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You chuckled and took a swig of your drink. “Yes boi, a you’re gorgeous too. Who does your gorgeous body belong too?”

“You Sir!” He said eagerly, almost before you could finish your question. “I am Your property.”

When I lived abroad in the UK I rented a one bedroom flat. Being the faggot that I am I immediately placed a flat share advert offering a free bedroom.

I had a fairly decent response resulting in about 8 Men coming to view the flat. All were confused about why I’d be offering a free bedroom - the only bedroom - in a nice flat, in a nice neighborhood, and wondered where I would be sleeping. I explained to all of Them that I preferred to live with Others and, if I was inviting Them to stay with me, it was only right that They should have the bedroom as They were my guest.

Most were weirded out by this and figured there were strings; however, two of the Men asked me this directly and, as a dutiful faggot, I replied that there were no strings attached and explained that I enjoyed “serving the needs of Others” and would welcome the opportunity to serve Them during Their stay.

Only one of the Men seemed to apprehend what I was intimating, and I never heard back from the other Man. But that one Man accepted the free bedroom on the spot and moved in that evening.

He was in His mid-20s and was working as a line chef at a local restaurant. He said He wasn’t making much money, had been living out of His car, and didn’t mind living with others - especially as an alternative to His car.

On that first night, as I helped Him unpack and get settled, He remarked “I’m not gay and don’t get into that kinda thing, but I’m cool with it if you’re that way…are you?”

I paused and chose my words carefully: “that’s cool. I’m definitely into Guys, but wouldn’t say I’m exactly what You’d call gay - I’m something kinda different I guess.”

He said nothing at first and kept unpacking. But then He stopped and asked, “what the fuck does that mean, mate? What are you then?”

I felt nervous and concerned this was happening so soon after His moving in, but replied truthfully: “I guess I’m what You’d call a faggot. I am submissive and inferior to Men like You - well, all Men really - and my highest purpose is to serve, worship, and obey Men. It is just my nature.”

I paused before continuing “So, that’s the real reason why You have the bedroom…it would be ridiculous and absurd for me to place my own comfort ahead of You - a Man - and while I wouldn’t ever expect or demand anything from You, if there are ways I can please You or serve Your needs, I am duty-bound to obey and will be grateful for the opportunity to do so.”

He didn’t say much at first but eventually just said, “Okay. Cool I guess. You do your thing - as long as it doesn’t affect me I cool with whatever.”

That was it for about a week.

But then I began to notice small changes in His behavior. He began to put his dirty laundry into my hamper. He stopped cleaning up after Himself. He left towels on the floor and wouldn’t flush after using the toilet.

Of course, I was more than happy to do His laundry and would placed His clean and folded clothing on His bed. I was grateful to clean up after Him, pick up His towels and replace them with fresh towels, and flush the toilet after Him.

Within two weeks of moving in He had begun to assert Himself further - telling me what to pick up for Him at the market, inviting His friends over without letting me know, and taking over the whole flat.

A week later, He told me that He’d really enjoy breakfast and a fresh cup of tea in bed in the morning; He didn’t order me to do this, but I understood and obeyed. When I delivered His breakfast the next morning she complained to me about the long hours in the kitchen, on His feet all day, and said His feet were killing Him. Of course, I offered to massage His feet and He quickly agreed.

So there I was, three weeks in, kneeling at the foot of His bed, massaging His bare feet as He munched on the breakfast I had prepared for Him. I was in faggot heaven! I was so grateful and appreciative for the opportunity to have a Man I could serve, worship, and obey, and I looked forward to my continued and future servitude.

Within a month, He had fully accepted me for what I am and had begun to address me as “fag” or “faggot” whenever addressing me. He had fully embraced His superiority and dominion over me and had no qualms commanding me as He pleased.

Then, one Monday morning, He walked into the kitchen wearing only a heavily worn tank top - stained with what looked to be dried cum and stinking of His sweat and masculine body scent - and nothing else. His dick was at half mast.

I couldn’t help myself - I was transfixed - as I hadn’t had the privilege of seeing His cock until that very moment. It was uncut, long and thick. I may have actually been drooling.

He literally poked at me and asked, “so are you any good at sucking dick?”

Indeed, I was.

He stayed at His place for another year and a half, during which time He availed Himself of my holes regularly (telling me, and eventually His friends, that it was preferable to jerking off).

And indeed, He introduced His Friends to His faggot and would regularly send me over to one of His Friends to perform my duties - whatever these might be - from housecleaning, cooking, massage, or a warm wet hole for Them to use and enjoy.

During His final months, He took particular delight in using me while watching the footie on TV - using me severally as a footrest, a beer runner, foot massager, and urinal (“come here, faggot…open your faghole, I gotta piss and I don’t want to miss the play”.)

Eventually He found a new job working at a Michelin starred restaurant in Cornwall and had to move out. Happily, He gifted me to a Buddy who promptly moved in and took His place.

Unbeknownst to most, however, was the fact that He had been availing Himself of my services for most of the term.

He always woke up with morning wood - His hard cock staring against His briefs - and almost every morning He would pull back His comforter to reveal His bulging briefs and tell me to come over. I’d obey immediately and, crawling underneath the comforter, I would position myself between His legs.

I could smell His sweat and stink from a night under the sheets and would begin to nuzzle His hard cock through His briefs. It would twitch as I wrapped my lips around His cotton wrapped cockhead.

He’d be leaking precum by this point and I’d suck its flavor through the damp spot in the cotton before He would slide the briefs down to unleash His impressive dick. I could feel the heat radiating from it as my tongue licked a pearl of His delicious precum from the slit of His penis.

Moments later, my throat would engulf the full length and girth of His erection - bury His cock balls deep - as my lips pressed against His wiry pubes. He’d grab the back of my head with both hands and begin pumping - thrusting His shaft deeply - first slowly, and then with growing intensity.

I remained in position, motionless, as He used me like so many masturbation toys. I was little more than a sentient fleshlight and He used me as the object I was and am to this day.

Soon, I would feel His thighs begin to strain and tighten against me. The tempo of His thrusts - and their intensity - would increase, causing saliva and throat mucous to pour from my open mouth. I could taste it as copious volume of His precum leaked down my throat. He would begin to koan softly.

Then, in a crescendo of pure pleasure, He’d let loose a much louder moan as His cock erupted in orgasm and a flood of His precious cum filled my mouth. His body would shudder as His cock pulsated and spasmed with ejaculation.

I would swallow down every last drop and, only when His last drop of seed had been spilled, and His grip released from the back of my head, would I slide my throat off His spent cock.

There were no words. He would pull up His briefs and head to the shower. I crawl back into my bed, savor the taste of His cock and cum, and jerk off before heading to the shower myself.

Great thanks.

Wait. If you’re going to wear one, why wouldn’t you want people to see it? Isn’t that the point of it, to show everyone who you are?

He uses it to control me, help me go deeper into my submission and be a better boy. That’s the point of it.

Then who cares if anyone sees it? You’re a faggot. There’s nothing wrong with that and nothing wrong with people knowing it either. Don’t be afraid to be who you are buddy.

Thanks. That helps and you’re right. Maybe I should put on the more fitted ones. It’ll show then.

Do it faggot. I’ll be with you the whole night.

Honestly boy, the worst thing you can do is fight it. Your nature will always win. You were comfortable with this. You said you wanted this. And now here you are letting your faux manhood reemerge, and act like you don’t want to be exactly where you are.

Do you think I’ll be able to get out of this thing and lead a normal life?

Everything’s relative boy. Being in chastity is a normal life for someone like you.

I was afraid you might say that.

Do you think I’m wrong?

I think I’m a faggot and I think we both know people like me are supposed to be caged.

And there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re a good boy and you’re my boy. Don’t ever forget that.

Yes, Sir. All my anxiety has gone away. No more pressure to be something I’m not.

Excellent. How about we go to the beach. There’s a secluded part where you can just be caged under your speedo and no one will bother us.

Um. Sure. Why not. You’re sure we’ll be left alone.

I’ll make sure of a boy. You need to get out of the house now that you’re caged. I’ll keep you safe.

Thank you Sir

He struggled a bit with his attraction to men. In order to make it easier I told him he could be in charge if he wanted to be. I was a bottom anyway, so I figured it would help him and it did. I felt he was still holding back though so I suggested he cage me and think of me more as his fag than his boyfriend. He really liked that and now he’s his complete self around me. It helped him let go of that last part of whatever was bothering him.

I have to be careful when I’m riding since I got caged. The first time I did it, the cage started vibrating and it felt so good. I ended up cumming and almost crashed my bike. When we stopped, he asked me what was wrong and I showed him the mess I made. He said, “You stupid faggot. That’s a hysterical.”

He had me get rid of all my board shorts and bought me this speedo. I told him I was a little nervous about it because the fact that I’m small would be obvious. He said “You’re a boy and you have a boy cock. I think it’s hot and you’re going to wear your speedo.” I told him I understood and would get over it and then he continued. “Eventually you’ll start wearing a chastity cage under that speedo and you’re going to have to get over that too.”

Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.

I don’t want to hear sorry anymore. I want you to perform as you’ve been trained. You know how to do this. Any more nonsense and there will be consequences that, trust me, you won’t like.

Yes Sir.

Get on your back and lift your legs like a girl.

Yes Sir.