Gay Erotic Stories

My master opened the door and I began to tremble in his gaze. I want more than anything to please him, to be his pussyboy, to serve his needs. He said, “Let’s take a look at you cuntlips. Turn around.”

As I turned he gave me instructions, “Arms up! Let’s see those pits. OK. They look OK. Keep turning. Come on boy stand up straight! I need to see that definition. Now open your pussymouth. I want to see that mancock sucker. Is it ready for a busy evening? Keep breathing, keep breathing, and keep your shoulders back! Now bend and present. Let’s have a look at your cunthole. It had better be spotless. Come on open it up.”

I did my very best to follow my master’s instructions. I stood up straight. I turned around. I sucked in my gut. I kept my elbows properly bent. I made a full pussyboy display of my pits… and I prayed that I wasn’t sweating. If my pits were wet my master might think I hadn’t dried myself properly…he didn’t say anything. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I bent at the waist and pushed out my pussyhole. I hope it’s perfectly smooth. Fuck, did I check my cumbox with my fingers? I remember shaving, but did I double check. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. One errant hair, one bit of stubble and I’d be on my belly all night. But thankfully my master said nothing. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. If I can just measure up. If I can only please my master I will be so happy. It would be the best day of my life if I could make my master smile.

“Okay fuckface we are off to Doctor John. Come on let’s get a move on. We have a lot to do.”

My heart began to pound, “Doctor John master, sir? We are going to see Dr. John. Why master? Why are we going to see Doctor John?” Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Why were we going to see the doctor? My temples were throbbing.

“Listen shithead, if I want you to know your master’s business I will tell you. What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you questioning me boy? Are you trying to piss me off?”

“No sir master, no sir, noosir. I’m just a dumb cuntboy. I am stupid and thick and I don’t understand much, but master, sir I’m afraid. Master I am so scared.”

He looked at me, “Stop being a moronic little-girl pussyboy. You belong to me body and soul; head to foot, pussymouth to cunthole; lock, stock and barrel. Whatever I do, I do for your own good. Now stop your sniveling. We’ll be in the clinic in a minute and you will know what you need to know, when you need to know it.”

I was totally confused. My master was trying to carry on a conversation with me and that’s just impossible. My brain is the size of a chick pea, my head is thick as a post and I’m dumb as an ox, so I didn’t understand most of what he said…but his tone seemed steady. I don’t think he was angry with me. I sure wish I could understand the words he uses. I hate being so stupid and difficult and recalcitrant and intransigent and refractory and intractable and just plain dumb. Why can’t I ascertain and absorb the simplest subtext in my master’s talks with me?

When we got to the clinic my master said, “Listen to me asswipe, I’m going to put this blindfold on you so you can not see what the doctor is about to do to you. That way you won’t be so scared. If you can’t see what he’s about to do to you, how can it possibly scare you?”

I tried so hard to understand what my master was saying. I knew he was right. He is always right. I am so lucky to have him to tell me what to do. I am so fortunate. I heard what he said but I got frightened anyway, and when he tied the bandana around my eyes and I couldn’t see anything I got even more terrified. Master touched my chin with his finger and I almost jumped out of my skin. I could hear my master and Doctor John laughing. Hands were on me, touching me. Someone was taking off my vest. Someone was pulling my hands behind my back. Someone was tying my hands together. Oh Jesus, what are they going to do? I was shaking all over. My fear kept rising. The room was cold and that seemed to magnify ever sensation. Someone blew in my ear and I nearly fell over….more laughter. I was led to a post and I could feel them securing my feet and my waist and my forehead with cording around the post. Shit, I couldn’t move. What was Doctor John going to do to me? What was he going to do? I could feel the sweat leaking from my pits and rolling down my sides. The room was cold and I was perspiring like a bitch in heat. Oh god what were they talking about? What the hell was Doctor John going to do to me? Someone took hold of my nipples; fingers began to squeeze and pull and pinch them. My boycock shot to attention and started to hurt. My boypussy began to vibrate. The blood was pulsing in my temples; sweat was pouring down my chest; my ears began to ring; my nips were almost as hard as my kidprick, which began to spooge. Oh no, oh no, oh no. I still had the kilt on; the kilt my master gave me to wear and I was leaking boysauce all over the inside. I was so hard and I was caught up in the material of the kilt. I could feel the warm dicksnot drooling out my boydick hole, soaking into the material and sliding down my shaft to my pubes. Shit, shit, shit I was making a mess…a big mess. My master was going to be so annoyed. Why couldn’t I control myself? Why was I so worthless? Why was I such a useless pussyslave cunthole?

And the more they pulled and tugged and pinched my boy titties the harder they got. I began to moan. I couldn’t help it. The need was rising in my guts. My cunthole was moving in and out, opening and closing, making its own pussylube and I was beginning to writhe. I was so hot, so hot, so hot. Jesus god I need my master’s mancock in my cuntbox, my whore hole felt so damn empty as its muscles squeezed and released, squeezed and released. My hips began to gyrate and I fucked the air…more laughter. The wool material of the kilt was rough against my pricktip. It was abrading my glans and rubbing hard against my pisslips. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. I needed to speak. I needed to beg my master to please fuck my useless boypussy. I needed him to dick me hard and dick me deep. I needed him to be rough, to plow my cunthole till I screamed and begged him to come in my guts. My boycock was pumping and pumping. If my master said the word I could shoot for hours. I could cum till I was dry. I could cum till I passed out from the heat, cum till I was empty. I said, “Please fuck me master. Please cum in my mouth; cum on my face, cum in my cunthole, cum on my lips, and rub your mancream all over my useless body. Please master let me worship at your mancock; let me take it in my pussy mouth; let me suck your balls and lick your ass. Please master fuck me. Please.”

I could hear them laughing and talking as I continued to plead and my body kept aching…

“C are you certain he can’t understand a single word we say to each other?”

“John he doesn’t recognize the language unless I tell him to. I just spent an hour testing and reinforcing his current programming. Unless I cue him he is locked up inside his own world, obsessing over each and every detail of his physical being. I’ve been control for a long time.”

“Well C you have to admit it’s kind of a shame to mess with this kind of perfection. This candidate, his appearance, my god the first time I saw him I had to stop dead in my tracks and look at him again. I know people say they do double-takes all the time, but I had never done it, and certainly not with a guy.”

“Be careful John that sounded homophobic.”

“Fuck no. Don’t be an idiot. It’s just that I’m around ‘ideal male physical forms' all day long. We are hip deep in rock hard bodies and movie star faces, but this kid. It’s like he has an aura around him. He’s the best I’ve seen in…ten years”

“Have you even been here ten years?”

“Twelve years last Wednesday. I expected a cake and got squat.”

“I keep forgetting that you graduated medical school when you were…what eight years old?”

“Yeah C, that’s very funny. Just because I can’t grow a nifty little goatee you’re never going to stop ribbing me. I am thirty-six. I can’t help it I have the angelic face of a nubile teenager… Really C, Cunningham is different. I mean talk about Goldie Locks, the way his platinum hair frames his face, that square jaw. His torso is perfect; I’d give anything for the definition in his pectorals and that crevice that runs down the center of his abdomen. I’ve never been a bear freak but he has the nicest dusting on his chest and I’m jealous of the way it’s so naturally neat. It looks like you spend hours trimming it. I can understand why you let him keep it. Still, I’ve seen beauty before, but there’s something else, something more in this kid; if there is such a thing as charisma this guy exudes it. I’ve just never seen it before, not all in one neat, tight, bubble-butted package…and speaking of packages….”

“Enough John! We have work to do. This procedure, a physical alteration is necessary for his progress. I assume you’ve read all my reports…read them all…all the way from beginning to end?”

“Yeah sure. Hey, I took an oath. I can write prescriptions and push nurses around. I’ve read it all and I agree with your conclusions…but even if I wasn’t certain I would always defer to your judgment. You wrote the fucking book on MC.”

“Maybe not the whole book… By the way have you talked to your friend Roberto? Someone needs to rein him in. The way he’s playing with his candidate…the Hispanic boy singer; he’s playing with fire. As a field controller he asked for the added responsibility of carrying on the after-training of a subject in public. He swore he could deal with all the intricacies and inevitable problems. Now he has the kid lusting after him in every new song. People listen to those lyrics. I’m surprised the press hasn’t picked up on it and raised the issue of the kid’s true sexuality. We always toy with a subject’s feelings and emotions; it’s part of the program. Christ, when we succeed and we always do, our subjects worship their controllers, but Roberto is making the game far too public. It could blow up in his face.”

“I know C, but it’s happened before and it will happen again. We can deal with it regardless.”

“John, that attitude is too cavalier. There’s a first time for everything even exposure. It’s a stretch but it’s possible. We don’t control the entire world, just the important parts,”

“If you ask me C, Roberto is far too invested in this one. I think he’s in love with the kid. He told me that the first time he had the boy sing to him in public and the kid stuck out his lower lip and made his voice quiver; Roberto said he came in his pants. That’s a controller with a crush. But I’ve got to admit, the boy is awfully cute, those dark eyes, that honey brown skin, the way he pouts. Watching him crawl around on his stomach, begging to lick my balls, and swallow my load…I almost came in my pants.”

“Look John, I know Roberto is a friend of yours. I know you were candidates together; so you should talk to him. At this stage in his career a reassignment could ruin him. It would be a shame, and I do mean shame.”

“Okay C, I’ll call him.”…

I could hear them laughing and talking as I continued to plead and my body kept aching. After fifteen or twenty minutes my boynips were swollen and sore. They were hurting like hell, but I kept writhing and gyrating and fucking the air, and drooling everywhere. I could tell the front of my kilt was soaked with boygoop. The inside was cold and slimy. There was dicksnot drooling down the insides of my legs and dripping off my boynuts.

Then the fingers stopped torturing my boytitties for a second…and then they were putting something hard and very, very cold on them. I could feel liquid dripping off my nips. They were rubbing them with ice! Why were Doctor John and my master rubbing my kidtits with ice?

Master said, “Now shithead Dr. John is going to pierce your pussyboy nips, and before you start with a thousand questions. He’s doing it because it pleases me. Not a word! I will tell you what he is going to do. If you know what he’s going to do you can’t possibly be frightened. In a minute Dr. John is going to very slowly; push a surgical spike through your right boytit. Everyone knows if you do it slowly it will hurt a lot less. When he’s finished with your right nip he’ll do your left one. And boy I do not want you to budge…not an inch. Dr. John could really hurt you if you move…So you won’t! And not a sound. I want my cumdump to be as quiet as a little, teensy, tiny mouse. Now, not a word, not a move, not a sound. Nod if you understand me, or are you so thick that I have to explain this some more?”

Before I thought better of it I asked my master, “Please master sir, what is a surgical spike? Please sir, I am very stupid, what is a surgical SPIKE?”

My master grabbed my boytit and pulled it out as far as it would stretch. He moved very, very close to my face…his scent was overwhelming. I almost came. Oh Jesus, he smells so good. My dick jumped, and pulsed and hurt like hell. It was so engorged, so full. My tiny boynuts were packed with my jiz…so much jiz, and I wanted so much to cum for my master. I wanted to kiss his lips and tongue his balls and taste his mancream on my lips and feel his giant cock fill my useless, worthless boycunt and shoot me full of his mancream. Oh god how I love my master. He said, “Not a word means not a word. Yes, you bet you’re stupid, dumb as an ox, thick as a post, but I know you understand what is means when your MASTER COMMANDS YOU TO BE SILENT!!!”

I couldn’t help myself. I was wretched. HE WAS DISAPPOINTED IN ME…AGAIN. And the tears erupted from my eyes and wet my blindfold. I tried to cry quietly, but I couldn’t, I was too miserable and sad, and so very sorry. I wanted; I needed to fall at my master’s feet and plead for his pardon. I needed to be punished, and punished, and punished till I could please him and learn to obey.

“Enough pussyslave! That is enough. Tell you what, I will answer your question but that will be the end of it. No more shit from you. No more disobedience. From now on I expect perfection. AND STAND UP STRAIGHT!! You’re not supposed to be leaning on that post; you should be holding it up… Boy, a surgical spike is like a nail. Does that answer your question?”

I held my tongue, but in truth I was confused.

My master said, “You may answer cuntlips.”

So I said, “Master, sir, when you say nail…is that like…is it a kind of…is it like…like. Oh I know. Master is a surgical spike like a needle…like a needle doctors use to give us shots? Is that it master?”

He answered, “I suppose you could say it’s a bit like a needle…except...it’s a lot bigger and not so sharp. There you have it shit head…and that’s enough. I will not allow you to destroy the rest of my evening with your childish prattle. You have all the information you could possibly need. You know every detail dickbreath. Now, we have detained Dr. John long enough. I want you to nod your head. That means you understand and you want the doctor to proceed.no, better yet, it means that you are eager for him to proceed. Go on boy; show me how glad you are to continue. NOD THAT HEAD!!”

My brain was swimming with thoughts and questions, but I had to nod or my master would be displeased. I had already failed him again and again. He was already very annoyed with my attitude…so I nodded. I was so scared. I had to stay still, but my legs were beginning to vibrate and I didn’t know what to do. Seconds passed and the room was silent. I could feel the presence of my master and Dr. John. I could hear them breathing and I could smell the intoxicating scent that drifts off my master’s flesh. They could blindfold me in a room full of men and I’d know immediately if my master were present by his magnificent scent. When it fills my nose it makes me swoon. I felt some kind of pliers grab my boytit. Jesus, it hurt like hell. I moaned. Fuck, shit, piss, I moaned.

Ssswatttt my master slapped my face hard. I felt my cheek fill with blood. I didn’t dare make another sound. More seconds went by. Then the pain started….a small pinch at first that grew and grew into a head-splitting sharp piercing ice cold stinging. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. I had to cry out. I needed to cry out. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop! You are killing me, but I tried to remain mute. The skin gave way on the outer edge of my boynipple and the spike continued to force its way into me relentlessly. Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Please god, make them stop. Make them stop. MAKE THEM STOP!! I could feel the sweat forming in my boypits, around my pussyhole, and under my kidballs. It began to run down my sides, my legs and drip off my tiny boynuts. I was flexing so hard, bearing down with so much force that I almost pissed myself. Jesus no, please, please don’t let me lose control. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck hadn’t I disappointed my master enough. No! No! No! I felt a couple drops of pee leak out of my pisslips and run down my boyshaft toward my balls. Oh please, please, please don’t let my master notice. Pleeeze! As my body shook a moan forced its way out of my guts. I wanted to scream that it wasn’t my fault; that it hadn’t come from me; that my guts were acting on their own, but before I could open my mouth my master slapped me hard again. It felt good. It took my mind away from my boytitties for a second. I hoped that my master would slap me again. Oh fuck…fuck…fuck…the spike was pushing hard against the meat on the other side of my boynip. OOOWWW. OOOWWWWEEEEE! It won’t give way, its not breaking through. The flesh won’t let the spike through. I was in agony. My knees wanted to buckle but I was bound tightly. I couldn’t fall down if I wanted to. I could feel my eyes rolling back into my head. AAwwww shit I need to pass out. Please let me pass out. Oh please. Oh please. Oh pleeeeeezzzze. Fuck…Fuck…Fuck it broke through. It felt like someone was holding a flame to my poor kidnipple. Oh it hurt. Oh it hurt. Dr. John let go of the spike and it fell against my chest dragging down my raped boytittie. It felt like my nip was swelling up, blowing up like a balloon.

My master said, “No John, get the larger ring, the one with the big silver ball on it. Not that one either…the larger one to your right.”

Dr. John came back and before I could brace myself he pulled the spike out of my boytittie. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. He was killing me. Before I could react he grabbed my nip and pulled. Jesus, will it ever stop? Is this going to last for fucking ever? As he held it tightly in his fingers he yanked it forward. Oh Christ! Oh Jesus! Oh Dear GOOOOOOOOOD! He began to force something else through the wound. I thought I was going to lose it. My brain emptied. I couldn’t think. I wouldn’t have remembered my name. I wouldn’t have been able to speak. My mind was in the tip of my boytit…and Dr. John kept pushing and forcing, and pushing and forcing, and pushing and forcing. He was shoving the leading edge of the ring so hard that his hand was shaking. It won’t go in. It won’t go in. It won’t go in. Fuck! Shit! Piss! It won’t go in…STOP! STOP!! STOP!! STOP!! STTTTTOOOOPPPPP… It’s not going to go in! IT WON’T GO IN! It just won’t go in…seconds became minutes; my whole body was heaving…and very, very, very slowly the flesh began to give way and the invading steel began to barge its way forward. Dr. John moved it in and around, in and around, in and around…for minutes, for hours, for days. Every millimeter was a lick of fire, a whack with a hammer, till the circle of metal was all the way in and it snapped shut. My boynip was thoroughly raped, through and through, and the offending steel ring, the size of a basketball hoop was now a part of me. When he let the awful, horrible, hateful thing go it dropped like a stone; it felt like he had attached a brick to my kidtittie. It hurt like fucking shit the way it dragged my whole boytit down toward my waist. I must have looked so ridiculous…so much more ridiculous. It’s not as if I’m not a train wreck already…my inadequate physique…my tiny immature insignificant boydick that is always sticking out and spooging like a leaky faucet, my stupid unsymmetrical ass, my legs that are way too long for my torso, my useless boypussy, my messy pits, my uneven elbows, my slouching shoulders, the utter wretchedness of my WHOLE body. Everyone was going to stare at me...point at me…laugh at me…even more than they already do. I was now officially a freak; an ugly freak of nature, the twenty-first century’s Elephant man.

My master said, “Here we go again shithead,” and Dr. John grabbed my left tittie and the whole thing started over. My bladder gave way and boypiss began to run out of my kiddick. It shot out and soaked the already sloppy kilt. It spewed everywhere. I could feel the warm piss running against my legs as it rained down like a tropical storm and drenched my beautiful, brand new wool socks and filled my loafers. Oh fuck, Oh fuck, Oh fuck. I wanted to throw myself at my master’s feet. I wanted to plead for his abuse, to beg for his immediate punishment. What I had done was unforgivable, but before I could say a word the surgical spike broke through my tittie skin and I blacked out.

I must have been out for a while. When I woke up I was lying on a couch. The blindfold was gone. Christ my boytits were on fire! At the same time I felt a gnawing pain in my mouth. I realized my mouth was slightly agape and filled with thick boyspit, which had leaked out and was all over my face and neck. I opened my eyes and there was blood everywhere. Blood trails from each of my nips to my waist. I was still wearing the kilt, which was saturated with every offending fluid filthy pussyslaves produce. As I raised my head I could see the red tinged spittle all over my chest. Oh the pain. Thick drying spit was all over me, my boypecs…my tongue. Jesus, there was something on my tongue. No wait a minute. There was something IN MY TONGUE and it was huge and there were hard round balls, like a marbles, one on top of my tongue and another one under my tongue. The pain was inexorable. Everything was throbbing. The sharp pain was gone and in its place were all kinds of new miseries, besides the pulsing in my mouth and my chest, I was consumed by the dull ache pounding in the same places. I was a fucking mess. As I struggled to pull myself up the voice in my head returned and I was………………………………….g o n e

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Daily Progress Notes Re: J. Cunningham

Subject Cunningham has been in hibernation state for two weeks. The time was needed for proper healing of his piercings. I used his down time for a thorough debriefing and further coaching. I progressively reinforced his various verbal triggers as well as the long list of physical cues he’s been trained to respond to. I repeated the fourth level of successive hypnotic induction, the Walker series. I hope to have more success using the techniques of reprogramming to address some of the goals we failed to achieve with the first series. (refer to the session tapes and my notes for a play by play) Let me just say that I am doing my best to isolate the precise area a in this subject’s psyche which continues to oppose full acceptance and total indoctrination. (refer to Quarterly Report)

The results of his regularly scheduled physical exam were as expected of all candidates. After a complete assessment (including a full panel of blood work, urinalysis, an EKG, an EEG, a brain scan an MRI and a stress test), Subject Cunningham is in the best condition of his life. His overall results place him above the 99th percentile on the AMA’s scale for healthy men 18 to 25.

Parts of our psychological appraisal that require long interviews had to be postponed while Subject Cunningham’s tongue continued to heal. The special treatments, the various drugs and topical ointments, developed in conjunction with our partner labs and pharmaceutical companies show his rate of healing at better than 4 times the norm. All incisions have closed and in each case subsequent scarification is complete. The candidate can return to all regular physical and psychological activities.

Using our ability to adjust his temporal sense when the subject is returned to his conscious state he will believe that approximately 12 hours have elapsed. I will induce in him the same degree of pain and healing he perceived at his last moment of remembered consciousness. To that end he was taken off all hypnotic drugs and pain meds at 12PM. (A few short years ago the use of these drugs was held to be utterly superfluous. That’s just a comment; not an opinion…but we should review the decision).

We have assaulted the candidate’s sexuality, his masculinity, his self-confidence and sense of self (Wilson scale degree of disconnect. 7.86). Those were the major ego components. Subject Cunningham’s superego was much easier to assail due to his weak ties to family and religion (Wilson scale degree of disconnect. 9.7). As I have indicated many times we stand at odds with this subject’s massive intellect. You will recall that his actual IQ number is difficult to assess using traditional tests (Stanford-Binet and WAIS). For our purposes his intelligence places him beyond the 99th percentile. In spite of that I am confident we can bump up his Wilson score, ego portion, by at least 1.5 points. (For more precise information refer to Prelim Evaluation and Quarterly Report.)

I am hopeful that something as simple as the piercings will serve to focus the remainder of this subject’s consciousness on his various transient external sensory-involved struggles. If that succeeds it could prove to be the exact stimulus that will cause him to transition. (Who said that every difficult problem had to have a complicated solution?) If that is accomplished it should put this candidate inexorably on a course that will yield his total surrender of will. As always, careful scrutiny and constant surveillance is of the essence.

Control One ----------------------------------------------