Date: Sun, 3 Jul 2011 02:26:46 -0700
From: MACK Wayne <mackxwayne@hotmail.com>
Subject: A Slave's Induction - Ch 13

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 13 - Back to Business

	I was not privy to the date of the intended party - or reception -
for which I was to be the central display.  It seemed not too far off, the
way the men had been discussing it, but I knew not.  For weeks the Master
and Nick worked me out extra hard, and pumped more then the usual into me
with the hypodermics.  I was getting more protein and more food as well.
What I saw in the mirror was more defined and seemed even larger by the end
of however many weeks had passed.  Time was difficult to gage, but there
was no need of my keeping track of it.  My Master had told me it wasn't
something a slave needed to think about.  The only thing that mattered for
me as a slave about time was that all of it was spent in the careful
service of, and with complete focus on my Master's purposes.
	One day I delivered refreshment to my Master's office - some wine,
cheese, and fruit, for two.  As I approached the door to knock, I thought I
heard a familiar voice.  As I entered, the man who had a number of weeks
earlier measured me, was there.  I couldn't help overhearing as I served
the men, their discussions about the perimeter displays. I recalled them
being referenced when I had first been exposed to the man here now.
Mention was made about only two more weeks till the party, and I felt that
anxiety factor welling up in my gut.
	Along with even harder workouts, Nick would lay me out on the roof
and rub me with oils and lotions. I could feel the intensity of the sun,
although my eyes were never allowed open to see, or ears allowed hearing.
He would position and guard me - on the wheeled contraption to which I was
secured.  There was an awning affair on the roof with a large opening in
the middle, to keep any prying eyes from seeing.  Nick kept me exposed to
the light coming through that opening during an hour or two of midday sun,
by rolling the gurney affair around.  He even exposed the Master's pussy -
at times - by restraining my ankles near my wrists.  I felt like a classic
car being prepped for a Concours d'Elegance.  Not a square centimeter of
the Master's property was being overlooked.
	The Master informed me he had changed the components of my drug
program. "Steroids," He said, "were increased, but the element helping u
maintain a sense of stability has been withheld," Nick entered with a
hypodermic, and as usual, presumptively stuck it into my ass and emptied it
of its contents.  There are two replacement ingredients of your therapy.
They are combining to weaken you emotionally, and maximize your
instability.  AND," he emphasized, "That to which you are now addicted, is
being drastically reduced. So by the time of the party, there will be just
enough to keep you from crumbling in withdrawal, and all told, you will
pretty much be anxiety-ridden for everyone's entertainment.  For as
physically strong as u look - that's how emotionally weak u will be.  I
wanted you to anticipate that state of mind increasing before I put you on
display."
	To intensify my apprehension he painted a further picture, "A room
full of men - slave owners themselves, will circle around u as a piece of
living sculpture.  They will be feeling you, hurting you, sipping their
cocktails, and nibbling their canapes as you watch yourself on TV.  While
you are painfully rapped, by a machine, you will see yourself begging for
more abusive treatment for exposure to the world, and the particular
observation of your family and friends.  It will be a sourse of
entertainment for my guests seeing you watch yourself being humiliated
while being publicly tortured by them for their pleasure. Gagged and
drooling you will scream from the physical pain, and cry from the
emotional.  From my able conditioning of your mind, you will - as always -
perform exactly as I wish.  I have as much control over your intellect as I
do your body.  They are both inextricably connected to me, and my will.  My
abuse, and training, programming, and humiliation, have created a fearful,
loyal, respectful, obedient, piece of slave meat.  I have stripped you of
your humanity and of your self - self-control - self-respect -
self-confidence and pride - all those things humans value and look for in
others. You could no more function outside of my control and abuse than you
could fly at this point.  There is nothing left of you anymore that is not
about me - for me - and mine.
	I could never have imagined as I stood that night in the bar unable
to stop watching the beautiful godman across from me - the absolute truth
of what He was saying - what he would do to me - make of me - simply by his
will.  It was as if he WAS a god.  By his power, he had made himself my
only object of worship - my only source of authority - the owner of my body
and mind - my focus - and my reason.  Through his programming, and use, and
abuse, and training, and pain, and denial, and control, more and more, I
was becoming nothing other than a sentient object for his amusement, and
convenience, and sadistic pleasure.

Party Day

  	"Wait here," Jake said, as he dropped the lead and walked off and
out another door - leaving me in the middle of the room.  I looked at the
sturdy fuck machine bolted to one end of the raised platform next to which
I'd been left - hands cuffed behind.  I knew exactly what was happening.
In my mind, I replayed the position I'd been put in, and the measurements
this man had taken of me that day in the Master's office - and I recalled
their discussion as I was doing so.  It was happening. This was the day I
would be put on display for the Master's party.  I had not been here before
- had not known of this room.  It was surprisingly large - rather like a
meeting room in a hotel.  I knew better than to move from the place in
which I'd been left, but I couldn't help turning in place and observing
what I'd been able to detect only partially in my peripheral vision while
being led in on leash, behind Jake with my head dutifully bowed.
	Men were on display around the outside of the room.  There were six
in all. As if an art gallery, each exhibit was a naked human sculpture
placed in all manner of positions, ranging in nature from just
compromising, to out and out torturous.  Some of the displays were still,
and some kinetic.  Two of the men on opposite sides of the room, were
upside down.  One of these had his head pulled back by thick chrome nose
hooks in his nostrils, attached by leather thongs to a fat shiny hook in
his ass. His arms were strapped to his sides, his legs were splayed apart,
and with his mouth retained wide open, he was being lowered and raised on
about a twelve inch dildo fixed to a pedestal about twenty-four inches
high.  Slowly he would descend till all twelve inches disappeared into his
throat.  He'd be left there for ten seconds or so, and then just as slowly
raised, till only the cock head remained in his mouth.  In about twenty
seconds it would repeat.
	Several of the men were restrained with the artful form of Japanese
rope tying - kinbaku - in and of itself something of beauty to observe -
with its studied and involved system of wrapping, crisscrossing, and knots
- much of it symmetrical.  Combine the art form with a beautiful masculine
muscled body, and the effect could be hypnotic to gaze upon - albeit
torturous for the victim.  But that's part of the beauty.  Bill loved this
medium of expression.  He could do some of it himself, but he had one
friend in particular, who was a master at it.  It was his work that would
be enjoyed tonight.  He and Jake and one of Jake's assistants had been
working most of the day to set the apparatus and then in the final couple
of hours putting out the potential merchandise.
	They were all freshly acquired merchandise without much training -
except that necessary to confirm in their minds that they were slaves and
property, and here to be sold, or trained, and then sold.  Some of Bills
clients liked raw recruits and would purchase tonight - others would put in
orders for one or another to undergo orientation and training before taking
delivery.  Half down would be placed to secure the particular piece and
then what ever conditions and training necessary before delivery, would be
accomplished in Bills capable hands.
	Every item of product here was - as always - prime masculine beef -
unless otherwise ordered.  Bill had a few clients with a penchant for
feminine males, but they were in the great minority.  A surprising number
of gay clients preferred bi or straight men - some had no preference and
some would consider nothing other than confirmed homosexuals.  Bill catered
to all ethnic preferences (by far, American Caucasians dominated the entire
male sex slave market - and of those - a good percentage of blonds.)  So
many of the customers were middle eastern where blonds were not seen.  But
every piece around the room was a prime example of its ethnicity.  Bill had
made a point of mixing up this small collection for his re-entry party -
even to the point of offering one minor - a perfect, white, hairless,
(accept for his blond head, some bush, a faint happy trail, a little armpit
smattering, and peach fuzz on his face. Even though fourteen, however, he
had the nicely developed form of a gymnast from his prior three years of
junior competition.  This beautiful small puppy was simply laid out spread
eagle on a rolling gurney affair.  The only thing he wore, were a pair of
small black sunning sized eye cups with a thin piece of elastic around the
back of his head, holding them in place - blocking out all light and
vision.
	One unusual display included two.  A cute young hairless blond with
cropped hair and a shadow type beard was affixed to a fucking/-spanking
bench.  In a kneeling position, with support under forearms, torso, and
shins, leather restraints held him unmovable.  They were around his wrists
- neck Ð belows - biceps - two torso belts (upper and lower back) - thighs
- just above calves - ankles - and then even his big toes were tied,
disallowing foot movement.  Every display was artfully done.  Jakes designs
had seen to that for Bill.  This one had red vinyl cushions on the - shin/
knee/ ankle - forearm/ wrist - and torso - support pads.  The stout steel
framework was black as were all the leather restraints.
	What made this exhibit different was the addition of another
figure.  About eight feet away from the displayed slave - off to its right
side and sitting up against the wall in the corner down by his boy's feet,
was a dark-haired man about ten years the blonde's senior. It was his top
partner Ð Master if you will.  He had a clear view of the exposed asshole
he'd used so often, and the look on his face was of wide-eyed disbelief
combined with rightful worry-

ridden fear.  He was all in black - a leather straight jacket - pants -
boots, and a muzzle head harness.  The head straps held the muzzle tightly
in place, keeping the mouth covered and tightly closed. The ones along side
the nose, connected between the eyes to an over the head strap, and only
created minimal visual obstruction.  The muzzle came right up under the
nose, but it didn't have any inhibiting effect on nasal breathing.
	The boy had no idea his Sir was anywhere near.  The top had been
acquired the day after the boy, and they'd been kept separated just for
this Jake-inspired effect.  There was a blinder affixed to the bench to the
right of the boy's face that would keep him from any possibility of seeing
his partner.  The boy's backside, so far, was only pink from a light test
Jake had made for the feel of a particular paddle.  But his Sir would watch
the boy's ass, the backs of his legs, and the soles of his feet, beaten
until likely bloody, by the attendees of the gathering.  Various whips and
paddles were placed on a table close by, for their selection and use on the
tender flawless white flesh.  One shot per man at a time through the night
was the only restriction.  So it would be certain some would team up and
alternate blows.

++++++++
	The boy's considerably excessive nut sack was wrapped up, forcing
the large balls to hang tightly trapped in the bottom of the scrotum,
exposed, vulnerable, and unprotected.  Not that it would be easy with the
straight jacket, and ankles, and knees tied together, his top was warned if
he looked like he was trying to move from his exclusive "front row"
observation point, the boys balls would be removed immediately - right
where he knelt.  He was only here to enjoy the show.  He was allowed to
holler (which would translate into loud humming) - to cry, and he was
required to watch - not look away or close his eyes - no sudden movements
of head or body to distract the guests.
	Another display was laying on the floor - his hands and ankles all
tied together - a pump-up dildo in his ass, with the tube and bulb lying
there to be pumped or deflated. His ball sack was wrapped up tight with a
long strip of chamois leather forcing the balls shiny into the bottom of
the remaining scrotum.  A steel hook was cinched into the wrapping.  A rope
from the steel hook went up through a pulley on the ceiling and back down
to bout five feet off the floor with a loop in it.  One small five-pound
lead ball weight hung from the loop pulling his nuts upward from his
body. There was a five gallon poly vinyl bucket full of those lead balls of
different weights, with long hooks on them, so a cluster of many could be
applied to the loop in the rope.
	Another display piece was kinbaku tied to a post.  Standing on the
tiptoes of one foot, he looked to be in the most pain.  The ropes artfully
crisscrossed his hairy muscular left leg from ankle to groin, and pulled it
tight to the post.  The ropes continued up, wrapping and holding torso to
it as well, and securing his arms and hands tightly behind the post.  The
thick ropes doing the work were minimal.  What they were doing was
definitely a maximal.  There was a stout ring attached to the post, a foot
above his head.  Threaded through that ring was a piece of rope attached to
hooks in the man's nostrils - and the other end attached to his right leg
just above the knee holding it up in the air just past his waistline.  The
downward pull of the weight of his leg threaded through the ring - which he
tried at first to minimize, before it became impossible - pulled on the
hooks in his nostrils, forcing his head back and mouth open.
	Making matters yet more unbearable, a light piece of rope was tied
to his right big toe.  It was secured to the ring of a shaft protruding
from his piss slit only fifteen or so inches away.  There had been a
strong, thick, sharply pointed, steel, hook put in the end of his cock,
Prince Albert style. The pressure of the pull from his toe seemed so great
stretching his cock to the max, I wondered how it could sustain the stress
without ripping through the underside of his cock head.  It had to have
felt like that's what it was doing, regardless if it held.  It looked like
the point of the hook was coming out of the cock farther back than a normal
Prince Albert.  Maybe the added distance would enable it to hold.  With the
leg high in the air, it was easy to see the last detail of the artists
work.  There were about six inches exposed of a fat dildo being held by the
involved rope windings in the victim's ass.  No way to know how much he was
enduring inside - It was the oddest thing.  The way his open mouth looked,
he should be screaming.  He wasn't.  He had tried to minimize the pressure
in his nostrils by rising up on tiptoes. The artist must have liked it and
taken the opportunity to see that it was maintained
	The one I would find out later was the straightest, and most
homophobic of all - a hulk of a beauty about forty years old - was mounted
on his back on a fuck height short platform.  There were moans and noises
coming from around the room, but this one was shouting and angry.  The top
of his head pushed up against the wall was held in place by a clever pipe
affair screwed to the box and other pipes and fittings screw clamped around
his neck - hands were outstretched and held in place the same way.  There
were pipes attached either side of his mid section about three feet high
with ninety degree angles on top, and pipes attached there returning to the
wall, and screwed in.  His legs were raised and wrapped around the vertical
pipes and strapped to them and his ankles to the upper pipes returning to
the walls.  The platform was only deep enough to support his weight on his
upper back.  His entire, heavily muscled, lower trunk, was hanging out in
mid air with his virgin vulnerable pucker hole facing into the room.  So
far the only penetration it had received, was the doctors finger once, and
the douche hose an hour earlier.  Its condition would change tonight.  Jake
returned with a hard rubber ball gag especially for him.  I watched him
walk over - slide the strap part way through the ball for securing it on
the side of his face - slip the leather under his secured neck - force the
ball roughly into his noisy hole giving him a bloody lip - and buckle it
against his cheek.
	"God," Jake complained, "You're worse than a woman." He ran his
fingers through the cleft & gently across the beautiful unprotected
un-defendable fuckhole.  I'd love to give you what you need for that, but
that's going to go to the highest bidder for virgin-claiming tonight. After
that, I & who ever wants, will have a turn at it.  He knelt down in front
of the man's hole and gently licked it, as what would have been screams of
protest, were now just the muffled tones of an immobilized enraged macho
man - sounds now indistinguishable, and more quietly emanating.  Jake
literally ate out the hot hole, tonguing - French kissing - and sucking on
it.  He spread it gently open, spit a hocker into it - sucked it back out,
and stood up.  He loosened the gag buckle, and pulled it free to more
noise.  He grabbed the red-faced man's nuts, and issued his order, "Open
your mouth - wide!" Expected resistance produced a sudden tug, a forceful
squeeze, and a twist, of the loud one's manhood.  It opened wide, and he
blew the hocker from the man's ass - plus extra he'd worked up - into the
back of the man's throat - stuffed the gag back in place and buckled it up
before turning and walking away without a word.  None were necessary.
	"Ok.  Your turn shit face." Jake walked toward me, and I trembled.
Things had been feeling different for the last weeks.  I was more on edge -
more emotional.  There were some nights after I was put to bed I felt so
much more alone.  Some nights I cried - not the usual for me.  The Master's
change in my drugs was working.  He said I would be an emotional mess, and
I was.  I dreaded this night of being publicly exposed before strangers.  I
was also more horny and hard so much of the time.  Sometimes it was allowed
and made fun of.  Sometimes, painful chastity gear was put on me.  I would
have to say when a hard-on was developing, and when it had subsided or
passed - how hard I had gotten on a one to ten scale.  In these kinds of
gear, it usually only started, and then the added pain would stop it.  The
chastity harnesses with spikes inside hurt all the time, and Nick was
almost never gentle when putting me in one.  He'd sometimes purposefully
put my cock in an awkward position before locking me up.  Recently I was
getting rented out more, but only for whatever combination the man wanted
of oral, posing, hand jobs and massage. Master's fuckhole and cock were
unavailable and locked up.  The Master would shove a fist & arm sized dildo
up my cunt and have Nick put me in a spiked chastity harness but one that
locked the plug inside his cunt too.  If he got a report of my behaving in
an unusual way at all, I'd wear it for three days.  I had to be congenial &
friendly and overly accommodating.  That's the report he expected from the
customer - and he always asked for a satisfaction report.
	Jake snapped his fingers and pointed to the platform.  That's all
he had to do.  I stepped nervously up.  He touched where my right foot
would go and said, "Right.  Left.," and he touched the place for my left
foot.  I worked into position and stood in place.  He stepped up in front
of me.  He reached up and pulled a head harness down on rope from a pulley
in the ceiling.  It was attached to the rope by a "D" ring on its top
strap.  With my cooperation as I saw its bright red ball gag I opened my
mouth wide to receive it. He applied it to me strapping it tightly in
place. The essential function was as ball gag harness, but it would also
maintain the position of my head.  He stepped down off the platform,
greased my asshole, and though I couldn't see it, greased the huge phallus
attached to the fuck machine.
	"Bend forward," he instructed.  As I did - and as he guided me just
a bit to the left and a little downward - my now often used pucker came
into contact with the head of the instrument that was going in my ass (now
my Master's pussy) for all to see.  He put his hand against the front of my
right thigh to indicate staying put, and hit the button on the fuck
machine.  The cock broke through my now experienced fuckhole.  From the
moment it entered, it was painful.  With his hand against my leg reminding
me not to move, I pushed back against the forward progress - and against
all natural instinct to pull away from it.  It bottomed out way up inside
my second sphincter and stopped.  It had an aligning effect on my leaning
position, and the bend at my knees, with which Jake was able to finalize my
installation.
	"Central display," I thought to myself.  "I used to be a person.
Now I was being set up as the centrally displayed object of living art -
the property of my Master - for his party.  Being in the middle of a
gathering of men was hard to think of, but it was happening.  Jake knelt
before my stuffed pussied, bent kneed, leaning forward, figure and wrapped
my scrotum tightly forcing my balls into the bottom of their ball sack.  He
tied a long length of thin strapping around the ball wrapping and knotted
it tightly.  Each of the long ends were wrapped around a big toe and tied.
The balls already stretched to their limit, and tied to my big toes, would
insure the retention of my bent legged position.
	The head harness would insure I remained as upright as I was.  The
two combined, would guarantee my correct positioning for the deep automated
machine fucking of my pussy for the men to enjoy.  There was just enough
forgiveness in the total setup to allow for a little forward and backward
movement of my entire form as the phallus pushed into me, or retreated from
its depths.  I would be pushed and pulled a few inches in either direction
bending only at the ankles - the rest of my statuesque positioning
remaining fairly static.
	The head harness rope went up through a pulley directly overhead -
back through one against a post about twelve feet away - and down to a rope
lock on the post. Unless being required to watch the TV ahead of me, the
rope held my head in line with my body - looking fifteen feet ahead of the
display platform at the floor. There was a small red circle painted on the
floor, which was my focal point - not to be looked away from.  Pulling on
the rope would raise my head, to assure my view of the large screen
directly ahead of me - hung high enough on the wall for all in the room to
see - no matter their location.
	The cuffs holding hands behind were changed to rope for aesthetic
reasons.  It was the one thing Bill stipulated in the planning - no cuffs.
They made it look too police like - or less artful.  Jake had agreed
completely, that matching rope would be more attractive.  Positioning of
the final display completed, Jake called Bill to come down and review.
	He entered with Nick behind, wearing nothing but a fanny pack. He
strolled around pensively examining each display thoroughly.  His central
pussy could see him entering, but did not let his gaze stray, as he would
have wanted.  He remained statuesque, focused on the circle on the floor.
Jake followed Bill around explaining a few things at each stop, and as they
finished, Bill spoke, "Perfect - as usual, my friend, and this one -" He
walked up to the central display and rubbed my smooth legs flexed at the
knees to hold me accommodatingly upright - tested the taught ness of the
straps connecting balls to large toes - squeezed the balls - felt up and
down the torso and down my back right to the fully penetrated pussy.  He
picked up the control on the corner of the platform and switched it on.  It
was set for a slow stroke.  He let it withdraw to the nadir of the stroke
and stopped it.
	"Lube," he said, snapping his fingers.
	"Yes Sir," Nick answered, presenting it, and lubricating the
extended finger.
	He inserted it forcefully alongside the fat nubby dildo, eliciting
an ignored holler from his display's other end.  He pushed in forcefully -
felt around, and withdrew, putting the finger in Nicks mouth for a cleaning
as he commented, "That's good.  I could just feel the end - about three
inches inside. No danger of it coming out accidentally." He turned the
machine on, stood back, and observed for a while, as the huge black
intruder fucked his slave.  He liked seeing his slave's body move a little
forward during penetration and a little backward on exiting, "I look
forward to seeing it drool, and cry, and watch the mixed saliva, snot, and
tears, run down its chin."
	He played with the speed a little bit, and stepped to the post,
"Turn on some of its related video," Was his order.  He pulled on the rope
and my head raised.  Jake had put a black line on the rope as the stopping
point for aligning the display's face with the viewing screen - and another
for the alternate position.  He played with the rope, raising and lowering
my head.  He pulled past the line - his slave statue's head strained
upward.  He relieved it below the other line and the head looked down.  He
played with his toy in pace with the fucking action - cock in - head up -
cock out - head down.  As the screen came to life, he locked it at the
viewing line.
	What would play for my viewing through the evening would be an
editing together of the untraceable broadcast footage of my graphic,
humiliating, pronouncements as the Master's slave, to the world - but
especially to the list of my family and friends I had supplied the Master,
so they could be contacted and know when to watch the covert, untraceable
show.  A second take was required if I did not present a convincing act,
and later I'd be punished severely.  I assured the viewers (all my family
and the world at large) I had found all I had ever needed and wanted.  I
begged for the most degrading, painful, and humiliating aspects of my
treatment.  The camera would zoom in on my asshole, and it getting a fist
inserted - there were interviews looking down at me through the toilet seat
- me saying I was waiting for my Master - and opening my mouth wide when
asked where my Master would shit. There were close-ups of Bill's hairy ass
lowering down on my face on the rim seat and covering my open mouth, and
raising off to expose my toilet mouth full of his shit.
	There was a close-up of Bill's midsection showering - saying he
needed to piss, where he could just as easily have pissed down the drain.
Off screen I could be heard begging for it - Bill feigning reluctance, and
allowing it.  I crawled into frame with open mouth.  He pissed all over my
face first, before aiming in my mouth and ordering me to tip my head back
and flush open toileted - the camera zoomed in to my mouth filled with his
waste - no contact with his cock till he had me suck out the last drops.  I
was seen kissing his feet, and praising, and thanking him, for allowing me
his piss.  Bill would be shown telling me that these broadcasts insure
everyone that mattered would be disgusted and feel deceived and betrayed -
that he was closing the door to my past, and my ever believing I could go
back.  Any hope I ever had of being normal or human again was effectively
being destroyed - to which I confirmed understanding and agreement without
objection.
	My eyes were fearfully and obediently glued to the screen as the
Master sat off to the side watching me.  Seeing myself on the screen
begging for my abuse and punishment, and at the same time, feeling the
anguish of the cock in my ass here before these men - giving me inhuman
penetration - my humiliation was compounded.  I missed my humanity and I
wept.  I drooled, and sniveled, and cried, and moaned, as the men began to
arrive.  Through his control of my chemical intake, my Master had achieved
in me exactly the emotionally weakened display he told Jake would work well
in the middle of the room.  Without speaking, he went to the post - took
the rope in his hand and lowered my head.  I stared at the floor and began
to feel hands on me - on my Master's display - his object.  The Master
turned the machine off, so the guests could discover it, and enjoy playing
with it themselves.  It was half way in, as he walked away and mingled with
the growing assemblage. The first man who began his presumptuous
examination of me, picked up a clip, pinched some sensitive skin, and
applied it painfully near the head of my cock.
	I heard the sounds of a paddle, and I thought about the boy's ass -
not even aware his helpless man was watching.  As more men arrived, I heard
more screams.  I was in the center, but the food and bar were in front of
me, so while a couple of the other displays were in my periphery, with my
circle to focus on, I couldn't really see any of them.  A man came up to me
and picked up some of the cruel alligator clips.  He chose the tenderest of
places to apply them.  He opened my piss slit and put one jaw of a clip in
my urethra and let it close against the other on the outside of my cock
head Ð a second applied similarly in the other side, doubled my agony.
When he put one on the septum of my nose, I looked pleadingly at him, "Aww.
That hurt the drooling snot nosed statue?" he asked, in feigned sympathy,
"Want something to take your mind off it?" He went to the machine control -
picked it up - turned it on and played with the speed dial.  Slowly he
turned it up and up until the fuck was unimaginable.
	Just then the Master raised my head, and the sound was turned up
for all to enjoy my web exposure to the entire world.  On the screen, the
camera came around from my face for my identification, to a full screen
shot of my asshole.
	I would be punished for even thinking of it as my asshole, but my
thinking was so confused - so fucked up right here and now.  More
correctly, it was my Master's cunt that filled the screen.
	The accompanying voice was loud in the room.  The men became silent
except for the voice on the speakers - my voice.  I couldn't see, but my
assumption was that every eye and ear, were tuned in to the show my Master
was offering.  On screen, I was almost hollering, "PLEASE SIR - PLEASE
PLEASURE YOURSELF!
	With his idebtity protected, only his voice was heard and digitally
altered as well, "You sure shitface?  It's larger than you've ever had.  It
might tear you." The cone shaped plug was held up in front of Master's cunt
by Nick's hand.  It was immence.  I hadnt known just how big at the time Ð
not being given the opportunityto see it.  But my answer was as prescribed
and expected, "YES SIR!  I NEED YOUR PLEASURE, MASTER.  PLEASE?"
	I hollered here in the room from the pain in the Master's pussy,
and from the clips cutting into my tender flesh.  My nose and mouth were
blowing bubbles of snot and spit running freely down my chin and, no doubt,
pooling on the platform below.  And as I watched Nick insert the pussy
wrecker, and put his muscular shoulder behind it, I thought about the
visual being available to my family as well as everyone in the world to
whom it would have spread so readily.  I had been reminded how things were,
that once on the web - things kept spreading forever.  As here in the room,
my tears flowed to join the rest of my facial slime, on screen, Nick
pushed, putting his muscled shoulder into it, and the Master's cunt
stretched and stretched as I yelled on the speakers, until he lunged
forward from having lodged it in place.  The retainer diameter attached to
the thick base alone, felt arm sized.  I couldn't stop screaming and the
men applauded.
	"Ok!" Everyone heard Bill's voice on the speakers, hollering over
my caterwauling, "You can have one more minute of that, and then I want
quiet, Shitface!" I screamed not believing I could stop - but I remembered
other occasions that calming down was required.  I remembered, and I put
everything I had into focusing on coming down from the assault, and the
static presence of the giant intruder inside me.  I breathed deeply and
made myself scream less - and then groaned loudly - and then more quietly -
and then moaned and breathed - moaned and breathed.  I heard the snap of
his fingers, and the moaning ceased.  I breathed harder than I ever
remember breathing - deeply in through the nose, and out forcefully through
the mouth. My requirement for thanks at being given for any kind of
attention came to my scrambled mind, and immediately, and breathlessly, I
offered it with repetition, "Thank You Sir! Thank You Sir!  Thank You Sir!"
	Bill interrupted, "I don't see any blood." He paused for a minute,
"It'll hurt like hell when it comes out, but what I'd like to do is pull it
out, wait a minute or so, and force it right back in.  We can lock it in
place with your harness, let you retain it for me over night, and I'll see
if I feel like taking it out tomorrow."
	For the men here tonight, the next instructions, edited out of the
video released on the web, were left in.  The Master began the combination
drill and warning, "Ok cuntface, I'm going to question you here.  At times,
I want your answer to be enthusiastic and definitive - and at times, I want
the answer to have a singsong, matter-of-fact tone, about it - like you
might have used with a friend in your past.  The inference of the tone
would be - of course, you idiot - don't be stupid." He tested his intended
responses, and coached me how to perfect them, and gave me a code for when
he wanted which - one, for enthusiastic, and two, for matter-of-fact. The
sign could be delivered in snaps of his fingers (if I wasn't yelling, and
could hear them) or unseen taps - thumps - kicks - or pokes to my body.  If
there was no code - I was on my own.
	He began, "So tell me - what's that huge plug doing?"
	I heard two snaps, "Stretching Your pussy Sir." Was mater-of-fact.
I watched the camera having closed in on the plug as Bill tried to get his
finger in along side - commenting on his inability to do so - that it was
stretched so tight - and then pan around again to my face, screwed up in
pain, and still with belabored breathing, "So what do you think of my plan
for the plug?" One snap, "Please Master!  PLEASE SIR - Pull it out and put
it back!  Leave it locked inside your shitface over night, and decide
tomorrow if you want it out Sir!"
	"Why does my fuckhole beg for such terrible treatment?"
	I was watching what he was literally making of me - looking into my
own pain-stricken face filling the screen, hearing my own words fill the
hall - knowing these laughing men were only a sampling of the thousands -
or more - who had seen this performance around the world, including my
family and friends - whether or not they chose to watch.  I knew the ones
who would, and would happily report in graphic detail to the others who
might not be able to bear to do so.
	I gave my answer, "Because it's what you want Sir, and your
shitface needs your pleasure Master."
	Tell everyone what my shitface is learning about itself when it
comes to my pleasure, fuckhole.  Is it learning that my pleasure is what it
needs more than anything else?"
	One snap, "Yes SIR!" (enthusiastic)
	"More than friends?"
	One snap, "Yes SIR!"
	"More than family?"
	One snap, "Yes SIR!"
	"More than your past meaningless life?"
	Two snaps, "Yes Sir!" ("of course")
	Did you come here voluntarily?
	Two snaps, "Yes Sir!"

	The pain I felt, here on display, was consummate. Betraying and
negating family and friends in front of these abusive men was more
humiliating than anything I ever could have imagined.  It magnified the
anguish created by the bite of the multiple alligator clips and the
clothespins - so casually applied, and the fucking that hurt so much and
was so unending.  Even being felt by the men, with my nerves so on edge,
seemed to hurt, instead of soothe.  My head held up, I wept watching the
screen - blew bubbles of saliva from around my gag, and breathed in and out
by sniffing snot up, and blowing it out my nose.  As often - in such
occasions of intensity - I had no sense of time.  My leg muscles ached from
their position.  My shoulders hurt from my hands tied behind.  My balls
felt as if they were being pulled off.
	All of a sudden my Head was being lowered down to see my Master
standing in my vision.  The feelings I was having, all became associated
with guilt - the guilt of thoughts that were wrong and confused - mind
exercises I grappled for to sooth, which I couldn't find.
	"I'm going to take my fuckhole down for a while," he said, as I
looked not into his eyes, but at his beautiful hairy shoulders exposed by
the black tank top he was wearing.  Nick had lowered my head.  He turned
off the machine with the stroke at its nadir.  He began removing pins and
clips re-energizing the bite each one had presented on application.  He
stepped up on the platform and untied the rope from my head harness - knelt
down and untied my ball straps from my toes and told me to stand up.  Oh my
god - as I did, the phallus exited me - my leg muscles - barely able to do
so - allowed me to stand gradually up straight, after removing the rest of
the clips and pins, he took a towel and wiped my face.  As he led me off
the platform I fell to the floor.  He helped me stand.  With his bull-like
strength, he laid me over his shoulders - walked me over through a door at
the side of the room, and laid me down on a bed, as I curled up and wept
some more.
	Nick lay down behind me, and to my disbelief, put his arm around
me, "I'm sorry Sir," I wept.
	"That's good." He said.  "Feeling guilty of bad thoughts?"
	"Yes Sir.  This fuckhole is so sorry Sir"
	"You can confess them to your Master later.  Feeling confused?"
	"Yes Sir.  Its sorry Sir."
	"Feeling like a disappointment to your great Master - like the
piece of shit he's made of you has let its Master down - watching that
screen and allowing thoughts of family and friends to interrupt your focus
on your Master - embarrassed for all those men to see you for the toilet
and object for display that you have become?"
	He had hit so many of the seeming nails in my mind on the head.  It
was like he was inside my mind looking around - observing all that was
wrong.
	"Yes Sir," I said, as I cried uncontrollably.
	"Good."
	"How could it be good?" I thought to myself in my emotional
anguish.
	"The worthless shitface is right where its Master wants it.  The
mind inside this skull -" Nick slapped me on the face hard, and put his arm
around me again, "belongs to the man out there selling the other objects on
display.  It's his to play with just like this sore pussy.  As long as it
pleases him to own you, you will be where he wants you - physically,
mentally, and emotionally." Nick got up from behind me - took a hypodermic
from the table - uncovered the needle - stuck it in my ass - emptied it,
and told me to get on my knees, "Open the toilet, Shitface," he ordered,
"Take out my cock." He put a pill in my mouth and used his finger to lodge
it in my throat, "Put my cock in your Master's toilet and flush my waste."
	Nick removed my gag and obediently I put the head of the beautiful
cock in my mouth as it got hard, and Nick started to piss.  I drained his
bladder, and put his cock away as ordered.  He spoke horrifying words,
"Your Master wants you farther down.  The shot and the pill will take you
there.  Your confusion will intensify, as will your senses of inadequacy
and guilt.  You will seek your mind exercises for comfort, and they will be
scrambled and out of reach.  You will feel like a black shroud has been
placed over your spirit, and you will long to be right with your Master.
If he wants to bring you up, he will do so."
	He spoke with such perception.  I wondered if this was a place with
which he was familiar, as he continued, "From being on display before the
men, you will be taken to a cell.  Unless your Master decides to retrieve
you, you will be in darkness.  With only your confusion, and need for
unfulfilled worship, and the presence of your Master, you will be kept in
the emotional pit into which you are falling, unable to climb out.  You
will scream and not be heard Ð eventually plead, and beg, and grieve, and
lament, and long to prove yourself more fitting - more suitable - more
useful - more worshipful - more fearful - more thankful for your only
possibility of purpose - as your Master's property - for his removal of
your unnecessary and inappropriate humanity - his abuses - his training and
programming.  In the dark pit, the mind that belongs to your master should
be adjusted.  Wrong thoughts - those things contrary or superfluous to your
Master's ownership, and needs, and pleasures, should present themselves,
and you will curse them.  If you proove realigned, only the anguish of his
absence - the need for his worship - the desire for his abuse, and the
longing to prove better will comprise the fire of torment that will purify
his mind.  If your Master deigns to lift you out of your dark hell, you
will be as different as you were when he allowed you from the cage.  The
dark place you are entering is as purifying a torment for his slave mind,
as the cage was for his slave body."
	He put his finger under my chin and lifted slightly - all that was
necessary for me to raise to my feet.  He put his finger inside me.  I was
so sore, "Now lets get this stretched out pussy remounted." I was barely
re-collected from my mini breakdown in the arms of the one I believed my
savior.  The disparity of tenderness, while knocking any resemblance of
remaining pins out from under me, added further to my imbalanced and
confused state.  Nick's terrible pronouncement was one of those occasions
of the Master wanting me to know what was coming, to add to my apprehension
and fear and worry.
	One of the men who had let me know he was at the fuck machine
controls the most, saw me being marched back into the room on Nicks finger,
and walked over to intercept, "I thought you'd retired the toy for the
night."
	"Nah.  Just adjusting it a bit for the Master.  It's back for your
enjoyment.  Just take a minute to get it remounted, Sir.  Get up there,"
Nick ordered, as we approached my display platform.
	"Yes Sir." How I wanted to disappear - to be someplace else - not
to be the brunt of these men's mirth and abuse.  Nick backed me up against
the cruel invader and lined me up for insertion.  A quick greasing, and
without ceremony, Nick turned it on, and buried it in me to the max.  As I
screamed out, men gathered around and watched me being reinstalled.  Some
guffawed - some chided.  I could hear two men close by exchanging, "Pretty
isn't it. To bad it's not for sale."
	"Couldn't be in better hands though.  Says here it's going to be in
Bill's next castration video as the fully identifiable henchman.  That one
I will order for sure."
	There was an identification label on the side of the platform,
"DISPLAY ONLY - ITEM NOT FOR SALE - can be seen in my next castration video
as the fully identifiable henchman - no release date available, but coming
soon - will notify all signed-in here tonight. Enjoy interspersed web
released footage of its begged-for abuse on the TV.  When its head is
raised, it is meant to see itself on the screen."
	Carefully reinstalled, Nick stepped down and set the head rope for
my downward focus on the red circle.  There was a sign by the rope, "PLEASE
DO NOT ADJUST."
	I started to fall into that pit while on central display before
Master's guests.  The augmentation Nick gave me insured the onset of my
conflagration. As effectively as the machine fucked the hole that belonged
to my Master, his capable psychological malevolence fucked the mind that
he'd taken and now owned.  I spent another eternity on my perch being
jeered at, humiliated, maligned, and made sport of - my body pinched,
thwacked, caressed, and slapped.  Was it an hour?  Was it two?  Seeing
myself on the TV being tortured, beaten, and abused, begging for more,
along with a host of live onlookers, was different than experiencing my
abuse in the moment.  It was a hundred times more degrading.  It was
public.  Watching my web postings with these men on hand, brought home the
reality of the thousands who would have seen my performances - shared and
spread it to become millions - my family and friends particularly, notified
of dates and times they wouldn't want to miss, regarding me.
	I was taken to that cell.  A gigantic, handsome, un-shirted,
hirsute, muscleman, I'd never seen before, stepped up on the platform and
untied the rope from my head harness.  He pulled me off the fully implanted
phallus and planted me in front of it.  He took a towel and wiped my ass
with it first, and then my slobber and tear covered chin and face.  He left
the gag harness and my ball wrap in place, but untied - from my big toes -
the strapping connecting them to my balls, "Stand up," was his simple
command.  Barely able to do so, I righted myself and stood straight.  He
stepped down off the platform - laid me across his broad hairy shoulders -
lifted my considerable weight off my perch like I was a rag doll, and
placed me on the floor.  As the men watched the operation, the he-man
standing inches above me, took my ball straps in his hand and lifted -
stretching my balls upward - pulling me instinctively up on tip toes - as
right next to him, he walked me toward the door.  The men applauded, one
yelling, "There goes our toy!" and another, "Bill's movie star in the
making - can't wait to see that face on the screen and watch him de-nut the
victim!"
	From the room I never knew existed, he led me down the hall I'd
never seen, by my stretched balls - his powerful aroma filling my snot
nosed nostrils.  Any other time I'd have been completely entranced - just
being next to this macho powerhouse of a stinking giant.  In my crumpling,
decomposing, state of mind however, he only added considerably to the fear
I was experiencing, and the black shroud I was feeling under.  He took out
a remote, and a heavy metal-covered sound-proofed door, with no knobs or
locks opened.  He pulled me inside the room, and the door closed behind,
with a well-sealed sound.  There were a few empty cells across the back of
the room.  He led me into one with a padded, industrial looking, steel
armchair, bolted to the floor.  It had integral attachment straps for arms
- legs - torso, and head.  There was a large clear container under the seat
and next to the chair, an ominous hospital stand with an I.V. bag
hangingfrom it.
	He released his hold on my stretched nuts, and untied my ball wrap.
He pushed against my chest to hold me in place as he pulled forcefully on
the end of it, winding my balls excruciatingly round and round, making them
a ridiculous testicle propeller. While I hollered, he removed all the clips
and pins the men had again attached to my body for their sadistic enjoyment
- pleasurably engaging with the kinetic piece of living sculpture I had
just been, on central display.  As he worked shirtless, the strong
intoxicating smell from his hairy sweaty pits dominated his space - of
which I was a part.  The scent was unavoidable, but in my condition, it
could just as well have been offensive perfume, for its lack of usual
effect.
	He placed me up against the chair, and with one finger pushed in
the middle of my chest abruptly seating me.  He squatted in front of me,
spread my knees apart, and strapped each ankle, and upper calf, to the
chair legs before standing and bending me forward, to untie my long
restrained hands, freeing my resultant aching shoulders.  With the rest of
the integral chair strap restraints he secured me by - thighs - wrists -
elbows - just above my biceps, and torso (just above my hip line, and
through my armpits.)  As he tightened each strap he inserted two fingers
underneath.  The result was my inability to move, but the restraints were
only snug - not tight.
	He unbuckled the straps of my gag harness and pulled out the
obstruction holding my mouth agape.  It felt like it had been wide open for
an eternity - maybe it was four hours - maybe less.  I'd had no sense of
time, as was so often the case here in the Master's world.  Time - I'd been
trained - is not something a slave needed to think about, and its passing
was something my Master had removed from my ability to gage.  With that ass
towel in his back pocket, he wiped my face, and I moved my aching jaws open
and closed.  Having someone here with me - even though he seemed my jailer,
felt comforting - and watching, and feeling him work, gave my fear and
confusion filled mind, something on which to mitigate its focus about what
was happening.  He may not have been stimulating me, but his undeniable,
sweaty, macho, beauty, and the intensity of his essence, were certainly
welcome distractions.
	I wanted so much to see the Master.  I felt so distant from him.  I
begged my jailer, "Please Mister - please Sir, could I see my Master Sir?
Please could you just tell him his worthless shit hole toilet humbly begs
to see him?  Please Sir?" My words might as well have been unspoken.  There
wasn't the slightest reaction from the hairy giant who went on about his
business of situating me.  Any further attempts to gain his positive
response I knew would be futile.
	He put on some extra, extra, large, latex gloves - opened an
alcohol wipe, and swabbed my forearm over an obvious vein.  I had always
had distinguishable vascularity - but even more so since all the steroids
and strenuous workouts.  Not wanting to, but unable to stop myself, I
watched him take the business end of the tube from the I.V. stand, and
deftly inserted it into my vein.  He had obviously done this before.  He
got the tube situated, and taped it in place. I was so panic-stricken.  I
wanted to be someplace else - not here - not strapped helplessly in this
chair.  As he set the drip, even believing I would not strike a responsive
chord, I pleaded with the giant again, "Please Mister?  Please Sir?  Please
- no - Sir?" I tried to make eye contact, but it was not there.  He opened
a long sterile pack - removed a relatively thin catheter - greased it up -
unceremoniously grabbed hold of my dick - inserted the end in the piss
slit, and pushed steadily till most of it disappeared inside of me.  As
soon as the urine began to drip - knowing he was in the bladder, he
squeezed the flow clamp shut - pushed it another couple inches, and with an
attached syringe inflated the retainer bulb, before he connected some
tubing from the container under the seat to the end of the catheter.
	He snapped off the gloves, and threw them in the garbage can with
the clips and pins, revealing his sweaty hairy hands.  As I watched in
disbelief, they began to rub me.  He gently rubbed each site where a clip
or pin had bitten into me.  Increasing the blood supply, it initially
escalated sensation, but it began to relieve the pain each had caused.  He
took his time, and addressed each location, "Oh, thank you Sir," I said,
"Thank you so much Sir." When finished with the pin and clip spots, he got
behind me and rubbed my aching shoulders, "Oh my god Sir.  Thank you.  It
feels so good. They hurt so much."
	There was no response Ð nr could I hqve known his ministrations
were not about helping me feel better, but about assuaging external,
physical, sensation, which would distract me from what was beginning to
happen.  As he rubbed my sore aching shoulders, what was coursing through
my system from the bag hanging next to me, was the Master's studied and
designed mixture.  My sense of panic was beginning to subside as I
relaxed. The one I was feeling so kindly toward for administering to my
discomforts, stopped massaging me, and completed my installation.  It was
designed to separate me from the physical, and leave me with only my
thoughts.  He put what looked like eyecups used in a tanning booth over my
eyes, but they were solid black.  They eliminated all light as he snugged
the elastic around my head.  They fit into my eye sockets so as hardly to
be felt.  I could open my eyes and yet my sight was completely eliminated.
	He took swimmers earplugs and worked one into each ear channel
before putting headphone-like covers over my ears, eradicating all sound.
Lastly, and finally, there was a minimal harness strap affair to hold the
head against the chairs high padded back.  He applied it, and like all the
rest, snugged it just tight enough to keep my head erect.  It was the last
physical sensation I remember.  The big man's powerful scent faded, so I
knew he had gone.  I longed for his touch - to feel something on the
outside.  The pains from the pins and clips were becoming mild discomforts,
and I felt myself trying to hold onto the sensations for physical stimulus.
	In the Master's "bag of tricks," was a studied combination of
things I would only now begin to know the effects of.  He and some doctor
friends had concocted it so as to be maximally effective and minimally
jeopardous.  There was a sustenance element, which could flow through my
system and out Ð unimpeded - in the urine - a muscle relaxant and pain
reliever - a stimulant, preventing unconsciousness, but allowing a
trans-like state - a mild combined psychogenic/ hallucinogenic - a
considerable depressant, and a few other things thrown in.
	As I sat, knowing for sure I was sitting, because I had witnessed
myself being installed, the sense of sitting was being replaced with a
sense of nothingness.  The pit that had been described was enveloping me
and with no escape I cried out, "MASTER!" I heard the cry between my ears
and wondered of it had left my mouth.  I cried out louder, "MASTER!" There
was no Master - no evidence of his pleasure through my pain - no seeing his
glorious face or his hairy body - no lying under his seat to receive his
shit - no sucking his magnificent cock till it erupted inside of me - or
drinking from it as he conveniently emptied his bladder without having to
move from wherever he was.  In this pit without my Master - his use - his
abuse - his training - his pleasure, my imaginings turned inward - became
selfish - thoughts that elevated family and friends - looked at the door
that had been closed on my ever being able to return to them or my past -
thoughts of the web broadcasts - where they, and everyone else, saw me as
slave - as shit eater - as piss drinker - as fist hole - hugely plugged and
chastitized - admitting I was never allowed to ejaculate - saying (as the
Master's property and object) this is what I had been looking for and
needed - and it was all I needed - that my Master's use, abuse, and
pleasure Ð suffering for and serving him were all I needed.
	At times I saw everyone looking at me, horrified, and disappointed
- at something so loathsome as what I had become, ever being a part of them
and their lives - and at times I saw everyone - including them - laughing
uproariously at me.  I eventually saw every face of family member and every
friend individually - guffawing and laughing - saying how utterly
ridiculous I looked and sounded begging for more shit - for more abuse -
screaming from pain on the fuck machine, and begging for another hour if it
would please the Master when he offered it as an option to turning it off.
	I could not have known, that for days I was fed with the same
combination of drugs.  Unbeknownst, the bag was changed every twelve hours
and my piss container emptied - only my horrifying negative thoughts
gnawing at me - feeling ridiculous and an unusable freak.  Looking for a
way out and finding only despair - looking inward and knowing something was
wrong.  I'd separated from the Master.  His face would come to me only for
a moment and then would be gone. It's like it was fading.  I remembered
that there were mind exercises, and reached for them, but they would not
come to me.  Being on display played itself back - the humiliation of being
mounted like an object of living kinetic art, in front of all the strangers
- men using me as their entertainment and toy - watching myself beg for all
my graphically depicted tortures in videos for the specific viewing of my
family and friends and the rest of the world as well - drooling like an
idiot, and crying like a little girl.
	After an eternity of horrifying despair, destructive and fatalistic
machinations - entertaining complete self-absorption - begrudging my
treatment, and my Master's abusive pleasures - his presumptive taking of,
and pronounced ownership of me as rightful - seeing myself, somehow, as
undeserving of such treatment.  While in the darkest of my deeply
misconceived bewilderment, miscalculations, misjudgments, and selfish
confusion - looking down into the bottomless pit, instead of looking up
where I wanted to be, something happened.  All the thoughts presented
themselves as the reasons for the hell I was in.
	Being disconnected entirely from the world outside my thoughts -
beyond the pit, I couldn't know that the Master had changed the drugs he
was giving me, and clarity and perception were beginning to emerge, where
confusion and misconception had been reigning supreme.  Everything I had
been thinking was wrong, and the fires of my mental hell were purifying and
purging them. The mind here thinking selfishly, really and actually
belonged - like the body containing it - to the One this toilet was
privileged to call Master.  It was his, and the use of it for other than
his purposes, was disenabling it to function.  It was breaking down,
because of its lack of focus on - thankfulness toward - and appreciation of
- HIM. As if just making it across a bridge before it collapsed, and
looking back at an approaching conflagration, I began to see the only One
that mattered.  The meaningful words came, "You only Master - always and in
all things."
	He understood.  He'd told this slave - if it weren't meant to
suffer for him and service him, it wouldn't be his property.  It was meant
to be exposed to those of my purposeless past and have that door closed
forever.  Its Master's object was what it was meant to be.  It was born to
suffer and serve, and its Master knew that, and accepted that fact, and
knew what to do with that truth, and with this shit faced fuckhole.  This
object belonged on that perch for the men to redicule, and entertain
themselves with.
	As acceptance and recognition of what it truly is, became
unequivocal, visions of the Master's face, and body, and pleasure, all were
coming clear.  The mind exercises were presenting themselves, and the
Master was revealing himself in all his majesty, and superiority, and
authority, over the object he had made of this slave.  He had lowered his
property into this pit, and it would be he that would lift his fuckhole out
of it, if it were to be saved at all.  It was becoming so clear.  This shit
faced object of ridicule, and the toilet of Men, as was so appropriately
abbreviated and forever inked on the Master's property, was meant to fear
one man - to obey, convenience, suffer for, serve, and be exposed and
humiliated by him alone.  He is Master and Owner of this slave and all that
comprises it - body - mind - and spirit.
	From the bottom of the pit - with increasing clarity of its
Master's mind - and determination to - be a better slave for him -
rededicated to him - apologetic for its failures and shortsightedness - to
worship and serve with renewed appreciation for its lowly position under
the Master's toilet seat - accepting its unworthiness to be in that
privileged place, it called out as loudly as it could, "THANK YOU MASTER!
THANK YOU MASTER! THANK YOU MASTER!  YOUR TOILET HAS FALLEN SHORT AND
FAILED YOU SIR!  IT WANTS ONLY YOUR ABUSE AND PLEASURE MASTER - NOT FAMILY
- NOT FRIENDS - NOT PAST LIFE - ONLY YOU SIR!  IT BEGGS TO FEEL YOU MASTER
AND SEE YOU SIR AND SUFFER FOR YOU AND KNOW YOUR ABUSE FOREVER SIR!  YOU
ONLY MASTER - ALWAYS AND IN ALL THINGS SIR!"
	I thought a minute and continued, "THANK YOU FOR EXPOSING IT TO ITS
FAMILY AND FRIENDS MASTER - FOR HUMILIATING IT AND CLOSING THAT DOOR TO ITS
PAST!  THANK YOU MASTER FOR DISPLAYING IT AS AN EMOTIONALLY WEAK OBJECT AND
TOY BEFORE THE MEN SIR!  THIS MIND AND BODY ARE YOURS MASTER!  IT HAS
NOTHING TO DO WITH THEIR USE AND PROGRAMMING AND ABUSE MASTER!  IT WILL BE
A BETTER SLAVE SIR - AND MAKE YOU PROUD OF YOURSELF FOR WHAT YOU HAVE
CREATED FOR YOUR PLEASURE AND CONVENIENCE!"
	And its final expression, "YOUR FUCKHOLE IS UNWORTHY TO EAT YOUR
SHIT MASTER - AND THANKS YOU SIR FOR MAKING IT YOUR TOILET - AND FOR
SHOWING ALL THE WORLD THE WAYS YOU ABUSE IT!  IT WANTS TO BE SEEN IN YOUR
MOVIE SIR - AND BEGS YOU MASTER FOR THE PRIVILEGE OF BEING COMPROMISED AND
EXPOSED COMPLETELY AS YOUR CASTRATOR!  THANK YOU MASTER!  THANK YOU
MASTER!"
	In the mind belonging to its Master, it sat down against the edge
of the deep pit and bathed in acceptance of its place, and rededication to
its Master's purposes - to suffer for him, and serve him, with renewed
energy and purpose.  The pit was inescapable without the Master's help -
but there was light coming from above and the vale of pitch that had
consumed the objects spirit was lifting.  Aloud, and to hear itself inside
its master's mind, it spoke what was returning of the exercises it had
memorized.  If it was left to whither and die here in the pit, it would do
so with the words of its Master on its lips.
	The words had of course been heard, and recorded.  They would be
played back from time to time as part of its programming in its earpieces.
The bag was changed again - to one that would put Bill's rededicated
adjusted property out.  It would dream of only one person.  It wouldn't
smell the wonderful aroma of the big man being sent in to collect the
sleeping toilet.  The slave would be uninstalled and carried to its cot -
secured spread eagle, and left to dream for 48 hours before being brought
around.  It had spent 4 days - mostly of hell - alone in the pit with its
thoughts.  On the ceiling above its cot, was a large sign it would see upon
awaking.  "REMEMBER THE PIT - SHITFACE"


Comments welcome:
mackxwayne@hotmail.com
curious about images that serve to inspire the scenarios - let ME know...

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