Date: Thu, 9 Sep 2010 19:21:13 -0700 (PDT) From: Vincent Vincent Subject: Satanic Slave, Part 2 Once again, THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. The narrative that follows did not happen to me or to anyone else by me. Don't contact Me to meet this slave. DO contact Me if you want to become this slave. Also contact me with any praise, criticism, or suggestions. All feedback is good. Satanic Slave - Part 2 And thus began the longest 24 hours of my pathetic life. As soon as he hung up the phone, I got dressed and walked over to where he said to meet him tomorrow. Lucky fucking me: that monument was only a 10-minute walk from my apartment. I went to scope out the place, my dick achingly hard and dripping, wanting it to already be the next day. I eventually came back home, ate, and tried to watch TV. Yeah, like some sit-com was going to pull my head away from the experience (maybe the life?) about to begin. I kept wondering why I wasn't concerned about this guy -- fuck, for all I knew he was a mass-murderer -- but I wasn't. I was confident this wasn't bullshit. The next day at work was spent mostly staring at the clock, trying to push the minute hand forward. Finally it was time to get home and get ready. And that began a whole new set of questions. Would he want me showered or sweaty? In gear, in streetclothes, or as close to naked as possible? I decided that if he didn't say, it didn't matter. I cleaned myself off, cleaned myself out (just to be prepared), put on a pair of shorts, T-shirt, and boots. It was 5:45. I got to the monument just before 6. I took off my T-shirt and knelt at the corner of the statue, at Hamilton's feet. I was tempted to look around, to try to find him, but decided that I was better off just keeping my head down like the subservient slave I was aching to become. Moments later I heard a voice behind me. "Good little faggot." The voice was deep, masculine, but it didn't sound quite like the guy I spoke to last night. That got me a little concerned, but he then calmed me: "No, bitchboy, I'm not the same guy. But we're all on the same team. Nothing to worry about." I then saw his engineer boots in front of me. Not some leatherboy's shiny black play boots. Brown. Used. Dirty. The boots of a real working man. I started wondering about the taste and smell of the feet inside. His voice ended my conversation with myself. "I'm pleased to see a faggot knows instinctively to look down, but now look straight ahead at my crotch, bitchboy. And listen carefully to everything I'm about to say. Don't speak. Just look and listen." I lifted my head and found the fly of his jeans within millimeters of my nose and lips. Daring me not to lick. Inhaling, I caught the whiff of his pungent cum and piss. It was intoxicating. This guy was turing me into a fucking junkie for his scent. "I will explain the basic setup and offer the opportunity for a few questions. Once that's done, there will be a few minutes for a decision. And that decision, one way or the other, will be irreversible. Either move ahead and find fulfillment, or walk away and spend the rest of your life wishing you hadn't. "We used to give cocksuckers a few months to get to know us, to get their faggot heads wrapped around the concept, but that didn't work out well. The bitches started falling in love with us instead of our cocks. Things got messy and we quickly learned that the kind of fags we're looking for were the ones who would have followed us from the get-go. So that's how we do it now. "And here's what we do: "We're a bunch of straight men. Some of us are married, some divorced, some with girlfriends, whatever. We love fuckin' pussy and tits. But most women see sex as a means to intimacy ... and we enjoy sex as something more primal and physical. And that's where faggots come in. "Because, as you well know, although we men like to get our cocks sucked, faggots NEED to suck dick. We like to be serviced, but faggots NEED to please men. We like to get aggressive, a little rough, be pushy and selfish, and faggots eat that shit up. So it works out perfectly ... the little fagcunts are insatiable little suck- and fuck-toys that we use for our pleasure. They get off on our pleasure as well. Everybody wins. "We keep faggots locked in our facilities, 24/7, so that there's always a hole to fuck should somebody want it. We have the tools to deepen a cocksucker's submissiveness. And here's the first tool: faggots have no identity. I don't know your fucking name. I don't want to know your fucking name. If you follow through with this, `you' will no longer exist. `You' will become `a faggot.' One of many faggots available for use. Should there be permission to speak, any self-reference must follow that rule. `A faggot is hungry,' for instance. Nod if I am understood." I nodded, staring into his denim-covered crotch, seeing the thickness of his meat and swallowing like mad to avoid drooling like some idiot. "We take care of our faggots so that they're available for use. But there's no intimacy, no affection. We don't give a fuck about faggots except as servants and whores for our pleasure. We get out kicks from their perversion, their depravity, their desperation. There is no fuckin' limit to the kinds of humiliating abuse -- both physical and mental -- we put some of our faggots through. But only some. After a faggot has been properly broken in, we test each whorehole on a battery of specialized talents. Among those is masochism. As is toilet training. As is ... well ... I'll just leave it at that for now. When we find a faggot excels at some specialty, then that becomes a faggot's primary use. "And as I said, we have learned how to deepen a faggot's submissiveness. One of the deeper head-fucks we employ is in teaching a faggot to truly worship cock. Answer this question, buttlick: Do you have a religion?" "Sir, I was raised Catholic." "I will take that to mean that there's no current belief in God. On the one hand, that will make the process easier. On the other hand, some of us get a perverse kick from watching some born-again cocksucker call our pricks `God.' And that leads me to our second rule. "Faggots, being the low-life scum that they are, don't have the privilege to look a man in the face. Or even to talk to a man. Instead, they stare at our crotches or our asses and speak to them. Because our crotches and our asses our their gods. A faggot is too pathetic to be worthy of the rest of our attention. "So let's see if a faggot can wrap its little head around all that. This is life spent in the divine worship of cock. Of men and the fluids they provide that generously nourish faggots. Everything else, all the stupid little distractions that fill up a faggot's empty day, are discarded. This is a lifetime to be spent worshipping men who have no attachment to you, no attraction to you, no use for you except as a cock-worshipping faggot." At that point, with no warning, I started to sob. Still staring at this man's fly, aching for what was inside it. This man, this God, ripped right into the heart of me without knowing a goddamn fucking thing about me. He found me. And he had me. "Alright, pissbreath. Got any questions?" "Sir, how do I, er, how does a faggot begin?" "I see a faggot was smart enough to wear a watch. Good. That will be useful. I will walk away. To the west is an old Chevy van. The back is unlocked. After five minutes, open it, climb in, and strip. Put all clothes and possessions on the curb. Then close the door. Inside is a burlap bag, handcuffs, blindfold and headphones. Put on the headphones, step into the bag, pull it overhead and pull the cord tight. Then put on the blindfold and lock the handcuffs with hands behind the back. "I will retrieve the clothing and all that remains of a faggot's identity. I'll go to the address on the driver's license and make sure anything pointing to our facility is removed. In the meantime, the driver will drive to one of our facilities and training will begin. Now nod yes or no to answer the following questions. First, is the address on the license current?" I nodded, still sobbing and breathing in gasps. "Good. Is there a roommate or anyone else there I should be worried about?" I shook my head. "Usually the fags that accept our offer don't have the balls to let anyone else know about us. Is that the case here, suckwhore?" I chuckled inside at how well this man, these men, knew the kind of cocksucker I was. Thankfully, that chuckle started to ease the flow of tears. I nodded so he knew the kind of fag that was kneeling at his feet. "One last question before I walk off, cuntface. Does a faggot want to worship cock for the rest of its life?" I practically broke my neck from nodding so hard. "Excellent, whorehole. Look at the watch, wait 5 minutes and make it happen." And that huge tube of crotch turned to the side and walked away.