I continued to kneel, eyes downcast, his cock and balls filling my entire field of view. I noticed he had become harder, from the friction of his cock over my face no doubt, but even more, I was certain, from the pleasure of literally rubbing my face in my submission. My suffering, whether it be enduring the physical punishment he had recently dealt out, or as now, having my very manhood mocked and challenged, was an unalloyed aphrodisiac for him.

Seeing me, a strong and muscular specimen who ought to be more than capable of defending myself, kneeling before him naked and bound, unable to rise and resist what he was doing to me was exciting in and of itself. Not only were my hands tied behind me, but my cock and balls had been harnessed and with a short line linked to my ankle chains, so there was no chance I would even try to rise. But the real pleasure for him, I was sure, was the certain knowledge that he had trained me not just to accept this treatment, but to desire it. He new full well that as a result of the careful work he had put into training me that while a part of me still recoiled from the humiliations he was making me endure, the slave part, the main part of me now was focused on just one thing... the chance to have Masters cock in my mouth.

My helpless situation and total surrender as he teased me had obviously left him aroused. I noticed that a drop of pre-cum had appeared at the end of his cock. He casually wiped it off on my upper lip, just below my nasal septum. At last, seemingly satisfied that I wasn't going to break discipline, he gave the order, "Open." Immediately I opened my mouth as wide as I could and extended my tongue as if reaching out for him. I would hold my mouth thus until ordered to close it. We both knew this, and this time he didn't make me prove it. Instead he gently laid his cock on the first inch of my out-thrust tongue, testing me again.

I let it rest there, making no attempt to lick, suck, or otherwise please him. Knowing that my utter obedience to protocol would please him as much or more than such physical stimulation as I could give him. A slave must not presume to know his Masters mind; when he was ready for me to lick or suck his cock he would order me to do so, until then my tongue was just the place he had chosen to rest his cock.

He chuckled a bit, appreciating I supposed, my discipline, and the results his training had wrought. Then, reaching down and placing a hand on either side of my head as if to hold it immobile, he slowly eased his cock into my open mouth. I fought the urge to close my lips around the invading shaft, to to guide it, or try to control it somehow. But I had received no such command, and I remained as still as I could while the tip of his upthrust cock grazed the roof of my mouth and made contact with the back of my throat. He was fully in my mouth now, his abdomen against my lips, and my still extended tongue was touching his balls. I fought off the gag reflex, trying to take my mind elsewhere, to leave my mouth nothing more than a receptacle, a cavity for his cock to explore at will.

But that was no good, it was only by an act of will that I was able to stop the automatic responses one would normally make to such treatment. My mouth was not some random cavity, it was my mouth still, but for the moment only a slaves mouth, held open for a Master's use in an act of supreme self abasement. There was no escaping the knowledge that for me to kneel here with this mans cock deep in my mouth, knowing he was free to keep it there as long as he pleased, ejaculate there too if the mood struck him, and that I would thank him for it when he had finished with me, was the ultimate proof of what I had always known myself to be... a slave to him who would enslave me.

I had seen his cock, I had begged to taste it, and he had obliged me. But he had other plans for me now; he had shown me his cock as part of my training, not from a real desire for service. This whole exercise had just been another repetition, designed to make my responses truly automatic. Repetition and refinement, each time I was expected to perform more perfectly than the last, and in fact that was just what had been happening. Often I no longer thought about the import or considered the implications of the commands he gave me, how I might look, the pain I might be about to endure or the depth of submission my obedience would reveal. I simply obeyed the command and awaited his pleasure.

After a last circling of my lips with the head of his cock, he withdrew and began to zip up as he turned away. He took a few steps into the kitchen, just out of my peripheral vision. Having received no order to close my mouth I remained as he had left me, kneeling, mouth wide open and tongue outstretched, as if in invitation. It would have been a mistake however to have taken my open mouth as an invitation.

To think of it as such would be to imply that I had offered my mouth of my own volition, and therefore one might also assume that I could just as well have refused to do so. But both were false assumptions. I certainly was not in a position to refuse my Master anything, but equally, if not quite as obviously, I was not in a position to offer him anything either. Anything I might once have thought of as mine to do with as I pleased, perhaps to bargain with, to offer as some sort of quid pro quo, had long ago become his by right of ownership. Anything my body or my effort could provide was his, not for the asking but for the taking. So I knelt there open-mouthed not in invitation, but simply in obedience, not knowing, or needing to know, whether he wanted my mouth that way or he had simply forgotten to tell me to close it.

My eyes still downcast I could hear but not see him open the refrigerator door, and then the faint clink of a ceramic dish. A drawer opened and closed, a few other indecipherable sounds... I was sure he was preparing something. He must have turned and had a look at me, for he suddenly said, "Slave, pull in your tongue, but keep your mouth open." Gratefully I complied, and hoped he wouldn't notice that I closed my mouth for a few seconds trying to moisten my tongue. I need not have worried though, for a moment later he was before me again, holding a water bottle. He held it to my lips and without further permission I sucked on the tip, eager for the water, but trying not to drink too fast. He was patient and allowed me to drink my fill. I always had to eat and drink this way, from his hand, my own hands bound and useless, my sustenance his to offer or withhold as it pleased him to do.

"Thank you, Master," I said, automatically, as soon as the bottle left my lips. Then, a second later, "Master, slave begs to speak."

"Speak, slave," his reply. Again I was following protocol as I spoke, "Master, slave thanks Master for being allowed to drink. Slave begs Master to be allowed to renew Masters taste in slaves mouth." A condition of my slavery was that at all times the last taste in my mouth was to be the taste of my Master, either his cock or his cum. So every time I was allowed to eat or drink I was required to beg to renew that taste. It was his rule and I could not remember his ever having failed to oblige me in that plea, even when, as now, he had just had his cock in my mouth moments ago.

The taste that I was begging for however could be his cock or his cum, and I now learned what he had been about while I had knelt open-mouthed and waiting. He walked back to the counter and returned immediately, without the water bottle, but holding instead a ball gag. It was a standard rubber ball gag, one I had experienced before no doubt, but he had made some additions. He has wrapped the ball completely, in a tightly wound layer, or perhaps a double layer of material, some sort of terry cloth. An absorptive material, and I knew without any doubt at all that he had had it soaking in the refrigerator in a dish of cum, awaiting this moment. He held it before my face for a moment, long enough for me to see that it was well wetted, not dripping wet but shiny and slick in places, and wet through on all sides. The cloth had increased the size of the ball significantly. I swallowed once, knowing it would be the last time I would be able to do so for some time.

I opened my mouth as wide as I could and accepted what my Master had prepared for me. The ball and cloth filled my mouth completely, there would be no drooling with this gag. Instead the saliva would accumulate and mix with the cum until I had to swallow, however difficult that would be. As Master tightened the gag strap behind my head my lips squeezed the cloth and wrung out some of the cum. The stuff oozed out, down my lips and ran to the corners of my mouth. The taste of my Master had been renewed in the extreme, and enhanced by the smell coming off the outside of the gag, just below my nostrils.

My Master took two steps back and regarded his handiwork. "Look at me, slave," he ordered. From my knees I looked up at him standing above me, an unfamiliar situation for me, as my orders were always to keep my eyes down unless otherwise ordered. But it had been so ordered and I found myself looking straight into his gaze. I could only imagine what must have been going through his mind as he regarded me there, totally naked, totally helpless, the very air I breathed now infused with his essence. Totally his.

The episode related below is taken from a journal my former Master required me to keep in which I had to record not just the particulars of my training as his slave over a period of months and multiple visits, but also of my thoughts and feelings as I underwent a very real transition from "play partner" to slave. If there seems to be interest I will begin the next installment at the beginning...