Little Tales for Masturbation

#1: Annunciation. (for Eric)

Mark snickered as he hung up the phone.

"That guy's nuts." He shook his head. "He really takes this shit seriously. Crazy. Seriously whacked out in the head."

His hand stretched idly to his exposed nipple and flicked it. It felt good, so he let his hand rest there.

He didn't think so much about the fact that he didn't have any clothing on any longer. After all, the guy sounded hot, and it was a hot jack off call, fulfilled a ton of fantasies, but could he really believe all the things he was saying?

And yet, he thought about how rich and beautiful his voice was. His Master's Voice. A rich baritone, velvety and sexy, promising masculinity and authority. It felt so hot just to talk to him. For a while as Sir (for that was how he knew him, anyway, what was his first name?) spoke to him, he felt himself get dreamy, spacey just listening to those beautiful tones and words of submission. Down and down. Deeper and deeper. It was almost as if he were in fact hypnotised.

As if.

Mark went on with his day, feeling industrious about certain things, although too indolent to dress. He got some writing done. He made a few business calls. (and thought of His Master's Voice - his cock began to get hard, but he did not stroke it, just let it lie lazy and inflated - "What a hot scene" he thought as he cupped his balls and tried to get the bank to keep track of a lost deposit.) Every now and again his hand would go to his nipple and pull it out, or go down to his balls and pull out a hair, almost out of annoyance, it seemed.

Work at home went more swiftly than usual, it was odd for him to be so focussed on a task, he felt. "Must have been really hot phone sex." He reasoned. "Usually it's just like Chinese Food, and I'm on the lines all night, distracted." he thought as he got through a regimen of push ups and crunches that seemed somehow less onerous today. What a hot voice. His Master's Voice. What did the stud look like?

He had just finished doing leg lifts at 8:00 pm. His stomach was burning, but he liked its tautness, and the light coating of sweat covering his chest. The alarm rang promptly at eight. He felt a slight buzzing in his head, as if a voice were telling him to do something, something important. Just because.

He felt extremely calm, almost like the spacey feeling he had on the phone, when His Master had told him to relax. As if he were hypnotized. As if. A series of simple steps. He went to his drawer, rooted around for his jockstrap, a clean white t-shirt, and tight, worn blue jeans. These all went on in the prescribed order. His head was still buzzing slightly, but still he felt calm about the importance of the tasks. Jacket and sneakers. Almost as if he were following a checklist and things were being checked off, but for the life of him, he could not remember when he had made the list.

He stopped himself at this point and pulled down his pants for some reason. He reached over to the nightstand and pulled out some lube and lay down on the bed his legs bent. Calmly, methodically, he worked his lubed finger up his hole, then two. A series of simple steps. Calmly, methodically, he removed a bootlace from one of his boots and wound it calmly, methodically around his ball sac.

Then he stepped out into the night.

Written 2-10-97


#2: The Masseur

Bill Siebert was nearly jumping out of his skin.

He had just closed the Park account, and the cords in his neck were like reinforced steel. He was grinding his teeth at night, when he could sleep.

Exercise helped a little, he'd go to the Athletic club and play squash, but it just covered one ache with another. He had always been athletic in college, but, a CEO at 52, he could afford to go to the best club in the city and he did. And his body hurt.

When one of the desk attendants saw him holding his neck and shoulder and grimacing they recommended Tom.

"Everybody here goes to him. He's expensive, but they say he works miracles."

"Perfect. I need a miracle. Schedule me an appointment."

Tom Rasmussen came into the Athletic Club about half an hour after he had been paged. As they said about him, he was expensive, but you got extra for your money. Real full service.

Tom was also a very handsome young man, but that was wasted on Bill, who had just divorced his wife (too much work doesn't do anything for a marriage) and was busy negotiating visitation for his two kids. Bill's patrician good looks weren't wasted on Tom, though. He smelled the two things that he loved so, power and money. Bill was a definite candidate for the full treatment massage.

He led Bill into the small, room room with the massage table, and turned on a CD with ambient music. "Take off your clothing, I'll put a sheet over you. Just lie down and relax." Tom smiled warmly.

Tom was a very good masseur, and though he could have done deep tissue work on Bill's neck, he chose not to, because he didn't think any painful work would suit his purposes. He just wanted Bill to feel comfortably somnolent. As the session went on, Tom could feel Bill's body grow more and more passive to his touch, allowing himself to be manipulated. It was just the right time. Tom started to take broad, light strokes up and down Bill's back.

"Breeeeeathe. In and out. Deep cleansing breaths. That's it. I want you to relax Bill. That feel good?"

Bill nodded, totally out of it. "Keep breathing, Bill. In and out. Deep breaths. Relax. Deeper relaxation. Feels so good."

"Mmph." Bill mumbled and drooled, content like a baby.

"OK, Bill, I want you to count backwards for me, from 20 to 1. Can you do that for me?"


"You're so comfortable that every breath you take makes it harder to remember the numbers."


"They become harder to remember, more confused."

"16..." Bill stopped counting. Paydirt.

"And now you're even more relaxed and comfortable Bill. Would you like to be even more relaxed?"

"Uh huh..." Bill mumbled. He felt better than he had felt in days, and didn't notice Tom's hard on.

Tom took close to half an hour bringing Bill into as deep a trance as he could manage, and Bill was the sort who could go very deep indeed. A few awakenings and reinductions also showed that he had amnesia, which was the best of all. Now came the next step.

"This feels great, doesn't it, Bill?"


"You want it to last longer don't you."


"If you hire me as your personal trainer, it can last as long as you want, Bill. You want me to be your personal trainer, Bill. When we are done with your massage you will ask me about it, and we will work out a deal."


"I'm expensive, Bill, but I'm worth it."

"Expensive, but you're worth it."

"Excellent, Bill. You're doing great. As your new trainer, I'll need to ask you a few questions, Bill, about your background, and I want you to answer them to the best of your ability."


And Tom asked him his full name and address, age and other harmless questions, and his marital status (which he liked. A few more sessions and there'd be no new girlfriends for a while.) He then went on to his financial situation, his net worth, assets and liabilities, who managed them and where they were located. Bill wouldn't care how much he was paying Tom, but Tom knew that at that level of wealth, other people were watching the kitty. He didn't want someone else to be asking about steady drains on accounts. About $1000 weekly could be hidden, he thought, but as Bill understood more and more, Tom was expensive, but worth it. He was really starting to like the kid.

"You want to help me, Bill. I remind you of yourself at a young age, don't I?"

"Now that you mention it...." Bill said groggily.

"Of course I do. But you're much better dressed."

"Well, I have to be. I don't really like the suit and tie stuff."

"No Bill, you really do. You look so good in it. So powerful. It's what makes you strong."


"That's right Bill. You really like looking good. It's worth the trouble. I want to look good, too, Bill."

"You do?"

"Yes Bill. I do. But I can't. I need your help."

"You do?"

"Sure, Bill, will you help me?"

"Sure, Tom. I'd love to help..." Bill really liked the kid more and more. By the time he woke up, he really had a soft spot for him.

"I could use some new suits. And a good watch. A real one."

"No problem Kid. I know a good wholesaler."

"But they have to be good suits."

"Only the best for you kid. Great suits, a new watch..." Bill's eyes were closed, and he smiled as he was being programmed to be a very generous sugar daddy for this handsome young man.

"A Rolex?"

"Anything for you, Kid."

By the end of the massage Bill was a new man.

Written 2-10-97 [Author's note - No, I don't want people to buy me clothing. I have enough, and I can't stand wearing watches. It was inspired by a conversation I had with someone else.]

© 1997 markjo342 All rights reserved.