The Blac Dominion

I had never ever considered myself a gay man. I had never so much as even looked at another man until I had met Abel. In light of everything that has happened in the last few months, to start the story by telling you that I am not gay seems so preposterous, but I need to start at the beginning in order to make sense of how I ended up here. I need this to try and make sense of everything, in the snatches of time that I have when I'm not under their spell. You may think I'm crazy, but please, hear me out.

I had it all; a slick, slim investment banker, living it up in the centre of London, with a fast Audi and a fast succession of women falling at my feet. The last in that long line of women, the gorgeous Shannon Tyler, had stuck around for several months and it was starting to look serious. I had the perfect life.

(You *have* the perfect life now.)

I miss my beautiful girlfriend. I miss my Audi and, shit, I never thought I would say this, but I miss my job. I miss it all. I want them all back.

(There's only one thing that you want.)

Don't listen to him.

(And I'd say that one thing was more of a need, personally.)

Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off! At least give me a chance to try and make sense of this, even just this once...

(Go ahead, Anthony. But we both know what you truly want and need. Take your time, figure it out, I'll be right here with the answer.)

As I said, try and ignore that for now. Let me just get my thoughts straight and start at the beginning. I worked at JPC Investment Banking HQ, in Tower Hill, London. There was an ongoing merger in progress with Wittington's of Essex. I didn't understand it and it was over my head, plus my job was absolutely not at risk, so I kept my nose out. I did notice a few new faces around the office, but that was it.

(Until you met me.)

Until I met Abel. He had taken over as head of Bonds, which was the department in which I worked. My old boss received an undeserved promotion, and they slid in someone from the merger to replace him.

(I just slid right in, didn't I, Anthony?)

Abel was ex-army or ex-navy, I forget which, and he was a towering, chiselled man with hard set features and pitch black hair. Streaks of grey coursed through his beard, but he was a fit and powerful man. You could just tell, especially by the way his suit hug to the shape of his body. It's not gay to notice that, right?

(The mind sees what the mind wants.)

I'd never been intimidated by a man before. Usually I can laugh off boorish lads and troublemakers with the gift of the gab, but when Abel's eyes first met mine at the introductory management meeting, I froze like a deer in headlights. I was terrified of this man; this new geezer whom I had never met before in my life, struck the fear of God in me. Nothing else in the room mattered. I just stared back at him, paralysed. After a while he smiled, and broke off the gaze. The room swam back into focus and reality resumed as if I had never parted from it.

(That was our special moment, Anthony; the very moment you first let me in.)

As the meeting progressed, I purposefully avoided Abel's gaze as he introduced himself and his methods to the team. I found that, as time went on, a stirring began deep within my core. It started as a feeling of unease, but as the feeling swelled with intensity, almost as if my guts were rearranging themselves. I began to feel empty, and I started to crave the feeling of being filled.

At first, I did not understand fully what was happening. This bizarre feeling grew with me over the rest of the day, and into the evening. I met Bazza and a couple of the droogs from accounting for a few bevvies, and as I imbibed more and more lagers, the feeling grew and grew and grew. It wasn't until I got home that night that I truly realised what was going on.

Shannon had stayed over at my flat but she was currently working nights. She was an assistant neurologist with the local trust and she was currently on a night time rotation shadowing the on call neurologist. By the time I got home, she had just finished showering and was getting ready for work.

I was lying on my bed, watching her sitting on the edge, slowly brushing her long, golden brown hair. I found myself focussing on the brush she used to complete the task. It was almost hypnotic, how she went about it; slow and methodical, yet each stroke possessed purpose and meaning.

I remember how thick the knobbled brush handle looked whilst wrapped in her tiny, petite fingers. There was something about the thickness and the length of it that slowly dawned on me and resonated with the feelings emanating from my core. Realising how phallic Shannon's brush was, the warm feeling inside of me coursed through my genitals and I knew instantly what I was going to do the moment she left for work.

You must understand that I had never done anything like this before in my life. I'd had a freaky ex from Islington who had a thing for eating my ass, but that was as far as it had ever gone. Yet, right in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to feel that brush handle up inside me, filling that gap that had ached all day.

The moment she left, I took the brush to the bathroom and slathered it in Vaseline in a fit of lust. I quickly stripped off, and stood there like an idiot. Was I just gonna jam it up my ass? Wait, would this hurt?

I re-evaluated the situation and decided to lie down on my bed. Crawling onto the sheets naked felt amazing on my skin, and before I was even lying down fully I felt much more relaxed. I rubbed the brush handle on the insides of my thighs, and teased my balls with it. With my free hand, I reached for my thickening cock to jerk it as I played around. That was when I first heard the voice.

(Like this?)

Just like that, yes. Gentle at first; warm and assertive, yet authoritative and dominant. It said to me:

(Don't do that.)

My hand shot away from my cock, instantly. I was confused, and for the second time today, frightened.

(You don't want to touch that, it'll draw your mind away from what you truly want.)

I looked down at the brush in my hand. The thick wooden handle looked as inviting as ever.

(That's a good boy.)

A wave of pleasure met the fear, emboldening me enough to ask aloud: "Have I lost my mind?"

The voice responded:

(Not yet.)

I moved the brush up further between my legs, slowly spreading them out to make room for my new friend. Gingerly, I pressed the bulbed head of the brush handle against my virgin hole. I was surprised how it instantly had a bit of give to it; the brush handle was smothered in Vaseline but I had not expected my ring to be so eager.

I took a few deep breaths, constantly resisting the urge to reach out and grab my dick, and began to press the brush handle into my ass. Slowly, but surely, I began to feel my hole open around the end of the brush, but there was a great deal of resistance.

(Push down, boy.)

I re-angled the brush and tried again.

(No, you idiot; push down on the brush like you are taking a shit.)

And so I did. Pushing inwards with the brush and pushing outwards with my muscles, the first notch on the handle popped inside me.

(Beautiful.)

Unsure how to react, I instantly pulled the brush back out, and my butthole retracted, tightening back up. I repeated the process, finding that it got easier with every stroke, and that each time, the brush worked a little deeper inside me. I felt a certain degree of discomfort, but it wasn't anything that I could not handle.

After a few minutes of fooling around, I'd gotten three out of the four notches on the handle up inside my ass. I had started to experience a build up of pressure that felt like it was coming from behind my dick. As I moved the brush in and out slowly, the effects of this pressure varied. I found it uncomfortable, yet incredibly more-ish.

(You are at the start of a great journey.)

"What the hell are you talking about?"

(Enlightenment through perpetual and deep orgasmic pleasure. The Submissive One's journey to true orgasm is a life-long one.)

I reached out for my cock as I slid the brush in and out of my ass.

(Don't you dare. You touch it, and I'll cut it off.)

I moved my hand away immediately.

(You belong to me now, and you shall do as I say.)

"Who are you?" I asked, gasping as my hungry ass took the forth and final notch of the handle.

(How have you not figured that out yet? You've a lot to learn, Anthony.)

"A-"... "Abel?"

(Hello, Anthony.)

I remember being incredibly confused but also beyond aroused. The brush felt fantastic but I just could not hit that sweet spot. It was like scratching an itch that could not be sated.

(Welcome to the start of your new life.)

If only I'd realised the true depth to his words back then. Maybe I could have figured a way out.

(But you didn't, did you, Anthony? You were too busy trying to figure out how to get that brush handle deeper in your ass. The fire was planted in your belly and you became The Submissive One right there and then, even though you didn't know it.)

Abel's right, of course. I went back to the bathroom, slathered even more Vaseline onto the brush and stood there, one hand on the sink and the other slamming the brush into my bum as hard and fast as I could. What had, half hour ago, looked and felt like the biggest dick in the world, now barely cut it. Frustrated at being unable to crest the pleasure I felt from the pressure within me, I went to bed and crashed out.

When I woke up I wrote the whole thing off as a result of too much alcohol. Seeing the brush lying in the sink the next morning, covered in Vaseline and the odd flecks of shit, filled me with shame. I cleaned up and went to work. I drove extra fast (until hitting city centre traffic, at least) and I put my music up extra loud. In hindsight I guess these were feeble attempts to ascertain my masculinity.

In the office I got stuck straight into the monthly reports. This was usually put off right until the last minute, as it was a thankless, repetitive task that everyone hated. I just needed to get stuck into something and get on with the day. And so I did, until just before lunch.

Standing before me, in a silvery blue suit that no doubt cost exorbitant amounts of money, was Abel. This time, although he took me off guard, he did not strike fear in me.

"Good morning, Anthony." You said.

(Good morning. Anthony. Just like that.)

"Good morning, Abel, how are you?" I asked back, initially emboldened by the thoughts of the previous night. I mean, imagine talking to your boss knowing less than 12 hours ago you were jamming a hair brush up your arse whilst dreaming he was talking to you telepathically.

That was when you "said" (You mean like this?). Your lips did not move, but I heard the words clearly. I remember that freezing fear came over me again.

(That's right.) you "said", smiling down at me as my mouth dropped open.

(I think that was about the time your little brain finally began to grasp the gravity of the situation.)

How was I supposed to know the first night wasn't just a weird wet dream?

(You did have a lot to drink.)

I tried to ignore him and plow on through the reports, but Abel did not move. He seemed perfectly fine with my feeble attempts to ignore him, almost as if he knew, that eventually, after several agonizing minutes of pretending to work, I would look up again and acknowledge him.

(Which is exactly what you did.)

"Why are you standing there watching me work?" I asked.

A warming smile cut across Abel's face. For a moment, he almost looked gentle, like a loving father. Like a concerned boss.

"There's going to be a last minute investment meeting in the upstairs conference room, starting in just under half hour. I need you to be there as it is quite important. A client from Wittington's is not convinced that our merger is in his best financial interests and has implemented steps to remove his investments from our coffers and to sell up his existing bonds. This is a very sensitive client so this meeting is of utmost importance."

I sat there, staring up at Abel, unsure why I was being asked to attend a meeting of such calibre, especially in the "upstairs conference room", which despite its unflattering name, cut a fantastic view out across the city, and was the venue for all the important decisions made within the company. Hell, I bet this whole merger thing was agreed on in that room.

"Respectfully, why am I needed for this meeting?" I asked.

The warm smile disappeared from Abel's face.

(Because I fucking asked you to, and you do exactly as I say, exactly as I say it, exactly *when* I say it.)

That feeling in my belly returned almost instantly. The ache to be filled. Abel smiled.

"I need you with me because it would be better to have someone from the original JPC Investment Banking staff to back me up, and to put the client at ease. A relaxed client is a happy client, Anthony."

With that, he reached out and touched my shoulder reassuringly. His heavy, vice grip as his fingers sank into my flesh was so incredibly satisfying that I did not want him to let go, but let go he did.

"I'll see you upstairs, 2pm sharp." He said, before disappearing back into the hub bub of the office.

I dicked around with the reports for a few minutes longer, unable to really concentrate on what it was I was going. I was nervous. I did however, know the original JPC bonds and investments procedures inside out, and I had no qualms about attending the meeting. My anxiety came from wondering whether Abel was going to pull any mind game shite when my job was on the line.

I picked up my laptop bag and stuffed a thick notepad in there to make it look full, and made the short journey to the top floor. The decor was immediately noticeably different here. This was the client-facing part of the office, and it was kept immaculate. Everything was cut from glass; the partitions frosted, angular pieces of art. The table tops, huge crystal clear slabs. The chairs, well they looked like glass but they were probably plastic.

Outside the two conference rooms stood the reception desk, this is where the assistants to the bosses sat. In total, there was four of them, but only one was working today. It happened to be Kerry Saunders, a past conquest of mine. She had her black hair tied up sharply in a bun and was wearing a loose white blouse, that opened just enough to show her chest. Her true asset lay below the desk line though; Kerry had the tightest ass in the whole damn building, let alone our office, and she knew it.

"Things must be bad if they are allowing you up here," she said coldly, glancing up momentarily.

"Nice to see you too, hon," I replied sarcastically, in an overly friendly tone.

"You're in there," she responded, as if I had not even spoken. Pointing to the right hand conference room, she continued: "Dominion Holdings have said someone from their board. It was nice knowing you."

She actually smiled, the bitch.

Without wanting her to give her any further satisfaction I forged past her and opened the frosted glass door into the conference room. It was quite beautiful, to be honest. The room itself offered the same artistic, glass-reliant simplicity as the rest of the floor, the crowning jewel of which was an enormous cut glass table that ran the length of the room. What struck me though, was the view. Floor to ceiling windows replaced the two furthermost "walls", offering a 180 degree view of downtown London.

I wandered into the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind. Walking right up to the glass, I peered out into the bustle of London. The streets teemed with activity. I heard the door open behind me.

"Ah, here he is," I heard in Abel's dulcet tones. I swung around immediately.

Abel was holding open the door for a middle aged gentlemen with cropped gray hair. He wore a silvery suit that matched his hair and a muted purple shirt under his blazer. He walked into the room proudly, both hands in his trouser pockets like some sort of mad tourist.

Abel made to shut the door, but leaning his head out into the lobby he said - presumably to Kerry: "Please ensure that we are not disturbed, but if you need anything Kerry, let me know."

I exchanged glances with the silver-haired investor. He smiled wryly.

"Anthony, this is Gustav Klein, a representative from the Dominion Holdings group." Abel made the introduction.

I made to work my way back around the table to shake his hand.

(Stay where you are, boy.)

I froze in my tracks, looking no doubt, like an imbecile.

"Gustav is here today because his bosses are concerned that we are no longer able to provide the perks that long term investment with JPC unlocked, now that we have merged with an industry competitor such as Wittington's of Essex."

They both took a seat at the glass table. Abel pulled out the chair nearest the door. The man introduced as Gustav took a more comfortable seat, turning the chair from the table to get a better view out of the window across London.

(Don't sit down.)

I was reaching for a chair. With Abel's command, I stopped.

Abel continued: "What Anthony is probably not aware of, is that our high-end clients are often presented with unique deals in order for us to retain their business over our competitors. With that in mind, I would like today, to present the Dominion with another gift to cement our continued relationship well into the future."

Gustav nodded slowly. "And the gift is presumably this boy?"

My heart stopped.

"Correct, Mr. Klein. Anthony is JPC through and through, and has been assigned, permanently, to your account. He will, financial duties aside, provide the agreed perks to the level of quality expected from us by the Dominion. His training has only just began, but I have brought him here today to demonstrate the power of the obedience that we have over this one."

The silver-haired man looked at me, from head to foot and back again, like I was a piece of meat.

(Twirl on the spot.)

I looked at Abel desperately.

(Rotate. Now.)

And so I did, without really knowing what I was doing, I rotated nonchalantly like a runway model at the end of the catwalk.

"He looks a little old for our arrangement, but I cannot disagree to the fact that everything seems to be in order."

Gustav shifted in his chair, sighing slowly as if deep in thought. His eyes met mine. I could not let go of that icy stare.

"I'll sign off on him pending the results of a demonstration."

"Most excellent!" Abel exclaimed, producing some documents and sliding them onto the table.

(Ask Mr. Klein what he needs from you to secure the account.)

I darted my gaze at Abel. He looked furious.

(Do it now.)

"Mr. Klein, how may I assist in securing the account for Dominion Holdings?" I said, much more calmly and clearly than I thought possible.

Gustav narrowed his gaze. He looked away from me for a moment, turning to Abel, who simply nodded at him. He then looked back at me for a brief moment, before turning his gaze out towards London. Staring out over the city, he took his hands from his pockets and cracked his knuckles. Then, slowly, he lowered both of his hands to his crotch and began to undo his belt.

(Your time to shine, Anthony.)

I looked up from Gustav to Abel and he was smiling wickedly.

Gustav freed the belt, undid the top button on his trousers and unzipped his flies. He then rested his arms on the chair and sat, still staring out of the window.

(You know what you need to do.)

I had frozen completely, but Abel's commands ensured that I kept moving.

(Put the bag on the table, walk over to him and get on your knees).