Date: Sun, 23 Oct 2011 22:54:08 -0700 From: MACK Wayne Subject: slaveMaster Tempter - Postscript Disclaimer: All rights reserved. No part of the story can be reproduced in any form without the express permission of the author, MACK Wayne. slaveMaster Tempter Postscript - Jake was lead out of that room and loaded into the trunk of Bob's Maybach. He left existence as he'd known it behind, and entered his new life as slave - naked and without a single encumbrance - not a stitch of clothing - a toothbrush - nothing - and he arrived at his new home appropriately, as so much cargo in the trunk of his Master's car. Max's men had been instructed to bring back something from Jake's house. It was a simple small bronze horse from off his desk. Something he was fond enough of to keep where he would see it every day. Max presented it as a gift from the boy's past to his new owner. It would sit now as Bob's property on his mantle where Jake would see it often. It would serve to graphically keep him mindful of what was - of what used to be before his fatal temptation - before he so stupidly facilitated Max's acquisition of him and made possible his sale to his Master. Bob was a true sadist. He was as sadistic as his cock was huge. All of his help was chosen for their sympathetic acceptances of his orientation and activities - but this was Bill's first in house full time slave. He'd thought a lot about it but only recently decided to act on his desire and purchase a victim to suffer and serve as owned property. He'd had a dungeon built in his basement with cells and all manner of useful gear and equipment available for his every need and pleasure. He'd been interviewing for a keeper but hadn't locked in on one by the time he purchased Jake. Max's call happened suddenly and was somewhat of a surprise - coming more quickly than Bob imagined it would. One thing Max always required from potential clients was to be given time to find what would be right for them. It had only been a couple of weeks since Bob had enlisted Max's services for locating "Mr. Right," as it was being called, but opportunity was knocking, and as his purchase even before driving it demonstrated, the feeling Bob had of it being - as Max had said - "Perfect for him," was inescapable. With Max's help, Bob did find a satisfactorily sadistic full time slave driver for his new property. His sole responsibility was the keeping and training of what Bob told him could be the beginning of a small stable of slaves. Interestingly and appropriately Germanic in ethnicity - like Max's Dieter - Heinrich transported the slave on the company jet back and forth from Bob's home on Long Island to his very private, large, ranch in Arizona, (with its own landing strip) where Jake's carpentry talent was indeed put to good use. Naked and under his keeper Heinrich's watchful eye, he worked on the house & corrals, built fences, split and carted wood for all the fireplaces, and did all manner of other laborious tasks. He was kept busy to say the least, doing everything from sucking guests cocks and being raped by Bob's giant ripper to serving libation on the veranda evenings. The only clothing he ever again wore were (sometimes) sox and boots, and different chastity devices. His uncommon masculine beauty was something always available to the eye. Bob had a small core of associates all too happy to be included for weekends at the ranch or on the Island particularly with the service and entertainment of the naked suffering victim their friend now owned. One of them even decided to contact Max for the purchase of one of his own. And that "younger," less costly one, Bob had alluded to became reality - the second occupant of the stable. Bob wanted to build one of his own so he selected something barely having become pubescent to begin the process. It was a beautiful youngster who would surely have entered naturally acquired manhood as a stunning specimen becoming as beautiful a man. Bob preempted that natural process right away by having it neutered. He wanted control over that progression himself - artificially. The boy slave would have its Master to thank for its growing look of masculinity and becoming what had the appearance of a man. Bob's provision of hormones he'd insured, could no longer be naturally produced, would be what would eventuate a hyper masculine appearance as an end product. The slave's only purpose was becoming that for which it would be forced to worship and thank its Master, when it saw its Master's creation in the mirror. It would be worked out, and fed, and rested, and preened, exclusively toward that end. Max was in awe of the concept, and reveled in having found and provided the raw material for Bob's undertaking. He looked forward to watching and sharing in the process with his friend and client over the next ten years or so. It would prove to be a phenomenal accomplishment. What had been a boy - now a gelding - grew more and more muscular by the year. The appearance of puberty was thwarted by permanent removal of any body-hair, as it would evidence itself. Eyebrows and eyelashes alone were permitted. Its look became that of a smooth statue - its eyebrows and eyelashes looking more and more exotic - almost out of place - as if growing on a marble sculpture. The cock was very insignificantly sized, but that was fine with Bob - even preferential. As the slave began to mature, Bob decided at the mention of as friend that his creation might look better without it. He was right. It did distract, standing small and alone, from the overall appearance of the increasingly beautiful piece. Dissatisfied by it and not wanting it to offend or detract, Bob had it removed for appearance sake. Without any genetalia it was also more acceptable to mixed company. It WAS a thing of rare and increasing beauty which Bob was extremely satisfied with himself for creating - as if a proud sculptor and his work of fine art in progress. Max's successful temptation of Jake was the reason for his consequential fate. The "real slave," Max said he had caged at home, he had wanted so badly to go with Max to see. He heard moaning and waddled - accommodating the monster plug - to the cell door to confirm he was not alone. He looked in the direction of the noise. What he saw he realized, from the look of it, was the slave he'd been tempted to come and sample. It was hard to appreciate under the circumstances, seeing it from behind his cell bars, with the pain of the giant plug holding an immense load of a strangers cum in his ravaged raw "pussy," (as it was being referred to,) but it was as beautiful, from what he could tell, as had been described. He stood transfixed, watching the hot masculine straight boy. It was restrained to something table height by its wrists and ankles, and behind its knees, and there were long phalluses secured in its mouth and ass on which it was alternately and repeatedly impaling itself. It had been told if it stopped, its dick would be cut off. Jake witnessed it, but from behind the confinement of his cell bars, was as close to it as he would get. He would never get to use, or even touch it, as had been so deceitfully warranted. It had indeed been captured just days before Jake, and exactly as had been described. Max and Dieter took a scavenging/ hunting trip expressly for collecting something, and the beautiful straight boy fucking itself, was the resultant item. They spotted him while trolling a back road in New Jersey - shirt appropriately shed, on the nice warm day. From behind and from a distance it looked good - T shirt stuck in its back pocket and an obvious dimpled muscular back accentuated by the shadows being created with the sun high overhead. It heard the van, and as it turned around to display a thumb for a ride, the front side reaffirmed what could not have been a more perfect looking specimen. The gods were definitely smiling. Dieter did most of the driving and was behind the wheel. Max gave him the familiar and expected signal, and crawled - so as to be unseen - into the back. They pulled past the handsome young man a ways to give Dieter a moment for a quick, scan in the mirrors and around, to spot any slow moving vehicles or the unlikely timed cop. He rolled down the window and waited for their mark to catch up to the van. The boy ran to the window just slightly out of breath from his sprint not wanting to miss a potential ride, and peered in at the big man he saw behind the wheel, "Where u headed," (as if it mattered) was Dieter's overly friendly question, to deflect anything suspect, and set an unthreatening mood. "To see my girlfriend in Teaneck." "I'm getting on 80 for a bit headed in that direction. Hop in," was the invitation (as spider to fly,) "I can take u at least part of the way." "Thanks man. Nice van. Wrecked my car last week," was the chatter, climbing into his date with destiny, "Had too much to drink," he said, unknowingly pulling the irreversible self locking door closed behind him the automatic window rolling up. Once in, there was no way out. Not even the reinforced window would operate until the driver hit the hidden switch to reset the door to normal operation. "Gotta watch that," Dieter said, pulling away, "That can be as dangerous - " he said reaching under his seat with this left hand for his well placed, and purposefully holstered 45 automatic with a silencer, " - as getting in a big van with strangers." By the time he was finished his statement, the gun was aimed at the boy from Dieter's left side so the boy couldn't reach it. "SHIT MAN!" He hollered, as he pulled on the useless door handle intending a quick exit even though they were moving. The useless handle did nothing but lever with no effect - window the same. He backed up against the door getting as far from the gun as he could instinctively but pointlessly raising his hands in front of him, "I DON'T WANT ANY TROUBLE MAN! PLEASE!" Calmly, Dieter said as Max came up behind their newly acquired passenger, "No trouble - just don't move." "Ok man! What ever you say!" was the nervous reply. Startling the boy, Max put his arm around him to hold him steady while hitting him in the back of the neck with an eighty thousand volt stun gun holding it in place, creating more effective removal of control, and more complete disorientation. As the boy collapsed, Max pulled and guided his shaking body into the back of the van. Once he had him back there he held it against him again for the added time needed to secure the beauty, spread eagle to the flush pull-up attachment rings in the floor. The gun probably wouldn't have been necessary, but Dieter loved the idea of aiming his automatic at a mark. The victim's reaction always gave him an instant hard-on. Successfully restrained, Max hopped back up into the passenger seat. The secured beauty regained control in the next few minutes over his scrambled nervous system, tugged at his restraints, raised his head, looked up at the men sitting in the front, spouted his indignant questions, and made his futile demands, "What the fuck man? What's this about? Release me! Let me go!" Coming out from under a good stun gun scrambling, it takes the brain a few seconds to catch up, or he would be remembering the gun aimed at him and not be expressing such indignant arrogance. But Max had found this kind of reaction not to be a totally uncommon occurrence. The more spirited the catch the more audacious the first few minutes of attempted complaint even in the face of being physically disabled. After all, none of their "Guests," had ever experienced or even thought of being so completely disrespected, and taken utterly against their will - not to mention being stun-gunned into temporary oblivion. They had "rights," after all - they presumed from their life experience up until now. A few minutes of belligerence allowed, Max hopped back with the complainant and did what he enjoyed so much - getting their victim's attention. He took a pair of sharp shears out of the pocket behind his seat and knelt at the feet of the pretty boy's outstretched legs. Starting with bottom of the jeans pant leg, he inserted the scissors and clamped down, cutting through the heavily stitched bottom hem and right up the front of the leg fabric to the belt. "Hey man," the stretched out boy, said, "please don't do that." The tone was changing but there was still (though now more polite) an attempt to direct. Max switched to a pair of lock cutters and in an instant cut right through the boys leather belt and the top of the jeans all at the same time, and laid the fabric apart exposing the beautiful hairy leg, "Please man. What are you doing? Please don't," - a little better more entreating approach, but still that attempted directive - "don't." Without a word, Max did the same thing to the right pant leg - up to the top - lock cutters through the belt line - laid the fabric apart and the second beautiful leg was in plain view. He stroked the muscular hairy surface, affirming in his mind what a good decision had been made in picking this one up, "Please man - please?" Ah - there was, the adjustment. Pleading without the directive. Apology would come next and fairly soon. Max took the boy's intact crotch-covering area of the pants in his hand - the still buckled belt, and still buttoned and zippered fabric - the part of the pants that usually kept the privates from exposure to the general public - maintained a man's modesty. It was still in place - only now the whole assembly was just lying there. Max freely lifted it - pulled it down and tucked it between the outstretched legs. "Please Mister. Please Sir. I'm sorry for what I said before." There it was - that complete attitude adjustment and consequential apology Max knew with assurance would come quickly. He'd had enough experience collecting, that he could predict what would come next and when. "Lift up!" were his first words to their, becoming aligned, frightened, passenger. Max tugged on what he had made free of any attachment to its wearer, and without hesitation the boy lifted his weight off the now pointless fabric, as Max pulled what had been the boy's pants from under the truly beautiful form. His attire was reduced to briefs, sox, and athletic shoes. Shoes and sox were easily and quickly removed, and the soles of the boy's feet tickled causing him to squirm and laugh. Then came the nitty gritty. And it came - to the boy's surprise - in the form of a question. Almost as if respecting their "guest's" remaining modesty, Max posed his inquiry to the creature laying completely helpless and defenseless at his mercy, "You think I might have a look at what's covered up here?" he asked almost timidly - shyly. After silently, without a word, cutting the boy's pants off - turning them into just so much useless denim, he was asking permission to take a look at what was still being modestly covered by the intact clean white briefs clinging so beautifully to what could be made out, but none-the-less was covering its nakedness. The boy was stunned - didn't know what to say. He didn't want this man to partake of his privacy. He was helpless to prevent it should the man choose, but he WAS being asked, "Please Mister?" "Yeah boy?" "Please could I leave my underwear on?" "I'm disappointed you wouldn't invite me to take a look. I asked nicely. I won't invade your privacy without being asked to do so. I really would like to have a look. Lets give you a little while to see if you change your mind." Max took out two nasty alligator clamps - put one on each of the boy's tender nipples and hopped back up front to the moans and groans he'd left behind. Before long the boy's tune had changed, "I'm sorry man. Please take a look at my cock and balls." He let him groan on for a while repeating himself. The clamps bit cruelly into the sensitive flesh - two little clips causing such distracting pain - it was almost dichotomous. But they were doing just that, and the boy was helpless to stop it as he began to beg, "Please Mister? I'm sorry! Please do what you wanted and have a look. I've changed my mind. I want you to have a look!" Max ignored and just talked with Dieter as the delightful noise continued from on the floor in the back, "PLEASE SIR? PLEASE MISTER! MY TITS HURT SO MUCH! PLEASE LOOK!" Max climbed back - knelt along side of the pleading beauty - crossed his arms on his chest and just looked down at him. "I don't know - you sure that's what you want?" "YES PLEASE!" "Ok to cut them off?" "OK MISTER!" "Not please cut them off Sir?" "IM SORRY. YES. PLEASE CUT THEM OFF SIR!" Max picked up his scissors, gathered the fabric on the left side of the crotch and cut simply from leg bottom up through the elastic waistband - and the same on the right. As Max tugged ever so lightly and the boy felt the fabric being pulled from under his naked form he knew what to do from earlier and this time, even without needing to be told, instantly raised his weight cooperatively off the pointless fabric of the briefs, and Max pulled it from under him - nothing left - the pretty boy seen on the side of the road looking so appealing was completely exposed and utterly without defense - and as beautiful as he was defenseless. "There we go," Max said, "Ok to touch them?" Lesson learned - no matter his humiliation, or wish not to be handled by this man, he offered the only words he knew were acceptable, "YES SIR! PLEASE TOUCH THEM SIR!" Ever had a man play with your cock and balls?" "NO SIR!" Max enjoyed the pendulous, sizeable, balls and considerable cock, leaving the alligator clips right where they were - the victim believing they would be removed as a reward for changing his mind and inviting the stranger in control to play with his manhood. Genitals matched the rest of the perfect package of macho muscles and hair and moustache and eyes - everything was as good as it gets, he thought, as he freely fondled, and enjoyed listening to his new property. Max took three more alligator clips from his pocket and casually applied them to the boys cock - one on either side of the foreskin and one half inside and half outside the piss slit. As the boy hollered, he picked up a filthy heavily cum and piss stained jock worn for weeks by several different slaves - a kind of souvenir, "I'd like to put this in your mouth? Its never been washed - worm by a few different sweaty guys a lot like you - pissed in - and lots of dried cum loads - mostly mine - that be Ok?" In agony from the bite of the clips, the poor boy sickened at the thought of something so vile in his mouth, yelled his answer, "YES SIR! PLEASE PUT IT IN MY MOUTH MISTER!" At instructions to do so, he opened wide, and Max stuffed the yellowed jock, stinking of sweat, and piss, and cum, completely into the open hole. He found the boys T-shirt - ripped off a strip, and used it to tie the jock in the mouth as a gag - instantly muffling the not unexpected hollers. "So," Max said patting his new boy on he inner thigh as if comforting him, "I'm going to go up front with my friend. I'd really like to have a look at your ass cheeks and ass hole. We could keep your legs spread wide and attach your ankles to where your wrists are, so things could be exposed for me. So why don't you think about it for a while and you can express to me what you'd like when I come back." As Max peered down into the boy's beautiful, thick lashed, full eye browed, eyes, the victim's look was one of anguish, and fear, and pleading, all at the same time. The indistinguishable sounds he was making along with the yelling were no doubt the words pleading for it to happen immediately - no need for time to think anymore. He wanted to show he was learning how to respond to the wishes of his tormentor. Max put his naked defenseless victim through a wringer of physical pain and emotional humiliation - deciding as he did so he wanted this one for himself - at least for a while. Part of what made up his mind was the verification of his presumption the beautiful thing before him was an anal virgin. And THAT he wanted to own. Tempted to take it right there in the van, he decided to wait and make it more a ceremonial event. He would make a celebration of it with his men and some friends invited to witness the consummation of the act of eradicating what could only be taken once. The compelling thing about stripping a male of its virginity is the devastating knowledge of the total irrevocable loss of the most priceless and prideful representation of its manhood possible. Permanent eternal transference of ownership of that most important private personal part of a man to another goes a long way toward breaking him, when creating a slave - even more so when done in the presence of others. It's one of the things that make ownership of a straight man as slave property such a compelling prospect. He returned to the boy, to inspect however, that which he would rape, pillage, and claim as his own at another time. He untied the piece of the boy's shredded T-shirt holding the makeshift gag in his mouth and pulled the filthy object out to those expected and immediate pleas. As soon as the grimy rag was clear of the opening they started, "PLEASE MISTER - PLEASE LOOK AT MY ASS HOLE! YOU SAID YOU WOULD LIKE TO DO THAT!" he even covered the repositioning Max had spoken of, "PLEASE KEEP MY LEGS SPREAD WIDE AND ATTACH MY ANKLES WHERE MY WRISTS ARE TO EXPOSE IT FOR YOU SO YOU CAN SEE IT! PLEASE MISTER! IM SORRY SIR! I LEARNED MY LESSION! PLEASE SIR THE CLIPS HURT SOOOOO MUCH SIR! I WONT DO IT AGAIN!" "First things first," Max said casually, to the boy's anguishing cries, and pleas, and promises. Lets have you cooperate getting you repositioned." "YES SIR!" Max loosened the feet and pulled one then the other - with no resistance at all - up, over, and back, to where the boy's wrists were attached completely opening and revealing his asshole like it had never before been revealed - to anyone - and it was happening for the one in unquestioned control. Another man was positioning him to inspect what had never been seen so exposed - by anyone - not even his girlfriend had seen his asshole - and here it was in the air - the boy begging for it to be so. His humiliation was just about total. Max let the boy remain in that position for a bit - his cock and balls inches from his own face. While completely exposed, the boy awaited the timing of the unbelievably sadistic man, "Ok to touch everything here?" was the ridiculous question. "PLEASE TOUCH EVERYTHING SIR!" "How about licking your ass hole - is that alright?" YES SIR! PLEASE LICK IT?" "You sure? You want a man to lick your asshole?" "YES SIR! PLEASE SIR!" There was urgency in his immediate answers as if to prove he had learned his lesson and the clips would be removed. They wouldn't. Max spread the cheeks and to the boy's utter mortification inhaled deeply to smell his new property, "Better than poppers," he said. He dove into the virginal hole with his tongue - the place he would soon violate with his cock. It tasted and felt as good as it smelled and looked - lightly haired - clean - with just the slightest hint of shit, "I bet you haven't shit since you showered to go see your girlfriend have you?" "NO SIR!" Max kept lapping and eating, giving the boy a sensation he'd never had before. He told him to relax as he reached in - took hold of his cock and began stroking it just to test - only the shaft - so as not to exacerbate the clips on the foreskin and piss slit. They'd been on long enough to somewhat numb their positioning. In a while it began to respond, and even through his pain, the boy got hard. He was short-circuiting. How could it be - a stranger - a man - a man victimizing him - was licking his ass and making him hard? Max was a master at manipulation of all kinds. He kept at the boy until he began to breathe heavy and he picked up the pace. When he knew his victim's unwanted orgasm was imminent, he shouted, "OPEN YOUR MOUTH!" He aimed the big hard cock dead-on as the boy began cuming, and shot it into his own mouth. When every last drop was milked from the stiff phallus, he told him to close his mouth and flush it down - the first use of the toilet reference, "flush," relating to the boy swallowing. He set about relocating the ankles to their original spread eagle position as the boy's cock pointed like a rocket into the air, and without release, only slowly began to deflate, "Ok Max said, "Lets help you out with these clips." Believing they were being removed, the boy gushed forth with his expression of gratitude, "OH THANK YOU MISTER! THANK YOU SIR! I'M SORRY SIR! I WON'T DO IT AGAIN," the poor thing yelled, as Max stifled the noise stuffing the stinking, foul tasting, jock, now wet from the boys saliva, back into the mouth that had just consumed its own - and its first - load of cum. He'd never even tasted it before. After securing the gag came the unexpected news, "I'm going to reposition these for you," he said, as if doing the boy a favor - "give these spots a break." The increased pain started with the removal of the one on the left tit. Taking a clamp off was always as painful as its application, due to the blood flow being reintroduced to the area, and the instantaneous muffled yelling was proof. The tit clip had been located on the up - down axis. Max changed it to left - right. He waited a moment then moved to the right one. He massaged the tender flesh on removal of this one, even further increasing the pain. Tits done, he moved to the ones on the foreskin. From left and right sides, they took top and bottom positions - and the piss slit clip was moved from bottom of the opening to the top. He went to the boys head - took another angry clip from his pocket. Affectionately he surrounded the boy's head and stroked his cheek as he applied the clip to the septum of his nose. Looking tenderly into the boys tearing eyes he spoke, "As soon as I hear you sincerely thank me for teaching you about behaving appropriately when a man indicates he would like something of you, I will take this one off." He flicked the one on his nose making the eyes tear as they pleaded, and the mouth spoke its garbled words of gratitude for being taught. He removed the one from the nose, "What do you say?" he asked. "The momentary relief was so great - not having to endure the extra clip on the so sensitive septum. Just a short time of it was enough to be a horrible indicator of such additional intense pain, "THANK YOU SIR!" the boy cried. Max lingered for a while like a kid with a new toy. He wasn't a kid - but it was a new toy after all. He reluctantly left his source of entertainment, and returned to his seat, leaving the pain wracked fresh catch to plead from his place on his back on the floor, "Sounds good Sir," Dieter said, as his boss rejoined him in the front, "How does it all look?" Dieter had of course been paying attention to the road and unable to enjoy the view in the back. "You know how good it looked form the waist up?" Max asked. "Yes Sir." "It's all like that - perfect. I'm keeping this one for a while. It's never been fucked - gonna plan a little party and give it its first - take that cherry - make it bleed - break that hymen - consummate my theft and ownership of its virginity." The boy's two-hour ride, "home," to New York in agony, was a graphic lesson in how to respond to discovery of the desires and preferences of another. Max had that party a few days hence - raped the slave and indeed made it bleed - stole its virginity and made it his own. He took his own white briefs - wiped the blood from the pussy and his cock and held it up in a gesture of victory and conquest to the delight and applause of those present. It was only days later as Jake was being fucked, Max had Dieter set the new slave up on the impaling device. When Jake saw him moaning in anguish, he had been self-violating all night - told of the cameras, and threatened with having his cock cut off if he stopped. The beautiful slave would suffer great pain and humiliation at Max's hand and become - as anything Max trained - a slave par excellence. Max was big on fuckhole development of both the upper and lower. The slave would be stuffed full, most of the time, with increasingly larger implements. The cunt would be plugged and harnessed as Jake's had been, and the throat would be trained to breathe around dildo gags progressively deeper and wider in its throat. Full head harnesses would be the method of retention for them. Max enjoyed making breathing for a slave an act that required effort and focus, and made noise. He lost a few in the beginning, but as with anything, failure leads to success. He'd become quite proficient at this, as with all aspects of his craft. Buyers, and those unfamiliar, were always pleasantly surprised - sometimes shocked - when he would pull from the depths of a slave's throat what it was breathing around. This kind of training definitely helped close more than a few sales - especially to men who liked oral worship and service - that is unless they were hung like Bob. Nothing - no amount of training - could enable a throat to accommodate something like that. Max had never experienced first hand a human cock so immense. Thanks to MY readers for your involvement and participation in the stories. There will be more MACK Wayne tales for your prurient perusal. Most likely: "Savage Brother's slave," will be next. So far: "A slave's Induction" "slaveMaster Tempter" Comments welcome: mackxwayne@hotmail.com The man behind the words - MY website http://www.MACKsf.com