Originally posted on Reddit by Sir David
This is a true story and one I hope you enjoy. For context, I am a 48-year-old, suit-and-tie-wearing business executive living in the UK. I run a large corporate business, I have a comfortable life, and I am married with a young daughter. What people don’t realise is that on the side, I enjoy being “Dad” or “Sir” to young guys. I’m in shape, about 178cm tall (5ft 10in) and 78kg (172lbs).
James
My career is quite demanding and, as a result, I like to keep an apartment near my office where I stay during the week, leaving my family back at our main home. It is while I’m away that I get to indulge my secret passion for twinks and young men.
It was online that I’d met James. James was a bit older than the boys I had played with previously. He was 27, newly married, and had a corporate career. He was suited, in shape, and generally a good-looking man. His secret was that he needed to submit to a Sir.
We’d struggled to find a time to meet up, but he had been submitting to me online for months. He’d wear to work what I chose for him and he’d complete tasks for me during the day. I would have him ask for permission before he could have sex with his wife, and I would control when he could cum. I’d have him film himself pissing for me and would have him do things like use a public urinal with his trousers hanging below his arse—things that would make him feel exposed, but horny, because he was doing it for me.
We’d built quite a connection online and he’d share with me all the things he wanted me to do to him and how he needed to serve. We’d be in touch daily; he was desperate and horny when I wouldn’t let him cum, but also stressed about pushing his wife away. Through all this time, he had no idea what I looked like as discretion was very important to me. I told him that if service is what he needed, he didn’t need to know what I looked like; it was the act of submission and the feeling of being owned by his Sir that mattered.
Eventually, the time came where we could meet. We were both travelling for work and in the same city. I had him leave a key card to his room in the downstairs reception toilet. He told me exactly where he had left it, and I came to the hotel at the designated time and retrieved it. I instructed him to kneel naked, facing the window looking out over the city, and wait for me. He was also instructed to only look out the window, and not at me. I let myself into the room and found him kneeling exactly as instructed.
I’d slipped a blindfold into my suit pocket in the lift and, without saying a word, walked behind him and blindfolded him. I maintained my silence as I opened the secret bag of toys I had brought with me. He could hear me as I placed each of the items on the sideboard. The cat-of-nine-tails hissed through the air as I untangled it. The leather paddle made that beautiful sound many of you know so well as it hit the palm of my hand. The clinking of the handcuffs and the sound of leather and buckles was unmistakable to him as he sat there listening intently, wondering what was going to happen next.
I instructed him in my calm but firm, business-like voice to stand and “present” for me. He knew what this meant: hands behind his head, looking straight ahead, legs spread sufficiently so his balls hung freely. James was a magnificent sight—toned and muscular, with a beautiful cock hard as a rock just from my presence. I began to inspect him. No words, just the feel of my touch as I groped and touched him as I wished. I inspected him everywhere, from his mouth—counting his fillings—to having him bend over as I inspected his boy hole. He was a perfect specimen.
As I do with my boys, I then retrieved my tape measure and began measuring him all over. From the circumference of his thighs and upper arms to the hang of his balls and the length of his shaft. As I documented each measurement, I’d have him repeat, “I am your property, Sir; I am yours to own.” I wanted him to know that by being entered into my book, he was indeed my property. (The measurements would also be useful later for setting training goals, reminding him that whatever he did in his vanilla life, he was doing it for me.) Measurements taken and entries made into my ledger of owned boys, he was still hard as marble. It now came time for him to give himself to me.
My approach is never to force or pressurise a boy to submit to my desires; I simply invite them to give themselves to me. Whatever happens, my boys know they chose to submit to their Sir; they were never forced. I find this approach helps a boy realise, deep within himself, his need for ownership. He can never fool himself that it was a mistake or that he was coerced; he knows he chose his own path because he needs to submit to be fulfilled.
I cuffed his wrists and ankles and guided him to the bed. He was on his back, head near the side of the bed for reasons that would become apparent later. As he lay there, I slowly draped my cat-of-nine-tails across his body with a quick slap to his nipples. I wanted to learn how his body would react to my touch. His moaning, his “thank you, Sir,” and the constant leaking of his cock told me that, indeed, he was mine.
I retrieved some shoelaces I keep in my bag of toys and began to bind his hard cock and balls. Acting just like a tourniquet, I wanted him aching with hardness. As I tied his manhood nice and tight, I left a length of lace hanging free, which allowed me to pull hard on his cock and balls as I required. It was then with great pleasure that I instructed him to hold his hands above his head as I pulled his legs up and clipped the wrist and ankle cuffs together. There he was: naked on his back, arms and legs restrained to each other above his chest. It was a beautiful sight, as he was now completely available to me. I then tied the length of lace attached to his cock to the ring restraining his ankles and wrists. This had the effect that every time he pulled on his legs or arms, he’d be pulling tightly on his bound and throbbing cock. By moving, he would be abusing himself. A perfect torture for a boy.
His beautiful, smooth boy hole was perfectly exposed to me—pink, round, and completely virgin to the touch of a man. Heaven to me. I moved forward and began exploring this perfection with my tongue. He began to moan, and as he squirmed at my touch, he found himself pulling on his own cock. It was a beautiful mix of pleasure and pain. As he began to open to my touch, I delved deeper with my tongue, then a finger. With some lube and more stretching, he began to open. I found his prostate and began to massage it, all the while hearing him moaning. His breathing drove me deeper as he realised he was completely under my control. First one finger, then a second, and finally, I inserted my largest plug. He was now open, wide, and completely full. He begged me to fuck him when I told him how open he was. I denied him this need and reminded him it is my pleasure that is important, not his.
With him plugged, restrained, and leaking bucket-loads of precum, it was time to teach him to deep throat. I manoeuvred him so that his head was at the perfect height over the side of the bed. I told him he was going to learn to take me deep, as I wanted to see and feel my cock going all the way down his throat. Nothing turns me on more than seeing a boy take me deep, the outline of my hard cock clearly visible through the taut skin of his neck.
He gagged as I entered, but this drove me further. I enjoy a boy enduring for my pleasure. I reminded him he was mine and that I would take what he had to give. “Do you want to give me your throat, my boy?” I asked. “Yes, Sir,” was the reply. With that, I plunged deeper and took what was mine. His spluttering, gagging, and struggling for breath was like music to my ears, and I went deeper and harder. I was in heaven; my beautiful boy enduring for me. I allowed him to gather his breath and asked again if he wanted me to take what was mine to take. “Yes, Sir, I am yours; I want to make you proud,” was the response of this very good boy.
I resumed my assault on his throat, the saliva and snot flowing freely and driving me mad for this perfect boy. By this time, he was taking me balls-deep, though with a struggle, and I was in my element. I was getting closer to my own climax, so it was time for a change of gear. I slowed down and flipped to a tone of encouragement. I massaged his neck and told him what a good boy he was. This calmed him and, in time, he was taking me balls-deep; I could see the outline of my cock as it began to slide easily down his long, extended throat. His cock was red and angry, his arms and legs aching from the position they had held for so long, every thrust I made forcing him to torture his own cock. His body was aching all over from the assault of new experiences it had endured, and I was ready to cum. I withdrew from his throat, held his neck tightly, and unloaded all over his chest, neck, and chin. I shot buckets over this perfect boy.
I instructed him to lie still as I dressed and cleaned myself up. I wiped his face on the inside of his shirt, which was lying on a chair, but left my cum quietly drying on his neck and chest. I undid his restraints and unwrapped his straining cock, being sure not to let him cum. I packed up my things, cleaned everything up, and put them away in my sports bag. He remained naked on the bed with my cum drying on his beautiful body. I removed the final blindfold and replaced it with his “cum-rag” shirt so he remained oblivious to who had just abused him.
I now instructed him to lie where he was and not move. He was to remain exactly as he is until my cum was completely dry against his skin. He was then to dress in the shirt which was covering his face and make his way down to the hotel bar, where he would take a seat and order two drinks: one for him and a glass of Merlot for me. He was to wait there for me to reveal myself to him.
I left the room and quickly dropped my bag off at the concierge before finding a discreet spot in the busy bar. In due course, I saw James enter the bar, order the drinks, and find a place to sit. I left him there to stew for a while, wondering which of the men in this busy bar had just abused him; wondering which of the men knew his dirty secret; wondering if the bartender and those around could smell the scent of sex that he was wearing, with my dry cum clearly visible on his neck and beneath his shirt. I left him to feel what it’s like to be an owned boy.
In time, I moved towards him and whispered in his ear, “You’re a good boy; you’re my good boy.” I then instructed him not to look at me. We enjoyed our drink, and I changed the tone to one of two colleagues at the bar in a corporate hotel, no one knowing that, in fact, we were a Sir and his boy, bonding the way only a Sir and his boy can. We then proceeded to dinner, where I ordered for him and reminded him he is an owned boy.
This was my first post on here. If it is received well, I will share stories of my other boys. I’m currently in search of a new boy to own, so if you’re UK-based and in need of a Sir, DM me.
