No Sex, Just Submission

As I’ve been staying in London for so long, I finally reconnected with a Master I haven’t met in several years, in fact, even since before I met my Owner six years ago. He’s had such a profound influence on me, as he trained me to submit to a man and do chores, even without the expectation of sex.

Upon arrival, I remembered to take my shoes off and get on my knees and kiss both his feet, which were covered in fresh white socks. I did this years ago, when he’d taken me in as his house slave for a week. He looked just as I remembered him. He’s shorter than me, with a smaller frame, and of South Asian descent. What had changed was that he was more buff, having replaced his sport activities with the gym. Although compact, I could feel bigger biceps and remarkably tight calves and buttocks. Yeah, even as a total bottom I can appreciate firm, tight buttocks.

Another thing that hasn’t changed is that he relishes praise. He’d praise himself for perfecting his body and expected his sub to echo his sentiment.

He invited me into the living room, where he had set a pillow on the floor at his feet, as he sat on the sofa.

I kneeled again and kissed his feet once more. But he wanted me to smell them. Thankfully, there wasn’t a significant odor, as that is not a kink I share, and I’m easily disturbed and turned off by strong smells. But that prompted him to clarify: “With your nose, not your mouth.” Then we chatted and caught up on so much while I ironed his shirts and trousers (god forbid I’d iron his pants, as that would be silly in the UK, where pants mean underwear).

I was pleased with the result of my ironing, and more importantly, it seemed he was too. Serving him is so different from my usual experience as it really isn’t sexual.

This Master taught me the distinction between subs (who submit), slaves (who also do chores), and fags (who do chores without expecting anything in return — not even sex).

I understand that I’m not his type and honestly, he isn’t mine. You know I usually prefer bigger guys. But he possesses a naturally dominant personality and that is enough to drive my submission, my need to serve him.

That said, he did engage in one sexual activity with me, albeit facilitated by a dehumanizing sex toy, which was more than he did in his past engagement with me.

He guided me to the bathroom’s doorway and put a urinal gag on my head, inserting its drain into my mouth so his piss could flow from the little basin tied to my face. I’d taken my shirt off in advance, but when he fed me through this very small urinal, I got nervous that his piss would spill on my khaki trousers, because that would be impossible to hide on my hour and a half commute back to my hotel, on the opposite side of greater London. So I did my best to drink up all his sweet piss quickly. Thankfully, he really paced himself, as he himself noted afterward.

He also acknowledged how this was indeed dehumanizing, causing this separation between us by design with the use of the urinal gag. He preferred it this way. However, seeing his cock inches from my face did make me think of him in a more sexual way than I had before. Obviously I would’ve sucked him off or drunk directly from the tap if I were allowed to.

Once he had shaken off his cock, letting out the last drop of piss into the urinal, he sent me off back to my chores. First some vacuuming of the living room, bedroom, and kitchen. Then a little dishwashing by hand, although he owns a dishwasher. Easy enough chores.

Next I was instructed to wash his floors. He directed me to the cleaning supplies and I got to work. He ordered me to do it by hand. When I saw that he had a floor mop, I wondered why he gave me those instructions. Was that in expectation it would produce better or more careful results? Or was it simply because he could and it was more humiliating?

That’s just something to be curious about, but it’s of no consequence. I was comfortable on my knees. Not physically. The chore required a lot of effort and the floor was hard and uncomfortable to kneel on. But it felt right. Just as it was the first time I served him. He was a Dom, I was a fag, and I was naturally disposed to serve him.

I realized I was beginning to sweat, so I took my trousers off. This chore took longer, as I got on all fours and carefully covered every square foot of the same rooms I had vacuumed. He spared me from cleaning the bathroom. I guessed that was a special chore he gave to the last fag who visited him.

Once I was done, I cleaned up my sweat with a deodorizing wet wipe I’d brought with me. Because this fussy sub likes to stay clean. I got dressed and reported to him. He showed me to the front door, where I got down on my knees again to kiss both his feet. Later I got a message from him: “Was good to see you fag. You did a good job with the floors.”