By JocKDieseL

My handler John had always been very “creative” when he played with me, but this was one of my more memorable training sessions.

My lesson of the day was to be an exercise in both humility and pride simultaneously.  My handler told me that you cannot have one without the other, and I believed him.

There was to be an art exhibition at my handlers house in the atrium.  There was a short hallway leading to a decent sized round room, surrounded on all sides by floor to ceiling windows, spaced about 6 feet apart. The skylight overhead made it look like a greenhouse, were it not for the huge chandelier hanging from the center.  Between the windows were various works of art; a few paintings, some wooden and metal sculptures, and a few benches strategically placed.  There was one piece that was just a white pedestal with a 7 foot cube made out of old plumbing placed on top of it.  On the pedestal itself was a black plaque which read, “MINE”.  I guess it was supposed to look like a mine shaft or something.

In the center of the room was a wine and cheese bar and a table with yummy food and refreshments, that I had assisted in preparing.  While I was finishing up with the flatware, my handler called for me.

“Shane we need to get you ready for the party.”

“Yes Sir, I’ll go grab a shower.”

“No boy, you come with me.”

“Yes Sir.”

He didn’t look angry or anything, but I could tell something was going on.  He walked me into the mud room where his friend Daryl was waiting, with a bucket of water, a bunch of towels in a box and some disposable razors.

“Strip boy.”

“Yes Sir.”

I was a little nervous but I was pretty sure he was just going to shave me head to toe, which he had done many times before.  They had me lying on the back table and within about 15  minutes they had indeed shaved every inch of hair off my body, including my eyebrows, which I absolutely hated.  They toweled me off, and admired their handiwork, while I stood in front of them, shivering a little from the cold.

“Ok Daryl let’s continue.” John said, smiling at me.

By this time the wait staff had arrived, and John and Daryl walked me naked into the atrium and towards that odd art piece.  They placed a tarp over the pedestal and had me stand inside the cube.  Then using heavy steel chains around my waist I was secured to the back of it, and my ankles to the corners in the front.  My arms were stretched straight out from my sides.  John put one of the dogs old collars around my neck and tied it to the top center of the frame.  A couple more chains around my chest and I was neatly suspended.

“Should he watch?”  Daryl asked.

“Yes, until the end, but put  a gag on him first.”

And so Daryl put a ball gag in my mouth.  Then he went back to the mud room for supplies.

“I know you didn’t know this Shane, but YOU are going to be one of my exhibits today.  How do you feel about that?”

I muffled “whatever you say Sir” into the gag.  He looked up at me and smiled and patted my foot.  I looked down at him smiling.

“From now until the end of the party, you are not to move unless asked, and you are not to attempt to speak at all.  If you understand, nod your head.”  I nodded.  “Good boy.  I’m going to let you watch until we get to your head.  Just relax, and enjoy.”

And I did.  I could basically hang from the chains fairly comfortably.  I looked around as Daryl showed up with some cans of paint and rollers and more towels and a box of equipment.

John swatted my ass hard.  ”No moving!”  I faced forward.

John and Daryl proceeded to paint my smoothly denuded body with white and grey paint, starting at my feet and working their way up to my neck.  They talked to one another as if I wasn’t even there.  How is the wine?  Who all is coming?   What about the music?…etc.

When they reached my neck, John put a gas mask over my face and painted it over with spray paint.  The fumes made me lightheaded.  I started drifting in and out of consciousness.

They kept working, using blow dryers and applying layer over layer of paint on my body, and some thick stuff, like gritty clay smeared on my chest and torso, arms and legs.  When it dried they sprayed me with one last layer of shiny clear resin.  I felt warm, and heavy, laden down with paint.  I was still lightheaded from the fumes.  I could hear my own heat beating.  It was quiet outside.  They must have left.  After a few minutes of silence I fell asleep.

I dreamed about being out with the dogs, playing frisbee on the river.  I had just done that last week and had a great time.  I jumped in the river in my underwear to cool off and laid in the sun to dry.

I was still half asleep listening to the guests conversations as they arrived.  They talked about  the food, the wine, and the various art pieces, including me!  Someone said how realistic it(I) was, and wanted to know who the artist was.  John said, ‘he is his mine.”  They sounded surprised and impressed.

“Go on, you can touch him,” John coaxed.  I felt a warm hand touching my foot, then higher, up my leg.  Someone gasped.  “Oh my, he’s real!”  I could hear more people drawing near, talking about me. Such a strange sensation to feel completely exposed and completely isolated at the same time. Then I felt an oiled hand on my cock.  I was almost certain that the hand belonged to John or Daryl.  Being a teenager it only took about 30 seconds for me to be fully erect.  I tried desperately not to move or even breathe heavily as ordered. but I could feel my heart pulsing through my whole body, and my ears were ringing.  If I weren’t covered in paint you would have seen my face and torso flushed beet red from embarrassment.  People started giggling and making jokes…a couple of the women sounded appalled, but the men were mostly delightedly amused.

Conversations swelled along with my penis!  People spoke to me, but I remained silent as instructed.  Mostly they asked who I was and could I hear them.  ”Are you that landscaper boy that cuts the lawn?” More oily hands touched and caressed my body, from all angles.  I felt cool where the paint rubbed off.  I knew that they were slowly wiping the paint off me, and I became very self conscious.  Apparently that was the whole idea.  I felt more naked than naked, if that’s possible.  But I remained inert, except for my embarrassingly hard erection.  After a while the crowd died down and people moved on and resumed drinking and snacking and looking at the other exhibits.  A few stragglers lagged behind, still touching me, wiping paint off me, exposing my smooth young skin.  One hand, a man’s hand, big and calloused, had my cock in a death grip and worked the head of my penis with his thumb in broad circles, deeper and deeper.  I wanted to moan…to thrash around…it was so much stimulation.  I tried to remain perfectly still and perfectly silent, hoping he would leave me alone. They whispered filthy things about me to each other.  One of them grabbed my balls and squeezed them like a vice.  It hurt so much.  My body was vibrating from my ragged breathing.

Then I heard my handlers voice. Thankfully he shooed them away to the bar in the next room, where everyone had gathered.  John cradled my cock and balls in his hand and caressed them gingerly, easing my pain. “Don’t speak, but you can relax now.”  he said.

I took a slow deep breath in, and exhaled, softening my posture.

John hopped up on the pedestal and pried the paint covered gas mask off my head.

It was only him and me in the room.  Everyone else was at the bar in the kitchen, out of sight.

John held my head in his hands.  A line of drool had formed under the gas mask from my ball gag, and was now seeping down my still partially painted chest and belly.  I looked down and most of my lower torso was bare, slicked up with oil and a few streaks of grey paint.  He picked up my head and looked me in the eye.  ”You’re a very good boy” he said, and kissed me on the forehead.  I had nothing but love for him.

“Now, you have five minutes to cum for me boy, or you’ll stay in this thing all night…..go.”

And then he smiled at me.  He stepped down and lit his pipe and just watched me.  My eyes were locked on his.  He had a spot of white paint on his lips from kissing me.  I smiled.  He looked down at his watch and then winked at me.

He was serious!  Fun is fun but I didn’t want to stay chained up all night long.  I was still secured hand and foot.  I couldn’t touch myself.  I couldn’t move really.  and I needed to cum for my handler…and soon! I had to make myself orgasm through strength of will alone. I focused on what had happened to me that day.  I fantasized about the MANY other times I was restrained, my body used for my handlers whims and pleasures.  I looked down at my handler.  I was still gagged, pleading to him with my eyes.  Nothing… Mustering every ounce of sexual energy I possessed I made myself cum on command in four minutes and twenty two seconds.

My handler chuckled, muttering ‘good boy’ and turned and left the room, a trail of pipe smoke behind him.  He returned with Daryl and they both unchained me.  Daryl put a towel around me, patted my back and took my gag out.  He teased me about the predicament I endured and we both got a good laugh out of it.  He led me upstairs and bathed me in the tub like a baby.  Although I was very conscious of my own body It felt very comforting, and Daryl was in heaven touching me :).  He put me to bed while John said goodbye to his guests.  John told me downstairs that I did very well and that I could sleep in his bed with him tonight.  When John came upstairs he cuffed my hands behind my back-he did that sometimes.  He laid me on my side and fucked my mouth gently, telling me over and over how beautiful I was, and how proud he was of me. I basked in his praise and drank my handlers cum gratefully.  I was warm, content, and happy to be my handler’s work of art.

 

Note: This true story is from the personal website of JocKDieseL, and it is posted here on Metalbond with permission. You can reach the author at JocKDieseL69@yahoo.com, or via his profile on Recon.