Date: Sat, 19 Mar 2011 12:43:33 -0700
From: MACK Wayne <mackxwayne@hotmail.com>
Subject: A slave's Induction - Ch4 - A Terrible Night

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 4 - A Terrible Night

	"This is where you'll be staying.  You promised the Boss you'd,
`think through the night,' were the specific words you used." I recalled
Bill's insistence on that wording.  I didn't think anything of it.  I
feared now just what was meant by, Nick tucking me in.  "He wants to make
sure you don't doze off.  You would miss out on some of that critical
thought time.  But more importantly, you would break your promise. The Boss
has no patience with someone that breaks a promise.  Believe me.  You do
not want to be in that situation.  Actually, he's really doing you a favor.
So lets get you settled in," Nick said, as he walked over and put his hand
on the door of the cage in the middle of the room.
	I raised my hands as if somehow they could defend me.  "NO MAN!!!"
I hollered.
	He spoke calmly, "Tom - think.  Look at your self, standing there
naked.  Think about what you know of me and my records and qualifications.
You are where you have no choices.  If you COULD defend yourself, and even
if you COULD defeat me - which is laughable - you are behind three locked
doors that need keys to open.  I'm only going to say this once.  Put your
hands down at your sides, and come here, or I will kick you in the face
with my boot, and do damage you would find impossible to live with.  If I
think you are even CONSIDERING resisting me, or trying to defend yourself,
I wont stop beating on you, until you've been broken into pieces, or
worse."
	Out of fear and common sense, I did as the powerful man said.  I
put my arms to my sides, and walked toward him.  The words on my lips kept
revising themselves, "Please Man - Please Nick - Please Sir -"
	"QUIET!" he shouted.  "Put your hands behind you." Just as I did,
he slapped me hard on my right cheek.  I was not expecting it, and almost
fell over, but caught myself.  "That was for using your pathetic defense
posture with me.  You didn't know better.  Now you do.  Let's do one on the
other side.  It will be for your next fuckup, after that, no more Mr. Nice
Guy.  Your mistakes will be much more heavily disciplined.  You'll wish for
treatment as insignificant and gentle as this.
	I thought I would be prepared for the next one, but while his words
were still being spoken, it came from the left and this time, it DID knock
me to the floor, "There are no options here," he warned, as I was falling.
I stood back up and wiped the blood coming out the corner of my mouth as he
finished his train of thought, "There is only you doing what you are told."
He grabbed my balls and squeezed hard.  "If you don't give me the correct
response for what I just told you, I'll add ball torture to the list of
what's going to keep you awake for your thought time tonight.
	I hoped I knew what he wanted to hear.  While not logical, the only
words I could imagine as appropriate here and now, I practically hollered
at him, through gritted teeth from the pain in my balls, "THANK YOU SIR!!"
	"Ah... You're not quite as stupid as I thought there, shithead.
Ok. That's enough words." He fingered the inside of my mouth, "I don't like
words coming from this fuck hole." He walked to a nearby drawer - pulled
out a small ball gag, and secured it into my mouth.  I tried to talk around
it but nothing was intelligible.  It wasn't big, but big enough to do what
he wanted it to.  I hated it.  I hated the idea of not being able to
express myself.  I couldn't say anything - no words to try to bargain with,
or even to beg, and plead for mercy with.
	"Much better," he said, to my efforts at speaking.  "Now, like I
said, lets get you situated." He put his hand on the apparatus in the
middle of the large cold looking open room, and explained - to my disbelief
- it's configuration, and how I would be installed in it.  He said it was
just the right thing, for helping me to spend my night in thought, as I had
promised I would.  The cage had an open and minimal look to it, about 36
inches high maybe 30 inches wide or less, and long enough only to
accommodate a kneeling position.  I wouldn't be stretching out in it - that
was certain.  Hearing about how he intended to secure me in it, made having
to spend more than a few minutes inside, a terrible sounding prospect.  He
explained to me how I would help install myself.  On hands and knees, I
would back in the front, in a kneeling position -- my knees would go here --
my ankles there -- my body bent forward, and my head once the door was
closed, would stick out the front of it.
	The cage was not designed to be inescapable, in and of it self.
The bars were too far apart for that. The function of the cage rather, was
a support system to hold its victim in whatever position he was attached in
it.  The whole cage was nothing more than galvanized pipe, put together
with 90-degree aluminum angle joining receivers and three way receivers for
the corners.  In the rear, affixed low to the vertical center bar and
sticking considerably into the cage at a slight upward angle was another
pipe with a knob end on it.  This pipe was adjustable height wise, angle
wise, and in and out - depth wise.  It was all too obvious where that would
be going.  The floor was like the rest, just bars with pads clipped to them
for knees and ankles to rest on.
	During his familiarization tour as-it-were, he applied restraints
to my wrists and ankles.  "Ok," he said, "lets get you tucked in here for
the night, so I can go up to the Boss.  He's tired and will need service
before he goes to sleep." Even in my terror, and panicked state of mind,
those words froze a momentary image in my mind that, for just a split
second, made everything moderate.  The image of my two gods fucking was
almost more than the mind could grasp.  But I was quickly brought back down
to earth by his loud bark, "NOW TOM!  Don't make me wait on you!"
	I got down on hands and knees and moved at Nick's direction,
backing into the cage.  As I got part way in, I ran into the knob head of
the bar sticking into the cage, much sooner than it seemed I should have.
Nick's sarcastic quip, "I presume you know where that goes..."
	I centered it on my exposed ass hole, and pushed backwards, but it
was large and I was not greased and it felt impossible to get into myself.
Nick offered me a solution, "If you say `Thank you sir for tucking me in',
I will grease that up for you."
	Immediately I said what he wanted to hear, a phrase distinguishable
with the gag in my mouth, only by the proper vowel sounds, and the right
number of syllables.  I wanted so badly, in stead, to beg him for mercy.
He lubed up the protrusion, told me to try it again and not to stop, till
my ass was all the way to the back of the cage.  I centered it again and
pushed back.  The bulb on the end hadn't looked nearly as large as it was
feeling, and I didn't know how I was going to get it in me much less, as
deeply as it needed to go.  When I stopped my rearward progress, Nick
decided to make up for lost time.  He put a knee against each shoulder,
grabbed onto a cross bar on the top of the cage, and drove into me, forcing
me back quickly onto the hard huge intrusion.
	I'd had had fair sized things in me on occasion, but they were
rubber, or vinyl, or something that would yield, and conform somewhat to
the human anatomy.  What was screwed onto the end of this bar, even though
smooth & polished, was wood or metal.  I couldn't tell, but it was solid,
and completely unforgiving.  It pushed through my anus, and before Nick
stopped driving me back onto it, it had lodged painfully up against my
sigmoid, or second sphincter and was knocking at that door as well.
	The pain was blinding, and I hollered out. While I screamed, Nick
positioned my knees on their pads.  With some chain, he secured my ankles
on their pads, allowing for only minimal movement.  He locked my wrist
restraints each, to a bar on the bottom of the cage.
	Finished "tucking me in," as Nick called it - he was about to
finalize the ridiculous-ness of my plight.  I hadn't noticed it, but there
was a block and tackle attached to the ceiling over the cage.  It had been
pulled up and hooked out of obvious sight.  Nick unhooked it and attached
it to a ring in the top center of the cage and began to pull on the rope.
The cage lifted off the floor and I was swinging free, attached only at the
center point.  He raised me up, just till my head was about even with his
crotch as he stood.  He squatted down, got in my face, and told me to stop
the noise, that he had a few things to go over with me before he went
upstairs for the night.  Those words, "For the night" were so terrible to
hear.  How could he do this to me?  How could he leave me like this?  I
stopped yelling and panted heavily instead.  I could feel him breathing and
could smell his wonderful aroma. The pain inside began to diminish, but
only the slightest bit.  Quietly, I issued a pitiful plea.  "Pleeeese
Sirrrr?  I can't do this all night."
	In what seemed a possible, change-of-heart moment, he unbuckled my
gag asking to hear what I was pleading for so pitifully.  He pulled it out
of my mouth and so tenderly encouraged a repetition of my request.  He
stroked my head as he asked, "What's the matter baby boy?" It seemed as
though my tone and quiet words had struck a tender nerve.  Maybe he had
gone too far, and he would reconsider.  I maximized the pity party tone,
appealing to whatever nerve it seemed I may have struck, and even added to
my expression. "Please Sir," I said softly, "I'm hurting so much.  Please?
I just can't do this all night.  I promise to stay awake and think about
the Bos..." I was going to continue laying it on thick, but he rammed the gag
against my lips, forcing my mouth painfully back open, as I was speaking.
He pushed it into my mouth and began to re-buckle it to my head, as he
yelled at me in anger.
	"You ungrateful fuck!  I THOUGHT you were bitching!  Here I have
taken the time to tuck you in -- make you comfortable, and you have the
nerve to bitch and complain!" He finished with the gag, and slapped the
side of my head hard enough with his powerful hand, that it stunned me.  As
I realized he was going to hit me again, instinctively I dodged to try and
avoid the blow.  It was a big mistake.  I pushed backward, and my ass hit
the rear of the cage.  I had driven the unyielding ramrod head through my
second sphincter.  It was a few inches that might as well have been another
foot.
	The tremendous force of Nick's blows to my head, plus the pain in
my ass, knocked me out.  When I came to, I believe after only a few
seconds, I screamed afresh from the renewed pain, now deeper inside me than
ever.  I tried to pull myself off the increased depth of the plunger up my
ass, but Nick was holding me in place by pushing against my head with his
crotch.  He hollered over my noise, "I'm going to let you scream for
another thirty seconds.  When you hear the snap of my fingers in your ear,
you stop and listen to me.  This is taking too long, and I need to get
upstairs to the Boss before he gets really pissed at you for my having to
be here in stead of with him."
	He told me that he was going to move away from me and I was to
remain pushed back in place, that I could move my head, but that was all.
I screamed, and begged, and pleaded, and screamed some more, until I heard
the snap of his fingers and with all my muster, stifled myself, down to
whines, and groans, and moans.  "I'm going to say this once," he said.  He
warned me that no matter what I was experiencing, whatever was happening,
or how much pain I was in, it could always be worse, a lot worse.  And if I
was not thankful for where I was at any given moment, and expressing it
sincerely and often enough, indeed it WOULD get worse.  How much worse,
would be dependent on his, or the Boss's mood, and frame of mind.
	"Now let me see," he said, "how something as ridiculous looking
right now as you, behaves when it isn't gagged." I could not imagine worse,
but I was sure it existed, and I did not want any part of going there.  He
removed the gag and told me to speak.  With words belabored and pain laden,
I began an apology only to be stopped by a short-tempered directive,
"Compose yourself cage boy, and address me as I should be addressed!"
	I coughed and cleared my throat and started again, "I'm very sorry
Sir.  Thank you Sir..." I remembered the word "sincere," in the warning, and
rephrased.  "Thank you very much Sir."
	"Yeah.  And what are you thankful for?" He moved back, and I could
see him cross his arms and lean cross-legged against a table as he listened
to me.
	I began thinking through the din of my pain and started.  "I'm
thankful to you for tucking me in tonight, for letting me stay here drunk.
I'm thankful the Boss is doing this, so I won't doze off and I can think
about my decision.  I'm thankful for you not making this worse, and for the
pain I am feeling, and for how ridiculous I feel and must look Sir.  Thank
you so much Sir." I stopped, hoping I had spoken acceptably.  He was quiet
and I was getting nervous thinking maybe I should continue finding things
to say.  As I was thinking, the hot man I remembered seeing from afar,
across the bar, was speaking to me.
	"Much better," he said.  Then he told me he was going to give me an
object lesson, so hopefully I would not forget and make the same mistake
again.  He got down on his knees and reached into the cage.  He poked at my
knee and told me to lift it up a little.  As I did so, he unfastened the
pad it had been resting on from the bar it was clipped to, and told me to
put my knee back down.  He dropped it to the floor and gave the same
instruction for the other knee, and removed its pad as well.  Now I was
kneeling on just the cross bar under my knee.  He moved back and did the
same thing to the pads under my ankles, unclipping, and removing them,
dropping them to the floor as well.  I looked wistfully at the so simple
devices just lying there.  I only THOUGHT I was uncomfortable before.  The
lesson was graphic, but he was not done yet.
	He unlocked my hands from their wonderfully supportive place under
me and used a length of chain to link them to each other across my belly.
He made me raise my elbows up till the chain became taught and my elbows
were chicken wing fashion behind me.  He went to a cabinet - produced a
broom handle - brought it back, and stuck it through my elbows across my
back.  My hands no longer supported me, but now stayed useless, secured
against the sides of my midsection.
	Lastly he put a head harness on me and secured it to the top of the
cage with about a foot of chain and then stepped back to admire his
handiwork.  "You look even more goddamn ridiculous than you did before.
Now, isn't that a lot worse?" He asked.
	I replied with great anguish, as I watched tears hit the floor
under me, "Yes Sir."
	"Talk to me now," he said.  "What does something that looks and
feels as ridiculous as you do, say?"
	In my pain, I thought and spoke quickly, "Thank you Sir for the
object lesson, Sir.  I'm so sorry Sir..."
	He said I was on my own.  He said I was going to need to move
around as much as possible through the night to keep circulation going in
my ridiculous position.  I tensed the muscles in my hips and legs and moved
slowly forward.  The ramrod began to pull out.  He watched and told me to
keep going till my shoulders hit the front bars and I couldn't go any
farther.  I pulled, and felt the huge knob at the door to my second
sphincter knowing it was going to exit it, but I knew I dared not stop
until, as ordered, I couldn't go any further.  I kept up my forward
movement, and it did just that.  As it stretched the sphincter to the max
to exit, it renewed the pain and I hollered out, "Oh my god." Then I
remembered and adjusted my continued verbiage from the, "Please no," I
wanted to say, to, "Thank you Sir," hollered as loud as my yell, and then
continued with ridiculous noises I couldn't even believe were coming from
me.
	I kept moving forward, my head protruding through the front of the
cage.  The chain on my head-harness tightened raising my head somewhat,
till I was looking ahead, rather than down.  My view changed from looking
at the floor, to looking at my powerful tormentor leaning comfortably,
crossed legged, and crossed armed, against the table across the way, my
shoulders coming solidly to rest, against the front bars.  As I stayed in
position, I saw him uncross his arms and legs and walk over to me.
	Not knowing what to expect but having just experienced his powerful
slaps, I closed my eyes and steeled myself for the worst.  His
ministrations would come in another form.  The head of the fuck rod was
just inside my anus, but had stopped short of exiting me, as I reached my
limit of forward movement.  Nick went around behind to look.  He knelt down
and loosened the screws holding the rod in place.  He tugged on it till it
painfully splayed my asshole wide open, but stopped just shy of coming out
completely, and he retightened the screws.
	"Lets try this," he said.  "He reached into the cage and grabbed
onto my thighs.  He stood up and placed himself against the rear of the
cage so it would not move, and pulled hard on me.  The unyielding rod and
its large head rammed instantly into my guts, penetrated my second
sphincter and stopped just inside it, as my butt landed solidly against
Nick, and the rear bars of the cage.  I hollered and so did he, "NOW YOU DO
IT!!!" was the order, "WHEN I SAY GO, I WANT IT OUT, AND THEN IN, AND THEN
OUT AGAIN..." and in an instant, he issued the command, "GO!!!"
	I pulled forward till my shoulders stopped me, and my head was
poking through the front bars, looking forward.  The cruel instrument
ripped open my second sphincter and stretched my colon till it reached my
asshole.  The head almost exited me but only stretched the hole painfully
open.  I instantly drove backward without even thinking, and the reverse
effect seemed even more intense.  And once more forward, till the hard knob
was stretching open my asshole, and my shoulders were against the front
bars.
	Nick poked a finger into the pink, tender, exposed, anal tissue,
and played with it, "Just right," he said, with excited emphasis in his
voice.  He produced and attached four long bungee chords, clipped one to
each corner of the cage, and attached them with some slack, to hooks in the
ceiling.  "You're lucky I'm in a forgiving mood, or I would set your cage
rocking and spinning before I go.  As it is, the only movement you have to
endure will be what you create on your own, and these chords, will
stabilize you eventually when you are still.  I have to go now," he said.
"You have some thinking to do, like about selfish choices made without
consideration of the feelings and desires of others, especially when you
are indebted to them."
	"The Boss," he continued, programming my fuzzy and susceptible
mind, "was hurt and disappointed in you for turning him down.  He felt
you'd be more receptive, after he gave you so much of his time and
attention.  He brought you to his home because you were too drunk to drive
a couple of hours home.  He let you in close to his smell, and let you feel
him all over - even massage his feet.  He let you sit and watch him work
out on DVD.  He gave you something to be sure you relaxed and gave you me,
as a baby sitter in your drunken stupor.  He thought he was making real
headway with you.  Someone else would have begged for the roll he offered
you, and begging is what he requires.  If someone doesn't want something
bad enough to plead with him for it, he has no interest in giving it to
them."
	Nick said I had a lot to think about, but that I would have plenty
of undisturbed time to do so.  I was so afraid.  I couldn't imagine how I
would possibly make it through a whole night of this.  He said I could do
what ever I wanted to get as comfortable as possible.  "And hollering is
not a problem," he said.  "You're sound proof in here.  You won't bother
any one, so make all the noise you want if it makes you feel better, just
be sure its not angry sounds."
	"And remember," he said, "You are going to need to move around.  He
was walking toward the door and taking a key out of his pocket.  He put it
in the lock and stepped back toward me a few steps.  I wished, that it was
because he had changed his mind about leaving me here, or about letting me
just have the knee and ankle pads back.  Instead he remained a moment,
"Just a suggestion," as he put it.  "Fuck yourself on that ramrod.  Think
of it as your friend.  You could do 20 strokes at a time.  You don't have
to do it.  It's just a suggestion - only if you want to.  But if you decide
to do it, count out loud to be sure you get 20 before you stop.  Maybe I'll
get to hear you fucking yourself as I leave.  And what..." he questioned, "do
you call that thing up your ass?"
 	"My friend, Sir," I said.
	"Lets do this," he said.  I was, shoulders to the front bars, ass
hole spread and looking at him in all his beauty, standing by the door,
ready to leave me.  "When I snap my fingers, you plunge in all the way till
your butt hits the cage bars, hard.  Then you can leave it there for about
a half hour, or you can pull all the way out again.  But if you pull out,
the 20 strokes would be nice.  Ok ready?"
	My mind was more fucked up and short circuited than I ever could
have imagined it.  As I waited for the finger snap, I mulled over what to
do, and decided I'd better take his suggestion.  He turned the key in the
door and opened it and walked back toward me those few steps again.  He
held up his fingers and paused for what seemed a long time.  It could have
been ten seconds, and it would have felt a long time.  He snapped, and I
lunged backward till my butt hit the cross bar.  The searing pain of the
sudden second sphincter assault seemed worse.  I screamed out, "Thank you
Sir!!  I remained in place unable to move until Nick spoke in a
disappointed tone.  "Ok, I guess I'm not going to get to hear you fucking
yourself as I leave." That's all I needed to hear to make it happen.  I
pulled forward a little slower than I pushed back but quickly the
unyielding rod did its job, and I was hollering a fresh scream with a fresh
reason for it.  And as soon as I was all the way forward and feeling it at
my dilated asshole, I lunged back again with another.  I remembered about
counting and began with "one," hoping it would please my tormentor.  I
screamed repeated "thank yous" and began a pace of fucking myself, with
painful stroke, after full depth painful stroke I could never have
believed.  As I reached number five and counted it out, I heard the door
slam, and when I opened my eyes, there was no Nick.
	I was alone, my cage swinging from my violent movements. Wanting so
much to stop, but afraid to do so, I kept going, hearing myself yell out
numbered penetration after numbered penetration.  I slowed down and kept
fucking.  It got slightly more bearable, but the knob head on "my friend"
was far too large for me to settle into, or get used to.  I hollered out
each number and could not possibly stay quiet for each assault on my inner
sphincter.  I could not adapt, or get used to the self-induced rape.  When
I hit twenty, I realized I'd been crying - and in my loneliness, feeling
forsaken, I found myself talking to, "my friend." Instead of bitching or
complaining, I said "thank you my friend," realizing it had helped relieve
some of the rest of my misery for a short time.  I would realize just how
brief that relief had been, as the night would wear on.  And then I heard
myself saying to it, "Please don't hurt me any more," and screamed a
primeval noise out of frustration, as much as from the pain - and again -
and again.  Knowing I could not be heard no matter how hard and long I
yelled made my frustration even greater.
	I felt humiliated, that I could not stand up to this younger
shorter punk of a man and accept his challenge and beat him and keep this
from happening.  The beautiful young man had just by his warning and his
words put me in this ridiculous position.  Afraid for the damage he could
do to me I accommodated him without resistance, and here I was - caged,
plugged, unable to get relief from my pain and discomfort - and on top of
it all, having to express thanks for it, or risk getting even worse
treatment.  I wondered if anyone ever had been so defeated or felt so
alone.  I watched my tears fall to the cold concrete floor leaving
temporary wet stain marks as the cage moved.  Being still was not something
I would know much of that night.
	As I hovered over the pads, I looked down at them longing for
something as simple as having them back under my knees and ankles.  The
difference in having them and not having them was exponential.  They had
been so easily unclipped and discarded.  I hung my bungee-chorded head in
abject defeat - wanting not to cry - but unable to keep myself from it.
Softly the words formed in my scrambled brain and escaped my lips, "I'm
sorry.  I'm so sorry.  Please come back." I realized what I was doing was
using my mouth to beg and plead for my release, and ease, and what a danger
that could represent.  What if they had microphones to hear me, and cameras
to see me?  I decided I would make the words "Thank You," mean something
different when I spoke them.  When I said "thank you," I would be saying,
"Please stop the pain," or "Please help me," or "I beg you not to hurt me
any more."
	When I hollered out, I tried it and it worked - kind of.  The more
sincere I was about being thankful, the more intense my desire to be free
of pain and discomfort and their control.  "THANK YOU SOOO MUCH !!!!" I
hollered at the top of my lungs.  What I thought was, "IT HURTS SO MUCH -
PLEASE MAKE IT STOP SIR.  PLEASE, I BEG YOU."
	I went through waves of emotion and thought patterns, from hating
myself and blaming myself for my plight, to hating them and blaming them.
I cursed them for their heartless treatment and for fucking with my mind,
and I worshiped them for their power over me and for doing what they wanted
to me.  My thank yous went from meaning things completely other-than, to
sincerely being thankful things weren't worse.  My sore, pad-less knees and
ankles were the lesson toward that end.
	I moved to keep circulation flowing, and every movement kept the
cage in motion, and every movement caused me to feel "my friend" deep
within me.  I constantly switched my weight from one knee and ankle to the
other, never feeling total relief in either, but it being far worse if I
didn't do so.  And every time, I thought about the pads, and the words,
"things can always be worse if you're not thankful and expressing it."
	As the hours wore on, I was wearing out.  Physically I was becoming
exhausted, and mentally I was breaking apart.  My hole got more sensitive
instead of less, so it got harder to do, but I still gave myself full depth
- full stroke - fuck sessions to help relieve some of the rest of the
anguish.  My arms below the elbows had long since gone numb.  There was no
feeling from just above the elbows all the way down including my hands.  I
feared permanent nerve damage.  My shoulders ached like toothaches, and my
neck was giving out, from the head harness working to support my torso.
	I wondered who devised this awful contraption and this way of being
secured to it, and if Bill or Nick either one, had any idea of how terrible
a punishment this was for so seemingly little of a reason.  I was thirsty,
plus I didn't know how much longer I would be able to hold the piss I was
needing to take.
	Time was a factor I lost contact with.  The only reference I had to
it, were the times I fucked myself because of the counting.  With each full
stroke in and out taking about 5 or 6 seconds times twenty strokes, that
was about - I couldn't do the math - how ever many minutes of intense
activity, to break my preoccupation with the rest of my pain and
discomfort.  The hypersensitivity of the sphincter deep inside me being
penetrated, had subsided considerably, but what had replaced it was an
abiding soreness and tenderness due to no relief from my ever-present,
"friend," up my ass.  I couldn't remember how many times I had done the
twenty-stroke prescription. Was it ten - twenty?  No.  It had to be more.
I was afraid not to give myself the full, recommended, twenty strokes.
	I thought all night.  Like the cage that never stopped moving, my
brain never rested from thinking.  I fantasized about being home
comfortable.  I thought about Nick and the Boss upstairs somewhere in bed
sleeping comfortably after the Boss fucked Nick and probably came up his
ass.  I thought about why I was here in this thing - this cage - how casual
Nick was about securing me to it - how he and the Boss both called it,
"tucking me in." What a far cry this was from what I imagined as my night
in their potentially opulent guest quarters.  I thought a great deal about
what I would say to the Boss when I saw him again.  I knew from what Nick
had said, I would have to beg for the part in the video that I had been so
quick and so clear about turning down.
	My ears perked up when I thought I heard something coming from the
direction of the door.  Did I hear a noise?  I did.  It could have been the
outer door to the room being opened.  I'd never heard that before.  I'd
heard it slammed shut earlier, but never opened.  What I thought I heard
stopped, and I became unsure.  Perhaps it was just wishful thinking, making
me hear things.  But I could have sworn - "There.  It happened again!" I
thought, or maybe I even spoke it out loud.  In the hall outside the inner
door I heard a voice hollering out loudly as if to be heard upstairs, "Ok.
I'm going to check on Tom and then we'll go to breakfast.  Go ahead and
shower."
	"Oh my god.  It IS real," I hadn't heard him speak so loudly
before, but it sounded like the Boss's voice, "Someone IS here, and they
spoke my name.  It's not just wishful thinking," I thought to myself.
Instantly my hopelessness turned to, "possibly." The Boss was in the outer
hall.  I pushed my body forward.  My asshole dilated, my shoulders pressed
hard against the cage bars, and my head rocked upward so I could see the
door.  The inner door latch was turned and the door opened.  My mind
reeled, and my excitement couldn't be contained, "My god Sir.  It's you
Boss!"
	"Yep.  In the flesh," was his casual answer.
	 "Thank you so much Sir!" I expelled with exuberance.  I thought
that was your voice in the hall Sir.  It was like beautiful music Sir." He
let me continue as he walked casually toward me.  He was wearing nothing
but a black jock and flip-flops, "God Sir, it's so good to see you, Sir.
I've been thinking about you all night, Sir." I thanked him for making sure
of that, and told him how beautiful he looked.  My completely worn down
state had a resurgence of strength just with him in the room with me, "I'm
so very glad you are here Sir," Elation was not a strong enough word for
what I was feeling and I needed to convey it to him, "Thank you Boss, Sir,
Master, for helping me.  You know best what we all need, especially me.
You deserve my worship and adoration and obedience."
	Bill flip flopped casually around behind me for a time and then
stepped up to the cage.  He released the tension on "my friend," and played
in and out with it a little, and then pushed steadily till it was in way
farther than ever and secured it.  I hollered out once out of surprise, and
part way through, remembered to make it a yell of thanks, turning it into a
loud, "Thank you Sir!" but tried to keep it quiet after that, with moaning
and hard breathing.  He removed the bungee chords, and flipped the cage
around till I faced him where he stood.
	He was standing there in all his hairy glory, casually holding onto
my cage.  It was the first time since I'd been hoisted up off the floor
that I was almost still, and it was because he was there.  All he had to do
was walk in the room for things to be better.  He might as well have picked
me up in his arms and held me tightly to himself telling me everything was
going to be alright.  To my beaten body and fried brain, the flood of
emotions came in a literal torrent, almost unbelievable what just his
presence here, now, was doing to me.  He represented all things good - all
things possible - my salvation - as I spoke.
	"I'm sooo very sorry Sir, Thank you sooo very much.  I hope you are
ok Sir, and that you have had a restful night's sleep.  I've thought about
you every moment since Nick tucked me in here Sir." I allowed my emotions
to do the speaking for me and just let go, "I've wanted this moment for so
long, to be in your presence again, and you're here Sir.  Thank you sooo
very much Sir." My broken condition was on display for its creator to
enjoy.  Both physically and emotionally, I was just-so-many raw nerve
endings.
	"Sounds like some attitude adjustments have been made.  That's
good," said the beautiful man in utter control.  "I slept comfortably
knowing you were down here with an opportunity to think about things.  What
with you being so drunk last night, it was nice knowing you were not out on
the streets creating potential problems for everyone."
	He went to a cabinet and brought back a bucket.  He said, "Piss..."
The word never sounded so good.  I'd been so afraid I was going to lose
control and let go on his floor and make him upset.  As I began, he located
the bucket in the stream under the cage.  I thought I would never stop
going.  Pissing never felt so good, and the whole while, I was issuing my
thank yous -- out of fear and obligation, but also from a genuine heart.
	He gave me the bad news and I reacted as if it were good.  "I'm
hungry, so Nick and I are going to go have a nice relaxing meal in a while
here after I shower." He was as casual with me as if we were visiting over
coffee somewhere.  You can hang here a while longer." The word, "hang," had
taken on new meaning.
	"Yes Sir!" I said with emphasis.
	Have you ever imagined you could have such a rough night?" he
asked.  And then without giving me time to answer, "It wouldn't have had to
be nearly so bad if Nick hadn't had to take these away from you." He
reached down and picked up two of the pads from the floor.  All night, I
saw them, and relived them being taken away, recalling why.  He reached in
and tapped my knee, while issuing the command, "Lift it up." I raised my
knee the inch or so I was able, and he put the pad back in place.  I was
allowing for this being a dream of some kind as he spun me to the other
side so he didn't have to move, and did the same thing.  Then he picked up
the other two pads and put them back under my ankles.
	"Thank you so much Sir," I said, trying unsuccessfully to choke
back the tears - tears of genuine gratitude.  I watched the water from my
eyes hit the floor before I realized I was really crying, and even drooling
from an open mouth.  No sounds at first - just the embarrassing release of
slobber and tears, until I had to inhale.  Then it turned into a full-blown
noisy exhibition with distorted, screwed up face, snotty nose, and all.
	He was completely silent as he held on to the cage and let me cry
and thank him - cry and thank him.  I could not help what was happening.
His act of kindness was overwhelming to me.  Something way in the back of
my consciousness was saying, "But he's the one making you suffer." That was
not the part of my brain in charge right now.  That seemed an intellectual
exercise, and there was nothing intellectual happening within me at the
moment - only emotional.
	The pads felt so unbelievably good - and as good as they felt is
how intense was my gratitude.  As I came back down to earth and regained
some composure, he asked me if I had had a change of heart about his offer.
	"Oh yes Sir," I said.
	"Good.  Then when I get back I'll want you to tell me all about it.
He lowered me down till my cage was only about a foot off the floor.  He
picked up the galvanized bucket of my piss and poured it all over me except
for my head.  Then he put the bucket directly under my head so that I was
staring into it.  He took out his cock and pissed exclusively on the back
of my head and neck.  His forceful stream of strong morning urine ran
around the sides of my head and dripped into the bucket mostly from my
face.  Seeming like it would never stop, he kept going and going a huge
bladder full.  When he finished, he stepped away for a moment and returned
with a length of clear tubing.  He dropped a coil of it into the bottom of
the bucket.  The other end had in essence large rubber bands attached
around it at a point about two inches down its length.  He stuck the two
inches in my mouth and affixed the bands around my head to hold it in
place.
	With some coat hangar type wire he put a considerable piece on each
side through the eyelets, which held the bucket handle on.  Then he lifted
the bucket up off the floor till my face was partly in it, and attached it
with the wires to the cage in that position.  All I would see, or smell
now, until he decided otherwise, would be his morning piss.  He told me to
have a taste.  I closed my lips around what was effectively a straw down
into the pool of his morning waste - sipped some into my mouth, and
swallowed gagging.
	He waited and then admonished me, "Now this time," he said, "Hold
it in your mouth like a fine wine for a while and savor it before
flushing." The analogy of flushing, seemed a disgusting one, but
appropriate for my act of performing as this man's urinal.  He motioned for
me to go ahead and take another sip.  As the yellow fluid could be seen
flowing up the clear tubing again, I watched in disbelief at what I was
doing for this man.  This time, as I retained it, he said he would let me
know when to flush.  He let me take several breaths before giving me the
permission.  Having to breathe through my nose with the foul smell from the
bucket and foul taste of the waste in my mouth, made the taste much
stronger. I gagged almost to retching, but stopped myself shy of it.
	Nick entered the room to inform the Boss he was through showering.
The Boss told him to use the toilet and he walked up to me.  As I looked
over the top of the bucket rim, he was standing there with nothing but a
towel in one hand.  His "No problem Boss," response, was accompanied by the
feel of his piss stream on the back of my head like the Boss had just done.
The strong jet stream flowed as had the Boss's bladder full, down the sides
of my head over my face and spilled into the bucket adding more than twice
the volume already there.
	I realized like a bolt out of the blue, that I'd been so
preoccupied with the new development - I had not thought to express thanks.
I started immediately to do so, to both men, and to apologize for taking so
long.  I was told I'd just redeemed myself from a dangerous position by the
skin of my teeth - that if I had been reminded, and I was just about to be,
I'd have paid a terrible price.
	Bill said he was hungry.  He attached the bungee chords, put his
arm on Nick's shoulder and walked him toward the door, leaving me with a
last minute directive, "Fuck yourself, Tom." As I looked in their direction
over the top of my piss pail, they stood for a minute and watched.
Immediately I pushed back on the shaft buried deeper in me from the Boss's
readjustment of it.  I could only go a few inches in the new virgin
territory before it felt like it would rip me completely open.  No one can
know what a difference a few inches more made in my misery quotient - but I
can tell you, it was a lot.  As I yelled, Nick's cock was proof he was
enjoying himself.  It was standing straight out at full mast in front of
him - big and beautiful.  I assumed his bush had been shaved off, because
even the most hairless of men have bushes, but there was no crotch hair on
the perfect and beautiful boy/man.  He was not touching himself at all.  I
couldn't help but wonder if maybe that was only done in the Boss's timing,
and by his direction.  The door slammed, and the god-men were gone.
	Bill had told me I had time, so not to rush it, but that he wanted
all the piss in the bucket savored in my toilet bowl mouth, and flushed
down my toilet throat, by the time he returned to hear about my decision.
Those words, that I had time, were terrible ones to hear.  I had been so
excited to see him come into the room, thinking for sure he was there to
end my suffering.  I had the words rehearsed - my change in decision
carefully and thankfully worded, but it - like everything - I was finding
out, would have to wait for his timing.
	While I suffered to the edge of my sanity, the Boss would be
relaxing and dining with his beautiful boy at his side, and he had come to
let me know that would be the case.  Had he come, just to intensify my
anguish - to lift me out of the pit and allow me a sense of hope, only to
throw me back in, deeper?  I was alone again, and my misery, the closest
thing to unbearable I could imagine.  But at least my loneliness had been
abated for a short time.  The Boss had actually come in, and spent time
with me.  He spoke to me, and he even gave me back my pads.  I began to see
his piss as a gift, and a reminder that he had actually been here with me.
Flushing it, became easier and I began to gag less and less, until I got
used to the taste, and hardly gagged at all.
	I was having difficulty thinking clearly, my emotions were up and
down, hopeful and despairing, clearly positive, and decidedly negative,
within seeming minutes of each other.  I thought about prisoners of war,
and how much worse their plight, how much more they would have to endure
than this.  I felt cowardly in my inability to make the best of this
situation, but helpless to do anything about it.  I began to believe I'd
been drugged to help make me emotionally weakened, and unstable.
	I thought I might be passing out.  I couldn't tell for how long,
but I definitely seemed to be loosing periods of time.  The piss bucket
seemed to have more in it -- not less.  Was my mind tricking me?  Had the
Boss come in, seen me passed out, added to it, and left me there to go
relax before even giving me a chance to tell him of my changed decision.
The apology I had devised out of obligation was becoming sincere at its
root, and what Nick had said I needed to learn when he left me here, I was
beginning to realize, was in fact, the case - that if the Boss's
preferences and desires weren't meant to be put first, I would not be here
now, suffering to learn to make it so.
	I drank from the bucket by the straw in my mouth and watched the
level of waste diminishing slowly but I WAS passing out.  I was weak and
thirsty even though bloated with piss.  The resultant intensity of my
letting go each time I passed out brought me back.  I was afraid, though, I
would lose consciousness and not regain it.  It must have been in one of
those blackout periods, the lengths of which I knew nothing, that the Boss,
the new Lord and Master of my universe, had come in.  Because, as I came
to, he was there, lifting my slumped head and holding it up for me.  Nick
was there too, unshackling me and tending to my bonds.  The attention and
touching and the Boss holding my weak head up for me, opened the floodgates
again and tears just flowed from my eyes.  I was too weak to weep.  I
moaned in a whisper.  "I'm so sorry Sir.  Thank you Sir."
	I felt the ramrod as it was unscrewed from the cage but left inside
me, and I remembered it being referred to as "my friend." Together the men
extricated me from the cage and laid me in a semi conscious state on the
cot in the room.  I barely felt a shot being given to me in the arm, then
the Boss holding onto me.  It seemed like he was allowing me to hold onto
him, but maybe that was part of a dream.  He motioned to Nick to give me
three strokes, and then out.  I remember feeling Nick's hand on "my friend"
in between my legs and the most intense pain I ever had.  He rammed the rod
deep into me.  I grabbed onto the Boss and screamed at the top of my lungs.
He pulled on it, pushed it in, pulled on it, pushed it in, pulled it,
pushed it in, and slowly pulled it till it completely exited me.  Every
stroke I screamed, "Oh my god!!!" I caught myself ready to follow it with,
"please," and even in my haze, thought to make it, "Thank you Sir,"
instead.
	As if in a dream state, I barely remembered being removed from the
cage, or being put on the bed, or holding onto the Boss or the shot in the
arm.  I barely remembered the removal of "my friend." I barely remembered a
continual barrage of whispered "Thank you Sir's.  I barely remembered being
given some water, and I barely remembered the Boss's words, "I think I have
achieved the desired result with you Tom.  Your attitude seems to be
reflecting it even in your weakened state.  I'll see if it's so when you
regain some strength, and can tell me about your revised decision, and
about how and what has changed." I don't remember anything past my weak
response, "Yes Sir.  Thank you Sir."

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