Date: Fri, 18 Jul 2003 23:13:37 EDT
From: Savagetrainer@aol.com
Subject: 'Odessa Ranch 14'{Ian Jacobs}( MM, sm, ws, scat, bd )[14 of ?]

Odessa Ranch 14

Malcolm thought that being caged in his master's bedroom was because his
behavior and performance earned him the position.  It was convenient for
Noah to have his slave at the foot of his bed to take his morning pisses;
and he didn't have to wander to the dungeon to get sucked off if he got a
quick urge.  But the reason Mal wasn't in his cage in the dungeon had
nothing to do with his performance.


Scott's Boy

	Craig was in a doggie cage, naked, beaten.  His throat was as sore
as his ass, and both were on fire.  This was day 3 in the dungeon.  His
third day in his collar and in this cage.  To him it was less dungeon than
torture chamber, and he still didn't understand what was going on.  He knew
that he was having drinks with a former green beret and a few hours (maybe)
later he woke up hanging from a chain in a cliche nightmare made real by
the horrific whip wielded by the beret's partner.

	He knew that twice each day he was removed from his cage, chained
to a 'bench' that kept him in a doggie position and was beaten because he
wouldn't comply.  He was being ordered to suck cock.  He was not going to
comply for as long as he could make himself stand the punishment.  He had
only recently come out and was still not certain of how things should be
done, but he was convinced that being whipped by two former special forces
honchos was not the typical way.

	Craig had been military too in Colorado Springs.  He had not
reupped after his fourth year, last year, because he was going to be coming
out and didn't want to have to play the double life game required to stay.
It was not so philosophical as that in reality, but he did always have the
ability to claim he left on grounds of principle rather than just getting
fed up with the pay and the formality.  A friend of his had made the
transition from the Air Force to civilian industry (developer at a small
software company near Denver), and he wooed his pal to come join him-and to
split the signing bonus that his friend got for bringing him on.

	Now he was in a dog cage with a bowl of oatmeal and a bowl of
water-both basically ignored.  Now he was waiting for his torturers to
return to try to convince him to open his novitiate mouth to take in their
cocks.  He was still conscious and fearful enough to know that if he tried
to bite the cock in his face, that his life, painful though it was at this
moment, would be over and he wasn't ready for that.

	The door opened and he huddled in fear knowing what was going to
happen.  He was very surprised to discover another collared but naked man
being led into the room by the SEAL that had worn his ass out.  "Not a
sound out of you, you worthless waste or I will whip your ass even more
bloody before we start training you again!"

	"Slave drag your cage so and put it here!"  Noah was standing very
near Craig's cage.

	"Sir yes sir."  Mal dragged his cage as Noah ordered.

	Noah opened the cage and had Mal take his normal position with his
hands over his head.  Once the door was closed and locked, Mal put his
hands through the bars and Noah cuffed his hands there.

	"Slave, if you have to piss, do what you can to aim it at this
piece of waste."  He said pointing absently at Craig. To Craig, he said:
"I'll be back with your master soon, so think about your options and your
ASS slave."  And he walked out of the room filled with a thick silence.

	"You got to help me get out of here."  A cliche command for this
situation-every movie (porn or otherwise) indicated that, but it was
appropriate there so why not here.

	"I can't do that.  I want to keep living myself.  Besides I like it
here."

	"You like it?  Did they do this to you too, warp your mind?"

	"No, Master Noah bought me from a slave ranch.  I'm here . . ."

	"Bought you from a slave ranch?"  Then he thought for a moment.
"So you are here because you want to be?"

	"I'm a slave because I want to be, I'm here because Master Noah
bought me."

	"Ok, strange as that is, I wasn't bought and I am not a slave and I
don't want to be here.  You have to help me get out or make them
understand."

	"No.  That would be very disloyal of me, very disobedient, and I am
not a slave who is even capable of that."

	"Look what they've done to me."  Craig maneuvered himself around so
that Mal could see the carnage of his ass-it was very red and just a slight
bit scabby.

	"Looks like the ass of a slave that has a lot to learn."

	"I'm not a slave!"  He tries to scream it, but his voice has been
pushed farther than his ass and it would not rise to that octave or that
volume.

	"You are naked and in a cage, you have a collar around your neck,
you have a striped ass and back.  Master Noah and Master Scott are keeping
you like that, so you look like a slave to me."

	"Look man, please."

	"For one thing, how do I know this isn't a test, Master Noah has
given me a few since he bought me?  For another, I'm not going to help you,
if you escape it is on you, I won't take your lashes, I won't hang for
you."

	"Hang?!"

	"I made that up, but I doubt I would come out of a session with
them able to walk if I helped you escape.  They might even throw me out and
that would be far worse."

	Noah returns with Scott.  Both are in their training gear-just a
pair of Navy and Army shorts respectively that allow quick access to their
cocks.  Scott moved the bondage bench to the center of the room and got it
ready for Craig who was looking up into Mal's eyes and pleading silently.

	Noah asked: "You slaves talk about anything while I was gone?"

	"Sir that slave asked me to help him escape sir."  He wasn't
ratting, but for now Craig would see it that way.

	"He did?  What did you tell him?"

	"Sir I said no sir."

	"Good boy."  He grabbed Mal's semi-hard cock and aimed it at
Craig's head.  "Piss slave."  Mal began pissing without hesitation.  As the
piss hit Craig, he tried to move away from the stream of very yellow and
pungent piss but couldn't move to anywhere that Noah couldn't aim the
stream.  Craig grunted, which was the closest thing to a manly type scream
he could muster at this point-a grunt of rage.

	"Listen up waste.  That was slave piss, which is the worst sort of
piss there is and you are wearing it.  Things will get much worse for you
if you do not follow the orders we are going to give you.  Slave when was
the last time you shit?"

	"Sir two and a half days sir."

	"Having a hard time holding it ain't you?"

	"Sir yes sir.  Sir I'm fighting cramps right now sir."

	"You, mucus, you will be wearing slave shit if you fail to please
me and Master Scott, and if slave piss is the worst liquid there is, you
can imagine what slave shit amounts to."  He shook Mal's dribbling cock at
Craig.  Then he headed to the shelving that was always just in deep shadow
in the room and brought back a cattle prod.

	"You going to make it to the bench on your own, or do we have to
use this again?"  Noah opened the cage and walked close by the silent and
crawling Craig as he made his way to the bench to be secured for another
ass whipping.

	Scott and Noah quickly chained Craig to the bench.  Craig could
wiggle a little, but his arms and legs were effectively frozen.  His six
foot two frame was reduced to that of say a chow, but with a much less
proud tail.  His light brown hair was still dripping with Mal's piss.  Noah
was right about Mal's piss, it was as pungent as a frat house's common
toilet that had WEEKS of dried piss on it.  It was stinging as it dripped
into his eyes.  He tried desperately to avoid any of it getting into his
mouth but it was impossible.  The taste was very chemically and salty.

	"Ok puke, normally we have given you ten opportunities to earn some
time from the cage and a shower.  But this time, we will cut it to five.
If after the fifth order you still don't comply, you will wear that slave's
shit for as long as it takes me to be satisfied."

	Scott positioned himself in front of Craig and pulled his cock from
the shorts.  His meaty cut, thick rod was hard and he rubbed it over
Craig's piss and sweat soaked face.  "To spice it up a little for you, make
this tube steak SALTY for you, turd."  Scott said.  "Now, suck my cock
slave."

	Craig clinched his jaw against the command and in anticipation of
the pain to come.  He didn't have to wait but half a second.  Noah swung
the strop with most of his full strength (early on he was using much softer
swings, but he thought he would be able to get Craig to comply sooner-he
had to admire the spunk of the slave, even if it was highly annoying).  The
pain was still electric, but common now.  Craig was building up a slight
resistance to the pain, either that or his nerves were dying.  The first
was followed by four others.  Then Noah switched to the flogger and gave
him 5 more moving vertically so that it hit the small of the back, the ass,
and the thigh in its motion.  Craig opened his mouth slightly and made the
noise that had become his scream.

	Scott took his position again four more times.  Each of those
times, Craig locked his jaw and took his lashes.  Each of the sessions left
Craig sweatier and closer to unconsciousness.  Noah varied the weapon from
strop to crop, singlet, flogger, paddle.  He also varied where it landed so
Craig wouldn't be able to guess where it was going, and because Craig's ass
was looking like a holocaust and Noah was almost sure Craig could feel
nothing new there.

	"Scott, I don't know whether to shake your hand or kick your
ass-this fucker better be worth it."

	"Noah, look at him, he's hot enough and you said you always wanted
to turn a 'man' into a slave, so if this one is tough and you break him,
ain't you won something that you wouldn't with a weak one?"

	"Whatever.  Splash this one with cold water and chain him to the
rack."

	Scott sprayed Craig with some cold water to bring him to long
enough to get him on his feet.  He unlocked the rubbery slave and dragged
him to the rack.  Scott ordered him to lie on his back, which was raw and
made Craig jerk when he got prone.  Ankles and wrists were chained so that
he had zero wiggle room, but was not stretched exactly taut.

	"Make sure he's conscious, he needs to be fully aware of the next
momentous event in his life as a slave."  Noah said as he uncuffed Mal.

	"Wake up, dingleturd."  Scott sprayed Craig in the face.  Craig had
to shake his head to clear it of water so he wouldn't breathe it in.

	Noah leashed Mal and led him to the rack.  He helped Mal onto the
rack and had him straddle Craig with his asshole pointed at Craig's chest.
Craig could see through is pain haze that Mal's asshole was puckering and
relaxing like a subwoofer and that there were brown stains around the
hairless rim, presumably from turtling.  It was really going to happen.

	"A master isn't worth his whip if he doesn't keep his word to his
slaves.  I said you would wear slave shit if you didn't comply and you
will."  Noah said.  Craig would have whimpered if he had had the energy.

	"Slave I want you to shit on this slave's chest.  All of it stays
on his body, you eat what falls off."

	"Sir yes sir."  Mal knelt so that his cock was over Craig's belly
button and his asshole just at the base of Craig's ribcage.  He was
basically too full to fart.  He relaxed and pushed in equal measure because
he needed to make sure the shit stayed on his new brother's body-a good
twenty percent of the shit coming out of him came out of Master Noah this
morning and thrice eaten food is not very good at all.

	Noah in anticipation that Craig would hold out this long, had
purposely fed Mal things that would make his shit smell as badly as
possible, and put up with the gaseous slave in his room for the last couple
of days.  The smell would be worth it if Craig started to get the picture.

	Craig laid his head back so he couldn't see what was happening to
him.  He watched as the turd came out and made contact, but that was all
the visuals he could take.  He was not able to avoid the smell.  Mal's shit
was in the same category as his piss, but it was magnitudes worse.  His
mind could not really take in this new humiliation on top of the pain he
already felt.  Here was the most delirious thing however, he was finally
having hunger pangs; his mind was really having a tough time now.

	Mal checked his progress.  He had left a long turd on Craig's chest
that had scooted its own way up to just below his throat, so he sort of
squatted over Craig's stomach and pushed out the rest of the soft and most
recent matter.  Mal sighed with severe relief when he finished.

	"You done boy?"

	"Sir yes sir."

	"Hop off the rack and face the slave."  Mal complied with Noah's
order.  "Now take the soft slave slop and rub it on his face, make sure to
put a heavy amount under his nose, then spread the rest around on his
chest."

	"Sir yes sir."

	Craig tried to move his head for no other reason than that he
wasn't ready to give in just yet.  Scott held his slave's head while Mal
performed his ordered tasks.  He smeared his stench over Craig as ordered.
When he was finished, he looked at his master asking with is shamed look
what to do about the shit on his hands.

	"Wipe some on the slave's cock and the rest in his hair.  Master
Scott will hose you off when you're done."

	Mal rubbed an ample amount on Craig's flaccid cock and into the
hair on his balls.  He then used Craig's medium length hair as a sort of
paper towel.  Scott took Mal's leash and led him to the drain near the
center of the room and sprayed his asshole and hands.  Mal wasn't given
soap; it wasn't a shower day for him.  And, at any rate, he was going to be
in close quarters with a man covered with his own shit, so it wasn't like
he was going to be able to escape the smell.

	Noah moved his face closer to Craig's.  The stench was terrible,
but sometimes a master must endure activities or outcomes that he
ordinarily wouldn't accept in order to prove a point to a slave.  The main
point to be made is that the master is in control, period.  Slaves can
recite this on command, in their sleep, wherever.  But reciting it and
believing it are often in different area codes.  So doing making slaves
perform more extreme and humiliating functions hammers home their ordinal
ranking in a way that no words could.  The master's command with the whip
as foundation will strip away shame and dignity and inhibition-all three
luxuries allowed to men and not to be part of any slave's very limited
'possessions.'

	"You've fought a good fight, hell I admire you," Noah whispered to
the shit covered Craig.  "But you must realize now that we aren't going to
give up, you will comply.  Smell your current condition, feel slave shit
dry on you and begin to irritate, itch.  Consider this and ask yourself how
far away can the ultimate punishment be?"  Noah backed away and hollered in
his typical way, "Sleep well slaves."

	Mal fell asleep quickly as usual.  He did so to the sound of some
wheezy whimpering coming from the rack.  He also fell asleep proud of
himself and the smell from his ass that was helping to convince the new
brother of his place in the scheme of things: at his masters' command and
leave.


Noah's Philosophy

So much of the Master/slave relationship is symbolism-through-action.  It
might have been true in the days when slavery was a recognized institution,
but I doubt it was nearly so elaborate.  The Master is a master by
inclination, the slave a piece of property by inclination; it's standard
alpha male/omega male animal kingdom stuff.  The rest of it-the whip, the
tattoo, the brand, collar, boot, cage, and of course all the commands and
outcomes-is just symbolic of why the relationship IS in the first place.

Let's take the most common symbol.  Slaves say 'sir' as a matter of one
syllable convenience-not for the slave but for the master who has to hear
it more often than any other sound from his slave.  The true thing a slave
would call his master would be like the name of God that group of Jews is
trying to find in the Torah or whatever, it would be long and earth
shattering.  It would take so long to say and leave the slave so trembling
as to render him useless.  So we use sir to symbolize the Master's place as
god over the slave.  As such, it has a poetry in action and behavior and
manner all its own: Sir as symbol for god, the whip as metaphor of control
and retribution, the collar a simile of ownership.

Take what I'm doing with Craig.  Strapped to the bench, his asshole is
completely exposed and he could do absolutely nothing to stop me and Scott
from fucking it.  But what does that do?  It turns him into an unmitigated
victim-we took from him something he was powerless to protect in the
current circumstance; therefore, his mind would be able to take it and
latch onto it in a way that would be very counterproductive for what I
want.  But when he opens his mouth to accept a cock, he is making a choice
to join this world.  The whip and the other punishments are just
incentives.  He will not be able to paint himself as a victim the same way,
so he will be far more ready to take his place as a slave.  This action
(both symbolic and real) creates the psychological toe-hold for me to make
sure the transition from person to slave is relatively quick.

Buying Malcolm was an easy way to start my stable.  I have had slaves in
the past, but was not ready until now to have a real stable.  Malcolm came
'fully' trained according to Sam, but I still had, and have, to do more
training to get him to be MY slave rather than just any slave.  I enjoy
training him, it makes me use the parts of me that wish most to be used,
but it isn't enough.  It isn't enough to take a slave who knows he is a
slave and treat him as such.  For most I suppose it would be, but I crave
something deeper.

Step one is to take a fag, just the ordinary run of the mill fag, and turn
him into my slave.  This might prove to be enough on its own, especially
given how sturdy Craig seems to be.  If it is enough, then Scott and I will
build the stable using a mix of trained and semi-trained slaves with
broken-fags-cum-slaves.

I think, though, that this will not be enough.  I think I will want to take
it to step two which is to take a straight man, sort of a straight version
of me or Scott (mainly Scott though, I think he would have buckled when
covered with shit, it would be my cue to find a way to beat the torturers
to death or die trying) and turn him into a turd eating cock fucking slave.

Training is good exercise for the master, both physically and mentally if
he is any good.  But I want to go further and exercise the psychology of
it, the psychological joy that comes from turning a man into something he
would not be on his own.  For now, Craig seems to be just what I need to
keep things interesting around here.

Craig?  Malcolm?  The final symbol now.  Until now, Malcolm has just been
'slave.'  Since he is the only one, there is no confusion.  But now that
there are two, and will soon be more, I will have to resort to renaming.
Slaves have too much baggage and humanity tied up in the names their
parents gave them, so masters should always rename them if they cannot just
call them slave.  It gives them the handle, the tag, to their new, to their
real, lives.  Some masters and groups prefer numbers, believing that when
they become a number they become less alive than when given even pets'
names.  This might be true, and definitely works to keep a very large
stable or a prison or a concentration camp in some sort of order.  But
those are SYSTEMS, a system where the controller is just as much a part of
the machine as the controlled.  Names help define a relationship, and to
deny the relationship of a master to his slave or diminish it means only
that one man is beating another because he can, not because it works best
that way.  It also means that the master remains not only the symbolic head
of his minor kingdom, but is actually so.

Tomorrow Craig will comply.  I have no doubt that wearing Malcolm's shit
for twelve hours will bring him around.  Once he is hosed off, I will
present him and Malcolm with their new names.  Now I have something to
sleep on.

New

	Craig was able to sleep.  His brain stopped accepting the
repetitive information from his nerves-those in his back and ass were
screaming in pain, those on the rest of his torso and his face were moaning
in concert with itching-it just tabled what was coming in so it could deal
with it later.  He woke up because Mal finally said 'hey' loud enough to be
heard through all the rest that his brain was already processing.

	"Hey."  Craig said.  "Man I'm itching like crazy."

	"I know what it feels like to be where you are, I know how bad it
itches.  The Masters will be here in a little while."

	"Great."  That was going to be the most mixed blessing Craig had
yet experienced in his 22 years."

"What's your name?  Mine's Mal."

"Craig."  He paused for a second.  "Mal, you have the smelliest shit I have
ever encountered."  A little gallows humor.

"Master Noah says it is the mark of a true slave.  I don't know if it is
true, but it makes me happy all the same.  How many men's shit have you
smelled, anyways?"

"I was in the service, so more than I would like to count.  Some of them
were awful, but none were in the same league with you."

"Listen Craig, I don't know how you got here and it doesn't matter anyway.
But if you want to make it through the rest of the week, you better go
ahead and do what they say."

"That's easy for you to say, you like it like this."

"That doesn't mean I didn't struggle with some things, Craig.  I do it
because it is what a slave is supposed to do and I am a slave, so I like
doing what a slave has to do.  I didn't take to being caged like I took to
the lash and the collar and it took lots of force to get me to drink piss
and eat shit."

"I can't believe you do that."

"Whatever.  Do what you like, but I have been here long enough to know how
Master Noah and Master Scott work.  They won't quit, they won't let you
go-hell you know their names and what they look like."

Craig started to cry again, not weeping, just something that caught him by
surprise and didn't respond to being suppressed.

"Look, I can't tell you how to think or anything like that, only tell you
what you should do.  Do what they say, and you will get some decent food
and a shower."

The door was unlocked and both slaves went quiet.  Noah and Scott entered
ready to train just as they had the night before.  "You ready for your
daily labor slave?"

"Sir yes sir."

"Good, but it will have to wait.  I have other plans for you."

Scott put rubber gloves on and tried not to gag-he thought he saw the
necessity of having shit part of slave training, but this smell (and the
fact that it didn't seem to affect Noah at all) made him question Noah's
general sanity-as Noah released Mal from his cage.  Scott was to release
Craig from the rack and bind him in a kneeling position.  He did this
quickly since Craig had gone pliable, which Scott took as a good sign.
Craig was bound with his wrists bound tightly together, his ankles bound
tightly together, and the two bundles attached by a short chain.  This
forced him into a sitting-kneel.

"Ok waste.  You have behaved in a way that means you have to earn a
master's cock.  I'm not going to wash this shit off of you, and will make
sure it is replenished daily, until you open up.  But you won't be sucking
my cock, or Master Scott's cock, that is far too good for a slave covered
in another slave's shit.  You will have to start with this slave's cock.
Also, I think you have begun to get used to the way I lay on the lashes, so
we are going to do that different, too."  Scott approached holding a
bullwhip; Craig's shit surrounded eyes widened amazingly.  "Master Scott is
going to stand behind you and vary the delivery times so you can't know
when it is going to happen and we will stay here for as long as it takes
for you to suck this slave off."

Noah positioned Mal in front of Craig so that he was about two feet from
the kneeling slave.  It was important to Noah that Craig not only had to
suck a slave cock, but had to crawl a little to get to it.  Scott took his
position about 8 feet from Craig.  The six foot whip would have plenty of
distance to gather momentum before actually hitting the slave's back.

"Suck that slave's cock, turd." Scott ordered.

Craig jerked a little bit, but otherwise did nothing.  He wasn't ready for
this.  He had decided while crying that he was going to give in, but this
was a different scenario and he was trying to process it.  Being bound
meant being passive, all he had to do was open his mouth and they would do
the rest.  Now he had to move to get it.  He didn't think that anything
could be more humiliating than being covered in shit.  By itself, there
wasn't, but that in concert with having to try to crawl to another man and
suck his cock was a deeper degree.  He was frozen.  Fear of the whip and
confusion over how to get his exhausted and bound body to travel the
distance left him unable to move.

There was a very short warning.  He didn't know what the whistling was and
didn't barely had time to register it before the lash landed atop one
shoulder and traced a diagonal path to the opposite hip.  He yelped and
jumped; then he wobbled as he tried to keep his balance and fell over.
Scott stomped over to the now sniveling slave and righted him.  Then Scott
returned to his position.

Time had no meaning at this point, only distance.  The pain held in that
small stretch of leather moving at that speed might have been enough on its
own to get him to move, but he had finally had enough and concluded that
sucking cock wasn't all that bad, especially considering he wanted to
anyway-just under his own conditions.  The pain, the depravation, the fear
now worked to remove his last compunctions against the activity.  The only
physical constraint that meant anything at this point was distance.  He
found that his knees did actual work when he asked them to move.  He was
able to scoot himself two feet.  The physical distance was short and
traveled with a minimum of discomfort, but the symbolic distance was far
greater.  The two feet on the ground represented miles psychologically-the
psychological distance from a free man to the beginnings of a total slave.

He not only opened his mouth, he moved his body to take in Mal's semi-hard
shaft.  He concluded correctly.

"Not bad waste.  Slave don't help him much now, just let him do all the
work, when you get close to shooting you can use your hands on his head,
but pull out and cum on his face."

"Sir yes sir."

Craig was only so-so at sucking cock at this point; he had only done it a
couple of times before.  It was very good for him that he hadn't started on
Scott's cock-it wasn't as long as Mal's fairly impressive cock, but it was
thicker.  He couldn't keep his teeth entirely away from the head.  Mal,
used to pain didn't care much, Scott would have whipped him without mercy.

It took a couple of minutes for Mal to get close to cumming.  He was of two
minds here: he could cum quickly and get his new brother closer to some
sort of salvation quickly, or he could take his time.  Because he hadn't
been given explicit instructions to take it easy, he allowed himself to
reach climax pretty fast.  After a couple of minutes he put his hands on
Craig's shit crusted hair so he could guide his swelling cock better.  He
took it to maximum pressure, knees locked, head light, then pulled his cock
out and jerked his massive load onto Craig's waiting face.  It had been
three days since he was allowed to cum and his load was at least three days
worth of volume.

Noah and Scott clapped.

"Very good slave, not bad waste, you've earned some relief."  Noah said
proudly.

"Sir thank you sir." Mal said.

"Sir thank you sir."  Craig whispered.

Noah and Scott stopped.  They hadn't expected him to come this far.

"Hell, I was just going to hose you off, but you just earned yourself soap
boy."  Scott said as he moved to unbind his slave.

Scott attached a leash to Craig and grabbed the one already hanging from
Mal's collar.  He led them to the concrete slab outside the dungeon so he
could have Craig washed off without making the kind of mess in the dungeon.
Noah stayed behind briefly to open the windows to air the dungeon out a
bit.  He wanted it to stink of fear driven sweat and shit and piss and a
little cum-it added to the atmosphere that it was a dungeon after all.

"Slave, get the bucket and fill it with soapy water and bring it and the
swab here."

"Sir yes sir."  Mal rushed off to comply with his leash slapping his tight
ass as he ran.  "You did a good job.  From here you will be cleaned up.  I
will put some salve on your wounds to take care of some of the pain.  You
will be given time to rest, then we will start training you."  He paused to
let this sink in a little.  "You understand?"

"Sir yes sir."  Quietly.

	Thinking to himself: "Damned if Noah doesn't know all there is.  I
doubt him because he is so damned SEAL cocky, but just because he's cocky
doesn't automatically make him wrong."

Mal returned with a bucked filled with tepid soapy water and the swab as
ordered.  He stood there holding both, waiting for Master Scott's command.

"Ok slave, wash the shit off of him with the swab first, then use your
hands for the hard to get to spots.  Be careful with is back and ass, but
wash them too."

"Sir yes sir."

Scott watched Mal be gentle with Craig when he got to his back side.  Craig
was doing all he could to remain calm and still, but the damage didn't
respond well to the soap and he teared up but did not cry.  Mal left
Craig's hair until last.  He was not only gentle with it, but gave him a
slow scalp massage while he washed the lumps of dried shit from his
brother's hair.  While he did this, Noah walked over from the dungeon.

"We can't call both of you 'slave' by name since there are two of you, so
you will each be given a new name.  You," pointing at Mal, "are now Crete.
You are Rex."  No ceremony, no game of 'do you like your new name,' just a
name so that the slaves could be ordered separately without confusion.

Noah picked Crete for Mal because of his abilities with hauling huge loads
of quik-crete, nothing special there.  He chose Rex for Craig, not because
of the pet dog aspect (but that is what he would have all involved
believe), but because of the regal aspect.  Craig had lasted more than
twice as long as Noah had anticipated.  He knew he wasn't finished, that
Rex was probably still scheming a way out of here, but he would address
that in its place.

Meanwhile

Back at the ranch [remember the ranch? this is a story series about the
ranch], the chat room slaves were actually doing a good job and it was
working out far better than Buck expected.  He had already liked up half a
dozen slaves who wanted to be auctioned.  His main duties at this point
were to get another honeyroom built for the auction slaves and create a new
atmosphere because of it.  The trustees, who until now had to piss and shit
outside and got no more showers than their slave wards, were now going to
have use of a facility similar to that of the hands.

Sam had been right.  The auction brought a new life to the place that Buck
hadn't considered well enough before.  He was actually enjoying himself
again.


NOTE: to the longtime readers of this series.  I apologize for the
digression if your main interests are in the workings of the ranch itself.
In a move that is quite different from the previous stories, I have
actually mapped out an outline of what is going to be in future
installments.  I will be returning to the ranch and offering stories told
from the perspectives of some of the characters.  I will not be neglecting
life at the new extension of the ranch however.  I hope you enjoy, and as
usual, I do respond to email comments.