A Fresh Start

Author: bdboyuk
Title: A Fresh Start
Date: 06 March 2011

FOR YEARS I had known I wanted to experience life as a slave. I had always felt submissive to older men, and went to great lengths, sometimes even taking dangerous risks, to live out my desires as a totally submissive man. I had enjoyed several dozen experiences with dominant guys, and during a sexually exciting 15 years grew more knowledgeable and excited about the role of a slave, however I never found, or rather, accepted, the right opportunity to submit completely as another’s property. By the time I hit 30 I began to realise I might have left it too late. My once exceptional looks were fading almost as fast as the colour from my hair. My waistline increased and my libido fell, until at 32 I found myself living an average life, complete with 9-5 job, mortgage, and few friends or hobbies. My life revolved around my work, which I considered the most important thing – my income gave me security, a home, enough money to enjoy a holiday every now and then, and the occasional trip to London or Manchester. But still in the back of my mind I knew I was missing out on something I had craved all my life.

Shortly after my 32nd birthday I suffered a minor heart attack, brought on by stress from working so hard. I was laid up for weeks and had time to really look at my life for the first time in ages. As I lay in bed on that stinking ward, hooked up to machines which beeped and buzzed and surrounded by dying men who were 40 years older than me, I considered what had lead me to this point and where I would go from here. Was this an opportunity to re-evaluate my options, maybe take some time out of the grind and explore my needs? Or was it just a sign that I needed to pull back on the throttle a bit, not let work get to me so much? I tossed these and many other thoughts around in my head, looking at the options from every angle, writing pages and pages of notes until I was dizzy. It was clear to me I needed to change something, but could I have the courage to take that great leap from being a secure, independent young man to a slave, someone else’s property, with nothing to call my own?

I talked to my parents, both of whom are retired, about the possibility of changing my job, maybe moving to a new area. Obviously I omitted the kind of role I was interested in taking on, but they were both concerned that the stress of my work had resulted in my present condition and urged me to consider every option. In the week following my discharge from hospital I met with a financial advisor to discuss either renting or selling my house, and drew up lists of my possessions and debts. If I were to sell my property, I would have more than enough money to settle all my debts and have £30,000 left over. This was encouraging, and I began my search for a Master. I had profiles on a variety of dating sites and used them to their full potential. I changed my profiles to reflect my need for a permanent position as a slave and, surprisingly, I received a few positive responses. Now I had the difficult task of selecting my new Master – something I had not considered during the planning stage. How do you interview a Master? What would I need to find out about him? And how would he feel knowing he was one of a group of prospective Masters? The whole process seemed insurmountable and I switched my attention to planning a short holiday while I planned my next steps.

As I was not due to return to work for aother 8 weeks, and the summer was well under way, I decided a week in Gran Canaria would do me some good. I made the reservations quickly online to fly out the following week and stay at an apartment complex I had not used before. It was in a great location; right next to the Yumbo Centre, the gay Mecca of Gran Canaria and I was looking forward to long days lying on the beach followed by sweaty nights surrounded by hunky guys. I could feel my energy levels rising just from the idea of an exciting, relaxing week away from everything, and I knew it would aid my recovery.

The day of my flight arrived quickly and, as usual, the sense of anticipation and excitement prevented me from the sleeping during the 24-hours prior to my departure. I packed and re-packed my case, deciding what I would wear each evening, whether I needed my leather gear, if I should take restraints or toys... eventually I decided my leather chaps, jock and boots would come with me, along with my cb6000s which I intended to wear to the nudist beach for fun. The journey to the airport and the flight to Gran Canaria were uneventful, I read a little and flirted with the crew and my fellow passengers, many of whom were gay men. We piled out of Las Palmas airport and I was pleased to see several climb aboard the same shuttle-bus to Playa del Inglés. During the hour-long journey to the resort we laughed and chatted, and made plans to meet for drinks later. Arriving at my apartment complex I could hardly wait to get unpacked and out into the centre of this vibrant community.

I spent an enjoyable couple of days exploring my regular bars and cafes, reading by the pool or on the sandy beach and generally enjoying the heat of the sun on my face. I made quick friends with some fellow British tourists and slowly I felt the tension and stress of my regular life, together with the pain of my recent illness, fading away. The evening of my third day started the same as the other; a good meal with wine, then the short walk to the Yumbo centre for drinks and some light dancing. My mood was very high, and I felt the usual level of nervous excitement as I descended the steps to the lower level. The combination of pounding music and happy conversation surrounded me, drawing me towards the lights of the drag bars and dance clubs. It was early yet, only around 8.00pm, and I knew that the centre would be relatively quiet. I settled down for a beer at an outdoor table at one of the lather bars and watched the slow procession of young families and gay couple mingling happily.

I felt my attention drawn towards a man sitting a few tables from me. He looked up as I noticed him and our eyes locked for a second before I automatically lowered them submissively, this being my usual response when I feel someone’s natural dominance. I let my eyes take in the small features of this man from their lowered position. I admired the black leather of his boots, the tight material hugging his large feet. The cuffs of his leather jeans were beautifully stitched and tapered; clearly they were an expensive pair of leathers. The fabric of his jeans hugged his calves, accentuating the toned muscles below, and as my eyes following the line of his outstretched legs I was rewarded with the view of his well-packed crotch. I could tell from the angle in which he was sitting he would still be looking in my direction, and I risked an upwards glance. His eyes met mine again and he smiled, raising his glass and gesturing to a chair at his table. My heart raced as I walked towards him, aware of the stirring of my prick inside the chastity device I had kept on from earlier in the day. He smiled again as I reached his table and I hesitated, waiting for him to decide my next move. His eyes moved up and down my body, and I became embarrassingly aware of my unfit condition compared to this sleek, toned man. However he looked up again and smiled, flashing white teeth through his sensual lips and simply said “Sit, boy.”

It was a good thing that he invited me to sit – my knees had started shaking from the feelings of arousal and nerves rushing through me. I took a seat and gulped at my lager before placing the glass on the table and placing my shaking hands in my lap. I forced myself to meet his eyes and smile, and was relieved to see him return the gesture. I relaxed a little as he began speaking:

“Where in the UK are you from, boy?” he asked in a silky smooth voice. I took a deep breath and hoped my voice didn’t quiver as I replied, “The Midlands, Sir, near Birmingham.” I felt my confidence rising as he relaxed into his chair and I risked another gulp of my drink. My hands had stopped shaking as my nerves calmed. We entered into a light conversation, how long I was here, where I was staying, always with him asking the questions. He listened intently, smiling and encouraging me to open up to him. Within a few minutes he knew almost everything about my life in the UK and my recent illness. I felt confident enough to ask him where he lived in the UK.

“I don’t, boy,” he replied, “I moved here 3 years ago with my partner. We own some property here, primarily holiday lets, and the income from that allowed us to retire early.” He finished his drink and motioned for the waiter. “Can I buy you another beer, boy?” he asked. I felt my colour rising as I looked at the waiter. He had clearly heard this comment and a smile played around his eyes, but he was courteous and professional as he took our order and retreated to the bar. My companion laughed, “Don’t worry, boy. They are used to Masters and slaves here.”

It was the first time the terms “Master” and “slave” had been used in our conversation and I felt a rush of energy pulse though me. I moved in my seat and fidgeted with my crotch to ease the growing tension inside the cb6000. Not for the first time that evening I wished I had taken it off before venturing out. He noticed my movement and asked me if there was something wrong.

“No, Sir,” I replied, “it is just that I am wearing something uncomfortable under my jeans.” I left the ambiguity of the statement hang in the air while he looked at my groin. The intensity of his stare didn’t help my current situation and I felt more blood try and force its way into my straining cock. He smiled and simply said “Let me see, boy.”

I gasped and felt the blush return to my cheeks. He maintained eye contact with me and nodded, clearly enjoying seeing my submissive nature struggle with my sense of propriety. I couldn’t simply open my jeans in a crowded bar and show this man what lay beneath, could I? I swallowed a mouthful of lager and quickly scanned the area. There were other people sitting here and many more walking past. Yes, the clients of this bar were all men, most dressed in some kind of fetish gear, but walking past not 10 feet away were straight couples strolling hand-in-hand, seemingly amazed at the variety of gay bars and clubs in the vicinity. I looked back at the man I was becoming increasingly attracted to and silently begged him with my eyes. He kept my gaze and nodded again. I took a breath, wriggled in my seat, and swiftly undid the buttons on my jeans. I pulled my jeans open and adjusted the chastity device to afford him a better view. To my surprise he leaned over and placed is large hand underneath my balls, pulling the entire package into the open. I sat stunned, unable to move or even breath, as he inspected the device closely, twisting and turning it to view it from each angle. I felt as if every eye was on us and the profound sense of humiliation only brought more blood pumping into my captured cock. Just as I thought my situation could get no worse, the waiter arrived to take another order. He looked down at my groin and up at my face, before letting out a laugh. This resulted in many of the men in the bar turning their attention towards us. I prayed that they wouldn’t see what was happening, but it was clear from the whispers and sniggers around us that they were enjoying my public humiliation.

Finally, my package was released and I quickly stuffed everything back inside my jeans. As I was about to refasten my buttons, the man placed his hand on mine and said “Leave them open.” I had no choice but to obey, my free will had sapped away during the last few moments and I submitted to his words completely. He ordered another two beers and sat back in his chair, continuing to talk as if nothing had happened. I glanced around the bar, as every eye slowly turned away from us. Clearly, they felt the entertainment was over, for now at least.

During the next hour I discovered more about my companion. His name was Michael and he lived with his partner of 10 years, Shaun, in a large house not far from the Yumbo Centre. Shaun had initially been Michael’s slave but, over the years, their relationship developed into one of equal partnership. Michael had recently raised the subject of acquiring another slave to join the household and they were considering various applications. This news obviously excited me, and I explained to Michael that recently I had been making plans to give up my current life and become the property of another man. Michael seemed impressed at my preparations so far and urged me to meet his partner, Shaun, at their house the following day, to which I readily agreed. We continued talking and drinking late into the evening and I stumbled back to my apartment in a happy haze, hopeful and excited at our planned meeting at lunchtime the next day.

I know, a slow start, but hopefully it will pick up the pace from here! This is a work of complete fiction, a fantasy, but I am ready to find my place as slave to a Dominant Master. (Any takers?!) Comments to the author are welcome: bdboyuk@aol.com or visit me at http://recon.com/bdguyuk. Please do not repost or distribute without asking first! Thanks.