10 to 2: Chapter 1

Zack felt ten feet tall.

He stood there, surveying the scene of his victory, heart pounding, the light glistening off the perspiration on his bare chest every time it rose and fell with his quickened breath.

The dumbbells lay on the floor, defeated. He had broken every one of his personal bests, lifting heavier and harder than ever on every set he’d done. A bead of sweat trickled straight down between his pecs, following the indentation between his muscles, collecting in his navel. As he admired his reflection in the mirror, his body still pumped from the workout, a glow of pride flushed across his features. He was in the best shape of his life, and he knew it.

It wasn’t until a second bead of sweat ran down his body that he acknowledged the real reason for his pride. This one trickled down his back, and didn’t stop, snaking its way under the waistband of his shorts, down between his firm, toned cheeks, further moistening his crack. The crack he’d shaved smooth just that morning, on his Master’s orders.

His Master. That was the real reason he felt so elated. Sure, he’d broken new ground in his workout, but it was the fact that he’d done it for Him that really made him swell with pride. He’d been ordered to push himself harder than before, and he’d delivered, in spades. As he thought about how pleased his Master would be with his progress, a familiar tightening of his shorts heralded an altogether different kind of swelling. This one wasn’t pride, but it certainly felt as good.

He longed to act on it. It would be so easy to just shuck off his shorts and let his hands explore his naked body, rubbing his sweat all over himself, exploring his now smooth hole, stroking his rock hard cock. He knew he couldn’t trust himself to do that, however. It wasn’t that he was banned from touching himself; if anything, it was encouraged. But releasing his load without permission would get him in all kinds of trouble, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back if he started edging on a post-workout high. He turned away from the mirror and headed off for a cold, cold shower.

Twelve hours later he was standing bare-chested once more. This time however, the surroundings were a little different. The club was dimly lit, the multi-coloured lights bringing flashes of clarity to an otherwise murky view, in a way that an overpaid designer would have described as “atmospheric”. Needless to say, the designer hadn’t imagined that this particular atmosphere would consist chiefly of a heady mixture of sweat, spunk, poppers and lube. Zack felt a wave of shame as he breathed in the smell and realised how intensely appealing he found it.

He was dressed, if it could be called that, in a pair of jet-black ankle-height DMs, and very little else. A black jock just about concealed his package, and framed his tight, muscled arse like a priceless painting in a gallery of glutes. His defined pecs, his most-improved feature since he’d embarked on his Master’s forced workout regime, were further enhanced by a black leather harness, tightly buckled and locked into place.

Around his neck was a collar. Its design was simple; an inch-wide strip of black leather, nothing more. This was no fancy over-priced, multi-buckled, complicated device from a sex shop; it was a pet-store bargain. As his Master had said to him when he first put it round his neck, “Why would I waste money on something fancy? You’re nothing but my dog, so you get nothing but a dog’s collar.”

At the front of the collar, you could just about make out a small bulge. This was the only evidence of where his Master had customised it, by removing the metal D-ring to which a lead might normally be attached. He had explained this very simply.

“I don’t need the ring, because I don’t need a lead to drag you around. You WILL follow me, and you WILL obey me, won’t you, faggot?”

Zack still remembered that moment, when his barely audible whispered “Yes Sir”, his voice cracking with nerves, had been rewarded with a slap across the face which had made his head spin. He had instinctively known that it had meant his Master wasn’t satisfied with his answer. His second “Yes Sir”, bolder, clearer, committed, was met with a nod of approval.

And now, here they were. The Master, standing next to His property, putting it on show for all to see. He leaned in, His voice quiet yet somehow piercing through the music, as if it was wired directly to Zack’s auditory nerve.

“So, boy, see anything you fancy?”

Zack had already scanned the room several times when they’d arrived.

“Well, Sir, that guy over there looks quite---“

CRACK!

The slap caught Zack completely off guard, almost making him lose balance. Next thing he knew, a handful of his hair was in his Master’s firm grip, pulling his head down to bring his ear to the Master’s lips. He felt his warm breath as the words fell into his brain.

“It doesn’t matter what you like, faggot.”

Now it was the Master’s turn to scan the room. The club catered for almost every kind of guy and every kind of fetish, and it showed. The men came in all shapes and sizes, with ages ranging from barely legal to barely living. Some were dressed in leather, some in rubber, some in lycra, some just in underwear, some wore nothing at all. The range of activities was similarly varied …

In one corner, a bound sub was in the middle of a circle of guys, all taking turns to facefuck him. In another corner was the opposite scene; a dom stood there, shirtless, jeans open, while a group of 5 guys on their knees all fought over his cock.

Against one wall was a cross, complete with a restrained slave being flogged. Opposite, a fisting bench was being made full use of. In the middle of the room stood a sling in a frame; a wiry-framed skinhead in his 30s lay in it, nude but for his 20-hole Rangers, whilst a pair of his mates stood one at each end, their cocks buried in each of his holes.

The Master surveyed the scene, taking all of it in and more. It was hot, but not what He was looking for. Instead, He focussed on the watchers, the voyeurs, the single guys who hadn’t yet had either the courage or the opportunity (He didn’t care which) to get involved. After all, if He was going to slut out His pup, there was no point in looking for people who were already having fun.

There were a good few to choose from. The skinny emo, the chubby skaterboi, the silver fox, the tall geek, the short, stocky rugby player, and plenty more besides. Any of them would do. But then, He saw him …

Before the Master had made him into the faggot that he’d always secretly yearned to be, Zack had been a Dom. Or at least, he’d done a reasonably convincing impersonation of one to most people. Naturally, the Master had demanded full details of his entire sexual history when he’d first taken him on. It was one of Zack’s former subs who the Master had now spotted, standing in the club, watching the action.

Justin was short, smooth and fair. His wavy blond hair hung to his shoulders. He was reasonably slim, but not skinny; his body definitely had substance to it, but it wouldn’t be described as fat or stocky or chubby, nor muscular nor toned nor defined. If anything, one would describe it as feminine, and the Master realised, on closer inspection, that Justin would pass for a girl quite easily with not much more than a little hair and make-up work and a pair of falsies. This made sense; He remembered Zack saying that Justin had been into sissification, and he wouldn’t be at all surprised if he was wearing a pair of panties under his skinny black jeans.

The Master realised how perfect this was. Zack’s former sub was about to get his revenge.

Like many of the guys there, Justin was shirtless, although he stood with his arms self-consciously folded across his hairless chest. The Master confidently stared straight at him, His gaze unflinching. Justin caught the look, and briefly made eye contact before nervously biting his lip and looking away. The Master didn’t move. He’d done this countless times before, and knew that He’d already got him in that fleeting moment.

Sure enough, Justin soon risked another glance. This time, the Master locked eyes with him, and then, with a single finger, beckoned him over. Justin hesitated. Up until this point, he had been so fixated on the stranger with the piercing eyes and almost palpable aura of confidence that he hadn’t noticed Zack at all. The Master beckoned a second time, and, with a slight turn of His head, indicated Zack’s presence at his side. Justin’s eyes widened in surprise, not just at the sight of Zack, but at his demeanour. It was immediately clear who was in charge in this setup, and it certainly wasn’t Zack.

Zack had watched all of this with mounting horror. He’d noticed Justin as soon as he’d scanned the room, of course, but he’d made sure not to be seen, and he’d certainly not wanted to point him out to his Master. But there was nowhere to hide, and now He was beckoning him over. Zack hadn’t known what would be in store for him at the club tonight, be he’d known it wouldn’t be fun. Not for him, at least.

Justin approached, hesitantly. As soon as he was within reach, the Master grabbed the waistband of his jeans, and pulled him close to him. Justin couldn’t have resisted even if he’d wanted to.

“So, you must be Justin,” he said, making sure he was loud enough to be heard by not only Justin, but also by the onlookers. “I’ve heard all about how you used to sub to Zack here … What do you think of him now, not looking quite so dominant any more, is he?”

Justin tentatively shook his head.

“I think maybe it’s time you got a little bit of payback, don’t you?” asked the Master.

Somehow, Justin knew that the question was rhetorical. He looked at Zack, who was looking down at the floor, desperately trying to avoid eye contact, as if he was pretending, or hoping, that this wasn’t happening.

The Master turned to His property.

“Right then, boy, time to show everyone what a cock-sucking faggot you are, isn’t it?”

Zack forced out a “Yes Sir”, trying to make it quiet enough to be heard by as few people as possible, but loud enough to satisfy his Master.

“Louder!”

“Yes Sir,” said Zack, obediently. Justin could barely contain his amazement.

“What time is it, boy? And make sure everyone can hear you!” ordered the Master.

Zack gulped. “It’s …“. His voice cracked, faltered, and he could feel the cold piercing stare on him. He took a deep breath and tried again. “It’s time to show everyone what a cock-sucking faggot I am, Sir!”

The Master leaned in close to Zack, and whispered two dreaded words: “Shout it.”

Zack looked at his Master, his eyes pleading. It was as pointless as he knew it would be.

“Shout. It.”

Zack felt the hand on his head, lifting it from its downward gaze. He had no choice but to look straight ahead as he took another deep breath and shouted, “IT’S TIME TO SHOW EVERYONE WHAT A COCK-SUCKING FAGGOT I AM, SIR!”

He could feel 100 pairs of eyes on him, as the crowd turned to see what all the noise was about.

The Master turned His attention back to Justin. Swiftly, He grabbed him by the waistband of his jeans once more, but this time slipped His hand down the front, grabbing the boy’s cock as He pulled him in and kissed him, hard, forcefully. He felt a satisfying swelling in His hand; Justin was already hard.

A glance and a barely perceptible flick of His eyes down towards the grimy floor at Justin’s feet told Zack all he needed to know. He’d learnt to obey practically by instinct by now, and a second later found himself kneeling on the floor, hands behind his back, eyes level with the now bulging crotch.

“Open,” commanded the Master.

Zack opened his mouth wide, his tongue hanging out, waiting for what was coming like a dog expecting a treat. If the shame he’d felt before had been a wave, then this was a tsunami, as he saw himself in the club’s mirrored wall, on his knees, about to suck the cock of the little sissy femboy who he’d regularly made his bitch only a few months earlier.

The Master ripped open Justin’s jeans, and allowed himself a satisfied smile. He’d been right about the panties, which were now straining to contain the hardness within. He put them out of their misery, and freed Justin’s cock. He looked at it approvingly. It was about 6 inches long, maybe a little more, not overly thick but not skinny, and remarkably straight. A bead of precum glistened on the tip. He yanked the jeans down to halfway around the boy’s thighs, to be sure that the panties were in full view; he wanted everyone to see that his faggot was about to get used by a pantie-wearing sissy.

Justin moved forward towards Zack, only to feel the Master’s hand on his chest, holding him back.

“Beg,” he ordered Zack.

Zack had been well trained. He put his hands up in front of him, paw-like, and adopted the begging pup position. He whined, panted, and pawed at the treat which was gently bobbing in front of him, just out of reach. And then he went bright red when Justin burst out laughing.

The Master whispered something into Justin’s ear.

“Aw, do you want it?” Justin asked Zack, who nodded and panted eagerly in answer, trying to fight back the waves of shame and embarrassment. Justin leaned in closer, ruffling Zack’s hair … before spitting straight into his face. Zack recoiled in surprise at the unexpected move, and was rewarded with a slap in the face. A slap! From Justin! Of all people! As he felt the spit run down his cheek and into his mouth, Zack got the feeling that everything he’d ever dished out was about to come back and bite him on the arse. Quite possibly literally as well as figuratively.

Before he had time to process these thoughts any further, Zack felt his Master’s hand on the back of his head, and he was slammed all the way into Justin’s crotch, choking as the cock hit the back of his throat. He tried to pull back but there was no escape. He was held there firm, fighting for breath, being forced to suck in what air he could through his nose. Turning his eyes upwards, he could just about make out the Master grabbing Justin’s head with his other hand, and kissing him again, long, deep and passionate. Zack could feel the throbbing hard cock in his mouth swelling even more in response, as the envy washed over him.

As suddenly as before, the Master released his grip on both of them, turned to Justin, and said, in a loud voice, “Now, do what the fuck you want to him.” And with that, he settled himself on a nearby barstool, ready to watch the entertainment.

Zack found his mind almost leaving his body, as he took in the reality of the situation. He was able to see himself as he must look to the rest of the crowd who had by now gathered to watch this muscle-bound fuckpup get forced to his knees and choked out on the cock of a petite little femboy who could barely fight his way out of a paper bag.

He was degraded, humiliated, ashamed. And very, very hard.

Zack felt two feet tall.