Your phone pings, alerting you to the fact that I am two minutes away.

You're already prepared. You need only adjust your clothing, grab a couple of things you'll need, and come out into the hallway.

I open the door. You're inside, kneeling on a large cushion, your head bowed.

"Welcome home, Master," you say softly.

I close the door, kick off my commuting shoes, and drink in the sight in front of me. The large cushion in front of you. The black collar laid out across it just in front of your knees. And I smile.

"Hello pet," I respond, my voice betraying the weariness of the work day. "I'm glad to be home."

You rise, and begin the practised ritual of helping me out of my clothes. First, my jacket. Then, my tie. You unbutton my shirt for me, and I lift my arms up so you can remove it from me. Each item is placed on a small table beside the door. I keep my arms up, letting you unfasten my belt, lower my pants, taking my underwear down with them, freeing my cock.

Your gaze lingers on it for but a moment. That's not the focus right now. You continue getting me ready for home life.

I step out of the last of my clothes, and you take my socks off, placing them on top of the pile. You'll deal with all that later. You have more pressing matters to attend to for now.

You gesture to the cushion and say, softly, "Master, if it would please you, would you please kneel?"

I kneel on the cushion. I look down at the collar. I pick it up. I feel its heft. I look up at you, and I smile.

You take the collar from me and slowly, deliberately, put it to my neck. You let me feel the leather against my flesh as you slowly move it around. The motion seems to wash the stress right out of my body. You tighten it just right, checking it with two fingers. You line up the lettering at my throat. "SIR", it says, in large orange letters. Then, you buckle it, kissing the buckle reverently.

"Good pet," I say, with a wide smile. You offer me a hand. I take it, I stand up, and we embrace, my naked body brushing against your clothes.

You know how dogs can be trained to behave differently when they were different collars? For example, a guard dog might have one collar that puts them in guard mode, and another that puts them in puppy mode?

For many months, I've been training you to different collars. Except, you aren't the one wearing them. I am. Wearing my green collar means I'm feeling great, and seeing me in that collar gives you pride and pleasure, especially since it's usually your actions that caused me to put it on.

My bright red collar, however, means I'm feeling low, and you feel a deep-seated urge to make me feel better. Like a most infatuated partner, it physically pains you to see me in that collar and you'll do anything to see me change it. You are incredibly good at this, and *always* successful. It's a point of pride for you that you've never failed.

There are others. And each has a corresponding wristband I can wear, for times when a collar is not appropriate.

The most recent addition is a jet black collar. This one makes you horny. Immensely horny. You feel a powerful compulsion to shove me to the floor and fuck me. I've learned that this one works rather too well, and if I don't want to walk funny after, I need to lube up before I put it on, because you don't have the presence of mind to do that for me.

We're out in the park, walking, enjoying the fresh air and each other's company. Our walk is nearly over, we're on our way home. I'm wearing an amber wristband, a very neutral one, one that tells you my mood is fine, but there's room for improvement if you feel the need to try and push me into the green. I have a lot of nervous energy. I want you. I want you HARD. But I want to tease you a little first.

"Hand me my bands," I say. Of course, you obey, quickly digging out a transparent bag with a small assortment of wristbands.

Your expression changes as I select the black band.

You look around.

You panic.

I whisper to you, "We're in public... you're going to behave, like a good pet."

I slide the amber wristband off, and put on the black one.

Your entire demeanour changes. It takes visible effort for you to not jump my bones, right there. You become aroused. Very aroused. Single-mindedly aroused.

I offer you my hand. You take it, and we continue walking home. I feel you tugging, wanting to increase my pace a little. I chuckle a little and, under my breath, I whisper, "Patience, my pet..." but that only seems to stir up the hornet's nest further.

Normally, we wait for the lift. You can't get to the button fast enough, pressing it several times. Each floor the lift passes feels like torture. I just smirk at your eagerness. Finally, the lift dings, and you rush in.

The door closes and you shove me against the wall, kissing me aggressively. I moan softly and let you. Your hand goes down to my groin to feel my hard cock. I let it. Only once the lift arrives at my floor do you let go of me. You have the door to my home open before I'm even out of the lift, and then, you grab me.

And suddenly I remember.

I forgot to lube up.

He came to visit for a fortnight. He was a total bottom bitch who was curious to try topping.

I told him before he arrived, he would be leaving a changed man.

He said he hoped so.

We discussed his limits. They were largely irrelevant to what I had in mind.

I met him at the station. The meeting was unremarkable, just two friends meeting. We chatted about his journey. We chatted about what he'd like to see and do for the next couple of weeks. Even when he was in my flat, the dynamic didn't change much. We went over his limits, I put a chastity cage on him, and we sat down and relaxed for a while. We had food. We had drinks. We generally enjoyed each other's company.

The only remarkable difference between this and any other two friends hanging out was we slept naked in the same bed.

I left for work the next day. I had him help me dress. I had him check that I looked pristine for my short commute. I gave him keys to my flat and to the building (but not the key to his chastity cage), a few hundred yen for refreshments, and told him he had the run of the place.

When I came home, he was waiting for me. He'd turned on my computer, found the carefully-curated user account I'd left for him, and was staring mindlessly at the screen.

A large orange spiral was sucking him in.

I knew he couldn't have been there long. That particular spiral was set to appear on the screen shortly before I was due to come home.

I settled in next to him and I whispered soothing, calming words in his ear, encouraging him deeper, encouraging him to relax more and more.

And then, I planted the suggestion. The one that would change him.

Every time he touched his cock from this point on, he would lose interest before orgasm.

I planted it deep, made it self-reinforcing, and I planted two other ways to reinforce it.

I removed his chastity cage. I had him stroke himself. I noted that he stopped, all on his own. I had him forget. Then, I brought him round.

From there, there wasn't much else I had to do. The magic practically happened all by itself. We just hung out. He disappeared into the bathroom a couple of times over the next day or two (such an innocent), and he came back a few minutes later visibly frustrated.

Things changed a little when I put on some gay porn and casually stroked myself off beside him. He was looking a mixture of frustrated and incredibly horny. He certainly didn't look innocent any more.

The day after that, he asked if he could try topping me.

I taught him how I liked to be fucked. Apply too much lube. Ram it in fast, drag it out slowly. And keep doing that until I'm full of cum. Each time I gave an instruction, I subtly reinforced his aversion to masturbating. I had him focus on my cock, and the sensations of being inside my tight foxhole, instead. Especially when I came, my ass clenching around his cock, milking him for his cum.

He had what he would later refer to as the second-biggest orgasm of his life, deep inside me, with me encouraging him through it.

I don't know if the suggestions wore off. But I do know that, to this day, he still fucks like a man possessed.