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The need to obey

By Musiker

Description An enormously large, muscular man has only one thing he wants out of life: to be a good boy for his master. He is searching for a new master to take him in when he finds someone who is willing to give him a try-out, and who is not turned off by his enormous balls and knee-length caged cock.

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AddedMay 2019
Updated11 May 2019
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I approached the bouncer timidly. There was no reason for me to be nervous, but I’m always a wreck until I find a master. I don’t like doing things of my own accord, it feels like I’m being bad. I want to obey. I am a good boy.

I stood at the bottom of the three concrete steps leading to the club entrance so I wouldn’t scare him too much. I guessed from the few furtive glances I had allowed myself that the bouncer was maybe six foot two, and very muscular. Still, despite the fact that he was at the top of the steps and I was standing on the ground, our eyes were at the same height. I refused to look at his face, though. A good boy keeps his gaze cast down when addressing his betters.

“M-May I c-come in, sir?” I stammered. “My m-master said I-I sh-should wait f-for him i—i-inside.” The lie made me sick to my stomach. Lying is bad. But I needed to look for a master, and my best chances were in a place like this. I didn’t even know if the lie was necessary; maybe he would have let me in if I had simply asked for permission. I so rarely go anywhere without a master to tell me what to do that I just don’t know what the rules are.

I kept my eyes on the bouncer’s feet as he nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was probably wondering what he would do if I started to cause problems inside. Or maybe he was wondering what he could possibly do to stop me from coming in.

“Sure, dude, whatever,” he grunted.

“Thank you, sir.” I bobbed my head in respect. Then I climbed the three steps. The bouncer had to scrunch himself at the very edge of the stoop to make room for me. I tried my best to not get in his personal space, but my shoulders are really, really wide and my back muscles make my arms stick way out. I turned sideways to squeeze through the doorway. First my right arm, then down with the shoulder and head, then kind of shuffle sideways until my left arm was inside. What was I going to do when I couldn’t get through doors any more?

Once inside, I stepped away from the door as soon as I could; I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone by blocking the entrance. I looked around the large main room with relief. There were people talking and eating and drinking and walking around, but I only cared about who was here, rather than what they were doing. This place would have lots of masters by the end of the night. Masters often look like regular people, but slaves like me are easier to spot. It was early, but already I saw several guys wearing leashes; one of them had on a pup mask. I knew from experience it would be a mistake to talk to those guys. Though I felt a kinship with them, I would make them feel too uncomfortable. I tried to ignore my loneliness as I scanned the room for a hallway that looked like it would have a restroom at the end. Seeing one, I hitched up the backpack that was too small for my back and headed over to it.

It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet, so there was no one else inside the restroom. As quickly as I could, I ripped off my plain white t-shirt. I might have gotten it off without ruining it, but it would have taken forever and I wanted to display myself to potential masters as soon as possible. I did take a moment to pause and look at my bare chest in the mirror. Written permanently across my enormous pecs were two words: “Slave Boy”. My name. I was so proud of that tattoo. One of my favorite masters, Master Ruben, had gotten that done for me. I smiled fondly and mentally thanked him again for that gift.

I stuffed the now-tattered t-shirt into the backpack and took out a stringer tank top I had prepared that I hoped would attract a master. I didn’t need it to show off my muscles—the t-shirt had been practically bursting—but stringers are just easier to get on and off. I put the shirt over my head and stretched it down over my pecs. It dug into my armpits a bit, but I would be fine. Hopefully my new master would give me permission to go shirtless.

I looked at the front of my shirt, on which I had written “Yes Sir Thank You Sir” in Sharpie. The back said, “Hard Worker Good Boy”. I sincerely hoped that would get my point across. I reached into the backpack again and fished out a chain-style dog collar. Hanging from it was a single key. I put it around my neck with some relief. I had to do everything in exactly the right order, or I would screw it all up.

Knowing this would be my last chance to do so for a long time, I hefted my grapefruit size balls up to make sure they were snugly secure in their special jock strap. Next, I pulled a pair of handcuffs and a zip tie out of the backpack, letting it fall to the ground. I felt guilty for leaving the backpack for someone else to pick up, but when I was done here it would be very difficult to pick up. Maybe whoever found it would want to keep it. I tugged down the waistband of my sweatpants to reveal the first few inches of my chastity cage where it reached over the top of my jock strap. I didn’t even need to be locked up to keep from using my penis. It was just so large, reaching exactly down to my knee, that if I allowed myself to get an erection, I would pass out. The chastity cage prevented that.

I laced the zip tie through my cage and around the chain part of the handcuffs, then tightened it until the cuffs were firmly attached. I refused to wonder what I would do if this didn’t work. I just had to want a master badly enough, and one would come to me. I couldn’t stand another night without someone to tell me what to do.

I pulled my sweatpants back up, thinking gratefully about whoever had invented them. Without sweatpants, I would have had to stop going out in public years ago; how would I ever have found new masters then?

Now I had just the two open cuffs sticking out of my waistband. I slipped my left wrist into one and closed it tightly with my right hand. Now came the tricky part, but one of my former masters, Master Joe, had particularly enjoyed watching me render myself helpless in just this way, so I had practice. I put my right wrist into the remaining cuff. Then I wriggled the cuff and my body around until it was wedged between my abs and my right thigh. It took a moment, but soon my hands were essentially cuffed to my dick.

I really hoped this would make me look suitable to be claimed. I needed to seem harmless yet useable. I knew that eventually I would find someone to own me, but the time between masters was always a painful one. I’m a good boy. I need someone to obey.

I squeezed myself out of the restroom and shuffled into the club. I needed to be here early because I needed a table. I picked the smallest one I could find, off the the side, so that the back of my shirt would be legible to passersby. I gently nudged one of the chairs to the side with my foot so I could kneel at the table. This would ensure that if a prospective owner sat down, my head would still be lower than his. Kneeling with cuffed hands and oversized genitals was another tricky task, but again, this was a skill I had practiced more times than I could remember. I managed to position myself without bruising my knees or landing on my dick or squashing my balls too badly, and settled down to wait.

There was a server several tables away. I wished he would come over and sell me a beer. He glanced disinterestedly around the room, his gaze passing across me where I knelt, rather than sat. Then he looked back at me with a startled expression. He had suddenly realized I was much larger than he had expected any patron to be. He sauntered over to the table I was at. I don’t know how or why, but whenever I really need something while I search for a master, I usually get it. Maybe it’s just that I’m so grateful.

“Well hello, big boy,” he smiled. I didn’t like his smile, but I needed his help. “What can I get you?”

“Thank you for coming, sir,” I stated humbly. I held my hands as high as I could so he could see they couldn’t move much. “There’s some money in my pocket, sir. Could you please reach in, take out a 20, bring me a beer, and keep the change, sir?”

He stood there for a moment with one eyebrow raised.

“Are you shitting me?”

“No, sir. Please, sir?”

“Oh my God,” he sighed. He reached into my pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. “Dude! There’s like, fucking $500 in here! What if I decided to take all of it?”

“I hope you won’t, sir,” I begged, bowing my head. “But I really need the beer, please, sir.”

“You are seriously messed up.” He took a 20 and shoved the rest of the money back into my pocket. A few minutes later he brought the beer. This time he got a good look at my shirt and paused to read both sides.

“You really are fucked up,” he smirked.

“Yes, sir. Would you please put the beer by the other chair, sir?”

“Your master coming to meet you?” He put the beer across the table from me.

“I very much hope so, sir. Thank you again, sir.”

The server shook his head and hurried off. He stayed well away for the rest of the evening.

I took a deep breath, settling myself for a long wait. My new master might not come for another six hours. He might not come at all tonight. No, I couldn’t think that, my new master would come for me. I waited patiently. Good boys are patient.

A part of me was aware that people were walking past, doing double-takes at my size, commenting on my kneeling position, chortling over the messages on my shirt. They didn’t really matter to me. I was busy “feeling” for my new master.

A couple times, I felt the little tug inside my gut that signaled someone who could be a master was looking at me or thinking about me. One man tugged at me for a full minute, but moved on after that. I wondered if this was what it was like to go fishing. I had only ever gone on one fishing trip, and my master forbade me from touching his reel or tackle or anything. I was there to clean the fish after master caught them. But I heard him and his friend talking about it, and fishing did sort of sound like what I was doing here. Except when I’m fishing for a master, the bait is me.

I just waited. The music got louder and louder. It made me anxious. To distract myself, I repeated my Good Boy Rules in my head. Good boys obey. Good boys work hard. Good boys don’t whine. Good boys do what is required. Good boys anticipate their masters’ needs, but get permission before they act. Good boys show deference and respect. And on, and on. There are many, many rules.

It was about one in the morning, and I was starting to worry that maybe tonight wasn’t my night when someone showed some serious interest. I felt a strong tug as a man approached me from behind.

“‘Harrrd worker…gooooood boy’,” slurred the man standing behind me. “Hey! Are you? Are you a good boy, boy?” A boot nudged me in the small of my back. “Whoa, what the fuck, you’re kneeling? Fuck, I thought you were in a chair, you’re fuckin’ huge.” The man walked around to stand by the chair opposite me. He read the front of my shirt out loud.

“‘Yes sir, thank you sir.’ Hey, you didn’t answer my question. Answer me.”

A command! I felt a jolt of relief and exultation. I could obey! It had only been three days since I had a master, but that was already such a long time to go without obeying!

“I try to be a good boy, sir. I really, really try all the time, sir,” I assured him. The tug became a steady pull.

“You wanna be a good boy for me?”

“I would be deeply honored, sir.” To further drive the point home, I bowed my head as low as I could. It wasn’t very low, because I couldn’t get all my bulky muscles to move out of each others’ way. But good boys always try their best anyway.

“Whose is that?” He nodded to the beer that was still sitting on the table.

“It’s yours, sir, if you’d like it.”

The man sat down heavily in the chair and put his boots up on the table. He had on jeans and a long-sleeve, bright orange t-shirt. It looked like he had come here from work, probably in construction. But his jeans weren’t very dirty, so maybe a foreman or something? Or maybe he did inside things like electric stuff. He picked up the glass of beer, took a sip, made a horrible face, and spit it out. Some of it sprayed on me but I didn’t flinch. Good boys don’t whine.

“This shit’s warm! And flat!”

I was horrified. My masters either forbid me from drinking alcohol, or order me to drink a whole lot at once because they think it’s funny to see me drunk. I know very little about drinking, but it should have occurred to me that the beer would go flat! I should have kept refreshing it as the night wore on. I mean, the server never came back, but a good boy would have figured out a way to get another beer. This was all my fault!

“I’m so terribly sorry, sir! Please, sir, I-I have some m-money, I-I can b-buy you a new one!”

The man gave me a look that was part contempt, part disbelief, and part drunken sleepiness. He set the beer back on the table.

“Nah, I’ve had too much anyway. Tell you what, boy, you can make it up to me by cleaning my boots.”

Another command, and a chance to redeem myself! I scrambled to obey as quickly as I could with my hands cuffed at waist level. I had just opened my mouth to start licking when he slid his feet sideways off the table, gently kicking my nose as they went. I knew not to look the man in the face because it would have seemed like a challenge to his right to to do as he liked. Still, I could tell he was watching to see how I’d react.

I simply followed his boots to the floor. It was awkward, given how bulky my muscles are, and I tipped forward. I couldn’t stop myself with my hands bound, but I did manage to land on my left shoulder instead of my face. It hurt, but I am a good boy and I don’t complain. I landed about a foot away from my target so I had to wriggle my body forward until I could get my face next to his right boot. I knew I had to be very careful because if I hit the tabletop or pushed the table out of carelessness, that beer could tip over and spill on the man. That would be unforgivable, considering that he was so generously offering me this chance to obey.

I started licking the outside of his boot with long strokes of the tongue. Despite the awkward position, this was a skill I had practiced thousands of times. I was immensely grateful that he only had loose, dry dust on his boots and not caked-on mud. My tongue sometimes hurts real bad after cleaning dried mud. I finished cleaning the outside side of his boot and needed to reposition myself. I squeezed my powerful abs and pressed as much as I could with my left elbow and barely managed to get myself into a doubled-over kneeling position. I shuffled on my knees until I had gotten my head between his feet.

The man decided to cross his legs at that moment. He lifted his left foot to his right knee, kicking me on the side of my head. I was expecting that. By now I could tell this was my try-out and the man I hoped would become my master was testing me to see if I was truly a good boy, or just boasting. Every single master I’ve ever had has tested me, and I’m proud to say I have never failed a test. Not once. They always see what a good boy I am.

I finished cleaning his right boot, including the back part behind his heel, which a less experienced slave might have missed. Now I needed the man’s other foot, but it was up on his knee.

“May I please clean your other boot, sir?”

“I’m waiting, boy,” he smirked. He didn’t move his foot. I scooted myself out from under the table, grateful to have more room, and hitched my body up to match the height of the man’s knee. I began to lick the toe of his left boot, then all along the arch all the way to the heel. He graciously allowed me to rest my head on his leg while I worked on the back of the boot’s heel. That was a good sign that he would be an especially loving master. Finally, I leaned down so I could reach the outside edge of the boot, currently on the underside of his foot. Again very graciously, he moved his foot slightly so I could get to the last little bit. I was very proud of my thoroughness.

I retreated a few inches and again bowed my head, hoping for another command I could obey.

“May I do anything else for you, please, sir?” I didn’t get a response. I dared to look up into the man’s face. He had the appearance of a man in a trance.

This also happens with every single new master. At some point he will sort of freeze and just stare into my eyes for a long time. I don’t know why it happens, but then he snaps out of his reverie, he asks me some questions, then takes me home to consummate our bond. After a very long pause he blinked quickly and sat up a little straighter. I took that as my cue to avert my gaze back downward.

“Why’s a big boy like you wanna be a slave, anyway? Shouldn’t you be the one telling men to lick your boots?”

“I would never do that, sir!” I stated. The idea of people obeying me was appalling. I obeyed. “I’m a good boy, and good boys obey.”

“Huh. What’s your name, boy?”

“Slave Boy, sir.”

“No, like, your real name.”

“Slave Boy is the only name I’ve ever had, sir. I even have a tattoo, see, sir?” I proudly straightened up so he could read my chest. The man uncrossed his legs and leaned forward so he could move the straps of my stringer tank out of the way. With a slight smile he hooked first one side, then the other, under my nipples; the bulging shape of my pecs kept the straps in place.

He looked at my chest for a long, long moment. I wasn’t sure if he just read slowly or if he was appreciating the hard mounds of muscle the words were inked onto. Either way, I was honored to let him look as long as he liked. If I was to be his property, he ought to have a chance to examine me thoroughly first.

“So. My fucking ass hole of a ‘buddy’ ditched me for a hook-up. I’m gonna call an Uber. You ready to come home with me?”

“Yes, please, sir. I have some money for the fare, sir. I’d be honored if you would accept it. It’s in my pocket, here.” I waddled on my knees until the correct pocket was close enough that he could reach into it without getting out of his chair. With a smirk, he reached into the pocket and found the wad of money.

“Holy mother of fuck, how much is this?” he exclaimed.

“Hopefully, it’s $1,180, sir, unless the server took more than he was supposed to for the beer.” The server had assumed the bills were all 20’s, but some were 100’s. “It’s for you, sir. For my upkeep. My last master gave it to me when he couldn’t keep me anymore.”

Technically, my former master had given me permission to withdraw it from his account. He said he wouldn’t be needing it anymore anyway, so I might as well put some use to it. I wanted badly for my future master to have it.

The man agitatedly took a breath to say something, but then suddenly paused. I peeked up and saw he’d gotten a sort of a glassy look in his eyes. Our gazes locked on one another and he stared into my eyes again for a long while. I really wanted for him to just accept the money and not worry about it. He looked vaguely down at the money in his hand.

“Yeah, okay. Your upkeep. That… that makes sense.” He pocketed the large pile of bills. I was relieved someone more responsible than me would be taking care of the money. I hate money. The man messed with his phone for a bit, then stood up.

“All right boy, get up.” I stood. His head tilted back as mine rose higher and higher. “Shit, you really are big.”

I’ve noticed, when you’re slightly larger than someone and they say you’re big, it’s a compliment. When you’re much, much larger and they say you’re big, it’s not. I didn’t know if I should thank him, but decided it would be safer in this case not to. Instead I stood there awkwardly, twisting my hands back and forth in their cuffs. The man looked down at them.

“So what’s with the cuffs, anyway? That some kinda fetish you got?”

“It’s your pleasure that is important, sir, not mine. The cuffs are there so people will know I’m harmless. People sometimes are… a-afraid of me.” I looked to the side in shame. I was a good boy. I couldn’t help my size. I hated when people looked at me with fear on their faces.

“Hey,” he patted my butt. “I ain’t gonna be scared of you. I can see you’re a good boy.”

“Thank you, sir!” I gasped. Now, that was a compliment! The best ever! I desperately wanted this man to be my master. He gave me a kind little smile, like he felt sorry for me.

“Why do I feel like I’m taking home a seven-and-a-half foot tall puppy?” he mumbled, then reached up to the key hung around my neck. “So, is this for the cuffs?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Want me to take them off?”

“I would be very, very grateful for that kindness, sir. I swear to you, I won’t run away.”

“Ha! Sonny boy, you just gave me $1,200. I know you ain’t goin’ nowhere without me. Well, you’d better bend over or I ain’t gonna get that key off of you.”

I happily doubled over so he could reach the key. After fiddling with it for a few seconds, he undid it from the dog collar. I stood back up so he could reach my handcuffs. He unlocked one side, then the other.

“Thank you very much, sir.” I shook my hands gently, leaving the cuffs to hang out of my sweatpants.

“What did you hook these to, anyway?” The man grasped the front of my waistband and pulled straight out so he could see. He gasped when he saw my chastity cage, the handcuffs now clacking against it, and leaned down for a better look. “What the fuck?“ He let my waistband go with a snap and placed a hand directly on my crotch where my dick curved downward. His eyes grew wider and wider as his hand continued patting my caged penis lower and lower where it descended along my left leg. When he finally reached the end, right at my knee, his face was just at the height of my scrotum. He put his other hand on my balls then used both hands so he could scoop under them and sort of heft them upward. Two larger-than-softball-sized bulges moved up and down inside the sweatpants. The man suddenly looked up into my eyes. He was too quick, and I wasn’t able to avert my gaze in time.

“That’s all you? You’re not stuffing or something?” he questioned.

“Those are really my genitals, sir.” I was getting anxious. I hated this moment, when a new master discovered the size of my privates. I always worried they wouldn’t like me because of them. I fervently wished he would be okay with them.

“You put silicone in them, or what?”

“N-N-No, sir, they…they j-just grew.” I desperately wanted him to not worry about my genitals. I was a bottom, anyway, they didn’t matter. I wanted him to like my ass and my mouth, not my dick and balls. “Please, please, please let him like my privates,” I thought frantically. He spent some more time feeling my balls through the sweatpants: he hefted them up and down, reached his hand as far behind them as he could, squeezed each one just hard enough so that they ached slightly.

“Un-fucking-believable,” the man muttered to himself. I was deeply relieved that his tone wasn’t disgusted or jealous. Then he addressed me again. “You are a bottom, right?”

“Y-Yes, sir. I couldn’t use my penis even if I wanted to, sir.” He roared with laughter when I said that.

“No, I guess there ain’t a bun anywhere big enough to hold that weiner, eh?” he guffawed at top volume, patting my cock cage through the leg of my sweats. The last remaining patrons in the bar all turned and stared. I saw them and blushed in shame. “Hey.” He stood up, reached his hand all the way up to my cheek and turned my face back toward his. “Don’t you worry about them, I’m here. I’ll keep you safe, sweetheart.”

I felt such intense joy when he said that tears came to my eyes. He had put his finger right on why I was so desperate to find a master. When I was owned, I was safe. He would protect me, just as I would serve him.

“Thank you, sir, thank you so much.”

“Let’s go.” He patted my cheek and led the way to the exit. Encountering the doorway, he looked first at it, then at me, then back with much amusement on his face. “You know what? You go first. I want to watch this.” He stepped back with a chuckle.

I approached the doorway and reversed the cumbersome process of entering. First my left arm, then down with the shoulder and head, then kind of shuffle sideways until my right arm was outside. I hurried down the steps to give the bouncer space while my soon-to-be master sauntered out.

“What, are you telling me you’rehis master?” the bouncer chuckled. Instantly I felt a surge of red-hot rage. How dare he disrespect this wonderful, kind man, how dare he? In two steps I was at the base of the stoop with my nose touching his.

“You do not disrespect this man!” I screamed, spittle flying into the bouncer’s eyes. When I raise my voice it is like a lightning strike. I am not boasting, one of my former masters said that about me often. The bouncer flinched away from me. He was an idiot. I would never have flinched.

“Oh fuck, sorry, man, sorry. Have a good night, sir,” the idiot babbled.

“You do not speak to me, I am nothing. You will address this man with respect and apologize properly.” I saw out of the corner of my eye that my soon-to-be master’s face was white and his eyes were wide.

“Y-yeah, yeah, um. Yeah.” The idiot turned and addressed my future master with proper respect. There was a puddle on the concrete at his feet and a dark spot all the way down his jeans. “I…uh, uh…I apologize for my rudeness, sir. I-I-I hope you can forg-give me. Please? Sir? Um, please, h-have a good night, sir. Thank you. Sir.”

I took some deep breaths to settle myself and stepped away from the idiot. I cast my gaze at my feet. I saw the wonderful man’s feet come up toe-to-toe with mine. His face looked up into mine and he put a hand gently on my chest.

“You good?” he murmured. For some reason he looked worried about me. I didn’t understand; he was the one who had been wronged.

“Yes, sir,” I beamed down at him. “Thank you for your concern, sir.” He gave me a mystified look for a brief second.

“Well, let’s go then, sweetheart.”

Description An enormously large, muscular man has only one thing he wants out of life: to be a good boy for his master. He is searching for a new master to take him in when he finds someone who is willing to give him a try-out, and who is not turned off by his enormous balls and knee-length caged cock.

Votes(5)
Talk
Views
2,471
Words
5,231
AddedMay 2019
Updated11 May 2019
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