I’m most certainly a horny, gay man. I’ve known this ever since I was a kid. When I was, I didn’t really know what I wanted, other than wanting to have sex. And actually, I didn’t even want that.

I always imagined sucking a guy’s penis. And the first time I did, I came in my pants. When he stuffed his dick in my throat, I felt a little bit of precum splash onto the back of it, and my cock nearly came then! When his hot cum slid down my throat, like I said, I came in my pants.

I’m a large cummer, and it gets pretty messy when I do. I hadn’t worn any underwear, so the cum was just seeping through my jeans. It was almost like I pissed myself, but you could kind of see some white coming through. The guy thought it was so hot that I came like that, that he fucked my mouth a second time. And three more times after that. I had a sore throat for the next week, but I had an erection for the next week, too. I love to masturbate, and that was a week in heaven.

But that’s me as a kid. I’m still a large cummer, 10 years later. But now, I know exactly what I want. And I live the exact way I have wanted to live. Who am I? I am a slave to a master. A boy to his man, a son to his father. And, he is that first guy to put his penis in my mouth.

Several years after that first cum, I entered into an agreement, almost a kin to a marriage. I agreed to be his slave. He provides me food and shelter, as well as sexual bliss from time to time, and deep physical pain. I provide him with my love and care, the submission of my body and sexual spirit, and anything else he ever needs.

It’s a highly unequal relationship. I am deeply in love with him. But he is a deeply violent man. He is a highly promiscuous man. When he isn’t using me, he’s sleeping with someone else. When he’s not sleeping with someone else, he’s drinking. And when he’s done drinking, he’s beating me.

I don’t mind that he is a physical abuser. Better me than someone who doesn’t like it or want it. But he does have his moments that I know no one else sees. There is the occasional night he’ll allow me to sleep with him (but typically only after I take an unusually harsh beating), or the rare night he’ll allow me to masturbate (only typically when he knows there will be a little bit of blood in my cum – he loves when that happens), or the even more rare night he’ll beat me on the back porch (which are the only times I ever leave the apartment).

The last time I was outside was a little over a year ago, when he beat me on the back porch. There was a condition that I wasn’t allowed to make a single noise, because he didn’t want us to be heard by anyone near by. He was particularly drunk; his breath smelled so much of whiskey, I thought I was drinking it. He was particularly angry; something went wrong at work, he didn’t get the promotion he wanted, and he fucked his boss trying to get it.

The whiskey on his breath was particularly pungent, like I said. And unfortunately, it made me dry heave. That noise was breaking his rule. He hadn’t even struck me, and I broke the only rule. So, in a calculated move, he threw me through the glass door, breaking it. He punched me several times in the face, and I couldn’t see straight for a week after that. But, after the punches and being thrown through the glass door, I fell unconscious.

I woke up, several hours later. I was blinded, and my ears and mouth covered. I was dazed from what I figure was a concussion, and I quickly realized I was feeling an extreme pain in my penis. It was so painful, I didn’t even realize it at first. I tried to scream in pain, but with my mouth covered, and stuffed, I couldn’t make a real sound.

He had rather beaten my penis. And he also put salt on the wounds, to enhance the pain. But he was also sending a current of electricity through my penis and scrotum. Some how, the electric current made it seem such that my penis was cumming. I felt my penis twitching like that, and every time it did, it was very painful. I stayed in that position for quite a long time, though I never found out how long it went. At some point in the middle of it, I felt him paddling my scrotum. It was almost like my testicles were his golf balls.

Eventually that stopped. And at some point, he released me from my bondage. He hasn’t let me go outside since though, and he slept with even more people after that. He did kiss me, though. And for that, I still love him, because despite the horrible beating to my scrotum and penis, I still got my dick a little hard…though it was rather painful.

When I look at my penis right now, I see the scars left behind. It’s not very attractive, but I know he likes the work he did to it. I like to think that the scars spell his name, because, after all, I am his property, and what isn’t more important than a man’s penis? He still beats me like he has. Though he does have more people over, and shoves me into his closet more often.

But that doesn’t matter. Because I love him. He gives me the life that I have, the life that I want. I don’t mind any more, because that’s what makes me happy. My penis was scarred; he put his name on it, and I will always be his.

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