Errand Boy's Testimonial

Iím informed, weeks in advance, to leave a certain Saturday open. No other details are given. Each day as I open my appointment book, the date gleams white and pristine among the other columns that are filled with hastily scrawled commitments and chores. And each day I run my fingers down the column, full of desire and dread. I wonder: What does she have in store?

On the designated day I arrive early. Iím told youíre having a small party for your closest friends. The thought excites me; the expectation of meeting the people close to you fills me with pride. I realize this is a special privilege...though I worry that Iíve dressed inappropriately.

You present me with a meticulously written list of tasks. I see now why I had to leave the entire day free. I set about my duties...cleaning, re-arranging some furniture. Finally, as the sun slips behind the skyline and the afterglow paints the buildings in a blush of red and gold, the apartment is presentable.

You tell me youíre going to get dressed for the party and send me on another errand. Iím handed a list of bottles and drinks to pick up at a liquor store. I lick my lips as I scroll through the brands...this is gonna be a fun party!

When I return I call out to you that Iím back, and put the things into the kitchen. Over my shoulder I catch a glimpse of you passing from your bedroom to your bathroom. As always, my stomach fills with butterflies at the vision of your transcendent beauty.

You tell me to come back to the bathroom. As I stand before you, the butterflies intensify. Iíve never seen you lovelier. Your dress is simple, long, black, and tailored. The fabric is silken, lush, and itís all I can do to keep from taking the hem and stroking it with my hands. And somehow Iím obsessed with a sliver of skin exposed at your collarbone. My mind drifts into a fantasy of suckling your flesh in that one delectable spot. Without a command I begin to fall to the floor, swept away in an impulse to adore your perfection.

As my knees touch, you place your heel on my chest and kick me away. Off balance, I tumble awkwardly to the ground.

Not now! Are you an idiot? My guestís will be here any minute, and you look like hell. We have to get you ready.

My apprehension about my appearance was apparently warranted. Iím embarrassed at the thought of standing in the same room with such finely crafted charm and grace, such searing beauty.

I neednít have worried.

You tell me to strip, and quickly. You present me with my costume. A collar is slapped around my neck. A hood is placed over my head, and the openings over the eyes are zipped shut. And the final accoutrement: a series of rings hastily shoved onto my cock. At the surprising touch of your hand on my member, it begins to fill with blood. But too late! The cock rings are in place, and its progress is stymied.

I donít want any unseemly displays from you. I know how difficult it is for you to control yourself, and Iíll not have you spoil my party.

You tell me Iím to remain on my knees for the duration of the party, and to stay attentive to your commands. Do you understand?

Yes, Mistress Sayako.

You seal the zipper shut at my mouth. Iím now blind AND dumb.

The bell rings and you guide me by the leash into the living room. You command, stay! and drop the leash.

The room fills with voices, laughter, male and female. Do I make out three, or four people?

No one seems to take notice of the naked, chastised, hooded man, kneeling motionless in a corner, as inanimate as a piece of furniture. I guess such things are no longer a surprise to your friends.

As the room fills with guests you take my leash and guide me around the room. At times Iím kept by your side, occasionally commanded to hold your glass. At other times Iím left alone, ignored.

A special friend of yours arrives and after some chit-chat you tell her you want to show her a new decoration in your room. Iím given both your glasses, and left alone.

I can tell that one glass is wine. The glass is stemmed, its surface is warm. The other is a tumbler, chilly to the touch. I hear ice clinking against the glass. Gin, perhaps? Whiskey? The two of you are gone some time; my left hand grows numb from the cold of the glass. Time passes and I feel the condensation on the tumbler develop. It drips onto my thigh periodically. The glass grows warm as time passes and the ice melts.

After long minutes, you return, and the glasses are taken from my hand. No word of thanks or acknowledgement. Iím merely incidental to the flow of the party.

Trapped in darkness, ignored, and yet fully exposed. With little else to occupy my time, I wonder about the guests. I try to attach voices to personalities, try to imagine what each guest looks like, what walk of life they come from.

As hours pass I can no longer discern where exactly I am. Voices swirl in front and behind me. The darkness and fatigue of kneeling so long become disorienting, and I feel as though I might faint. I pray I wonít...such a scene could not be explained away.

Finally the party dwindles, and only a few voices remain. I can tell the few remaining guests are tipsy. I almost chuckle at the cuteness of a womanís sweetly slurred speech. I almost feel as though Iím part of the party as the mood becomes more selective and intimate. But then, Iím known for entertaining such delusions.

For the first time you make reference to my presence. A voice commends you on my training. Heís been very attentive tonight, she says.

Oh, heís alright sometimes. But his training is still woefully inadequate. Heís very vain, and still fancies he has some control over his own destiny.

Another voice, male, laughs and observes, oh, I imagine youíll correct that soon, Sayako.

The woman inquires about my tattoos , and you jerk the leash to move me into various postures, allowing her to inspect the ink.

They want to know about my training. Iím discussed like a horse or dog trainer might speak of animal, as though I could not hear, or hearing, would not comprehend. My strong and weak points are itemized, and my mood dashes from proud to ashamed as you variously commend and criticize. I wish youíd unzip my mask and allow me to cry out how hard Iím trying, how deeply I desire to perfect myself for your edification.

After the long itemization of my qualities you tell your guests, there is one facet that he does very well on. Heís always been a good toilet. That was quite easy to perfect.

The woman titters tipsily. Sheís most amazed by this revelation. I can understand someone liking to be flogged! But drinking piss? How disgusting! She sounds incredulous, but titillated. You brag that itís easy.

Watch this.

My leash is tugged and Iím ushered into the bathroom. The cold tile, now so familiar, greets my knees.

Open.

And that hot, delectable blast, also familiar, begins. My first drink of the evening. Finally, Iím part of the party.

Squeals of amazement erupt at the doorway.

You pause.

See?! Itís easy.

I feel so proud to prove my mistress right, to participate in this public testimonial to her mastery.

And then that familiar command. Flush.

And so on until your bladder is empty.

The couple is still amazed.

The man exclaims, Christ, Sayako youíre unbelievable!

The woman agrees, I wouldnít believe it unless Iíd seen it with my own eyes.

Their wonder eggs you on, feeds your cockiness.

Wanna try?

The woman laughs nervously, stammers.

Come on, baby, why not! urges the man.

I hear a rustle of clothes before me as the man pushes the woman forward.

You command me to open, and before I know it, Iím drinking the strangerís piss. Her aim is poor, and she doesnít know to pause for me to swallow. As much splashes on my neck and chin as into my mouth. She laughs the whole time.

Empty now, she steps away. Next! Sheís really gotten into the spirit.

A sense of dread as I hear heavy footsteps before me. A firm hand grabs my head and adjusts the position. A decisive zzzzzippp as the man removes his cock.

He has learned by your example. Open! he commands. And, flush! when my mouth fills. The stream is powerful, thick, and I can barely swallow in time, but of course I do.

He laughs derisively as he steps away.

Well, thatís a new one for me! he admits.

And now the guests leave. Iím left alone in the cold bathroom, my bladder full of strangerís piss.

I fall to my side, exhausted.

I wonder how long Iíll be left there to ponder my discomfort, pain, and shame.

End