After Eric’s breakup with Jennifer, Ryan didn’t push him to meet girls, the way he’d done before—not that Eric noticed. With wrestling season over, having ended humiliatingly for Eric, he fell into a routine—study or workout in the afternoons, hang out with Ryan during and after dinner, then surf the ’net.
As March turned into April, each session on the computer advanced Eric through more explicit, homoerotic images. Photo after photo of hung young men and beautiful boys flashed before him. All smooth bodies, tanned skin, wide eyes, athletic physiques, suggestive poses. A small box appeared at the beginning, in the lower corner, which Eric was to click once he became erect; then another box, once he began to stroke himself. Thus the program recorded its success, and built on it.
The next stage brought, not handsome young men one at a time, but as couples. At first, they were modest and chaste—perhaps of two straight friends. Then they became more erotic, less clothing, more contact, exchanging longing gazes. Breathtaking boys, touching, holding hands, wrestling, embracing, partly clothed, unclothed, kissing, stroking each other affectionately. Couple after couple displayed their affection in the most demonstrative ways; in bed, on couches and sofas, in swimming pools, on the grass.
This series continued over several sessions, till it yielded, finally, to images of actual, sexual behavior; young men engaged in foreplay, in intimate, exploring touch, jousting with erect members, kisses that trailed down the torso, front and back; gently, the program introduced Eric to the sight of one young man pleasuring another young man’s cock—with his hands, then his lips, then his mouth. The images were chosen to model both the exquisite pleasure this caused the recipient, and the joy the one giving service knew in the act of submission. Of course, the program was teaching Eric to identify with the latter.
Young men sucking obediently, reverently, their faces filled with ecstasy; and the Voice triggered Eric to feel the same exquisite joy. Yet, as Eric stroked, he was admonished—you may not cum until you are given permission.
In-between sessions, Ryan planted a new suggestion: whenever he was deep in arousal, wanting to cum, he’d ask permission to cum. Dreaming or awake, the Voice would eventually give him permission—and he would come instantly.
This meant that, no matter what sexual activity—with himself or others—Eric might enter into, the only times he would be able to cum were at night, during wet dreams, or at the conclusion of his late-night training sessions on the computer.
Night after night, the program taught Eric all about man-to-man sex: how to suck a cock, how to rim, all the ways to use the tongue to pleasure a man, what to do when a man is preparing to fuck his boy, and how the recipient should facilitate that. He learned a boy could please his Master both by receiving his seed in his mouth, as well as the “wine” that filled a man’s bladder during the night. Eric found himself longing for it all.
Ryan often watched, and enjoyed what he saw. Eric was a compliant, eager student, who was rewarded, at the end of every session, with a shuddering climax, into his hand, which Eric now routinely lifted to his mouth. Or, for variety, the Voice would deny permission, and Eric would go to sleep, intensely aroused—only to wake Ryan in the night to describe his dreams. It had been a long time since Eric’s dreams included girls.
By mid-April, Ryan knew that Eric was almost ready.
For whatever reason, when he saw Drew at the gym, Eric didn't talk much to him. Anywhere else, they talked eagerly; but in the gym, it was different. They acknowledged each other silently. It was as if, somehow, they weren't supposed to talk when they met in the shower. They looked at each other, as before. Now not only did Drew tacitly give Eric permission, but—without reflecting on it, Eric now found himself doing the same, with the same signal, the downcast glance. And, when he did, Eric—without growing obviously hard, nonetheless felt himself swell a little to feel Drew's gaze. He felt weird about it at first; but by the second or third time, he'd forgotten it had ever bothered him. It no longer occurred to him to feel funny having someone gaze at his body.
After not seeing Drew in the shower for several days, Eric was pleased when the familiar figure took his usual place at the other end of the shower. There were a lot of other men around, so Eric knew better than to look too much. But still, in his own, roundabout way, he did look.
When he did, he saw something new, something surprising. He looked again. What was that? A circle of gold around the base of Drew's privates? That's exactly what it was. Eric didn't have to look long for the sight to make an indelible impression on him. Shortly after, Drew left the shower; when Eric had finished, Drew was nowhere in sight. Eric dressed and left.
For some reason, Eric decided to walk the long way back to his dorm, around the perimeter of campus. This took him past a seedy area, past stores he’d never really noticed before.
He stopped outside one called "The Discipline Store." He looked at the items in the window: a couple of collars, as well as various leather contraptions that Eric didn't recognize. It wasn't the sort of place Eric would ever have entered before. He walked in.
The clerk, a slight woman in her 20s, didn't look up. Eric poked around among odd-looking leather goods. He was too embarrassed to look in the row filled with dildos and the like. A glint of metal caught his eye. It was a ring, not big enough to serve as a bracelet.
"Does that interest you?" the clerk, looking up at that moment, asked. Eric's eyes must have given him away. "Clyde!"
A large, burly man in his 40s came out from a back room. "Find something you like?"
"Well, ah…I mean, I—." Eric held up the ring of metal.
"Are you looking for one of those? I can help you. If you'd like, we can talk more privately in here." Clyde gestured to the back room. It was as much a command as an invitation, which Eric quickly accepted.
After Clyde closed the door and they sat down, he said: "Let me guess. You saw someone in one of those, you liked what you saw, and you are thinking about one for yourself."
"Yes! That's exactly it! How did you know?"
"That's usually how guys get the idea. And they really have to like the idea even to come in here."
"I, uh . . . I've never . . ."
"Don't sweat it sweetheart. I understand. You're a first-timer, you're nervous. Don't worry. Clyde'll take good care of you. What did you have in mind?"
Haltingly at first, Eric described the ring he'd seen: gold with what looked like a pattern inscribed on it.
Reaching into a drawer near him, Clyde pulled out a piece of metal. "I know exactly the one you mean. Is this it?"
"Yes! That's exactly it!"
"I thought so. Bet I know who you saw it on. Slight guy, red hair, cute as a button?"
Eric blushed to hear Drew described that way, especially by a guy. But he nodded.
"Yep. I thought so. Okay. So, you want one for yourself, is that it?"
With only a moment's hesitation, Eric answered definitively. "Yes. I do." He felt suddenly solemn for some reason.
"Okay. I can do that. Now, let me explain how it works. These aren't one-size-fits-all. They're custom-fitted. This isn't something you want to be too big on, or worse, too small on. You want it just right," he said, sing-song-y like he was telling a nursery rhyme. And, that means, my friend, I have to take a measurement..."
Eric stared for a moment before he realized what Clyde was asking. "Oh! Oh, right, of course!" As Clyde remained seated in front of him, Eric stood up, and awkwardly undid his pants, and lowered them, along with his boxer-briefs.
"Okay, that's nice. That's more than nice, but I digress. You see, ah, I need it to be, well . . . full-mast. Capice?"
"Oh. Well, duh! Um . . ."
"Look, don't mind me. Let me give you a minute or two, okay? I'll step out—you do what ever it is you do, okey-dokey?" Eric nodded with relief. "Look, if you need help—and we all do, sweetie-there’s a couple of magazines in that drawer there. Help yourself. Don't worry! The next person through this door will be me, no one else. Don't want you deflating at the last moment!" With that Clyde left the office.
Eric played with himself, but he felt weird about it. No go. "Gee whiz, I've been hornier than hell lately! Now, when I need a hard-on..." Eric reached for the magazines. He remembered the last time he came—it had been during the night.
He reached for the drawer to get the magazines. He thought again of him jacking off, in front of a mirror. He got harder. He opened his eyes again. The magazines were in his hand. The top magazine had a picture on the cover: a man, standing over a younger man, on all fours. He was naked. He had a collar around his neck, and a leash which the standing man held. The crouching man had his face against the standing man's crotch. He had an ecstatic look on his face.
Eric was shocked at the picture; he recoiled from it. And yet, at that moment, his cock was rock-hard, rigid. Just then Clyde returned.
"Oh my! I see those magazines helped, didn't they!"
"No, uh…I mean, er, this isn't really my sort of thing..." Eric said, quickly handing the magazines to Clyde.
"Oh? Well, something worked, at any rate. Oh my, sometimes I just love my work! Now just stand still: this won't hurt. I'll just use this cord to get an accurate measure. Before Eric could react, Clyde looped a cord around the base of his member, as well as his balls. When he had it taut, he marked the cord with a marker. Then he released Eric's cock. All the time, it bobbed as if alive.
"Okay, now sit tight. This won't take long."
"You mean, you're going to make it for me now?"
"Of course. This isn't rocket-science. A little heat, a little cut-and-paste-and voila! You're all wrapped up for Christmas!"
Eric stood still, his throbbing member bouncing against his gut, as Clyde turned to his work table. Putting gloves on his hand, he took a piece of metal, held it over an acetylene torch he had fixed in place, till it was soft. Then-Eric now noticed the dildos, standing at attention like toy soldiers, lined up on the work table. Clyde seemed to know which one was right. He wrapped the pliant metal around the dildo. Then, holding the still-hot metal, he turned back to Eric, who stood exactly as he had before.
"My you do take orders well, don't you? Good boy!"
Eric blushed. "Thank you." His cock throbbed visibly. Eric blushed more.
"Now, the last step, once I fit it into place, is to weld the metal..."
"Whoa!" Eric said, backing up.
"Oh, calm down. That's what this “sock,” and this insulated cloth is for. The sock covers everything; then the ring goes on; then I put the cloth between the welding iron and your little soldier—hmm, nice!—and you’re completely safe. Eric relaxed—a little—when he saw the cloth. It looked sturdy enough. Still . . .
With that, Clyde grabbed Eric’s cock and put the sock on, copping a feel as he did. Then he wrapped the still-hot, still-soft metal around the base of his cock and balls—then manipulated it so it was quite snug. Next, he tucked the heat-proof fabric in behind it, so that it covered Eric’s privates completely. It was a tight fit.
Even through the "sock," it was pretty hot. Without it, he'd certainly have been badly burned.
With a pair of pliers, Clyde placed a small sphere of metal in the gap between the two ends. That was a part of the device Eric hadn't seen on Drew. Using the acetylene torch, Clyde welded the ring of metal to the small ball of metal. Then, when he'd pulled away the torch, he grabbed a bowl of water from his work table, and doused Eric's crotch. The water was pretty cold. "Hey!" Eric yelped.
"Hee hee! I love that part!” The metal, now cooled, Clyde pulled out the piece of heat-proof cloth, as well as the "sock." The ring fit snugly in place.
It felt strange against Eric's bare skin—just shaved, as a matter of fact. And yet, somehow, it felt right.
"That's it, my boy. You're ready to go!"
Eric looked down with a surge of pride. "Wow! Thanks!"
"My pleasure." Clyde leered at Eric's throbbing member. "Really. My pleasure!"
Eric pulled up his boxerbriefs, then his pants. His erection raged, so he made the best of it. He pulled out his wallet, and retrieved his Mastercard. "I'll be right back!" Clyde said, brightly.
Even out of sight, Eric was somehow, strangely aware of the ring that now encircled his genitals. And not just because they continued to throb. Somehow—it seemed weird, but—there was a 'presence' to the ring...something mystical?
After Eric paid for the work, he was on his way back to the dorm. His erection had still not subsided. He couldn't hide it. Yet somehow, he didn't care. Something was different.
When Eric arrived home, he felt a sudden urge to look again at the ring he wore "down there." He didn’t think about Ryan walking in on him—he just had to see it. He undid his pants, and pulled down his underwear. He bent over, examining the ring the held his cock and balls. Was that writing on it? It was upside down—funny: it wasn’t meant for him to read… He made out the words: "pro...per...ty . . . of..."
Eric now stood stone still. He had spoken the latest trigger words Ryan had given him aloud—and fallen into a deep trance.
Just then, the phone rang. Eric remained still, while it rang. The machine picked up the call, soon, he heard the Voice. “Eric, are you there? I know you are. You’re ready now, boy—you’re completely ready. Someone will be there soon, someone you know and trust, to help you be ready for my arrival. That’s a good boy!”
Eric stood, transfixed. His cock throbbed bulged obscenely—somehow, even more with the cock ring.
He had no idea how long he’d stood there, when he heard the door open and close. He heard some other sounds; then he awoke from his trance. It was Drew! He was moving about the room, lighting candles, turning on music. He noticed it was getting dark outside.
Something on the table, in the center of the room, caught his eye. A collar. With a tag on it. He couldn't read the writing. He didn't have to.
He looked at Drew; he was wearing an identical collar already. Eric understood.
Drew helped Eric undress, then led him into the bathroom. Into the tub, sitting sideways, so his legs draped over the edge, and his rear was exposed.
“I’m going to clean you out, now.” Eric nodded; he remembered something from his nightly training. Drew filled up an enema bottle with warm water, before he inserted the probe into Eric’s exposed hole; then he gave the bag to Eric to hold, while he went to finish preparing the room.
Drew came back a few minutes later; now he wore only a gleaming, white athletic supporter. He filled it out nicely, which Eric admired openly now. Drew withdrew the enema probe, reminded him to hold tight, then helped him over to the toilet. Eric knew what to do next. After he was finished, they repeated the exercise. This time, Eric saw Drew add baby oil to it. After this, Eric knew he was totally clean.
Drew helped Eric clean up—then he began to rub Eric’s face and body with a lotion—it mostly soaked in, but left him with a soft, glowing sheen, and it was very fragrant. “So you please him,” Drew explained. After brushing Eric’s hair, Drew handed him the athletic supporter he was to wear. Eric pulled it on, proudly.
They heard the hall elevator door open—they sensed it was time. Drew led Eric back to their room, made eerie and solemn by candlelight. There was a large open area before the table, where the collar lay. Drew led Eric there. Then, as the door opened, they felt an instinct, irresistible now. Drew stepped back, behind Eric, and they both fell to their hands and knees. Eric was ready for Master.