Date: Sat, 18 Apr 2009 21:28:32 -0700 (PDT) From: Grey Hound <firstname.lastname@example.org> Subject: It was finally time Here's my first story guys, I hope you like it. I have been an enthusiastic reader Nifty for quite a while now and thought it was about time I contributed. This story is pure fictional fantasy and although none of it is true, I wish it was. If your are under 18, this is not for you and log off now. Any comments or feedback is always appreciated and can be e-mailed to email@example.com Enjoy! I decided it was finally time; I was going to go ahead and do it I'd lived in denial of myself, my true desires for too long. I went down town to the seedy side of town where all the tattoo parlors, biker bars and adult book stores are, it was time. I went to the nearest tattoo parlor, I knew it wasn't going to be an ordinary request and the pure humiliation of it all was turning out to be a royal turn on for me. I entered the establishment and a guy with a nose ring and tats everywhere greeted me as I walked in. Lookin for anything in particular he said. I told him I was thinking about a tattoo, sure where? Oh my lower back I guess. Ok what'd you like? The word `Slave', slave? On your low back? Starting to feel humiliated and more embarrassed than ever I felt like bolting for the door, instead, yes I said maybe and inch above my crack. Hmmm, I've had a lot of request, can't ever remember one like that, that is on a guy at least, my dick got even stiffer. Ok it'll be three hundred bucks. I knew I couldn't hesitate, if I did I'd be out the door and I would never again have to balls to come back. My head was spacing, everything seemed to be a dream, I seemed to be living outside myself. I answered, when can we get started? I'm free right now he said. Let's do it I said. He told me I needed to follow him, I filled out a few forms and the whole time I kept wondering why I just didn't stop apologize and walk out the door. My hand kept filling in the blanks, mechanically, without thought. Payment made, receipt issued, the point of no return. Ok follow me he says almost with a smirk, he's got the money I walk out and he has a good laugh and three hundred bucks in his pocket without doing a goddamned thing. I start to believe that he thinks I am going to bolt, instead I follow him to one of the rooms and he tells me that I need to take off my shirt and get on the table, I hesitate for just one second knowing I can't turn back. I take off my shirt, he can see the fear in my eyes and I believe for just a moment he takes a bit of pity on me and he says "you don't have to do this you know"? I look back and him and with a somewhat crackling voice say, what are we waiting for? With that all bets are off, ok go ahead and hop up on the table, all business from here on out. The pity had stopped and the repulsion had begun. I suppose you know this is going to be painful, and it'll be about a month before it's completely healed. You want colors, or basic black? Black will be fine I guess. Ok? Soon I felt the penetration of the ink deep into my flesh, the indelible impression he was now putting to flesh, identifying me to all who might see it. The true me a"Slave" Now it was done, I was marked no turning back, I felt sick, what had I just done to myself? This was permanent, it couldn't be erased, if I ever used a public pool or Jacuzzi again for the rest of my life there it was in prominent bold italicized black print the word "slave", fuck I didn't even have a Master and yet I had permanently identified myself for the world to see what I truly am, a fucking "Slave". OH MY GOD, what had I done? I went home and the reality began to sink in. Of course I tried to convince myself that it was no big deal, I'd just tell people that asked, it was a novelty, just a dare, nothing else really. Who and the fuck was I kidding, I know what they'd think, what kind of sick fuck would tattoo that word on his back just above his fuck crack for everyone to see. It had started as a boy, isn't if after all at that point in your life when your sexuality is imprinted upon you? My older brother and I slept in the same room and when he was about fourteen and I was nine, the temptation became too much for him to bear. He began late into the evening's crawling into my bed, funny thing is I never once tried to stop him, although I am sure I didn't consciously realize it at the time I had already begun to accept the fate of who I was long before the first time my brother ever raped me. He used to crawl into bed next to me and he would rub his stiff prick still in his tighty whitey undies against my but. He would then slide his hands into my underwear and begin probing my virgin anal bud. Then he whispered in my ear "you scream, you holler, you tell anymore and I'll slit you fucking throat while you sleep. Sides know one would believe you anyway you fucking loser. And that's how it all started, so here I am, some 12 years later, twenty-one, slim, lean, good looking, blonde hair with a narrow jaw line and features and slight angular piercing blue eyes, that I am told make me look real sexy. I suppose a lot of girls would have loved to have me but that wasn't who I was, not who I would ever be especially not now that's for damn sure. I am fucked and not in a good way, goddamn it this decision just changed my whole life. Who am I? Who and what have I become? Less than a worthless slut, the lowest upon lowest not even good enough to be called a whore, I am a slave at heart I always have been I no longer deny it and I am and I will for ever be, from this day on, a slave. For the first while I tried not to think about it, not really even acknowledging its existence. I changed the dressings as instructed to keep it from getting infected. Somehow I was able to disconnect, oh at night in bed alone I would start to think about it and I would turn my thoughts elsewhere and soon forget about it, although there was no doubt about it, it was constantly present in the back of my mind, what had I done? After about a month there was no need for the bandaging of the wound and soon my days became nothing more than a depressing routine of work, then home watch TV, have too many beers and go to bed too soon and get up the next day and do it again. There it was day in, day out in two inch lettering on my back "Slave" is that who I was? It had been a while by any account; I hadn't been fucked in months. This of course was a pattern of mine and partly what led me to get tattooed. The denial, what my brother had done hadn't made me who I was, it confirmed it. I was a slave, unfortunately I wasn't willing to admit it to myself, and I would instead deny myself for months at a time. Then I would find myself in a park toilet somewhere in a restroom frequented by homosexual men and business men looking for some quick relief mid day or on the way home with my pants down bent over with my hands on the toilet bowl, more than willing, anxious even, for each and every man who might come in and fuck me. I remember one day actually packing a lunch and several bottles of water, I stripped naked and remained in the stall from four in the afternoon, until after two in the morning. I specifically timed it that way for the maximum amount of traffic. The businessmen on there way home and then of course the more perverse crowd later into the evening. All in all I must have been fucked by at least ten guys and sucked off at least six more, not counting the half dozen or more, who got too nervous and left before they came. A few did come back again later on though, which is why I don't have an accurate count. Total number of dicks in me, either in my mouth or up my ass, or both, had to have been well over 20 guys. Now what, a tattoo on my back that says "Slave", whose slave? A slave needs to have a Master, he has to have Master, there's no such thing as a freelance slave, you are after all someone else's property, who? I wasn't owned yet although I knew I needed to be, fuck I had to be, I'd gone to far, why not see it through. I finally began to be at peace with it, first as just one more fuck up in a line of many over the course of my short life. I could have it blacked out I guess, boy would that look like shit. What then the regret of not following through. Then one day I was cruising (again), on Craigslist, offering myself up. Posted as Slutty Slave Bottom Hungry for Cock and Waiting to Serve, I then committed the cardinal sin of Craigslist and posted my address, and said the doors open cum right in. I also posted my pic in my most submissive look, on my knees, legs spread in the middle of my bed, with my black dog collar on and a desperate look on my face, who could resist. The ad went on to say, I will not be checking or responding to any e-mail messages, and that I am open to all cumers and that whoever was serious should cum on over and that if I was already being used when you got there to just jump right in. After about 30 minutes and couple of quick pops of tequila a quick beer and about a half a joint I decide I would get on my knees, totally naked of course, and wait in the living room in the middle of the room. After about ten minutes or so, I heard a hello at the door and a brief knock, I had the door ajar already so upon the knocking the door open up several more inches. And then he entered. After about ten minutes or so, I heard a hello at the door and a brief knock, I had the door ajar already so upon the knocking the door open up several more inches. And then he entered.