Date: Sun, 15 May 2011 03:40:56 -0700
From: MACK Wayne <mackxwayne@hotmail.com>
Subject: A Slave's Induction - Ch 11

Disclaimer: All rights reserved.  No part of the story can be reproduced in
any form without the express permission of the author, me.


A Slave's Induction

Ch 11 - pending celebration - hiatus over

"Do you know how much you've been missed - how much everyone is champing at
the bit for you to get back to work - back to what you do best?" Bill sat
casually in his leather office chair - feet still up - as his inquisitor
stood across the desk.  After almost a year of hiatus from his "work," Bill
was ready to return to "active duty" so-to-speak.  He was giving a party to
celebrate.  He had called his - friend - confidant - and collaborator in to
discus some of the particulars with which the man would be involved.
Standing arms crossed as casually as Bill sat, they conversed about Bill's
long anticipated "come back," and his collaborator's part in creating the
atmosphere for the event.  The gathering would take place in three weeks
and plans were under way for its conception.
	The men couldn't be more different in their appearances - one, a
handsome but average looking fifty year old - mustache - black hair - in
good physical condition, but not worked out - the other - as Tom so
accurately put it - a godman.  In most instances Bill - to look at - was
usually the most captivating creature in a particular venue - room - group
- etc.  Far from average in any sense of the word, his countenance seemed
to glow with those steel grey eyes capable of piercing to your chore.  From
a lifetime of weight training and bodybuilding, his well-honed muscular
frame (even clothed) stood out as a superior, enviable, and extraordinary
male standard of excellence.  His carriage and confidence made his
physicality even more outstanding and impossible not to be drawn to.
	Uncovered to any degree - in a tank top - shirtless - or the piece
de resistance - naked - and the macho hairiness of his hirsute body was the
ultimate irresistible capper.  It was easy to understand Tom's incapacity
to look away that first fateful night and it leading to his downfall.
Exposing his unflappable captivation with the object of his interminable
focus was what drew Tom - in a room full of men, some his equal, or better
objects of potential - to Bill's attention. He saw the weakness he would
exploit - and once that happened, Bill was like a cheetah with prey in its
sights.  There was no escape.  As skillfully and capably as the cheetah in
the wild, Bill would attain his victim.
	While the two men enjoying each other in conference, might have
been different in appearance, demeanor, and charisma, their commonality of
purpose and passion, couldn't have been more philosophically the same.
Both understood a truth that had been evident and in practice since time
immemorial - there were those like this man and Bill that were meant to be
served, and those like Tom that were meant to compliment that need and
orientation either voluntarily or - as in the wild - by capture.  It was
the ultimate example of survival (and pleasure) of the fittest - of those
most aware of the legitimacy of slavery as an unavoidable eventuality - an
utterly logical and natural modus operandi.
	"Yeah I know Jake," Bill said, "I've had plenty of feedback during
my extended holiday.  But I've been doing this for a long time and I just
needed a break.  Almost a year is enough though.  I like having gotten to a
place where I miss it - makes me feel even better about continuing on." The
gentleman having been offered a seat and choosing rather to stand expressed
his sentiment of understanding - reiterating how glad he was that Bill was
back, and how happy many were going to be for his return.
	"You're just about the best Bill," the man said, as Bill uncrossed
his ankles and lowered his feet from the desktop to the floor reaching for
the intercom, "The quality of your merchandise and your ability to prep it
for what ever the order, is almost uncanny.  You're a natural - always have
been."
	Bill activated the intercom, "Nick bring toiletface to my office."
	"Yes Sir Boss."
	"You still have Nick I see," Jake said.
	"Yep - still my number one.  A more loyal fuckhole I can't
imagine," he said, almost with a fondness in his voice, "Don't know how I'd
get along without him. He's the only one I've ever called by name you know.
	"Yeah - I wondered about that.  I know it's not your nature to
allow a slave a name."
	"He's been everywhere with me this past year.  There's nothing he
wouldn't do for me - the best combination of slave - pet - and fuckhole a
man ever had"
	"Yeah.  He should be.  Look what you did for and to him.  He knows
he owes you his life.
	"Yep - and its mine as much as this watch on my wrist.  He has
accepted that full well.  So much for Nick," Bill concluded, " Now, as to
business - "
	Jake was the one Bill depended upon to coordinate the merchandise
display and placement at his gatherings.  A finish carpenter and ironworker
as well, anything not highly technical or tooled (like Bill's fuck
machines) was usually up to Jake to handle.  He would either work with Bill
on ideas, or be given carte blanche to come up with his own.  They had
discussed a general plan for the placement of the slaves.  Bill said there
would be 5 or 6 fresh ones by the time of the party.  Those he wanted
displayed around the perimeter of the space - equidistant from each other -
with one or two upside-down.  They were looking at drawings - one a general
layout of the room, and one the essential idea Jake had drawn up for Bill's
description for the central display.
	"Nick's bringing up my new one now for you to check out and
measure.  It's the one I mentioned that I've had for a few months - the
piece for the middle.
	"Yeah. I believe you said you found it in a bar?"
	"Yep.  Saw it across the room.  Every time I looked over it was
glued to me.  I told nick to keep an eye on it, and it never looked
away. Sent him to retrieve it.  Found out it was alone, away from home, and
it had an interest in castration.  I drugged its drink and told it sleeping
it off at my place would be good - that it was too drunk to drive - brought
it home that night like a lamb to the slaughter.
	"So what stage is it in?" Jake asked.
	"It's been getting injections or pills most every day now so it's
heavily addicted - suggestible, and fearful of displeasing me. I've been
fucking its mind a lot.  I'll stop its shots a few days before the party so
it will be stressed out and emotionally weakened.  It'll be much more
susceptible to pain and humiliation.  It doesn't know how much the drugs
have been helping it to cope with its training.  I told it I was addicting
it, but the victim never relates to that really until I cut off what its
body and mind have adjusted to.
	"It'll do nicely. Just the idea of being a living sculpture and
everyone invited to feel and enjoy it, will make for an interesting
humiliation factor.  It's only been exposed to me and Nick since I brought
it here.  Suffering on display in the middle of a party without the aid of
the drugs will be a good shock to it. - standing there on a display
platform watching the men approach it - grope it - being fucked so deeply -
feeling the men play with the fuck machine indiscriminately adjusting the
speed - groaning - gagged - drooling - seeing & listening to his
humiliation on the screen in front of him.
	The men discussed how Bill's new toy would be shown.  On an all
white display platform about fifteen inches high, fifteen inches wide, and
approximately six feet long, it would stand - its feet apart attached to
the platform.  Its cock and balls would be wrapped at their base and tied.
The cock would be kept from going soft with injections.  To keep the toy
bent slightly forward, leather thong straps would connect its firmly
stretched wrapped balls to each big toe.  It would be gagged with a nice
red hard rubber ball gag for color.  Its head would be harnessed with a
minimal strap affair and rope stretched from the ring in the top of the
harness to the ceiling, keeping it looking ahead, and maintaining its
slightly bent legged - leaning forward - position.  The hands would be
bound together useless behind it with leather restraints.  One of the fuck
machines appropriate to accommodate the angle needed for the toy's standing
- leaning forward position would be secured to the platform behind it, and
a large phallus affixed. The proximity of the machine to the fuckhole would
be such that when the stroke was farthest out, the head would remain
inside.
	Near the machine on the platform, would be laying a dial control
with an electric chord about four feet long attached to the motor of the
machine. When turned, it would infinitely vary the speed of the machine
from the off position, to the speed of about a little less than two seconds
in and out.  There would be no depth adjustment.  Each stroke would be full
depth eighteen inch penetration What would be seen of the stiff phallus
with just the head implanted in its target hole would be about sixteen
inches.  It would be the first one used on the slave that day not long ago
its Master came into the room - stripped - & jerked off on its face while
it was being fucked.  But without the help of the drugs it would feel more
like the large one from that day.  At the front end of the platform would
be a bowl full of clothespins and alligator clips.  The guests would be
invited to apply them to the display wherever, and as they wished.
	"You'll need to hang a large screen TV," Bill told Jake, "That the
display will face and be able to see clearly.  It's the main reason for its
head looking forward position. For its humiliation and the entertainment of
the guests, I'm going to play sessions of its torture.  I'll be including
the videos sent out over the web for its friends and family to see of it
pleading for pain and degradation and begging its unseen torturer for more
of what it needs and wants and deserves."
	There was a knock at the door, "Ah here it is now," Bill said,
"Come," was his usual pronouncement of permission to enter.  Holding the
lead attached to my collar, Nick opened the door and led me into the
Master's office where I had been many times before.  This time there was
someone new in the room.  Looking as usual no higher then mid chest at
anyone, the man approached me.  Nick dropped the lead and the man walked
around me feeling as he went.  So this is what you want on the central
display -" It was a statement as well as a question.  "I don't know why I
should be surprised - it's one of yours after all - but it's prettier than
I imagined."
	"Yeah.  And it's better by twenty extra pounds of muscle since it
arrived.  I've been pumping it full of roids and working it out
particularly hard."
	"Hmm," the man mumbled as he continued to feel.  He squatted down
and availed himself of most every square inch of me.  I reacted to his
light touch turning me facing my ass to him, "Responsive to touch too.
Again I shouldn't be surprised," he jokingly said to Bill.  He spread my
cheeks and stuck his nose in-between connecting with my rectal tissue.  It
was closed but not by much.  He took a finger and wet it and stuck it into
me with ease, "Like I thought," he said, "I bet this was tight when it
first arrived."
	"Yep," Bill confirmed.  Its being held shut actively.  When it's
relaxed it opens.  It's taken some time to get that trained so it can
close.  For a while, it was held wide open all the time.  When the plugs
were removed it had no muscle control and could not close the hole. It
remained open.  It had to relearn about how to use that muscle ring back
there - didn't it?" The Master was addressing me to my surprise.
	As the man freely probed around I answered, "Yes Sir.  Thank you
Master." It was strange being inspected by another man - stranger yet when
he spoke to me.
	"How long did it take you to be able to close your pussy?"
	I looked in the direction of the Master not knowing what to do, "Go
ahead you can answer the man.  He's my agent and you will address him with
the respect due all your superiors," Then he asked me, "Who are your
superiors shitface/?"
	I'd learned that in the very beginning, "Everyone is your
property's superior Master.  Thank you Sir." My address was to the man's
question, "Sir, it took several weeks for it to be able to close its
Master's fisthole Sir."
	The Master interjected, "I wanted it to be able to close for the
party.  I haven't decided whether to remove its capability to ever close it
or not yet.  There's time.  I'm keeping this one for a while.  It will not
be up for bids - although I'm sure I will get a number of offers.  It's
just the type of a couple of guests coming.  It's going to perform in my
next movie.  Tell the man about the offer I made you and how your decision
to beg me for the roll of henchman castrator came about bitchhole."
	"Yes Sir Master.  Thank you Sir," I recounted that first night and
relived it in vivid detail.  Being made the privileged offer by my Master -
being so stupid as to believe I could turn it down - offering to compromise
his proposal of full facial identity, thinking this worthless fuckhole too
important for that.  I told how I agreed to think about it for the night
and confessed I had no intention of changing my mind unless perhaps a hood
were allowed - how the Master outright eliminated that as a consideration,
affirming my decision to deny acceptance of his offer. I would take
advantage of his generous offer to spend the night drunk here in the luxury
of his home, and in the morning reaffirm my denial of his offer.
	I told how the Master made me promise to think about it for the
night and not to give him my final answer to his offer till the next day -
how I deceived him by agreeing to think about it for the night, but
intended to sleep on a negative decision already sealed in my mind.  As the
man continued his probing he reached around with his other hand and began
stroking my cock and fondling my balls.  How very long it had been since
they'd been touched except to torture or inject for erection purposesĀ -
only to be denied release or even access to what used to be mine alone to
play with - to jerk off with - to cum with.  I faltered in my story telling
to the man's gentle ministrations.  "Oh my god," I thought to myself, had
anything ever felt so good?  "Ahh, ahh," I was having trouble forming my
thoughts.
	"Go ahead.  Continue," the man said.  Just ignore what I'm doing.
You were saying how you abused your Masters generous offer to sleep off
your drunken condition and lied to him about thinking through the night,
when you actually had no intention of doing so.  Is that right?"
	"Yes Sir," I said, struggling to maintain my thoughts.
	"So - Repeat that part and continue from there," he ordered.
	With embarrassment, and humiliation, and shame, I said it the way
it had been put to me - abusing the Masters kind offer - lying to him with
no intention of keeping my word to think through the night and give him a
reconsidered answer to his offer - and with difficulty I continued.  I told
of how Nick escorted me downstairs - how the Master said there would be
everything I needed for the night - how I imagined opulent surroundings
with shower, and soap, and towels, and toothbrush, and a comfortable bed -
how it was so mistakenly what I believed this worthless shit eating bitch
deserved.
	I told of my horror at entering the chamber behind all the locked
doors - how I tried to run, to Nick's reminders and threat, and I told of
the cage.  As the man stroked, I spoke as if in a confessional, relating my
tale to a priest.
	"Please Master?" I stopped and pleaded - and again, "Please Master
Sir - Please Master?" My cock was so hard and it was feeling too good.  I
was afraid to have what had always been such an astounding pleasure.  I
never gave it a second thought.  It never got old.  Nightly I would play
with myself to orgasm - lick up what I could of my load and go to sleep.
It was my right.  It was my cock.  It was my decision to play with it.  It
was my load - I ate it with my mouth - tasting and enjoying what I could
scoop off my body - sucking it off my hand - with my tongue - and
swallowing it down my throat - into my belly.
	It had been so long.  The Master had told me some of the contents
in my drug cocktail were to insure greater sexual frustration.  He liked
keeping me horny - and I was.  I felt it most of the time.  I fought to get
used to the feeling and the fact I could do nothing about it unless ordered
to.  That had happened once that I could remember.
	"What is it that makes you dare to speak without being spoken to?"
	"The shithead is sorry Master.  It is so afraid Sir.
	"Afraid of what toilet mouth?"
	"Your toilet mouth is afraid to have an orgasm Master.  Please
Master?  It doesn't want to disobey you Sir.  Your pig cock is feeling too
good Master!"
	"Repeat exercise 20 for Jake."
	"Yes Master. Thank you Sir.  Exercise 20 Sir.  - Your slave cock -
This cock is your property Master.  It exists only for your purposes.  This
slave always asks permission or waits for your instructions to use it.  By
your permission or order, the slave uses your cock to piss.  Your slave
cock is not for orgasm unless ordered by its owner Sir.  Your cock is never
touched by the slave unless ordered to do so by its owner."
	I was instructed to continue my story. Trying to speak with every
fiber of my being fighting the sensation being created by the sadistic man
manipulating me was a more than difficult task I wasn't sure I would be
able to honor, but I gave it all I had and more.  He spit on his hand and
made sure to include the sensitive head in most of his stroking. After all
it was always friction on the head that insured orgasm.  Sometimes if I
wanted to put it off, I would back off the head and just play with the
shaft to cool down from boiling over.
	I told of the horrors of the cage, which actually helped me focus
away from the growing intensity of the problem in my loins.  It helped some
to elaborate on the pain and anguish I suffered that night insuring I would
remain conscious and thinking about Bill's proposal to expose me in his
film as the fully identified castrator of his chosen costar and "my"
victim.  I thought about the facial close-ups and my new "Tom" tattoo
associating my former identity to those who would be seeing the film. They
wouldn't know me from Adam, but the tattoo was just one more piece of
evidence against me if I ever tried to challenge Bill's rights to
possession of my person, or thwart his authority, or even that of whom ever
he could sell me to.
	One day before I was unsecured from my sleeping cot, a stranger was
brought in unannounced.  "From the door all I heard was, "The one in here."
It was Nick's voice but he did not enter the room.  He simply closed the
door behind the man who he'd escorted.  The man put a small bag on a low
rolling cart and walked it over next to the bed on my right side and
casually sat down next to me on the cot.  There were no words as he took
out a small bottle - put it on the cart and uncapped it. He took out
individual alcohol wipes and ripped a couple open.  He wiped my right upper
pec thoroughly with each wipe and laid them aside.  Until the next item
came out of his bag I didn't know why he was here.  There was no doubt when
he did.  It was a tattoo needle.  He plugged it into a receptacle close by
and gave it a test.  Never having been tattooed - or even in a tattoo
parlor - though I recognized the implement, I'd never been in the presence
of someone being tattooed & knew nothing except this was the thing used to
do it.
	The loudness of the needle startled me and as I twitched the man
laughed.  I was slept in different configurations - always restrained in
such a way as to negate access to my cock.  Last night was feet spread and
secured to the bottom cot posts - neck loosely to the top of the bed, and
arms just below the elbows, restrained next to me, attached to a torso
belt.  It would best accommodate the man's access to me without the need
for any adjustments to my position.
	As the man dipped the needle into the ink he spoke, "Usually I try
to put a customer at ease and minimize what they are going to feel -
especially virgins like you." The word, "virgin," rang in my ear.  It was
the farthest thing from what this object - now Bill's property could be
thought of, but tattoo wise I was a virgin.  The Master was changing that
fact, and as with everything else, without any input from his slave.  He
continued, "But I've done some work now for the man in charge.  He likes
these things to be as painful as possible.  So lets just say I'll do my
best to accommodate the Boss' wishes.  We'll make these three letters as
hard on you as possible.
	Bill had told his tattoo man he didn't want the letters fancy but
he did want them to hurt.  So outlined block letters were decided on that
would need filling in to extend the process time instead of simple line
letters.  The first two were to be in lower case and the last in not
obvious, but modified upper case - each to have a period after it.  While
the overall appearance for the movie would be of my former name for
identification purposes, I would learn the letters were an acronym "t.o.m."
would stand for "toilet of Master" - far from a proper name, and definitely
not short for, "Thomas."
	The first stroke of the needle was a stunning shock never having
experienced it before.  The artist used a small needle and went as slowly
as he could to maximize - as per Bill's prescription - my discomfort.  I
lay still as ordered so as not to fuck up the artist's work, and for an
hour, felt as though a dull knife were being used to open the restricted
area over and over again.  When the man was finished he signaled as
instructed on the intercom.  Bill came down to inspect the finished product
and gave his approval.  Though I was not told, and would not see till later
on, I assumed from the, "three letters," comment made by the artist, it was
the "Tom" tattoo Bill had spoken of - while from the pain factor, it felt
like it should have been something more along the lines of a paragraph.
	Mercifully the movie would not be put out for web exposure, but the
tattoo would be another feather in the cap of the cache of Bill's
evidentiary insurance policy toward my remaining incarcerated here in his
universe.  He assured me I would be released somewhere mid country -
authorities notified - with no way of tracing my deed back to Bill or
"here," wherever here was.  I didn't know anything except I was somewhere
in the New York Metropolitan area.  My relaxed and elated state of
consciousness was not allowing for, and did not need attention paid to
where we were going, the night I had been brought here.  I might even be in
New Jersey or Connecticut for that matter.  There were those blackout
periods the length of which I really had no way of gauging.  That was only
one of several threatened possibilities - and I was informed I had had a
chip implanted in me that would enable Bill to inform the appropriate
parties exactly where they could find me.
	Luckily the telling of the worst part of my story to the man
stroking me, had the necessary effect of quelling the impending
disobedience I feared, and I made it through my assignment as he stopped.
He stood up and took out a tailor's tape and began to write on a pad,
"This'll make a great center piece Jake said, as he wrote just that at the
top of the page, "Center Piece." He put his booted foot between my naked
legs and kept kicking outward alternately left and right till my stance was
spread footed, "About like this?" he asked Bill who concurred, "Then I
suggest more like a two foot wide platform." Bill deferred to Jake's
expertise.
	He asked for a set of wrist restraints that were presented post
haste, which he applied to my wrists.  He attached them behind me and with
my cock still standing out in front of me slapped it hard. He had Nick hold
it up out of the way and wrapped my balls with a supplied strip of chamois
leather again conferring with the Boss, "Good?"
	"Yep," Bill said, from the comfort of the big leather chair behind
his desk - feet up, and fingers interlaced behind his head, enjoying his
friend working a cursory exercise on me.
	I was becoming and accepting more and more the thing - the object -
Bill was making of me, but somehow the object-hood was reinforced being
here in my Master's office in the presence of a stranger manipulating and
measuring me for something sounding ominous - for which - of course - there
would be no necessity of my having foreknowledge.  Like everything else
required of me, it was in any given moment I would learn of an expectation.
Sometimes the Master would tell me ahead of time what he was going to do to
me - as far in advance as he chose.  He said it was to enhance my anxiety
factor - but usually not.  The supreme example of the anxiety factor, was
his pronouncement in the very beginning of my main reason - to be his
totally vulnerable participant - indefensible star - in his next movie.  I
would be the full faced henchman Bill wanted the viewers to be able to
identify with - the fully exposed castrator.
	I understood more and more - as the property of my owner - there
were no more personal preferences or desires - no needs or limits - apart
from anything he wanted.  While from the first night I questioned
everything seeming to be about Bill, I could never in my wildest, have
imagined how emphatic that reality would become for me.  The stranger
pawing at - measuring me, and conferring with Bill was particularly
affirmational.
	The man handed Nick the end of the tape and told him to hold it to
the base of my ball sack.  He punched me in the gut and I bent double,
"Ok," he said, "now leave your legs slightly bent like that, and straighten
up till I tell you to stop." Trying to catch my breath, I answered, Yeesss
Sirrrrr, and did as I was ordered against my physical need not to.
	"Say when," Jack said to Bill, as I slowly raised my torso.
	"Look up! Bill ordered me.  I raised my head.  As I reached his
desired position he signaled, "Right there." I stopped as Jack knelt down
and put the other end of the tape to my large toe and read the measurement.
He stood and noted it on the pad, "Stay," he ordered.  He told Nick he
could let go of my softening cock.  He took the tape and went around behind
me.  I felt it being held to my anus as he measured the distance from it,
to the floor, "That good?" he asked Bill.
	"Yep," was Bills short answer. Jake took out his phone and snapped
a couple of pictures, "Exactly what I had in mind," Bill said, as the man
took a couple more measurements and wrote on the pad.
	 "You'll have all the restraints - gags - gear etc necessary for
all the displays I assume?"
	"No worries," Bill answered.
	"Good.  Then I think I have all I need for this one.  I'll call you
and bring some plans and sketches by next week to go over with you for the
perimeter displays, my friend - and as I said, "A big welcome back!" Bill
got up and came round from behind his desk and the two men hugged and
patted each other's backs.
	"And it's been a while," Bill admonished, "But nothing's changed.
You know you always have a standing invitation to take advantage of what's
here - dump a load - have some fun - whatever."
	"Thanks," Jake said, "If I wasn't headed home to do just that with
what I have in the cellar, I'd take you up on the offer," and then
jokingly, " Before it's too stretched to feel the sidewalls." Both men
laughed at, and about me, and what the Master had already done with what
used to be my asshole.
	The work it took to re-close it after extended and increased
stretching was amazing.  I couldn't believe either its expanded condition,
or the amount of effort.  Bill said it was probably the most resilient part
of the male anatomy - that if left un-stretched it would even return to a
semblance of normal - never again quite like it had been, but acceptably
enjoyable as a fuckhole for human consumption - combined with how he was
training me to develop the muscle ring, he said most anyone would enjoy
owning it for that purpose.  Then he dropped an anxiety bomb.  He said he
just wasn't sure if he wanted that or not.
	Surreal was the only way I could describe having been informed by
my Master - my former asshole's new owner - how he was deciding whether to
essentially ruin it or not.  It was one day in the gym when he was
inspecting my progress on the anal ring exercises, "Coming along," he said,
and asked if I had anything to say about it.  My observation reflected what
I knew, and was accepting as true, "Master, like all the rest, the hole
belongs to You Sir.  What You do with it is Your business alone Sir.  The
only important thing is Your pleasure Master.  Your property thanks You Sir
for teaching and training this slave to understand." As casually as if
discussing the weather, the uncertain disposition of his fuckhole had been
revealed - and with a wink - from the alluring combination sadistic
monster/ god, (seeming to approve of my answer,) the subject was back to
working out, "Ok, spot me here," he said, laying back on the bench.
	While still holding the awkward position in which I had been left -
not daring to change it without being directed - as if not present or
eavesdropping, I had just been offered to the man that measured me for his
use and pleasure.  It was a first, and while it was logical, being offered
to another, made an impression about my condition I hadn't considered
before - a Man's property could naturally be given or loaned at his
discretion.
	"Those nice beefy legs will get a good workout," Jake said looking
at my legs while heading to the door.  Bill agreed.
	"Nick will see you out.  Good to see you again," Bill said.
	"Adios muchacho," the handsome black-headed man said, with a grin -
a salute - and the slightest of an accent.  He did seem to have a Latin
flavor about him. Nick held the door open and the man disappeared - the
beautiful and flawless Nick following.
	Bill came around from behind his desk - stripped and threw his
clothes on one of the chairs.  He smacked my balls a few times while
playing with himself and then spanked my exposed and out turned ass till he
was at full mast.  He spit on his hand - slathered his cock with it and
rubbed his fuckhole with the modicum of what was left.  He grabbed onto my
hips and with the hole at just the right height, drove into me.  He rode
for a few minutes telling me all the while to squeeze tight.  In a very
short time he began breathing hard.  He drove to the bone and emptied his
nuts into his personal cum receptacle before pulling abruptly out.  He
walked to my other end and put his hands on the back of my head, "Down,"
was the one word needed as he pushed me to my knees.  "Clean me," again the
order with economy of words.  I did my usual deep throat and sucking and
licking till all was consumed - blew my breath to dry him off and rubbed
his huge cock lightly as I did so while offering my thanks.
	Sometimes a "quick one," was all the Master needed to quell his
horns and get on with his day.  I couldn't help but wonder what it must be
like to own something like me for such impulsive use and release without
even needing to think about it.  Not only would I never again know
impulsive release, but release at all, would be a very seldom permitted
privilege for this object and property.  A state of incessant blue-balled
horniness was to be the usual - even supplemented to intensify the
condition.  It was as difficult to deal with as the physical abuse and
pain.  The yearning to be able to do what had been my habit at least every
night - if not two times in twenty-four hours - was astronomical.  The
Master said I was getting steadily better at sexual service and
satisfaction, and that my lack of release privileges was a big contributing
factor to my progress - so thanks to my Master for my denial - for being
kept dry - as he put it - was a daily expectation and exercise.  It was so
hard.  I was erect often as I served and worked.  Sometimes I had to wear a
condom on the head of my dick to catch the leakage of precum.  Other times
I would be chastitized with various devices that made erections either
impossible or very painful - mostly - but not always - to the point of its
negation.


Comments welcome:
mackxwayne@hotmail.com

More to cum