Date: Sun, 26 Feb 2006 20:46:56 -0800 (PST)
From: Scott <va_faggot_slave@yahoo.com>
Subject: Becoming A Slave Parts 4 - 6

Becoming a Slave, Part 4

I spent Monday packing the rest of my things and
recovering from the abuse I'd taken while entertaining
my master on Sunday.  My only adventure Monday
involved dressing in my uniform briefly, still reeking
of ass, shit, piss, and cum from my marathon the day
before, to withdraw my daily cash limit from my credit
cards.  I went after dark to minimize my exposure to
the normal world.

Tuesday, the movers came.  I had orders to beg them
for their cum, piss, and shit, and I obeyed.  They
were obviously disgusted and ignored me, my foul,
still unwashed body scarcely covered by my uniform,
the only thing I had left to wear--tight, short
cutoffs, ripped undershirt, hiking boots, and collar.
In fact, my balls hung low against my thigh, sometimes
slipping free of the tattered hem thanks to the steel
ring that weighed them down day and night.  As soon as
the movers had emptied my apartment of all but the
single box holding the items my master had claimed, I
grabbed the box, locked the door behind me, and left.
On my way out of town, I headed to a barber shop in a
rough section of downtown.  Somewhere my uniform and
my styling request wouldn't seem too conspicuous.
Yeah, right.

My stench was humiliating.  The word TOILET and the
line running down my nose to my mouth was still
slightly visible from Sunday if anyone took the time
to investigate the smudge on my face.  And the handful
of guys--lower class working guys--who sat waiting for
a haircut had had plenty of time to do that.  They
mocked me as I sat in my uniform, my stretched balls
now exposed, with my stubbly scalp.  They grabbed
their crotches and made crude, humiliating comments to
me and to each other, occasionally leaning over to
mutter something to someone nearby, eliciting broad,
wicked grins from everyone who overheard.

At last it was my turn in the barber's chair, so I
climbed in and softly told the disgusted older man
what I wanted.  He made sure to repeat my request at
the top of his voice for the benefit of the waiting
patrons.  "Shave it all?  Even the eyebrows?"  I
nodded silently, staring down at the floor as the
snickering broke out.  And when it was over, I paid
and silently walked to my car, flipped down the
so-called vanity mirror in the sun visor and stared.
I didn't even look human anymore.  I opened the glove
compartment and took out the black Sharpie, and wrote
SLAVEBOY on my forehead as ordered.  And then I began
my 14-hour journey.

Becoming a Slave, Part 5

I arrived at my new home about 5:00 am Wednesday
morning.  I pulled into the driveway of the
medium-sized brick rancher, pulling beside a compact
Ford pickup truck.  I pulled the box of possessions
I'd brought my master out with me and went through the
gate in the wooden privacy fence to the back yard as
I'd been instructed, climbing up onto the deck and
kneeling by the back door.  I bowed my head and held
my hands together behind my back.  My heart pounded
again.  Here I was.  After a four day roller coaster
of emotion.  I had thought my new life had begun on
Saturday afternoon as I sat on my bedroom floor
covered in shit.  That was nothing compared to this.

The pre-dawn air was chilly, even for the middle of
summer.  My nipples hardened and I shivered, as much
in anticipation as from the cold.  Since I wore no
watch, every minute felt like an hour.  He'd told me I
had better be in position when he woke up.
Eventually, I detected a light go on in a window at
one end of the house.  A minute or two later, the back
door opened and there he stood, beaming down at me.  I
looked up to take him in for the first time.  I'd seen
him on cam, sure, but that was nothing compared to
real life.

He was taller than I, and incredibly lean.  As he
stood there in his boxers, they barely clung to his
hips, sagging low to reveal the trail of brown hair at
his navel and the first few inches of his pubes.  He
wasn't especially built, but he was so lean his skin
drew taut over the muscles in his body.  His flat
slabs of pecs were lightly covered in hair, which
narrowed and bisected his hard, asymmetrical abs.  A
runner's build, I guess.  I knew he worked on a road
crew, laying asphalt and fixing potholes.  Not
lucrative, and certainly a lot different from the
white-collar, professional lifestyle I'd left behind.
He had a beautiful white smile framed by his brown
goatee.  His hair was cut short to keep him cool
during his job, maybe a quarter of an inch long, but
thick like fur on his scalp.  His sideburns ran down
his face the length of his earlobes.  "Hey, slave," he
said, still somewhat sleepy.  He opened the screen
door and I could see his cock swelling.

Without pause, he stepped out onto the cool wood of
the deck, not bothering to glance around as the sun
brightened the sky from its position just below the
horizon.  He fished his cock out through the slit in
his boxers and pushed it in my face.  Still soft, it
was 6" long.  There was no need for an order.  I
wanted it anyway.  I opened my mouth and he slid
inside.  I held him on my tongue as he looked down his
long, thin torso and smirked.  Then his piss started.
I swallowed the bitter fluid as he emptied his morning
urine down into my belly.  He ran his hands over my
shorn head, feeling the smooth skin the barber had
left behind.

His cock was semi-hard when he finished his last
squirt.  He disappointed me by yanking it out of my
mouth and tucking it away after I swallowed and licked
it clean.  He turned back to the house.  "Get in here,
faggot, and bring my stuff."  I grabbed the box and
followed him inside.

The back door entered onto the kitchen.  My first
order was to put the box on the floor and strip.  I
obeyed.  I was then ordered to make him eggs, toast,
and coffee, which I did.  I stood beside him as he sat
at the table in the same room, my stomach rumbling in
hunger, as he manhandled my stretched nuts.  He
squeezed them roughly with one hand as he ate,
laughing as I flinched and groaned.  He was so rough,
I had to clasp my hands together behind my back to
keep from trying to grab his hands and push them away.
 I felt like I was going to puke and almost doubled
over in pain.

After he finished, he ordered me to wash dishes while
he got dressed.  Again, I was disappointed not to be
able to service him sexually.  He emerged from the
bedroom dressed in dirty jeans and a white crew-neck
t-shirt.  I could tell from the way his package
shifted under his jeans he was freeballing again.  I
suspected then, and soon learned, that he never wore
underwear under his jeans.  Even with the belt tightly
cinched, the jeans hung low on his hips.  I was amazed
it was even comfortable working like that, having to
constantly reach down and pull them back up.  And then
I realized he probably didn't worry about pulling them
back up.

He walked behind me as I stood at the sink and reached
around to grab my nipples between his fingers.  He dug
the nails into them and began to pull and twist.  I
writhed in front of him, panting and whimpering as I
tried to concentrate on rinsing.

"Your keys should get here in today's mail, boy," he
said.  "And when I get home from work tonight, you're
going to lick the sweat and road funk off my body.
Then we're going to strip you the rest of the way down
and shave you completely."

"Yes, Sir," I answered.

"Then you're going to worship me.  I mean, really
worship me.  I've been saving up my cum since Friday
night, and I'm going to give you about a dozen loads.
And when you've worn me out and drained me dry, I'm
going to straddle your face and feed my hot, stinking
shit into your mouth to give you something to suck on
while you sleep.  That's what you want, ain't it,
boy?"

"Yes, Master," I replied huskily, the lust from my own
cum denial and the scent of his body and the awareness
that I was actually here, with him, combining to kick
my hormones into high gear.

"Good boy," he said as he released my aching nipples
and took a ball between the thumb and forefinger of
each hand.  He began to crush them brutally as I
rinsed the last item in the sink and set it in the
drain to air dry.

"Oh, God," I groaned in pain, leaning on my hands on
the edge of the sink and bending over.  Doing so
thrust my ass back into his crotch.

"Yeah, that's right.  I'm your god now, boy.  I
fucking own you.  Now follow me."  He let me go and
turned down the hall.  Across from his bedroom was a
small, dark room.  It looked like it had been a large
linen closet with the shelves for towels and such
removed.  It was maybe four feet side to side and
three feet from the back wall to the door.  Inside, on
the floor, was a box constructed of lumber and chicken
wire, filling the bottom of the room and maybe four
feet tall.  He reached into his pocket and took out a
key, unlocking the padlock at the top of the box.  A
hinged panel the width of the closet door swung down
to the floor.  "Get in your room," he ordered.  I
looked up at him in shock.  If I even fit inside the
contraption, there would be no way I'd ever get
comfortable.  He smirked.

"Yes, Master," I answered and knelt.  I turned around
on my hands and knees and backed into the box.  The
wire on the floor bit into my kneecaps and palms as I
twisted myself to fit in the narrow space.  Once I was
in position, I had maybe 3" from the top of my back to
the wire ceiling.  It would be all but impossible to
change position from kneeling on all fours, to sit or
lie down.

Satisfied I was in my new home, he turned and headed
to the kitchen.  In a moment, he returned.  He tossed
a plastic cup inside the cage with me before he swung
the panel up and clicked the padlock closed.  "If you
get thirsty or have to piss, well, it's the same
thing."  And then he shut the closet door, immersing
me in darkness.

My life had begun.

Becoming a Slave, Part 6

In my new home, I was aware of only four sensations.
The first was the pain in my palms and kneecaps as the
chicken wire lining the floor of my cage bit into
them.  As expected, there was no way to change
position and the best I could do to relieve some of
the pressure was to lean against the wall, letting the
wire bite into my shoulder and hips instead.  I
alternated sides, swaying back and forth in the
timeless darkness.  The second was the stifling heat.
There was no air circulation and the heat of the
summer grew inside my closet.  No air blew in from
under the closet door, either, telling me that my
master had turned off the air conditioning when he
left.  I could feel sweat running down my legs and
arms from my chest and back, running down my hairless
scalp to my hairless eyebrows and nose before dripping
to the floor.  The third was hunger, gnawing in the
pit of my gut because I hadn't been allowed to eat
anything since my shit feast Sunday.

The fourth was my brain.  I could feel it melting as
time immeasurably passed.  I had nothing to think
about.  I spent some minutes or hours analyzing my
situation, literally and metaphorically.  Figuring out
the cage, and how to move in it.  Realizing that this
was my new life for as long as my master wished it to
be, because my own will was coextensive with his.  I
had nothing but that which he gave me.  No
possessions.  No activity.  No thoughts.  There was no
escape.  I had come here on my own.  Yes, he had
exerted control over me with the pictures I'd taken,
but, after all, I had taken them.  Willingly.  I had
emailed them to him willingly.  And all he had done
was use them to ensure that I did everything I'd told
him I wanted to do anyway.

And so I could feel sections of my brain just turning
off for want of use.  My existence became a mindless
program of leaning against one wall, then the other.
Feeling sweat run and drip.  I did piss once, reaching
around the floor for the cup, finding it, pressing it
up around the CB3000, and releasing into it.  And,
instinctively without conscious thought, pressing the
heavy, warm cup to my lips and gulping at the bitter
liquid.

I fell into a trance of semi-consciousness.  The
darkness, heat, and inactivity--mental and
physical--combined with the sleepiness from having
driven all through the night.  So I heard nothing
until the closet door opened and light exploded in my
eyes.  I clenched them shut and rubbed them as the
padlock rattled and the panel screeched to the floor.
I could immediately smell the body odor on him, the
dried sweat caked on him from his day of working
asphalt in the hot, summer, Southwestern sun.
Instantly, I bolted from the cage and fell to my
master's feet, kissing his filthy boots, worshiping
him, thanking him for my release.

"Yeah, that's a good faggot," he murmured above me.
"A good, eager slave boy thanking his master."  He
indulged me as I kissed his boots, starting to lick
the nasty road dust from them with broad strokes of my
tongue.  After I'd replaced every millimeter of dirt
and grime with fresh, gleaming spit, I looked up to
him from my hand and knees.  His eyes were lidded,
glazed over with lust.  His hard cock was tenting his
jeans, unrestrained by any underwear, and a large
stain of precum ran down his thigh.

"Get in here, boy," he said huskily as he turned and
walked toward the living room.  I followed, crawling
on my tender hands and knees.  He sat on the sofa and
ordered me to untie his boots and pull them off.  As I
did, the stench of his unwashed feet filled the room.
His socks were drenched with sweat.  I did what was
only natural.  I lowered my face to them and began
lapping at the salty stink.  I sealed my lips around
his cotton-wrapped toes one at a time and sucked the
moisture from the material before digging between them
and then lapping up and down the soles of his feet.

"Fuck yeah," he moaned as I worked.  Eventually, he
ordered me to pull the socks off with my teeth, and
once I did, I buried my face into his uncovered foot
flesh, licking, tasting, exploring, worshiping my
filthy master.  Alleviating the wear of the day.
Massaging his tired feet with my tongue.

Once he was satisfied that I'd defunked his feet, he
stood and peeled off the rest of his clothes.  I
marveled again at his body as the muscles rippled
under his tight skin.  He tossed the clothes, his
t-shirt now a grungy gray instead of its former
gleaming white and ringed with dried sweat on the
back, collar, and pits, onto the floor beside me.  His
9" cock was fully hard and looked huge as it pointed
up past his navel, drizzling prefuck down its shaft
and over his full, low-hanging ball sack.  He lay down
on the floor and ordered me to keep going.  And so I
began feasting on his body, beginning with his hairy
shins.  The taste and smell was intoxicating.  The
texture of the hair on my tongue was pleasantly
abrasive.  At least at first.  Soon it left my tongue
raw and each lick became agony.  But I worked on, up
each leg, passing by his crotch on his instruction,
then up his abs and chest.  Gently sucking each
nipple.  Burying my snout into each pit and
deliberatively cleaning the funk there, as if
separating each pit hair from the rest, licking it
clean, and moving on to the next.

After I licked away the last of the grime on his neck,
he rolled over and I repeated the process in reverse,
starting from the top and working down.  He let me
wash his ass checks but ordered me to leave his crack
and hole alone for now.  Once I'd made my way back
down to the soles of his feet again, he ordered me to
go get my envelope from the kitchen table where he'd
thrown the mail.  He ordered me to bring a large bowl
from the cabinet over the counter, too.  I crawled
into the kitchen and looked up on the table, and sure
enough, there on top of the rest of his mail was the
padded brown envelope I'd sent him containing the keys
to my collar, dildo harness, and CB3000.  I plucked it
up, then stood and retrieved the bowl from the
cabinet.  I knelt and crawled back, dropping the
envelope in the bowl and pushing it with my face.

My master had returned to the sofa now, still naked
and hard, stretched out and relaxing with his feet up
on the coffee table.  I felt my mouth watering as I
saw that dripping cock jutting up from his lap,
despite all the spit I'd lost licking his filthy body
clean only a moment before.  I handed him the bowl and
the envelope.  He checked the postmark to ensure I'd
mailed it on Saturday, then ripped the envelope open.
The three little packages fell out.  He told me he'd
check the serial numbers on the dollar bills--the ones
I'd shown him before taping each key inside to prove I
hadn't unlocked myself outside his presence--later.
He handed me the one for my dildo harness.

"Get that thing out of you, 'cause I want to fuck your
ass.  Squat over this bowl and shit out everything
you've got inside you.  While you're doing that, you
can lick the plug clean for me so I can see how much
you like eating shit now since you practiced so much
on Sunday."

"Yes, Master," I answered.  Pulling the plug out felt
like removing a telephone pole from my ass.  It had
been locked inside me since Saturday, non-stop, my
excrement building up behind it.  I was horrified to
see the shit encasing it as I held it up to my face.

"Clean it, boy," my master said sternly.  Cringing, I
raised it to my tongue and began licking.  I
struggling not to gag as I sucked on my fecal
popsicle.  He handed me the bowl and told me to start
shitting.  He wanted to watch me taking shit into my
mouth while pushing shit out of my ass.  And, as much
as I hated it, nature demanded that I obey.  My hole,
stretched for days around the dildo, couldn't
withstand the amassed bulk inside my bowels.  And as I
licked and sucked the dildo, tasting the same shit
that dropped into the waiting bowel and filled the air
with its scent, I realized that part of what I was
expelling now was the re-digested shit of the twelve
men who had fed me on Sunday.  The thought nearly made
me puke, but I struggled to maintain control for my
master.

"Damn, you are one seriously fucked up faggot," he
said, sneering at me as I obeyed him.  He ordered me
to smile, and I bared my shit-covered teeth for him,
twisting up my shit-smeared lips.  When the dildo was
spotless, he took it from me and threw it on the
coffee table.  He asked me if I was finished
evacuating my colon yet, and I said I was.  He ordered
me on my hands and knees, with my head hanging over
the bowl I'd nearly filled.  "I want you to smell that
nasty mess while I fuck you for the first time, boy,"
he said, taking his position behind me.  And he fucked
me, dry, with nothing but the shit residue still
ringing my ass for lube.

He fucked hard, using all 9" of cock, slamming his
crotch against my cheeks as his massive balls swung
back between his legs and forward to slap against my
own sore, weighted orbs.  Even after days of shit had
stretched my guts to capacity, he felt huge inside me.
 He held my hips in his hands firmly so that the
impact of his fucking wouldn't topple me face-first
into the bowl full of feces only inches under my nose.
 I couldn't escape the scent and prayed inside that he
wouldn't make me eat it.  Not the crap my body had
made from the other men's crap I had already eaten
once.  But it was inevitable.

"Get your face lower," he ordered.  I shifted from my
palms to my elbows and lower arms, craning my neck
backwards to keep my head out of the steaming bowl.
But he would have none of that.  He took his hands
from my hips and used on to push my face into the bowl
and the other to slap my upturned ass.  He never broke
stride with his fucking.  "Munch those turds, faggot!"
he demanded.  "I want to see you eat your own fucking
shit while I fuck you!"

And at that moment, my utter hopelessness, my absolute
abandonment to my new life, caught up with me.  It was
the instant he broke me forever and irreparably.  I
began to cry.  Hard, deep, tearful sobs welled up and
poured out of me.  It never phased him.  As I began
babbling senselessly, he simply shoved my face deep
into the pile of shit in the bowl and continued
fucking me, his hands alternating holding my bald head
and slapping my ass, his balls slapping my balls
beneath us, and his cock rampaging inside my ass,
reaming my hole and taking its pleasure from the soft,
hot, clinging lining of my chute.  He fucked me and I
began eating the shit packed around my face.  My
transformation was complete.  The lust for his body,
which had gotten me into this situation, had combined
with the resignation to my fate, which had made me
comply with his orders to move to him.  And these had
combined now with realization--realization that it was
all very real.  That what had seemed like a good idea
in the fever of lust online had now become undeniable
reality.  Inescapable reality.  My will and desire was
meaningless.  I was his object, to do only what he
demanded and all that he demanded.  My thoughts would
not even be my own, because the futility of thinking
them would only create frustration, and frustration
would interfere with my obedience and service.  So
each bite I took of the slimy messy my tears made in
the bowl, with my master's thick cock pounding my ass,
was a surrender.

After he unloaded in my ass, he pulled out and made me
suck the shit and cum from his cock.  Of course, my
own shit-covered face smeared his crotch and thighs as
he pulled my nose into his thick, rank-smelling pubes
and pissed, but he didn't care.  He wouldn't have to
clean it up.  He rose and led me outside, giving me a
cursory, cold shower with the garden hose, cleaning my
body and rinsing my mouth.  And then I crawled to him
and licked off the mess I'd made on him.

Becoming a Slave, Epilogue

Five days a week, the alarm clock wakes me at 5:00 in
the morning.  The backlight has been removed, so it
casts no light in my room.  I cannot read the time.  I
turn off the alarm.  I spit the key to the padlock out
from under my tongue where it has been stored for the
night.  I unlock my cage from the inside and pull the
string that unlatches the door to my room.  There is
no doorknob in the inside.  The door swings open when
I push on the door to my cage.

I crawl out to my master's bedroom, where he sleeps
undisturbed by the alarm.  My knees and palms are so
calloused from crawling that I no longer notice the
difference between the bare hardwood floor and the
chicken wire lining the bottom of my room.  I climb
under my master's blanket and wrap my lips around his
cock.  I suck it until it hardens and he wakes.  I
deep throat him, smelling the funk of his pubes.  He
farts under the blanket and the gas has nowhere to go
but into my nose.  I breathe deeply now.

After he cums, I hold his softening cock in my mouth
and he gives me his piss.  Then I bathe his groin with
my tongue, licking away any sweat or funk on his cock,
his balls, where his crotch meets his thighs, and down
into his crack.  I roll over onto my back and he
kneels over me, sitting on my face.  He feeds me his
morning shit.  Some guys read the paper when they
shit.  My master stretches and slaps and squeezes my
balls.  They hang more than halfway to my knees now,
when I kneel.  Sometimes my master makes me carry them
inside my ass.  Sometimes he fucks me with them inside
there.

After he finishes emptying his bowels and I have eaten
his ass spotless, my master climbs off the bed and
dresses for work.  He takes an old pair of grungy
jeans from a drawer and pulls them over his bony lower
body and takes a fresh, white t-shirt from the drawer
and pulls it over his bony upper body.  I crawl beside
him as we move to the kitchen.  I make him breakfast
and amuse him while he eats.  Usually, this means
taking off my CB3000 and stroking my instant hard on.
He does not let me cum.  I have not cum in seven
months.  I merely fist my cock until I feel the cum
approach then jerk my hand to my balls and squeeze
hard until the sensation passes.  After so long I
barely have to run a finger along my cum tube to bring
myself to the edge and I spend most of breakfast
crushing my nuts now.  My cock never completely
softens and always oozes precum behind me as I crawl.

After my master finishes breakfast, I plunge my cock
and balls into a bowl of iced water to get small
enough to fit back inside the CB3000.  After he puts
it on, he takes off the steel weight ring around my
balls and adds some weight.  Although he doesn't have
free weights, he has a lot of those circular weights
with the hole in the middle.  He pulls my balls
through the hole and then locks the steel weight ring
back into place.  It acts like a washer so the weights
don't fall off my balls and I can't even pull them off
if I wanted to.  I'm up to twelve pounds on my balls
now.

After my slave cock is locked away and my balls are
properly weighted, I wash the dishes while he brushes
his teeth, then kneel back down and crawl to my room.
He locks me inside and takes the key with him.  In
addition to the alarm clock, my plastic cup sits on
the floor of my room inside the cage with me.  I use
it to collect my piss and drink it while my master is
at work.  My master allows me to piss in the back yard
when he is home, but I have to squat like a bitch dog
to go.  I squat like a dog to shit, too, and then he
sprays me with the hose to clean me.

After my master comes home, I polish his boots and
clean his body with my tongue.  He takes the weights
off so they don't hit him as I move along his body,
but the steel weight ring always goes right back on.
My master fucks me dry after he is clean and I clean
his cock and take his after-work piss.  Then I do my
house chores, like making his dinner and washing his
laundry.  At dinner, I get to drink as much water as I
want to keep my kidneys working.  I drink lots of piss
after all and I need something to rinse out my body.
My master lets me eat from a dog bowl while he eats,
too.  I usually have tuna fish but I get dog food if I
have fucked up doing my chores.

After dinner, my master watches tv.  I continue doing
chores and when I am finished, I kneel between his
legs in front of the sofa and soak his cock in my
mouth.  Sometimes he pisses some more.  Sometimes he
gets hard and grabs my head, fucking me on his cock
until he cums again.  My master can cum a lot and his
loads are always big.  When he is ready for bed, I
follow him to his bedroom and he gives me the key to
my cage.  Then he fucks me.  Usually I ride his cock
as he lays back in bed.  I let him doze off after he
goes soft, then slip down to clean him and cover him
in his sheet or blanket.  And then I put the key in
its place under my tongue and go back to my room,
setting my alarm before I allow myself to sleep.

Weekends are never routine.  He always has something
special for me.  The only thing that never changes is
that we shower together Sunday night before bed.  I
wash his body with soap and water, and he takes off
the CB3000 and steel weight ring so I can clean and
shave my cock and balls.  I shave all the hair on my
body.  I am completely smooth now, everywhere, from my
scalp to my toes.  I also have two barbell piercings
in my nipples and his initials branded into my left
ass cheek.

If you want to know more about my weekend adventures,
or more about how my master trained me, email us.  He
loves to humiliate me by making me write these stories
because I cry when I am forced to remember my old life
and he loves the comments other guys write about them.