Make a man of me. By Rik

bearpipe:

(A story I’ve had hanging around for a long time. Based on something I read somewhere & can’t remember where or who wrote it. Apologies to the author of the original but thanks. Malskin encouraged me to publish it so here it is.) 

We’d
been partners for two years when I was made redundant from my job in the
financial services industry. I’d been on a fairly good salary and had managed
to keep the both of us. I’m called Mark and my partner is Dave. He’s always
been the top in bed but in our daily life it is me who paid the bills, decided
on where we’d go and what we’d do. Dave is a jobbing builder, makes a bit of
money but the work isn’t constant so it has been me that has really brought the
money in. Now all that had changed and I spent weeks applying for jobs in the
financial industry, in banks, in anything related to my former career. There
had been no luck at all, nobody was hiring at least nobody was hiring me.
Things were getting a bit tense between Dave and me. There was still my
redundancy money but I was hanging on to that for as long as possible.

I
looked out in the garden and watched Dave repair the fence. Dave is a big guy,
a typical butch and beefy builder. He likes his tattoos and he likes his
smokes. I watched him lighting a cigarette. I watched him take a long drag and
inhale the smoke, without removing the cigarette from his mouth. Two thick
streams of smoke came out of his wide nostrils, the whiteness of it accentuated
by the bright sunshine. He took another drag, and another. You could see from
his face the satisfaction it gave him. He took a fourth drag and, this time,
removed the cigarette from his mouth.

I’d
watched him smoke since we met. Smoking had been my number one fascination ever
since I could remember. As a ten-year-old I’d searched newspapers and magazines
for adverts showing handsome young men smoking. At twelve I suddenly became
aware that there were boys in my class at school who were heavily into smoking.
But I couldn’t bring myself to try it, probably because it was such a powerful
sexual stimulus that, in a strange way, the thought of actually doing it myself
frightened me. Mind you, I didn’t understand the connection between smoking and
sex until I started masturbating, and even then, the realisation only dawned on
me gradually. Similarly, it took me years to realise that I was gay, although
females never featured at all in my masturbation fantasies. They were mostly
concerned with boys at school smoking or, more often, Dad forcing me to do so.
I would have given anything for Dad to teach me to smoke. Strangely I never
smoked even though seeing Dad and then later Dave smoke turned me on.

I
suddenly realised that Dave was watching me watching him. He beckoned to me to
come down. I walked down the back garden. As I reached him, he threw the
cigarette end down and trod on it with his wellington.

“So,”
he said, his breath all smoky, “Another day of you sitting around the house
doing nothing?”

“S’pose
so,” I said.

“How
long are you going on like this, eh?”

I
smiled at him. What was he trying to say?

“Don’t
you think it’s time you did something useful, something different?”

“What
do you mean different?”

“Look
Mark! You need to have a good think about your future. You’ve been made
redundant which I think means you’ve failed at your old life. Things are
changed here now you’re not bringing in your money. It’s all down to me now and
the way things are with work just now it ain’t going to work. I think you
should use your redundancy money by giving it to me to start up my own
business. Then I can take you on and you’ll work for me.”

I
was a bit surprised at these remarks. I’d never thought along these lines at
all. Giving Dave the money and helping him seemed sensible but as for me
working for him that was something else.

“OK
Dave I think you should have the money but I could never work for you what
would I do?”

Dave
was rolling another cigarette as he looked up at me and said, “You can be my
labourer, get some real work done for a change. You’ll get your wages and I’ll
be the boss, you just do what I tell you and you’ll be alright.”

“I
don’t know if I can Dave. I’ve never done anything like that before and I don’t
know if I could cope. It’s tempting but you’re used to it and, after all, I’m
not exactly the man’s man that you are now am I?”

Dave
lit his roll-up and inhaled deeply before saying, “Mark I can sort that out for
you. I’ll make a man of you. I’ve been thinking this for a while and I figure
that it’s about time you accepted your place in the scheme of things. I want
you to man-up and stop being this smart-arsed bloke you’ve become. You know you
like me in charge in bed but I want you to accept that I want to be in total
charge. I want to take you down a few levels, make a working bloke of you, a
bloke who’s happy to have me take care of everything. I’ve made my mind up,
it’s either do this or I can’t see us lasting much longer.”

I
was reeling a little after this. I had no idea Dave felt this way and that he
was actually tired of the man I was. At the same time I was excited by what he
said and my cock had stiffened up at the idea of surrendering everything to
him, becoming a total bottom in every respect. I needed time to think about
this and Dave agreed that I could think it over and tell him by the end of the
day.

I
did think long and hard. Dave was right, it made sense to let him take charge,
he was the one with skills that people wanted to pay money for and I had
nothing that anybody wanted. I hadn’t said anything to Dave but I’d always
envied him, his opportunity to be the man he wanted, to work hard physically
and sleep well at the end of the day. I’d always had stress and pressure in my
life, always worrying about work and money and what other people thought of me.

So
that was it, I’d decided. I would give my money to Dave and work for him. I did
not know what he had in store for me. When I told him of my decision he said,

“You’ve
made the right choice and things are going to be a bit different round here now.
This is going to be a man’s house; you’d better start becoming a man.”

“What
do you mean?”

“Well,
for example, there’s the way you dress and act, like you’re too good for me and
the way you speak – I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear! Time you started
getting yourself dirty and doing some man’s work.”

“Mm,”
I mumbled.

He
lit up and inhaled deeply again. “And you’ve never tried smoking, have you?”

As
he said this my heart pounded.

“What
is going to happen is that I’m going to make a man of you. You need to be put
in the place you should be and that is way down the social order. You’re going
to be a minimum wage labourer under my control. You can relax and leave
everything to me, I’ll make all the decisions, deal with all the money and you can
have a stress free life just working.”

I
looked at the ground in front of me. I was physically trembling with
excitement. “OK,” I said. “How?”

“You
leave that to me. I need to sort a few things out. We’ll start on Friday.”

I
was shaking with excitement. Just thinking about the idea gave me a hard-on
and, in the end, I had to go to the bathroom for a toss. Dave arranged for all
my money to be transferred across to his bank account. I cancelled my credit
cards and for the first time in years I had absolutely no money to call my own.
Dave said nothing more about it as the days went by, except to tell me that I
wasn’t to go into the garage. He started keeping the garage door-key in his
trouser pocket, so I couldn’t get in anyway. And when I got home on the
Wednesday he’d painted the inside of the garage windows black, so I couldn’t
even peer in to see what was going on.

Friday
came at last and Dave was standing in the yard at the side of the house. I was
going to smile and say “Hi” but the serious look on his face told me it
wouldn’t be appropriate. He watched me come down the drive but said nothing.
Then he pointed at the garage. The door at the side was open. I went in. He
followed, shut the door behind him and locked it. I looked around. He’d placed
a few items of furniture inside. There was a low wooden bench, which had a thin
mattress on it, a chair with lots of straps, a stool and a table.

“Look
at me,” he said. I stood facing him. He pointed at a black rubber mat on the
concrete floor. I moved over and stood on it.

“Two
rules,” he said. “First, from now on you address me as Sir. Understood?”

I
nodded.

“Understood?”
he repeated, patiently.

“Yes
sir.”

“And
second, you comply with every instruction I give you without question.
Understood?”

“Yes
understood sir.”

“Good.
Get undressed.”

“Undressed?”

He
took a step towards me, looking angry. “You’ve already broken both the rules. I
gave you an instruction and you questioned it. What’s more, you didn’t address
me as sir.”

“Sorry
sir.”

“Right.
Look, I’m doing this because I love you and I want you to be a real man. You
need this. You do understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes
sir.”

“And
you do want to go ahead? There’s no turning back after this.”

“Yes
sir.”

“Right,
now get undressed.”

I
undid my shoes and took them off. I removed my shirt and lowered my trousers. I
was shaking with nervousness. As I took off each item of clothing, he took it
from me and shoved it into a holdall. I took off my socks and my watch and
handed them over then finally my briefs. I slid them down, stepped out of them
and handed them to him.

“Feet
apart,” he said. He walked round me.

He
zipped up the holdall, unlocked the door, switched off the light and left the
garage, locking the door again after him. What was I supposed to do? I thought
for a moment. He hadn’t given me any instructions, so perhaps it didn’t matter
what I did? Or perhaps this was another test – as he hadn’t given me any
instructions, he expected me to stand still and do nothing. So that’s what I
did. In any case, with the light off and the windows blacked out, I couldn’t
see to do anything anyway.

It
wasn’t long before the key turned in the lock and he came in again.

“Excellent!”
he said, noting that I was still in exactly the same position as when he’d
left. ”You’re getting the hang of this already.” I felt pleased and almost
managed a smile.

“This
will be your home now,” he said. “And you won’t be wearing ordinary clothes
again.” He pointed at a pair of wellingtons. “Put them on.”

My
cock instantly started getting harder. I know it sounds stupid, but I’d never
worn wellingtons – well, only little ones when I was a small boy. Like smoking,
they held a strange fascination for me. This large black pair with the tops
turned down seemed to me a symbol of the man I was to become. Dave watched. He
noticed my cock getting harder as I pulled the wellingtons over my feet.

“So,”
he said, “rubber boots turn you on, do they?”

“Yes
sir.”

“Well,
we’ll have to see what we can do about that, I’m sure they’ll be plenty of
opportunities for you to worship mine. This is what you’ll wear from now on.”

He
handed me his old orange hi-viz trousers and shirt and watched me put them on
my hard cock on show as I did so.

“Now,
I’m going to start teaching you to smoke.”

My
heart raced even faster.

“But
first, just to make sure you can’t change your mind …” He pointed at the
wooden chair. I walked over to it and sat down. The seat was covered with
another rubber mat. He started buckling the straps around my ankles, wrists,
thighs and arms and finally, one round my neck. Then he slid two blocks of wood
into position either side of my head and bolted them in place. By the time he’d
finished, I could move nothing except my toes and fingers, not even my head. My
cock was now very hard. I looked at my image in the mirror but not for long. He
pulled up the stool and sat on it, in front of me.

“Now
then,” he said, taking out his rolling tobacco and cigarette papers. “D’you
know that when I have a cigarette in my mouth and I’m smoking near you what you
usually do?”  

“I
try to turn my head away sir.”

“Why
do you do that?”

“Because
I hate breathing the smoke, sir.”

He
lit his cigarette, inhaled deeply and then exhaled in my face.

“Like
it now?” he asked.

“Yes
sir,” I lied.

“Good.
Because in a moment it’s going to be your turn.”

He
took the cigarette from his mouth. “Now watch carefully how I do it. Notice how
first, I breathe out, so there’s no air left in my lungs. Then I put the
cigarette to my lips, suck for as long as possible, then, as I take the
cigarette out, I breathe in. It’s very important not to waste any of the smoke,
but to get it all down into your lungs. That way, you get the maximum amount of
nicotine. Understand?”

“Yes
sir.”

“OK.
Now watch.”

I
watched as he very deliberately breathed out, put the cigarette to his lips,
took a long, slow drag and then inhaled deeply as he removed the cigarette from
his mouth. He exhaled.

“Think
you can do that?”

“I’ll
try sir.”

“Just
one other thing. It’ll make you feel odd at first. Till you get used to it.
You’ll feel dizzy even a bit sick. But you’ve got to master it, alright? It’s
all part of becoming a man.”

“Yes
sir.” By now, I’d be shaking like mad if I hadn’t been strapped in so tight.

“Right.
Here we go.” He turned the cigarette round in his fingers and pointed the end
at me. “Breathe out,” he said. I breathed out. He put the cigarette to my lips.
“Suck,” he said. I sucked. “Now breathe in.”

He
removed the cigarette from my mouth and I breathed in. I can still remember,
all these years and cigarettes later, just how that first lungful of smoke
felt. Amazing! I let it out. It was fantastic, watching the first smoke coming
out of my own mouth and nose, instead of his. Then the nicotine hit me. I
suddenly went all dizzy.

“Well
done!” he said, smiling and taking another drag himself. “Feel a bit dizzy
yet?”

“Yes
sir,” I said.

“Right,
now another one.” He pointed the cigarette at me again.

“I
think I’m going to be sick,” I said.

“No
you’re not. Come on. D’you want to be a real man or not?”

I
sucked on the cigarette and inhaled again. By now my heart was racing and the
garage felt as if it was revolving slowly round me. He sat watching me, smoking
the cigarette himself.

“One
more, I think.” He put the cigarette to my lips again and I sucked and breathed
the smoke in. I was now sure I was going to be sick. But I wasn’t.

“I
think that’ll do for now,” he said, finishing the cigarette himself. “I’ll give
you another dose in an hour or so. Here, have some water.” He picked up a
bottle of water and I swallowed deeply.

“I’m
going to leave you for a bit, now. Just relax. Enjoy the feeling. Your body
will soon stop fighting it. In a day or two you’ll start getting used to it and
before you realise it, you’ll start yearning for the next smoke. We’ll soon
have you hooked.”

He
left the garage and locked the door. For a while, I felt very dizzy and
light-headed and decided that, when he came back, I’d tell him I didn’t want to
do this any more. My mouth was full of the bitter taste of tobacco. It seemed
ages before he came back. He brought me a meal on a tray and fed it to me. I
wasn’t very hungry.

“I’m
not releasing you until you’ve had another smoke,” he said. He put the tray
down and took out his tobacco and papers. “Now watch me roll a cigarette
because you’ll be doing this yourself.”

I
watched him intently although I’d seen him roll a cigarette many times before
and figured I would be able to do that without any difficulties.

“Five
lung fulls this time,” he said, lighting up. As he put the cigarette to my
mouth I tried to resist. But I couldn’t move my head and he forced the
cigarette between my lips. I gave in, drew and inhaled. Once again, the dizzy
feeling hit me as I breathed out the smoke. He gave me a few moments, smoking
the cigarette himself and then gave me another drag. By the time he gave me the
third drag, the cigarette was getting shorter and the smoke seemed stronger. I
was feeling quite sick by now. He stood up.

“Time
you saw what you look like smoking,” he said, and crouched down beside me. He
put the cigarette to my lips for the fourth lung full and I watched in the
mirror as I took a drag, inhaled and then let the stream of smoke out. My

cock
stood up again.

“Looks
good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes
sir.”

“Last
one now.”

I
took the fifth drag and inhaled. The garage spun around me. Wow! This was an
amazing feeling! He gave me more water and then started undoing the straps.

“Now,”
he said, “that’s where you sleep.” He nodded at the wooden bench. “And that’s
your toilet.” He pointed at a bucket in the corner. “I’ll be back at six in the
morning for your first smoke of the day. You’re going to hold the cigarette
yourself and take at least six lung fulls. You should be able to manage four or
five cigarettes tomorrow. We’ll gradually build it up so your body gets used to
the nicotine. You’ll find you’ll soon start needing it. You should be on twenty
a day by next weekend. D’you know how many I smoke?”

“Forty
a day sir,” I said.

“Been
counting, have you? Well I want you on at least forty a day by the end of the
week.”

I
sat on the bench and started to pull the wellingtons off. “Oh no!” he said. ”I
didn’t say you could take them off, did I? You sleep with them on.”

I
swung my booted feet on to the bench and he pulled an old blanket over me.

“Night
Mark.” he said. He switched off the light, left the garage and locked the door.

I
didn’t sleep much that night. I felt light-headed, excited, and mixed-up.
Sleeping in wellingtons was going to take some getting used to and how was I
going to cope living in the garage? Was this permanent?

It
was pitch black in the garage so I had no idea what the time was, though I
could hear the birds singing, so I guessed it must be light outside. I thought
about getting up but decided I shouldn’t until he arrived. I lay there for

what
seemed like forever, waiting for his footsteps outside and the key in the lock.
The idea of smoking my first whole cigarette made me nervous and excited. Would
I feel dizzy again? Sick? Suddenly, there were the footsteps. The key was in
the lock and then I could see the light.

“Get
up!”

I
got up. He pointed at the rubber mat and I stood on it.

“Feet
wider apart,” he said. I moved my booted feet obediently. He stood in front of
me. For a few moments he neither did nor said anything. He just looked me up
and down. My cock began to swell.

Then
he fetched out his rolling tobacco and cigarette papers. There were a few ready
made up cigarettes inside and he offered one to me. I took one and put it in my
mouth. No resistance this morning.

“It’s
very important that you start the day with a smoke. It must always be the very
first thing you do. In a few days’ time, you’ll find you need it. You’ll be lying
in bed, itching to get up and get some smoke into your lungs. Then later on
you’ll wake up during the night craving for nicotine. Then you’ll know you’re a
real smoker. A nicotine addict like me.”

He
put a cigarette in his mouth, got out his matches and struck one. “Remember
what I taught you yesterday,” he said. “Breathe out first, then drag and
inhale.”

I
breathed out. He applied the match to the cigarette in my mouth. I drew,
inhaled, and removed the cigarette from my mouth. It felt odd holding it in my
hand. He lit his own cigarette and took several long drags, inhaling each one
deeply, without removing the cigarette. Satisfaction was written all over his
face.

“Take
another drag,” he said.

I
did so. I was beginning to feel light-headed again. He wandered around the
garage, smoking. He finished his first cigarette and lit another.

“Well
come on, you needn’t wait to be told, have another drag!”

I
took another. I was now feeling quite dizzy.

“How’re
you feeling?” he asked.

“Dizzy”,
I said.

“Dizzy
what?”

“Dizzy
Sir.”

“Humph!
You haven’t even started, yet. You’re not a real smoker until you need several
lung fulls just to get going. Until you ache for a smoke twenty minutes after
you had the last one.”

I
took another drag.

“Good!
We’ll get you there!”

He
came over and stood in front of me again. “Don’t hold it like that, boy. You
look like a bloody woman. Look, there are two ways for a man to hold a
cigarette. Either like this …” He held his cigarette deep between his
fingers, near the knuckles. “Or like this …” He turned it round and held it
between his thumb and fingers. “I usually hold it the first way when it’s long,
the second way when it gets shorter. But never, ever let me see you holding it
like this.” He held the cigarette between the ends of his first and second
fingers. “That’s how women smoke. Mind you, if I had my way, women wouldn’t be
allowed to smoke at all.” He studied his hand. “See how brown those fingers
are?”

I
nodded.

“We’ll
soon have yours looking like that! Come on, one last drag.”

I
took a final drag.

“Now,
drop it on the floor and tread on it.”

I
dropped it and stubbed it out with my wellington.

“Good.
Now I’m going to leave you again for an hour or so.”

He
left me a bottle of water. I stood on the rubber mat, waiting until he returned
an hour or so later with my breakfast. While I was eating it he said,

“Now
then,” Producing a pack of his rolling tobacco and several packs of cigarette
papers, “These are yours!” He tucked them into one of the trouser pockets of my
hi-viz trousers and then put a box of Swan Vestas in the other pocket.

“Come
on.”

I
followed him out of the garage and down the garden.

“I
want the rest of this area dug,” he said. It was the vegetable plot he’d
started on last week but then left for me once he’d decided on the programme
for my “training”.

“I’ll
be working round the front if you need anything. If you feel like a smoke, help
yourself and roll one up.”

And
with that, he disappeared round the front of the house. I started digging. It
was a pleasant, sunny morning, but not too hot. I felt far too self-conscious
to smoke. What if the neighbours were looking? What would they make of my
clothes? Since I wasn’t wearing pants, my cock rubbed against the rough fabric
of the hi-viz trousers as I dug and it was obvious I was rock hard. It felt
good and I worked hard. After an hour or so, Dave appeared.

“Had
a smoke yet?” he asked.

“No
sir.”

“Mm.
Well, it’s not surprising. It’ll take longer than a day to get you hooked. Come
on. Let’s have one now. Get your tobacco out and roll one up.”

“What,
here?”

“I
beg your pardon?”

“Sorry,
Sir.”

I
can’t tell you how I felt as I got the tobacco and papers out of my pocket. My
tobacco! We rolled our cigarettes together and put them in our mouths. I felt
for the matches. I offered him the light first, and then lit my own. I took a
drag and inhaled. Once again, the dizzy feeling hit me. But for the first time,
I realised I was just beginning to enjoy it. We stood in the sunshine, smoking.

“You’re
doing a good job, there, boy. Keep it up.” He stubbed out his cigarette and
disappeared again. I went on with the digging.

Later
in the morning he appeared again, this time with two mugs of tea. We sat on the
bench at the side of the garden enjoying the sunshine, the tea and, of course,
a smoke.

“Another
hour and then it’s back in the garage for another lesson,” he said.

I
returned to my work.

I’d
dug almost half the plot when I heard him calling. I shoved the fork into the
ground and walked up to the garage, my wellingtons now caked with soil.

We
went in and he locked the door.

“Get
your work gear off,” he said. I did so, and then replaced the wellingtons.

He’d
moved the chair away from the mirror and placed the rubber mat in front of it.
He indicated to me to stand on it. He lit himself a cigarette, then undid my
hi-viz trousers and removed them and my hi-viz shirt. I stood, looking at
myself in the mirror, naked, except for the dirty wellingtons. He went round
behind me, pulled my hands back and tied my wrists. Then he put his arms round
me, found my tits and started rubbing them gently. Then he pinched them between
his fingers. My cock started getting harder.

“Mmm,
I know you like that.” He stopped and came round in front of me. “Now, it’s
time for another lesson.” He took out his cigarettes, put one in my mouth and
another in his. “This time, it’s keeping the cigarette in your mouth. When

I
light it, take a drag, and then inhale with the cigarette still between your
lips. Like this.” He demonstrated on his own cigarette. Not that he needed to,
really – I’d watched him do it a million times.

“Ready?”

“Yes
sir,” I mumbled through the cigarette.

He
struck the match, applied it to the cigarette and I drew and inhaled. Wow! The
smoke seemed much stronger this way. The dizzy feeling hit me again. But I was
definitely beginning to enjoy it now.

“Take
a big drag,” he said. “And then hold it in until I tell you.”

I
drew on the cigarette and inhaled. He counted, slowly, “1, 2, 3, 4, 5. All
right now breathe out.” I let out the smoke.

“Good,”
he said. He wandered around the garage, smoking his own cigarette.

The
cigarette in my mouth was half burnt down now and getting stronger. I didn’t
think I’d be able to keep it in all the way, but with my hands tied behind my
back, I couldn’t remove it. I began to feel sick. He came back and looked at
me.

“Relax!”
he said, putting his hands on my shoulders. “You’re all tense. Just enjoy it.
Take another drag.” I did so, and as I inhaled I thought I was going to throw
up. Thank God, he took the cigarette out of my mouth and trod on it.

“Not
bad for someone who only started smoking yesterday,” he smiled. He undid my
wrists. “Time for a rest now,” he said. He pointed at the bench and I went and
lay down.

He
returned some time later with a meal on a tray and I sat up and ate it. He sat
smoking and watching me eat. When I’d finished he offered me a cigarette. I put
it in my mouth.

“Now,
remember, keep it in your mouth when you take the first drag. Ready?” I nodded.
“Right. Breathe out.” He put the match to the cigarette and I drew and inhaled.
As I breathed out the smoke, I put my hand up to take the cigarette out of my
mouth.

“No,
keep it in and take a second drag.” I did as I was told. “Just relax, sit back
and enjoy it.” We sat and smoked.

“You’re
beginning to look good,” he said, as I took a last drag, inhaled, and trod the
cigarette end out on the floor.

“Right,
it’s time to get back to work.”

I
spent the rest of the afternoon digging. At one point I thought about the
roll-ups in my pocket. Should I smoke one? Part of me wanted to, but I was
still very self-conscious in case anyone was watching. So I didn’t. He came
walking down the garden.

“Have
you had a smoke?”

“No
Sir.”

“Right,
have one now.”

I
got out the tobacco and rolled up offering him one. We stood, smoking and
surveying all the work I’d done. When we’d finished, he said, “Right, that’ll
do for today.”

We
went back into the garage and he brought me my evening meal. When I’d eaten it,
we smoked another cigarette.

“That’s
seven today, isn’t it?”

I
nodded.

“Not
bad for the first full day,” he said. “Is it still making you feel sick?”

“No
sir,” I said and it was true.

“Are
you beginning to enjoy it?”

“I
think I am, sir.”

“Excellent.
Now I shan’t be back until six in the morning, but tonight I’m going to leave
this small light on. Smoke whenever you feel like it. I’ll be interested to see
how many you’ve got through by the morning.”

“Sir,”
I said.

“Yes?”

“What
about washing? My hands are pretty filthy after all that digging.”

I
held my hands out and he looked at them.

“Not
yet. Not dirty enough. I’ll wash you once a week. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight
sir.”

He
stopped at the door. “Oh, one other thing. If you fancy a toss, feel free. But
you must be standing in front of the mirror with a cigarette in your mouth.
Understood? I’ve rigged up a light for you so you can look at yourself.”

“Yes
sir.”

He
left, locking the door behind him.

I
had no idea what the time was. I assumed it was early evening. It would
probably be getting on for twelve hours before he came back. There was nothing
to do in the garage except sit in the chair or lie on the bench and of course
smoke. I was pretty tired after all the digging so I lay on the bench for some
time, keeping the wellingtons on. Then I got up and walked around. I stood and
looked at my reflection in the mirror – me in my orange hi-viz gear and
wellingtons. My prick began to get hard. I took the tobacco out of my pocket.
Should I have a smoke? I hadn’t smoked yet without Dave watching me and telling
me what to do. I rolled up a cigarette and I put it in my mouth. I lit up and
inhaled; now quite enjoying the sensation. I put the matches away, and enjoyed
watching myself smoke; being careful to hold the cigarette as he’d instructed
me. My prick got harder. Finally, with the cigarette in my mouth, I tossed
myself off.

I
woke up some time during the night. I had no idea what the time was. It could
have been midnight or four in the morning and I lay there, looking at the
garage roof. My thoughts turned almost immediately to the cigarettes. I must be
getting hooked! No, I wouldn’t have another until Dave came back. I shut my
eyes. But the thought wouldn’t go away. In the end, I got up, stood in front of
the mirror again, smoked a cigarette and had another toss.

He
was really pleased when he opened the door at six on that Sunday morning and
discovered that I’d smoked two cigarettes during the night.

“That’s
good!” he said. “You’re getting hooked quicker than I thought.” He got out his
cigarettes and coughed. I’d heard that cough every morning for years.

“Now,
I always need four or five lung fulls first thing in the morning. Let’s see how
many you can manage this morning. Keep it in your mouth, remember.”

We
lit up and I took a drag, inhaled and let the smoke drift slowly out of my
nostrils.

“And
another,” he said. I took another drag.

“And
a third?” he said.

I
took a third drag. By now, I was beginning to feel a bit dizzy.

“Alright.
No need to overdo it. Three’s pretty good at this stage. Just enjoy the rest of
it.” And I did. I enjoyed the first cigarette of the second day of my smoking career.

When
I’d finished it, he said, “Let’s see your hands.” I held them out to him. He
looked at them and then held my right hand to his nose. “Mmm, beginning to
smell good, aren’t they?”

“Yes
sir,” I said.

“And
that second finger’s just beginning to turn a bit brown, I think.”

I
smiled.

The
rest of the day was much like Saturday. I worked in the garden in my hi viz and
wellingtons. Dave appeared three times and we enjoyed a smoke together.

After
lunch he set me to work again and, as he left me to it, he said, “Now, by the
time I come back at the end of the afternoon, you’re to have smoked at least
two cigarettes.”

I
worked for a while. Then I began to think about having a smoke. It was a
sensation that was so new – this feeling that I wanted a cigarette. Several
times I looked around to make sure there was no-one watching and then chickened

out
and carried on digging. But the feeling got stronger. I stopped digging and
walked up to the garage. I’d go in there and have a smoke, away from prying
eyes. But the door was locked. I walked back to the vegetable plot. Oh

come
on. Just do it. I stood in a secluded corner of the garden, got out my tobacco
and rolled up then lit up. I leaned on the spade and enjoyed the smoke.

I
began to understand what this addiction business was all about. It can’t have
been an hour before I was starting to think about the cigarettes again. This
time, I didn’t bother to hide, I just got them out and lit up.

“Dave
getting you to do all the work, is he?”

I
looked round, smoke coming out of my nostrils as I did so. It was the bloke
next door.

“Yes,”
I said.

He
looked me up and down. He was clearly bemused by my appearance. He didn’t say
any more, so I took a few more drags and then started digging again. Dave
reappeared with two mugs of tea. He was delighted that I’d smoked a couple of
cigarettes while he’d been away.

We
drank our coffee and had a smoke. Then he said, “Time to stop for today.”

We
went into the garage and brought me my evening meal. By now, my hands were
filthy and I had smears of dirt round my middle, between the shirt and
trousers. My face was pretty mucky, too.

“I
don’t think I’ve ever seen you so dirty!” he said, as we smoked a last
cigarette together for the day. I was pleased.

He
gave me two new packs of tobacco and another box of matches.

“Smoke
as often as you want during the night,” he said, “and practise smoking each
cigarette for longer. You’re leaving rather long stubs at the moment – try to
get as much out of each one as you can.”

And
with that, he locked me in for the night.

I
lay on the bench for a while. Then the craving started niggling in my brain. I
got up and stood in front of the mirror and smoked a cigarette, making sure I
smoked as far down as possible. The smoke certainly got stronger and hotter for
the last few drags. I slept on and off during the night. Every so often I got
up for a smoke.

When
Dave appeared at six o’clock on Monday morning he asked for my packet of
tobacco. “Mmm,” he said. “You’re doing really well. Are you ready for the first
one of the day?”

“Yes
Sir.”

“Let’s
try four lung fulls this morning before you take the cigarette out of your
mouth.”

We
lit up. I took a long drag and inhaled.

“Hold
it for a bit,” he said. “Let the smoke do its work in your lungs. They’ll soon
be getting nice and brown inside.”

I
breathed out, took another drag and inhaled again. He watched me closely.

“Breathe
out through your nose,” he said.

Two
streams of thick white smoke appeared. I took a third drag, inhaled and began
to feel a bit light-headed. He must have noticed.

“Come
on, don’t give up now. Let’s have a fourth drag – a long one.”

I
sucked on the cigarette until I thought I’d burst and then inhaled again. I was
definitely feeling dizzy now.

“Right,
you can take it out now,” he said. “Very good mate you can relax now and enjoy
the rest of it.” He pointed at the chair, and I sat in front of the mirror.
“Smoke it right down to the butt, remember.”

When
I’d finished, he brought my breakfast and gave me his instructions for the day.

“Now,
today I’m going into London. While I’m gone, I want you to carry on with the
digging. You’ve got plenty of smokes and I’ll leave you water to drink and some
sandwiches for lunch. You can sit on the bench for a rest every time you feel
like a smoke. Don’t fight the craving. As soon as you feel you want a smoke,
stop and have one. You’ll find you gradually want one more and more often.”

“Yes
Sir,” I said.

“Right,
get started. Have one of these to be going with.” He offered me one of his
cigarettes and we lit up. I did exactly as instructed. I worked all day in the
garden, stopping for a drink, a rest and a smoke every time the craving hit me.
By the time he returned late afternoon, I’d smoked a dozen or so. He called me
to the garage, followed me in and locked the door.

“Right,”
he said. “Now, get undressed and sit in the chair.”

“Even
the wellingtons, sir?” I asked.

“No,
keep them on for the moment.”

I
sat in the chair with only the wellingtons on, and he strapped my arms and
legs, but not my neck this time. He got out his cigarettes, put one in my mouth
and lit it. Then he lit up himself.

“Just
relax,” he said, as I exhaled. “We’re going to change your appearance.”

“Yes
Sir,” I said, a shiver of excitement coursing through my body at the prospect.

“Well,
now you’re going to have your head shaved!”

He
produced some clippers and, before I understood what was happening, he was
clipping my hair off. I said nothing and I just sat there, smoking and watching
my fair hair fall around me. When he’d reduced my hair to stubble, he produced
his shaving soap and razor and proceeded to shave my head. When he’d finished
he stood to one side so that I could see myself in the mirror.

“What
d’you think?”

I
grinned. I couldn’t believe the difference it made to my appearance. I hardly
looked like the same person I’d been a few minutes ago. He undid the shackles.

“Now
you wanted a wash. Over here.” I stood on the rubber mat and he proceeded to
wash me all over with an old rag which he dipped into a bucket of cold water. I
shivered. Thank God the weather was warm.

Clean
again Dave handed me what he said was going to be my permanent uniform from now
on. An orange hi-viz boiler suit, white under-vest and y-fronts, a pair of
thick woollen socks and a pair of heavy duty, steel toe-capped wellington
boots. In addition there was a padded yellow hi-viz all-weather coat.

“This
is what you wear from now on, nothing else unless I say so. You are a working
man now and everybody should know that by your appearance. You have two sets of
the same gear so that your dirty gear can be washed from time to time. Most of
the time you’ll be wearing the sweat and dirt you collect from hard work and
you’ll wear it and be proud of it. A weekly wash is all you’ll need. You will
wet shave your head once a week.”

My
prick stood up at the thought that I would be living in this gear all the time
covered in dirt and sweat, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

“I’ve
been busy setting up my business and soon as some jobs come in you’ll be
detailed to work and it’ll be hard and dirty work. Now put your gear on and
I’ll be back to see you in a while.”

“Yes
Sir!”

I
dressed in my gear and waited for Dave to come back and inspect me. While I
waited I rolled a cigarette and lit up. Dave returned and led me over to the
mirror and told me to stand up straight with my feet well apart. I can’t
describe how excited I felt as I looked at my reflection. I saw my boots, my
shiny bald head, my hi-viz covered body and my roll-up dangling from my lips.
My prick was standing rigidly to attention. Dave stood behind me and fondled my
prick through the boiler suit and then I discovered that there was a zip
fastener at the rear of my boiler suit as Dave pulled it open. I felt his cock
push against my arse and then push against my hole as he entered me. Dave
thrust full inside me and began pounding my arse hard, all the while I groaned
with pleasure enjoying every second. As Dave continued to thrust in me he said,

“That’s
it you fucker! You’re a working man now and you belong to me don’t you? Yeah
puff on that roll-up like the smoking man you are. You’re going to be the
lowest of the low you dumb fuck, haven’t even started on you yet…you’ve got
lots more to come and you’ll be put right in your place…my fucking dumb cum
dump, that’s what you are and what you’ll stay!”

“Yes
Sir! It’s what I want, do what you want to me, I just want what you want Sir!”

Soon
Dave shot his load inside me and I shot my load just moments later, still
puffing hard on my cigarette.

“That
was fucking good wasn’t it?”

“Yes
Sir.”

“Hurt?”

“Yes
Sir.”

“Do
you mind?”

“No
Sir. I love it like that Sir.”

“Now,
let’s sort out your sleeping arrangements.”

I
was puzzled, I thought I’d just sleep the way I had the last few nights.

“Lie
down, on your back,” he said. “I’m afraid I’m not going to allow you to smoke
during the nights from now on. I want you to really need that first smoke in
the morning.”

He
produced four short lengths of chain, wrapped them round my wrists and ankles
and padlocked them to the bed. Finally, he placed a collar around my neck and
padlocked the ring at the back of my collar to the bed.

“You’ll
probably find it takes a bit of getting used to, not being able to move during
the night. And with a bit of luck you’ll keep waking up and wanting a smoke.
You should be dying for one by the time I come back at six.”

“You’ll
need to piss during the night,” he said, covering me up with a sheet. “So just
piss. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight
Sir.”

He
was right. I didn’t sleep much. It would take some getting used to not being
able to move. It was a strange sensation to be so helpless and of course I
wanted to piss, I hadn’t pissed for several hours. I held on as long as I
could, it just didn’t seem right pissing in bed but eventually I couldn’t hold
back any longer and just let it go, soaking my boiler suit right through.

I
woke up several times. Each time, my thoughts went straight to the cigarettes
tantalisingly, a few feet above me. I wanted one. In fact, each time I woke up,
I seemed to want one more.

My
body was beginning to need nicotine. The thought gave me an erection. I must
have dozed off again just before six, because the sound of the key in the door
startled me. I turned my head as far as I could and watched Dave come in. He
ignored me and went and stood in front of the mirror, lit up and took half

a
dozen big lung fulls of smoke before he came over to the bench. He didn’t say
anything.

He
put a cigarette in my mouth. I wanted that first smoke of the day and it seemed
an age before he produced a match and put it to my cigarette. I took my first
greedy drag of the morning and inhaled. I took another and another, and a
fourth and he watched as the thick smoke from my nostrils floated up to the
roof.

“Make
it five in a row this morning,” he said.

I
took a fifth drag and inhaled. My head was spinning now. The smoke seemed to
have more effect when I was lying flat.

“Good,”
he said, and started to undo the padlocks.

I
sat up and took the cigarette from my mouth.

“Good
you’re holding your roll-up just right. We want your fingers to get nice and
brown and smelly, don’t we?”

I
nodded. I felt stiff after the night’s immobility.

“Have
a stretch,” he said.

I
stood in front of the mirror and stretched. My bald head and all the gear
looked every bit as good as I’d remembered it from the previous evening. I took
a last drag and threw the cigarette end down.

“Right,
some more lessons this morning. First, your language.”’

“My
language, Sir?”

“Yes.
It’s too prissy. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear. Let’s see if you can
use fuckin’ in every sentence you say today. You still sound too fuckin’ posh
so you’ll copy me, talk like I do. Also you’re going to try double drags.” He
got out his tobacco and papers and handed them to me.

“But
I’ve only just …”

He
glared at me.

“Sorry
Sir.”

I
rolled a cigarette and put it in my mouth and he lit it.

“Now,
watch me. I’m going to take a big drag, inhale it half way, then take another
and inhale that. Watch how thick the smoke is when I breathe out.”

I
watched him.

“Now
your turn,” he said.

I
drew on the cigarette and inhaled half way. I thought I was going to choke as I
took the second drag, but managed to inhale that, too. Wow! The feeling as my
lungs filled with the double dose of smoke was certainly strong. And the thick
smoke looked really good coming out of my nostrils.

“How
does that feel?”

“Good
Sir.”

‘Try
again.’

I
put the cigarette to my lips.

“No,
I didn’t mean that, I meant you didn’t swear. Right? We’ll do it again. How
does that feel?”

“Feels
fuckin’ good Sir.”

“That’s
better. Now you can enjoy the rest of the cigarette.”

While
I sat there, admiring my new appearance in the mirror, he disappeared and came
back with my breakfast. I wolfed it down and said,

“Fuck
me Sir, that was fucking ace!”

Dave
sat and told me about his plans for the business and that we had our first bit
of work, clearing a large back garden. He told me that I was purely labour and
nothing else. No-one would ask my opinion about anything and if they did I was
to tell them to see him “The Boss”. We smoked as he talked and when he finished
and got up he said,

“You
realise you’ve smoked five cigarettes already this morning?”

“Fuckin’
good Sir,” I said, smiling.

“Right,
time to start work.”

I
worked hard all day, stopping to smoke a roll-up whenever I felt like one.

Dave
appeared at lunchtime. “I’ve been watching you,” he said. “You’re smoking about
once an hour now. We need to work towards every half-hour in the next few days,
and then we’ll get it down to twenty minutes. You’ll soon be smoking most of
the time. I want to see a roll-up dangling from your mouth all the time.”

We
sat on the bench and ate our sandwiches and then had a mug of coffee and a
smoke, of course.

“How’re
you getting on with the digging?” he asked. I still had to remember to copy
Dave’s accent and way of speaking and to get the word “fuck” or “fuckin’” into
every sentence but I guessed it wouldn’t be long before I did it naturally and
without thinking.

“Not
bad Sir. It’s fuckin’ hard going though. Should have the fuckin’ worst of it
done by the end of the day.”

“Okay
good stuff. Right, get on with the work.”

I
spent the afternoon digging. By tea-time I’d finished the vegetable plot.

Dave
reappeared. “Come here,” he said. He led me back to the garage and brought me
my evening meal. Then he left me for the evening, free to wander around in the
garage and smoke until he came and chained me to the bench for the night. After
he’d padlocked the collar, he said, “Just one more. Help you sleep.” He put a
cigarette in my mouth and lit it. I dragged and inhaled. It definitely felt
good lying down.

“Been
looking at you today and I thought of your new name. You with your shaved bone
head…you’ll be “Bonehead” from now on- suits you.”

“Yes
Sir! I’m Bonehead.”

Dave
kissed me really hard and deep. Before when we kissed I’d been aware that his
breath smelled of smoke but now it was beyond belief with our two smoky mouths
locked together. I had the biggest hard on I’d ever experienced.

The
only problem with smoking while lying on your back, especially if your hands
are tied and you can’t remove the cigarette from your mouth, is that the ash
falls into your mouth. Still, I thought, I’ll just have to get used to it. It’s
all part of becoming a man. When the cigarette had burned down so that it was
almost singeing my lips, Dave removed it and then made me drink a good amount
of water. “Goodnight Bonehead see you at six.”

As
Dave came in on the Wednesday morning, I felt a tickle in my throat and
coughed.

“Sounds
good Bonehead!’ he said, coughing himself. “You’re beginning to get a smoker’s
cough. That’s a good sign. You’ll find the first smoke of the day helps to
loosen it up. How do you feel?”

“I
fuckin’ ache Sir and I need a fuckin’ smoke.”

He
brought me my breakfast, then he led me down the garden, into a secluded
corner, and gave me a spade.

“Now,
I want you to start digging a hole about four foot by four foot and eight foot
deep.”

I
looked puzzled.

“You’ll
see,” he said. “I’ll be back later to see how you’re getting on.”

As
I dug I began to feel wet under the shirt and shorts because the sweat was
pouring off me. But I kept working, stopping for a smoke as soon as the thought
crossed my mind. Dave appeared with two mugs of coffee. We sat and drank and
smoked.

“You’re
taking more drags,” he said, looking pleased, “and smoking them right down to
the end. That’s good.”

He
looked at the hole I’d started. It was a foot or so deep. “You’ll have to work
harder than that,” he said. “I want this finished. Get on with it.”

I
worked hard all day. He gave me a break for lunch and another mug of tea during
the afternoon. I’d dug down four feet and smoked all the time but as Dave
approached to inspect and looked at the sweaty and completely filthy labourer
in front of him, me, then said,

“Right
Bonehead, good job, now fill it in.”

I
couldn’t believe he had said that. I’d done all that work for nothing but I
knew my place now and my place was to do as I was told. So I filled the hole
back in as instructed.

I
felt really pleased as we walked up to the garage. He brought me my evening
meal. We smoked a cigarette together and I smoked a couple more during the
evening before he came and fixed me to my bed for the night. I lay awake for
some time, wondering what the time was and wishing Dave would come and give me
a smoke. Eventually I heard his footsteps and the key in the door. He put a

cigarette
in my mouth and as he put the match to it, I took a big drag and inhaled
deeply. He stood smoking his own cigarette as I took several more big drags. I
could feel my limbs relaxing. What a feeling! When he’d finished his smoke, he
undid my padlocks and I got up, feeling stiff again after the night’s
imprisonment.

“Right,
get yourself sorted.”  He led me out of
the garage, but instead of going down the garden, we walked up the drive to the
road. I began to feel very self-conscious, though there didn’t seem to be
anyone about. “Get in,” he said, as we reached his old pick-up truck. I opened
the passenger door. “Not in there! Get in the back.” I walked round to the back
and climbed up and sat amongst all the junk.

We
drove for a while and arrived at the house where Dave’s first contract was to
be. The garden was fuckin’ massive and covered with four foot high grass and
weeds. Dave told me I had three days to clear the lot. “Fuck me!” I thought but
I knew this was my life now and just set about the work.  

By
midday – at least, I guessed it was midday from the position of the sun – I
hadn’t seen a watch or a clock all week I’d cleared about half the garden of
weeds and had smoked ten cigarettes while doing it. I managed to get a rhythm
of work going and by six o’clock that evening I’d pretty much cleared the whole
garden, smoking my way through my work.

After
that first day I was absolutely fuckin’ knackered and covered in sweat and
filth. Dave came and inspected and seemed pleased with my work.

“Right
Bonehead we can go home. Got some good news too, the woman next door saw you
working and we’ve got another job there tomorrow.”

I
got in the back of the van and we drove home, Dave got me some food ready and I
went to sit and smoke in my home, the garage. When Dave came in with my food I
said,  

“I’m
fuckin’ filthy Sir, can I have a wash?”

“What’s
the point? You’ll only get mucky again.”

I
ate. We smoked. Dave watched me drag on my cigarette and said,

“You
needed that, didn’t you?”

“Too
fuckin’ right sir,” I said, taking another long drag and then removing the
cigarette from my mouth.

“Enjoying
it?” he asked.

“Fuck
me yes Sir, I fuckin’ do now.”

“Good.
You should be getting to the point where breathing smoke just feels normal,
now,” he said. “D’you know what I mean?”

“I
fuckin’ do Sir,” I said. “I’m fuckin’ hooked now, can’t get enough of it.”

“Now
then,” he said, “I’ve taught you to smoke and you seem to be pretty hooked on
it now. I’ve taught you to enjoy being dirty. And I’ve taught you to swear.
You’re pretty much there Bonehead, a completely different bloke from the one
you were just a couple of weeks ago. You still enjoying it?”

“Oh
Sir it’s the fucking best, just wish you’d taken me in hand earlier. Thanks
Sir, I fuckin’ love you so much.”

With
that it was lights out time. One last some before I crashed out and slept, worn
out after my first real day’s work.

Over
the next couple of months I worked pretty much seven days a week. Dave was good
at drumming up business and things were looking good. I was used to the never
ending back breaking work and my body toughened up considerably. I was lifting
weight that I never would have imagined I could ever do but it was second
nature now. My bald head and skin was well tanned by the sun and my face looked
a fair bit coarser and rougher, nothing like the smooth complexion I’d tried to
keep before. Every week I got my pay packet, just the minimum wage, because as
Dave rightly said I was just unskilled labour and wasn’t worth any more. Dave
reminded me, quite forcibly, that I owned nothing; had nothing and without him
I was nothing. He was right and it was better that way.  

Dave
paid the bills, fed me and managed all of the business affairs. All I had to do
was work hard, do exactly as I was told and had enough money to buy the tobacco
I needed.

We’d
been together in the business for over a year and by now my mind and thoughts
had settled on my main tasks in life, working hard and being a cum dump for
Dave who had now settled into just using my mouth or my arse for his pleasure.
There was no longer any move on his part to satisfy me and I understood that.
Dave was the Boss and his needs came first. Dave was so good at fucking me that
I’d often shoot while he was inside me but if I didn’t I was more than happy to
just have a wank after he’d gone, watching myself smoke in the mirror and
looking at the rough workman I’d become.

Sometimes
Dave would withhold my wage packet so I couldn’t buy any tobacco and had
nothing to smoke, and fuck did I need my smokes now. He come into the garage
and light up a smoke knowing I was desperate.

“You
want a fuckin’ smoke Bonehead? You better ask nicely.”

“Please
sir. May I have a fuckin’ fag?” I asked, bad-temperedly.

“Not
good enough get on your knees.”

I
knelt. “Please Sir. May I have a fuckin’ fag?” I repeated.

“Do
you need one?”

“Oh
fuck I fuckin do Sir.”

“How
badly?”

“Fuckin’
badly, sir. I can’t fuckin’ survive without me smokes sir.”

“Do
you love cigarettes?”

“I
fuckin’ do Sir!”

“Well,
say it then.”

“I
fuckin’ love cigarettes, sir.”

“Do
you love them more than anything else in life?”

“Yes
sir, I fuckin’ love them more than anything else in fuckin’ life.”

“Alright
then Bonehead. Get up.”

I
stood up, panting at the thought of my lungs full of smoke. He put a cigarette
in my mouth and struck a match. He held it, agonisingly, just too far away from
me to reach it for several seconds – it seemed like forever – and then allowed
me to light up. I took a huge drag and inhaled and another and a third. I’ve
never felt so good in my life.

The
business was doing well enough for Dave to take on another hand but he made it
clear to me that I was still bottom of the pile, the new bloke was my superior
and I would refer to him as “Sir” and take my orders from him when necessary. I
felt a bit put out at first but realised that Dave was right, I would always be
at the bottom of the pile and I realised that’s what I
wanted.

Dave
said I should get some tattoos to complete my working man look. For my birthday
he paid for me to have work done on my arms and within a few months I had
tattoo sleeves on both arms. Now I was hooked on this and any extra cash I had
was saved to get more work done and eventually I had my hands covered, neck
tattoos and right across my chest. I thought they looked really great when I
was able to strip to the waist in the hot summer weather. I would imagine what
they would think of me now, back at my old job, they’d be fuckin’ amazed.

Dave
was getting much bolder when wanting to fuck me and would just walk up behind
me while I was working, shove me behind a bush, unzip my arse zipper in my
boiler suit and just mount me. Pumping away hard at my arse while I smoked my
roll-up all the way through. I loved him doing this as it was the constant
reminder I needed to tell me I was just his cum-dump. He’d fuck me, tell me
what a low dumb fuck I was, shoot inside me and pull out, telling me to get on
with my work.

A
new aspect began one day when one of Dave’s employees told me off for doing
something wrong. I objected to him telling me off and I told him to fuck off. I
was reported to Dave who made me apologise to this bloke. I had to tell him
what a dumb fuck I was and that I was his inferior and to do whatever he wanted
me to do. I had to beg him to forgive me. It was humiliating but that night I
wanked myself off just thinking about it and next day told Dave how much I
enjoyed the feeling I got when I was treated that way. Dave told me that he was
responsible for me and no matter what I would always be cared for and safe from
any real harm. He made sure that that this was the life I wanted and if I
wanted to be humiliated in this way, really live my life at the bottom, then
that is what would happen. I told him that everything he’d done to me so far
had made me happier than I’d ever been and now I wanted everyone to be in on
it, treat me the way I really wanted to be treated, as the dumb labourer I knew
I was.

From
then on Dave really went to town on humiliating me. He told the other guys how
I lived in the garage because I was too dirty and messy to be allowed in the
house. When several of us were working together I was told, in front of
everyone, that my place was to sit on the floor or ground while the others had
chairs or benches to sit on. I was there to fetch and carry for everyone and
they all made sure I did it and I loved it. I was treated as slow and a bit
stupid and I played up to my image, soon it wasn’t just an image I actually was
becoming this bloke.

Although
all the blokes who worked for Dave were straight and Dave didn’t make a big
thing out of us being gay, they knew about it. When Dave was fucking me behind
a bush or a shed they knew pretty much what was going on. Dave was usually
fairly discreet but there were times when he wanted a blow job from me so bad
that he didn’t care who saw us. I was always horny and I didn’t care either but
soon Dave decided that I was not concentrating on my work enough. He decided I
needed my dick locked into a chastity device, as he rightly said; my dick was
of no use to him so it was better locked away. I soon got used to wearing the
chastity device and the pain of getting a hard on soon taught my dick not to get
stiff and I barely paid any attention to the little nub that my dick now
resembled. Dave’s pleasure was more important. After all he said I got my
pleasure out of working and smoking and he was right.

So here I am today, a dirty, heavy smoking
labourer with no opinions about anything other than those Dave tells me I have.
I am happy, content and stress free, it’s the perfect life for me and I
wouldn’t want any other

Haven’t seen a new story from Rik in a long long while, but this one was definitely worth the wait!