FINALLY I FOUND MY PLACE: TO BE THE WHORE SLAVE OF A REAL MAN: SECOND PART OF THE STORY OF THE FIRST ENCOUNTER

A couple of minutes passed before he spoke again, and when he did, his voice sounded like thunder:
—Listen to me well, because this is only said once.

I felt the weight of the mattress sink beside me. He grabbed me by the hair and forced me to my knees, facing him. The leash was still tight around my neck, pulling on it with his hand as if walking an animal.

—From today on you are no longer a guy. You are not a free man, you are not just any faggot. You are my property. My bitch. My toilet. —He spat in my face, a thick spit that slid down my cheek—. And property doesn't speak unless spoken to. Property doesn't move unless ordered. Property opens its mouth when the master needs a place to piss, and closes its ass when the master tells it he doesn't want it open. Are you understanding me, bitch?

I swallowed, my face burning from the slap that still stung.

—Yes, Master.

He gave me another slap, this time harder, and my head hit the mattress.

—You say: "Yes, Master, thank you for teaching me my place."

—Yes, Master... thank you for teaching me my place —I repeated like an echo, trembling, my cock hard again despite the pain.

Ángel laughed, a short, dry laugh, of a macho who knows he is in control.

—That's better. —He ran his hand over my face, without affection, like someone examining a show dog—. And now, so you don't forget who's boss, you're going to do something for me.

He stood up, positioned himself in front of me and pointed his cock at my face, still dripping a mixture of saliva and remnants from my ass.

—Clean up your work, slut. With your tongue. Until it shines.

I lunged at his dick like a starving animal, licking it all over, swallowing every trace of my own trail, every drop of his cum, every accumulated male smell. He stayed still, his hands behind his head, enjoying the spectacle while I licked desperately.

When I finished, he grabbed me by the jaw and forced me to look into his eyes.

—Tonight you sleep on the floor, at the foot of my bed, with the leash on and tied to the leg. Tomorrow, when I get up, the first thing you'll do is greet me on your knees and drink my first piss of the day. And the day after tomorrow, and every day I decide you're still useful. —He released me and pointed to the corner—. There. And if I hear you breathing louder than I allow, I'll give you a beating that will remind you who did you this favor.

I dragged myself to the corner with the leash dragging, I lay on the cold floor with my cheek against the wood and stayed still like a good animal. From there I could hear his breathing, the creak of the bed as he lay down, the silence of the night.

And when he turned off the light, only my voice was heard, low, almost a whisper:

—Thank you, Master. Thank you for making me yours.

He didn't respond. There was no need. The dry snap of the leash against t...