verbalBTTM

I just love how you phrased this, as if you're at some battle station awaiting the moment of glorious combat.

Chapter 5 Saturday, June 26, 1993, 08:21 PM A tercentennial storm sweeps in from the west over the Gunks, forcing us to scramble and pack away the gear for our gracious host. Soaked and shivering, we gather in the living room, our naked bodies dripping onto the floor. The Mentors pass out towels, their calm gestures easing our discomfort. The air shifts when Master’s voice cuts through, sharp and commanding: “Dom's, prepare the room.” It’s a call to battle stations, and the Dom's move with purpose, converging on a bookcase that slides open to reveal a hidden passage. They vanish behind it, the door sealing shut with a soft thud. A faint mechanical hum rises from beneath the floor, stirring a mix of wonder and anticipation in my chest. One of the Alphas catches my gaze, his wink laced with a promise of forbidden pleasures, his eyes holding mine with unspoken intent. Master somehow reappears from the kitchen and claps, his presence commanding the room. “Mentors, escort the pledges blindfolded with their packs,” he orders. My Mentor retrieves four blindfolds from a chest beside a celestial globe, handing them out with quiet efficiency. The soft fabric slips over my eyes, plunging me into darkness. Anticipation thrums through me, my trust in the moment unshaken as my Mentor tugs my leash, guiding me down a narrow staircase. The faint pulse of music grows louder, its throbbing beat setting a primal tone for what lies ahead. We enter a new space, and the Mentors position us one by one. The only sounds are the soft shuffle of feet and the rhythm of the music, wrapping around us like a pulse. A sharp clap from Master no doubt echoes, and my blindfold is removed. My eyes adjust to a hazy room bathed in warm, dim red light, the air thick with the promise of debauchery, the stage set for the night’s unraveling desires. The basement sprawls like a labyrinth, its stone and mortar walls forming a maze of shadowed chambers designed for carnal indulgence. Exposed wooden beams crisscross the ceiling, interwoven with plumbing pipes that lend a raw, industrial edge. Victorian-era iron pillars stand as silent sentinels, ready to witness the night’s unfolding desires. Mirrors and sultry red lights adorn the walls and ceiling, casting a seductive glow that amplifies every movement, turning the space into a theater of visual temptation. Leather slings sway from the ceiling, while fisting benches, bolted firmly to the floor, promise intense encounters. Along the walls, leather banquettes and over sized chaise lounges invite submission, their surfaces beckoning the most depraved fantasies into reality. In a dimly lit corner, a tiled chamber hums with forbidden allure. Steel rails, bolted to the ceiling and just above the floor, offer endless possibilities for restraint. A single drain in the center of the floor stands ready to catch the night’s excesses. Nearby, a mahogany bar with mirrored backing glows softly, its liquor bottles and glassware illuminated by the only white light in the space—a stark contrast to the room’s otherwise primal ambiance. Master’s voice cuts through the air, naming us with a deliberate edge: “faggot bindel, faggot o’connell, faggot colencheck, faggot worthington.” He commands us to crawl toward him. On hands and knees, we move in total submission through a corridor of our brothers, their bodies forming a living gauntlet leading to the bar where Master waits, a Scotch in hand, flanked by the Dom's. With a nod, he signals us to rise. “Welcome to the Licentiousness Lounge,” he declares, “where your darkest desires are not just accepted—they’re celebrated.” My eyes sweep the room, taking in a world both foreign and intoxicating. “This is the Licentiousness Lounge,” Master continues, “a sanctuary where what happens here remains unspoken beyond these walls—not as a secret among us, but as a pact against the outside world. The storm tonight has brought you here sooner than planned, but I feel you’re ready to begin.” The Dom's pass us drinks, their gazes lingering, appraising us with unspoken intent. Master’s voice softens but retains its authority. “Tonight, you remain faggots, bound by protocol. But know this: the next time you enter this space, you’ll stand as equals among us, brothers in a tribe where masks conceal identities and unleash our true selves. Here, you may indulge without restraint.” He tugs our leashes, two in each hand, guiding us through the lounge’s offerings. “These are slings, Faggot bindel,” he says, a knowing glint in his eye. “You remember these, don’t you?” I nod, a smile breaking free. “Yes, Sir.” He gestures to the fisting benches. “These aren’t for you yet.” We pass a St. Andrew’s Cross, its arms ready to bind and expose, and a sitters’ sling that seems to hum with promise. “Restraints, floggers, ropes—every tool for pleasure and pain awaits you here,” he says. We pause at the watersports room, its tiled expanse both intriguing and unsettling. “If you need to relieve yourself,” Master explains, “and a brother kneels or lies before you, share your warmth. Don’t waste it.” The idea stirs a mix of confusion and curiosity, my gaze lingering on the drain as I grapple with its implications. The tour continues to a lounge area where U-bolts gleam above leather banquettes, their purpose clear in the dim light. Oversized chaise lounges and ottomans, scattered purposefully, whisper of past encounters—each piece a canvas for unspoken debauchery. As Master explains their functions, a new world unfurls before me, thrilling and terrifying. I’m eager to surrender to this brotherhood, to explore the depths of my desires in ways I never dared imagine. The tour ends where it began. Overwhelmed with lust and reverence, we four kneel before Master, our leashes extended in offering. One by one, we declare ourselves to the room. “I am faggot bindel,” I say, voice steady despite the fire within. “and I am a worthless faggot. I seek discipline, training, mentoring, and respect Sir.” Danny, a towering figure of raw strength, succumbs to Dom Igor’s commanding presence, his eyes locked in a blaze of arousal. Kneeling without breaking eye contact, he grips my leash and offers both to Dom Igor as a tribute. “Please, Sir,” Danny declares, his voice steady with devotion, “accept my submission. I am a hole for your pleasure, ready to serve, obey, and be used as you see fit.” Dom Igor, flanked by an Alpha and a Beta, surveys us with approval, their expressions gleaming at our growing understanding of our place. With a clink of metal links, they claim our leashes and lead us from the lounge’s sultry warmth into a stark, tiled chamber—their chosen arena for testing our surrender. The cold floor bites our knees as we’re restrained by ankle cuffs near the ground, our leashes tugged upward to meet the silhouettes of Dom Igor, his Beta, and the Alpha. “Position one,” they command, “mouths open.” We kneel, anticipation pulsing through us. A warm stream cascades over our faces and backsides, their urine marking us one by one. Our bodies quiver with a heady mix of shame and thrill, embracing this shocking act of submission. We lap up the acrid warmth, savoring every drop, the filth igniting a strange, intoxicating surrender. A dominant steps forward, slapping my ass and signaling position two—bent forward, exposed. His lubed finger circles my entrance, preparing me with deliberate care. Beside me, Danny’s eyes burn with need as a tongue explores his hole. Our moans echo, tempting the men, our bodies trembling with desire. A thick cock enters me without warning, the pleasurable pain tearing a cry from my throat that electrifies the room. Spurred by my reaction, the dominant slaps my ass again, my spasms tightening around him as he claims me. Danny mirrors my surrender, lost in his own ecstasy. A new sensation builds as the man inside me pauses, a warm flood filling my core. Unable to clench tightly enough, I feel his urine spill, trickling down my taint, over my balls, and along the sides of my slender legs. (I’m a disgusting pig), I think, (and I’m exactly where I belong). Another dominant seizes my face, thrusting into my throat. His urine overflows, streaming down my chin and chest, marking me as his. Spit-roasted, I revel in my depravity, my moans of ecstasy resonating through the tiled chamber. Danny, transformed beside me, laps at the dripping offering before pressing his lips to a man’s hole, eager to prove his worth. Our moans, entwined with the men’s pleasure, freeze us in a moment of pure surrender. Our neglected cocks drip uselessly onto the cold tiles, our bodies aching with need. A silhouette approaches, drawn to our filth, and unleashes a fresh shower of urine as we’re used at both ends, our bodies trembling like a depraved altar of service. “Next,” he growls, and my hole twitches in anticipation, clenching to hasten the man inside me. Danny mirrors my urgency, enticing our tops to climax. Their cocks pulse, filling us with warm, creamy seed. I savor the softening cock within me, clenching to hold its gift, a perfect lubricant for the next. The man in my throat releases, his cum flooding my mouth, satisfying the craving I’ve come to embrace. As he withdraws, I catch sight of Harry and Arthur on leather chaise lounges, railed mercilessly, with more men waiting their turn. My mind reels at the depravity surrounding us. Left alone, Danny and I crave more. We collapse ourselves into a sixty-nine position on the cold tiled floor, greedily sucking the potent cum from each other’s holes which we gladly spread ourselves open for each other, the taste so rich and overwhelming. A new dominant enters, his stream spraying us like a suburban lawn going side to side while adding to the puddle of waste around us, but he doesn’t dare interrupt our fervor. Content in our filth, we call out, our muffled voices a raw offering to the room. Dom Igor thoroughly pleased how we've embraced our submission, orders us to stand with our arms up as he removes our ankle restraints. Unshackled now, we stand chest to chest, as he hoses us clean with icy water that jolts our senses. He throws us a towel each watching us pat each other down Once dry we're led to the fisting benches, we obey the command to lay down. Danny’s panting betrays his calm still, as a tongue is at his hole, and I glance back to see him spreading himself for the masked dominant, savoring the remnants of my slobber and the cum within. Once hesitant, Danny now craves the cock that fills his newfound void, just as I do. From shy newcomers drawn by a cryptic ad, we’ve become cumdumps, bound by our shared hunger, eager to serve the desires of our brothers. In the haze of the dungeon, danny the reserved hulking member of our group, sweat-slicked muscles taut, eyes burning with lust, with shadowy figures beginning to circling us, he reaches back with both hands to spread his cheeks apart, fully on offer as a beacon of desire. Like me, he’s discovered the void within—a hunger only a raw cock can fill. Last night, he surrendered to men who claimed him with fierce love, and I beam with pride for my lifelong friend. We were shy boys once, guarding our secrets, but together we’ve become cumdumps, eager for any man’s pleasure. Just then, harry and walter are carried over to the slings in front of us. Arthur and I lock eyes as our faces are hovering over each other, we know exactly what the other is thinking, we're both glad I responded to that ad. arthur and I infinitely excited by our predicament begin kissing as a bottle is offered to our noses, we both breathe deeply from its emissions. Now lust fueled on poppers, we begin to kiss with desperate need. Suddenly, and as if ordained, both of our holes are suddenly filled by generous thrusts of sizable mention. While locking tongues, we start to moan in each other's mouth as our hands grab furiously at each other heads. I then extend my left hand out as if in search of my glasses and notice harry and danny doing the same as arthur and I. Again, the four of us, youthful and barely experienced twinks, united again with our holes out on offer being pounded out by many unknown men. With poppers constantly being fed to us, we are insatiable in our wants as we don't dare to stop these strange men from having their way with us, completely willing to be used and abused in any way these men desire. We have found Shangri-La, and it's inside of each of us, and our submission is the pathway that leads us there. Content as a Buddhist monk in our enviable bliss, which is unmatched by any previous experience we’ve had before. (I'm so glad I had the courage to face my desires, together with my friends we will explore every dark corner of each others raw desires.) End of Chapter 5

my fellow faggot