|
INTRODUCTION
My nickname is Coal. But that detail will seldom come into play as the tales I will tell you will concern the nights-the other part of my life-when I am known simply as "boy."
I'm a slave. A bottom. A "boy" to my Mistress, and those she chooses to share me with.
I do have another life, a given Christian name, a day job, an apartment, parents, friends, and a cat, but those details-like my name-will seldom if ever, be important for you to know or keep in mind when reading my adventures.
What is important is my body. And my willingness to offer my body-completely and without any hesitation-to Mistress. I'm twenty-nine years old. I'm five feet, eleven inches tall. I have shoulder-length chestnut brown hair that I wear pulled back except when instructed, and pale blue eyes. I have high cheekbones, a classic Roman nose, and thick full lips. Though Italian blood courses through my veins, I have pale skin that bruises easily and burns if in the sun too long, which Mistress has therefore forbidden me to do. Burn that is, since she quite likes to see her marks left on my skin. I have what you might call a swimmer's body that I was simply born with, meaning I don't work out. I was lucky to have been blessed with broad shoulders, a flat stomach, and strong muscles that stay that way no matter what I do or eat. I was also lucky to have been born with a handsome eight-inch cock that suits my needs-and those of Mistress and her friends-quite well. I tell you this not to brag, but to fill in details that will help when I describe my adventures in haste or perhaps with enthusiasm and forget to mention them.
I'm heterosexual, meaning I prefer sex with women. I love their strength, their beauty, their scent-and with the exception of a few drunken adventures in my youth, I have always desired and bedded with women-though that is a slippery hill with my life with Mistress. For my label of heterosexuality is truly only in my mind: a title, a badge. Mistress is my sexuality, and she transcends labels, as does our relationship. She is a top, I a bottom. She fucks; I get fucked. Mistress is a sadist, I a masochist. She inflicts pain; I enjoy it. No, more than just enjoy, I need it. It is my nourishment, for I truly could not live without. My fading label as a heterosexual gets even more blurred when Mistress sells or gives me to others, both women and men, for their sexual fulfillment. It does not happen often, but when it does, I obey. And I enjoy it.
My Mistress also has another name. But I don't use it, and therefore you don't need to know it. She also has another life, a day job, an apartment, parents, and friends, though I know very little of any of them. Except her day job, for you see, we work for the same corporation. And that is how we met. Perhaps I'll share that story at some point in the future, but I'll have to ask permission.
As I have to do with anything related to Mistress and our relationship. The rest of my adventures I'm allowed to tell, encouraged to tell, though encouraged for you might be different than for me. I've been instructed to share my adventures might be a more appropriate wordage. So I shall.
Mistress is absolutely stunning. A perfect Dom. I would love to tell you of her hair, her face, lips and piercing eyes, her body full of curves and sharp angles, of her strong hands, her intoxicating scent. But she has told me not to describe her too closely. She prefers to remain out of the public's eyes. So I will only mention her physical attributes as they are needed. But I can tell you of her strength, her passion and desire, her powerful grasp of understanding control, and her expertise in all facets of sex. She is a goddess. She is my sex. My life. My Mistress. And I will do anything she requests.
I will do anything.
I should clarify our relationship. I am her boy, her slave. But that could be misunderstood. I am her sex slave. Her complete bottom; not her houseboy. Our time together is not filled with me doing the dishes, scrubbing the floors, or being tied up in a pen. That is not my purpose. I am here to please my Mistress. Our time together-most weeks being Tuesday through Thursday from 9:00 p.m. until she releases me, which is at times with just enough time to get to work the next morning-is for sex, pain, and pleasure. Yes, this means different activities from time to time, including nonsexual activities, but it all is for sensual fulfillment, for pleasure, both hers and mine.
From time-to-time I am asked to appear at special times with her: other nights of the week, or occasionally we'll travel and it'll involve a weekend. But these are special and rare events. She gives me plenty of notice, and respects my downtime, my time not as boy.
Honestly, I would gladly give up my life - my other life: my job, my friends, and my apartment - to be her full-time slave. Hell, if she asked, I would sleep in a pen, clean her floors, and eat slop like a pig. I would happily be her 24-7 boy. And I have brought the subject up before. I've asked her if I could live with her, be boy full-time. I've even pleaded. But that is not what she wants.
So I live my life in chapters. Fragments. My work week of days: the monotony of earning money for rent and bills at a job I don't like; my nights with Mistress when I am truly alive, truly satisfied, and in complete ecstasy; and my weekends when I am spending time with my cat at home, reading, doing laundry and chores, perhaps having dinner with friends, but mostly recuperating from the other two fragments.
So now you know all you need to know. I'll fill in details as I can, or as it seems relevant, but this is really all about the sex. This is about my time as boy. A bottom. Mistress's slave, her "little ass piggy" as she sometimes calls me. This is about the discipline, about the pain, and about the pleasure.
Each journal will be updated weekly.
Have a journal you want to share? Email all original, true stories to [email protected]
|