I didn’t think I would be able to hold it in for five minutes.

I stole a peek at my distended stomach and could hear the loud churning sounds deep within. The minutes passed in an eternity, before Ellen finally announced, “Five minutes. Get up and squat on this bucket, cunt.”

Slowly, fearful of dispelling any liquid, I pushed myself up and saw the used compound bucket

I was expected to expel into. Carefully sitting down on the rough rim, caked with hardened dry wall compound, I relaxed and a torrent of liquid and shit exploded from within. When it finally subsided, Marie announced, “Two more times should be sufficient I would think.” And I was made to endure two more enemas, with the third one being three quarts in volume.