If male on male sex stuff offends you - fuck off. If, by law, you're too young to have your sponge-like mind exposed to this BDSM-flavored tale - bye-bye. If you're an old fart who can still get it up - grab a tissue and hope for the best. For the rest of you, take the story's value commensurate with what you paid for it.
A big 'tanks' to masters JH and DH. For comments and especially flames, contact me at email@example.com.
For readers who are unfamiliar with the distinctions between BDSM roles, please see footnote at the end of this chapter.
This is a story about slavery in America in the not too distant future. After President George Bush, his whiz kids and Congress forged a policy to fiercely monitor the borders and throw out all illegal aliens, the USA began to run out of menial labor to staff businesses and residences. The supply of unskilled laborers to perform tasks that 'normal people' and taxpayers didn't want to touch had dried up. At the same time, the prison system became overburdened with inmates who had been sentenced for minor crimes and offenses.
Therefore, when President Jeb Bush suggested a national indentured service system to create supply an adequate workforce and ease the over-population of the federal and state prisons, the public and elected officials jumped at the chance to 'kill two birds with one stone.'
Security was always an issue. A national I.D. card and computer tracking system was instituted to monitor the citizen's activities and travels. However the indentured workers - slaves, in any other language - had no such system and needed to be physically secured to prevent escape. What the right-wing Bush administration didn't anticipate was an ignored under belly of the indentured trade: a small, homosexual, BDSM sub-culture of dominant masters that thrived on subservient slave relationships where choice did not matter.
Through a 'good old boy' network of corrupt judges and authorities, young, virile men who could be groomed to become sex slaves were quietly filtered through the legal system from prisons and into BDSM slave trade industries. While this was usually accomplished by identifying ideal prisoner candidates to be parceled off to masters with a sizable bank balance, a black market began to flourish on the side. Within a year of the enactment of the national indenture system, young men - and a few women - began to disappear from school, roadside stops, vacation destinations and an evening out clubbing.
This story is about one such young man who was a successful, driven, over-achieving alpha male and the personification of a 'workaholic'. After completing a particularly strenuous work assignment, he was encouraged by the boss to take a month's vacation. Bobby Reynolds was told that the long, wind-down absence would rejuvenate his energy and dedication to the company. He called his younger brother, Scott, and told him of the vacation plans that included a solo-driving trip from Chicago to Florida and a cruise out of Miami. Scott immediately to check the house, collect the mail and water the plants. Bobby thought that this gesture was odd because they had not been close for years. He had long ago concluded that Scott resented the dominance of his older brother when they were kids. Bobby also thought that Scott was envious of the material wealth and career success that he had attained.
Once it was determined when Bobby would leave and the route he would take, Scott asked one favor. South of Macon, Georgia, in a small town called Perry, lived one of his oldest and best friends. Scott said that it would be very much appreciated if Bobby would make a special effort to hook up with the friend and say 'hi'. Bobby agreed and was given a local Perry telephone number to call when he got close to the area.
Bobby gave Scott his house keys and drove away the next morning. He never made it beyond Georgia.
Chapter 1, BOBBY'S DILEMMA
Bobby called the friend when he crossed the Georgia border. They arranged to meet south of Macon at the Perry I-75 rest stop around 10:00 p.m. The friend said that the town of Perry was only five miles beyond the rest stop and that he would be honored to have Bobby as his houseguest for the evening. Bobby was to be on the lookout for a small, white Ford Focus.
He arrived just a little after 10:00 p.m. at the rest stop and noted that there were just a few trucks parked with their running lights. Bobby figured that the lights were probably for the night and that the drivers were sleeping. Not seeing the Ford, he decided to go into the men's room and relieve himself.
The four masked men who stormed into the men's room were too much for the 31-year-old victim. As Bobby shook the final drops of dew at the urinal, he was confronted, blindfolded and taken to some sort of encampment in the wilderness by the marauders and was immediately stripped of his modesty with a rough physicality. There were fierce initial struggles, to be sure. But the whips and cattle prods were too much for Bobby. He gradually decided that he had to 'go with the flow' and figure out how to survive. He was sure, like Ned Beatty's character in the vintage movie, 'Deliverance', he would be squealing like a pig...just for openers.
That first evening, 'go with the flow' meant rough anal rape by most in the encampment. The first men just used spit as a lubricant. After a while, Bobby's asshole was a free zone for hungry cock and each previous tenant's cum slicked the way for easier entry by the next in line. Later, he was forced to orally pleasure the mangy, redneck, male camp population. And that was just the first night. Bobby's only face saving was discovering that all the men were circumcised. The last thing he wanted to experience, by odor or flavor, was the aged presence of smegma. 'The only flow,' he ruefully thought, 'was the continuous flow of cum.'
After being completely shaved, except for his eyebrows, on the second day, Bobby was systematically introduced to subservience, humiliation, anal stretching devices, outrageous body ornaments and endless forced male sex of every form. Feeding consisted of nutritional food pellets and urine-laced water out of dog bowls. Just as he became accustomed to crawling around on his knees, he also resigned himself to the endless streams of piss that found their way to his mouth. Bobby learned that it was not wise to allow spillage.
The compound consisted of the large main cabin that housed approximately 10 men, a barn and a human kennel that was heavily fenced and patrolled. Each of the six slaves that Bobby had counted lived in large doghouses. He soon discovered that the barn contained a treasure trove of sadistic toys and training equipment for the kidnapped slaves to experience. In addition there was a crude physical fitness course that he was forced to complete each morning before the Georgia sun took over for the day. Before returning to the kennel, he was routinely taken to a latrine to empty himself. On several occasions, Bobby was positioned so that his guard could take a dump on the slave. The last ritual of the morning was to be tossed in a nearby creek to clean him of any leftover excrement. It seemed, Bobby analyzed, that the captors were intent on increasing his physical endurance as well as broadening his sexual experience with males.
Bobby knew that the daily physical regimen and sexual abuse was also cleverly designed to mentally wear him down. He decided to play the game. Rather than resist the sexual assaults, he yielded to create a subservient image. Through repetition and DVD's, he learned the ropes of proper slave obedience. His primary concern, however, was that none of the cretins who shoved their cocks up his ass had transmittable diseases.
Gradually he accepted his capture and personal dilemma. Each day he hoped that an opportunity might present itself to escape. He was a man who had always determined his own fate. Bobby didn't reject dominance and submission as a life style. He just had to figure out how to reverse roles and become a master. If truth were known, he rather enjoyed the sexual adventures with other males. Although this was a rough learning experience, Bobby slowly accepted his sexual orientation. Late at night in his cage, he inventoried his life and the series of failed romances with women since high school. Counter-balancing this discovery was the realization that he excelled in being the leader when it came to weekend sports games in the park, working out with the guys at the gym and organizing stag outings. Bobby was happiest when surrounded by the men in his life.
The MIT graduate school education had disciplined his mental agility to develop long-term goals. 'To hell with this short-term shit,' he thought, while one of his captors was roughly inserting a gigantic dildo up his chute. 'I can take it.' He was determined to bite the bullet and become a subservient slave trainee and stall for time until the proper moment arrived. CARPE DIEM.
Within a week, Bobby's Mercedes vanished. His expensive clothes and other possessions were distributed among his captors. The only thing that remained was his cell phone. The head of the abductors, Buck, scrolled through Bobby's cell phone address book one evening and came across Scott Reynolds' name. He highlighted it and hit 'send'.
Scott was surprised and a little angry to learn that one of the kidnappers was calling his home number. When he arranged to have his brother taken, Scott only wanted to know that the abduction task had been accomplished. His anger turned to pleasure when Buck told Scott that he was checking out Bobby's cell phone and just happened to come across Scott's name. Buck decided to call Scott to let him know that Bobby was successfully being trained to be a sex slave as instructed and had 'learned' many things for his new master. Scott had told Buck that the kidnapping was part of a very involved fantasy that the two brothers had worked out.
Buck had made DVD's of Bobby that showed him in the training phases to become an acceptable subservient slave. Images of Bobby's nude form with the basic piercings and jewelry were sent to Scott's computer via the cell phone. In addition to the physical transformation, the pictures showed Bobby's growing adeptness at anal and oral sex.
Scott told Buck that the two brothers, although both living in Chicago, were not close but he had always desired Bobby. At the age of 28, he was still paying back his college loans, so this abduction was a costly move. However, having Bobby come back into his life as a slave would resolve many issues. Scott asked that nothing be mentioned about his involvement in the kidnapping and requested that he speak to Bobby. Buck agreed and walked out to the compound. He found Bobby chained to a retention pole.
"Your brother wants to talk to you," Buck said. He held the cell phone to the slave's ear.
"Scott, get your ass down here and get me out of this mess," Bobby yelled into the phone.
** "Whoa, big brother. Sounds like I'm in the driver's seat. You forgot about the sneering looks you give my gay friends or your snide comments about my sexuality?"
"Aw, shit. I was only joking, bro," Bobby replied. He felt clearly worried that the conversation wasn't going well. He knew that Scott was his salvation and needed to play along. "I love you an' I really want to be closer. Whatever you think I've done, I wanna make it up to you."
** "Your jokes weren't funny. However, I'm going to take care of you...on my own terms. I'll get you back to Chicago soon enough. They contacted me and I'm going to get you out. Give me your P.I.N. number at the bank so I can raise the funds. I don't have the kind of money the they're askin'."
"If it'll get me out of here, ya got it." Bobby proceeded to give him the P.I.N and the access codes to his home computer.
"Thanks, brother. Now, mind these guys and learn something, 'cause you are goin' to make it up to me." The phone went dead and Buck pulled it back from Bobby's head.
Bobby was genuinely puzzled at the last statement. 'There's something not kosher,' he thought. 'Brother Scott is dealing from the bottom of the deck.'
Within 24 hours, Scott completed the money transfer to Buck's overseas account for the abduction and he gave Buck a Chicago suburban address where brother Bobby was to be delivered. What Bobby didn't realize until later was that Scott was an eager master, active in the leather world, who had arranged Bobby's abduction with the intent of making him Scott's personal sex slave.
Bobby had been confused when Buck told him that he was being taken to a special facility near Chicago so that training could continue. 'Oh, fuck,' he thought, 'this is definitely something I hadn't planned on.'
"Sir, may I speak, Sir?" Bobby urgently asked while bowed in the slave rest position. He knew he was out of line by speaking and expected to feel the full force of a boot slam into his body. However, there was only momentary stillness.
"Slave, normally I'd beat the shit out of you for speaking. But since you are about to leave our hospitality, you may ask one question," Buck replied.
"Um, Sir. If my brother has bought my freedom, why am I still being treated as a slave?"
"Because, boy, you are a sex slave and not regarded to be a free man, however you were acquired. What your new owner has in store for you is not my concern. I'm only responsible for getting you to the place for advanced training. You'll know more when you meet Scott in Chicago. You are an 'it' and your cock is a 'thing', slave. You are being trained so that your body will provide pleasure for masters and those invited to be pleasured by you. End of story."
'Keep your cool,' he resolved, 'I will prevail in the end.' In the meantime, he was aware that it was his bare butt that would probably continue to prevail for others. Sometime in the middle of the night, he was given an injection. Later, Bobby's head was hooded and he was secured by chains, nude, to heavy cleats in the back area of an SUV.
'For Christ's sake, where am I?' Bobby wondered. He was only half awake and somewhat incoherent. It slowly dawned on him that the vehicle was moving at a high speed. 'Probably I've been drugged for the trip.' As they bounced along the highway, he could feel the discomfort of the gigantic butt plug up his well-used ass. Bobby was also aware that he was covered with some sort of canvas to shield his nude, shackled body and hood-shrouded head. His bejeweled cock was slightly numb from the catheter in his urethra to handle his urinary needs. Of more discomfort was a series of metal bands and weights that were stretching his nuts.
The hood covering his head had only two holes: one for his nostrils and one for his mouth. He was thankful that he was provided a hole for breathing. However, gratitude didn't extend to the hole for his mouth. Except for occasional water, the opening to his mouth was mostly used to facilitate oral sex for the driver and passenger, as well as being a receptacle for their liquid wastes.
Overhearing snippets of conversation between the two men in the front seat as he drifted in and out of consciousness stunned Bobby. One man mentioned the "cumpig slave's brother" who was going to be his master in Chicago. Later, Bobby picked up on another statement that startled him. The driver said, "I don't want ever to piss off my brother to the point that he takes care of me the way the cocksucker in the back was."
'So there it is,' Bobby thought, as he lay on his side on the floor of the SUV, 'fucking Scott set me up and I'm supposed to be his slave? What about our parents...my friends...the guys at work. What'll they think? How is that little ingrate going to pull this off,' he wondered as he drifted back into his drugged stupor. 'Oh, shit,' he remembered, before blacking out, 'I trusted him with my bank account and computer.'
Much later, now fully awake, he faintly heard the car radio and an announcer reporting Chicago weather and felt a little better about being near his home base. Bobby felt the SUV stop to idle, heard a crackling electronic dialogue and sensed that some sort of gate was opening. He heard the driver tell his companion that the delivery was almost complete. The SUV drove up a steep incline and came to a halt. The front SUV doors opened and the vehicle rocked as two men got out. There was a crunch of walking on gravel before the door next to his canvas-covered body was opened. Bobby felt the canvas removed from his nude body and the chains unlocked from his steel ankle clamps.
"Git out," commanded one man. Bobby was roughly righted so that his plugged butt was on the seat and his freed legs were dangling out of the SUV. He slowly scooted forward until his feet touched the gravel.
"On your fuckin' knees, slave," he was told by the other man.
"My hands are cuffed and I have no balance," Bobby mumbled.
"Shut the fuck up. You're nothing but an insignificant piece of shit. Never speak unless you are ordered to." The handler roughly grabbed Bobby by his neck collar and pushed him down to the gravel surface.
Once on his knees, Bobby was about to assume the learned slave position. However, he heard a zipper releasing from the back of his head and immediately the hood was ripped off. He started blinking rapidly while he attempted to compensate for his sight being returned. It was evening and he realized that he was at the rear of a large house. The entire area was bathed in lighting. Instead of looking around, Bobby focused on two pairs of legs in front of him. Before he moved into the slave position, he determined that one of the men was in shorts and wore construction boots. The second was completely naked and without body hair. Bobby raised his butt to the heavens and moved his arms forward as he had been trained. His head lowered and rested on the back of his cuffed hands.
"Well, 'it' has been trained in the basics, I see," said a strange, deep voice.
"Yes, Sir, Master Trey. The boy is ready for your further instruction. Here are the documents and the slave's progress reports. If you'll sign the transfer sheet, me and my friend will be gittin' back. We've got another delivery in two days."
"Business must be good," Master Trey replied with a hearty laugh. "Remove the handcuffs, ankle shackles, collar and catheter. I'll assume transfer of the property so you can return to your base. I and my senior slave are anxious to groom the boy for his new master, Scott."
Bobby processed the official confirmation of what he had heard earlier during the trip. Aside from being in the Chicago 'burbs, he was being trained to serve his brother in a master/slave relationship. 'What the fuck,' he thought, 'I was aware that Scott was a fag. God knows he sucked me off enough times when we were younger and I knew all about his gay friends in the city. But a master? Jeez, how little I really know about him.' This new information set off a brainstorm of new strategies in his quest for escape.
"Slave, welcome to your new home...for a while. Training slave Marcus and I will look after you and get you ready for your new life," Master Trey said. "Follow Marcus to the door. I must tell you that you must be very careful when we go down the basement stairs. Don't want to damage the property. Marcus, take the boy down to his quarters."
"Yes, Sir," said a second voice. Bobby figured out that this must be the one without any clothes...the training slave.
"I'll be down in a little while. Get him douched, showered and shaved in the meantime."
"Yes, Sir. I'll take care of the new slave. Move," the nude man barked.
Marcus walked to the door and opened it for Bobby to crawl through. As he was negotiating the best way to move down the stairs, he heard car doors slam and the engine started. 'Well, there's two assholes I'm not going to miss,' he thought. 'But it seems I've acquired two more.' With a struggle and a few falls, Bobby arrived at the cold basement concrete floor.
"Well done, slave. Let's go over to the wet area and get you groomed for my master. Oh, you have permission to speak to me now. This is considered 'free time' and I'm sure you have many questions. Ask them wisely 'cause this is probably the last time for a while that you'll be allowed to speak." Marcus led the new temporary resident to a large tiled area that included a separate small locker area and a walk-in multi-head shower room with a commode device.
"I do have many questions, Sir?" Bobby said slowly and in a low voice after they had arrived in the locker area. In the adjoining shower room he saw a couple of hoses with smooth plastic, penis-shaped attachments at the end.
"One question at a time. By the way, you may have heard that my name is Marcus and I'm the training slave to my master. The reason I'm referred to by name is that I am a free man who is voluntarily my master's slave. He took me in at a real low point of my younger life and I've been with him for several years."
"Yes. You're in his training facility here in Hinsdale. It's all very quiet and secluded. Most of the neighbors haven't the foggiest idea what goes on here. They think my master is a doctor who retired early. Um, get up on your knees." Marcus bent down and inspected Bobby's body and jewelry. There were several 'hmm's and ahh's' as the training slave's hands moved over every square inch of Bobby's body.
"Training facility? I guess I understand that I'm here for further instruction. That's all I know. But I still don't know why I'm in this mess and why Scott is involved." Bobby decided to play 'cat and mouse' and only reveal the basic information that he had officially heard. He felt himself getting hard as Marcus's hands gently rubbed his penis and nut sac.
"The master is very respected in the gay master-slave community for his results in training slaves and free 'sub' men who wish to please their masters. Ah, I'm going to remove your original ornamentation. Master's jeweler will be installing quality items that Master Scott has requested. I've been told to play along with this fantasy." Marcus proceeded to remove the Prince Albert, ball stretchers, and nipple rings.
"Fantasy? What do you mean? And you know my brother?" Bobby started feeling comfortable talking to Marcus although the more he was finding out was making him very nervous. He judged that the training slave was probably five or six years younger than he. He also observed that Marcus only wore small nipple rings and was well trimmed in the pubic area. The image of a tanned, well-hung, young man was very erotic for Bobby's mind to process.
"First, slave, understand that you will no longer refer to him as your brother in front of anyone. How you address each other in the privacy of his home will be his decision. He is your master and you are his slave to do his bidding in this fantasy. To answer your question, yes, I know him...intimately. Master Scott's part of a group of men, including Master Trey, who enjoy sharing their slaves to satisfy a variety of sexual appetites. But you'll know more about that later."
"So, um, my bro...Master Scott is really into this stuff?" Bobby asked as he also processed the implications of the term 'sharing'. 'Might as well see all the cards I can,' he considered. 'This is a game for my life and I have no intention of losing it, no matter how stacked the cards are against me.'
"This stuff, as you put it, is going to become your life. Although Master Scott's only 28 or so, he's becoming comfortable in his chosen sexual role. And from the conversations he's had with Master Trey, I know he feels very strongly about the way you treated him sexually when you were both boys. I guess this is what this fantasy of yours is all about."
"Aw, Sir, I told him that I just thought of it as me being a horny guy who needed help from his younger bro...um, you know. But this fantasy, as you call it, Sir, is not my doing," Bobby replied while he contemplated this news. 'Scott must really be carrying a huge chip on his shoulder,' he concluded, 'to go this far.'
"Your master remembers that the messing around was a one-way street for you only. To whatever arrangements have been agreed are for you two to discuss 'cause I'm just the trainer. A word of warning: he can have a nasty temper. Don't piss him off."
"Um, will I be here long?" 'Fantasy, arrangements,' Bobby wondered, 'what the fuck is that all about?'
"Depends how you respond to our training. I know that the plan is for you to move to Master Scott's house when he feels you're ready."
"House? What the fu...what do you mean, Sir? He lives in a studio apartment in Bucktown." Bobby was definitely confused by this revelation.
"I guess it's okay to tell you that Master Scott has moved into your town home. He told Master Trey that he met the neighbors and introduced himself to everyone. Apparently everyone was pleased to know that he'll be your roommate...or, the other way around. You understand that you and the town home are possessions for him to enjoy. He's adding a few devices such as embedded metal cleats in his home so that you can be secured when you are moved there."
"Sir, I never really thought this out. Guess I don't have much choice in the matter except to become a good slave to Master." Bobby bowed his head and started thinking about how to make lemonade out of the bushel of lemons he had acquired. 'Man,' he thought, 'my fucking brother has gone too far. My house is his and I'm going to be chained to cleats? No fucking way.'
"That's the proper attitude. Your role is to please everyone, especially Master Scott." After finishing removing the jewelry installed at the Georgia camp and inspecting the piercings, Marcus took hold of Bobby's hard, dripping 'thing'. While massaging the newly freed balls, he manipulated the slave's love meat. "Don't get used to not being pierced. Master Trey has a special 'jeweler' who will fit you with better ornamentation that Master Scott ordered."
"I understand, Sir," Bobby said. 'Yeah, better stuff with my money,' he thought with a soft smile.
"Slave, your great attitude pleases me. This could be a great life for you." Marcus began to tenderly massage Bobby's glans and the 'G' spot below.
"Oh, fuck, I haven't gotten off for a while," moaned Bobby.
"Consider this your housewarming gift, slave, and a reward for displaying proper attitude. After this, it'll be some time before you shoot spunk again, so enjoy it." Marcus increased his strokes on Bobby's tool. "Nice equipment, by the way. Must run in the family," he said with a laugh.
"Ieee, oh Christ...I'm...shit..." Bobby yelled before shooting a respectable initial load onto the tile floor. Stream after stream exploded until the final dribbles oozed out of his piss slit and slid down his shaft. He thought that Marcus's gentle touch seemed to be communicating something else. Marcus held on to his 'thing' until it became soft. 'Fuck,' he thought, 'I might enjoy knowing this guy better down the road.'
"A happy camper, I see. Looks like the cum supply is also genetic. Master Scott also is quite a shooter." Marcus walked into the shower and looked back to verify that Bobby was following. "The other part of my gift is that you don't have to clean up your mess with your tongue tonight. This time I'll hose it down. Now take out your butt plug and put it aside. After you take a crap in the corner commode, insert the hose up your bung and turn on the special water blend while I straighten up the locker area and perform a few other chores for your stay. You know the drill by now. Give yourself four douches and I don't want to see any crap on the floor when I return."
"Ah, douches, Sir. Don't you mean, um..."
"Enemas? Very clinical and very wrong. Here, you will be cleaning out your boy pussy so a douche is more appropriate," Marcus said with a chuckle.
"Err, I guess so, Sir."
"I'll shower you later." Marcus pointed to the plastic dildo hose nozzle and walked away.
"Yes, Sir," Bobby said. He slowly reached behind and rotated the butt plug to loosen and remove it. He was grateful that Marcus had not commanded him to clean the butt slime from the plug with his tongue.
Bobby crawled over to the commode and squatted above the porcelain bidet-shaped device. After finishing expelling his waste and seeing no paper, he took his hand to wipe himself. Next, he moved over to one of the hoses. From his time at the training camp, he indeed knew the drill about douches. 'Man, after that large butt plug,' he thought, 'this is a piece of cake,' as he inserted the eight-inch phallic-shaped nozzle into his asshole. Bobby was tempted to massage his prostate but thought better of abusing the initial trust between Marcus and himself.
Bobby was ready to turn on the water system when he heard the wet area door close and a lock engage. 'Well,' he considered, 'so much for trust.'
By the time Marcus unlocked the door and re-entered the shower a half-hour later, Bobby had completely cleaned out his insides, straightened up the shower area and assumed the slave kneeling position.
"Very good, slave. Now, rise to your knees," Marcus commanded.
As Bobby obediently rose, he almost brushed Marcus's semi-hard cock with his nose. He knew exactly what was expected of him and took the head of the impressive fleshy instrument in his mouth.
"You learn fast, slave. Let's see if you can handle it all the way down." Marcus grabbed onto Bobby's ears and eased his eight-inch cock into the new slave's willing mouth.
Bobby almost gagged before remembering to open up his throat at the last moment to admit the hard, thick hot erection. He tentatively began moving back and forth; allowing his tongue to manipulate and excite the flared glans when it approached his lips. Bobby was enjoying pleasuring the training slave. Somewhere down deep, he felt a special bond developing.
"Oh, yeah, slave. You're doing great," moaned Marcus. He grabbed Bobby's head and started forcibly fucking the willing mouth. The pumping continued with abandon until Marcus's body tensed and he shot volleys of cum into the slave's orifice.
Bobby greedily accepted the hot male seed and was a little disappointed when Marcus left his softening cock buried deep in the mouth beyond the tasting area of his tongue. When Marcus did withdraw, Bobby lapped and kissed the piss slit as a sign of respect.
"I think I'm going to have fun training you, boy. Now open wide for my other essence before we shower."
He considered the statement and then knew what was in store. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes and opened his mouth until his jaws ached. The warm steam of urine initially hit his mouth and Bobby knew that he must swallow quickly so as not to spill any human liquid.
"Good going. Not a drop spilled...so far," Marcus said. Suddenly the golden shower began moving around Bobby's face and then down to his torso.
'Oh,' Bobby silently considered, 'Mr. Marcus has a kinky side.' Bobby smiled slightly when the stream returned to his face. He opened his mouth and received the last of his 'gift'. He opened his eyes, licked his lips and said, "Thank you, Sir."
"Get up and turn on the shower. It's time I got you cleaned up, shaved and put away in your new quarters. Master Trey will be visiting us soon for further instructions. Tomorrow will be a busy day." Marcus helped Bobby up to his feet and steadied the slave. This was the first time in a few days that Bobby was allowed to walk like a free man.
As instructed, Bobby turned on the water and was pleased that he was allowed to wait until the temperature was very warm. Marcus gently offered the waiting pulsing showerheads to his new charge and smiled when the warm pellets of moisture bombarded Bobby's backside. Taking a loofah in one hand and body gel in the other, the training slave carefully and thoroughly washed every part of the new slave's body. This time Marcus ignored the raging erection wanting attention.
"Oh, Sir. Could we do it one more time?" Bobby growled while Marcus washed his slave balls.
"You are a horny one, aren't you? Marcus replied with a laugh. "The orgasm earlier is definitely your last one for a while. Maybe if Master Trey is happy with your training progress, I can relieve you next week. I would really enjoy sucking your slave cock."
"Sir, I'll be good. Whatever you do to me I'm sure I'd enjoy." Bobby smiled with a dreamy look into Marcus's eyes.
"Be still and enjoy the rest of the shower. This is the final part of my welcoming gift. Rinse off and I'll dry you before Master Trey joins us."
"Th...th...that's it?" Bobby asked. He knew that everything up to now was too good to be real. Aside from enjoying Marcus's company, he was bidding for time to figure out his revised strategies of survival based on the information gathered that evening. 'Gotta suck up to this cute dude,' he considered as Marcus toweled off the water from his skin. He had no idea what to expect from Master Trey.
"Follow me, slave." Marcus pointed to the tile floor and without a word spoken communicated that Bobby was to assume the slave crawl. As if on cue, Bobby lowered himself to the floor and followed his new trainer out into the confines of the basement. They stopped as Marcus opened a previously closed door.
"Sir, where am I going?" Bobby asked nervously. He looked into the new room and saw a small cage surrounded by much of the same slave training equipment that he had experienced in Georgia.
"Fucking home, slave. Playtime is over, boy. Get your well-used ass over to bed." Without missing a beat, Marcus became a dominant slave instructor and disciplinarian. From behind, there was the sound of a large man descending the basement steps.
"Do we have 'it' ready for the next phase of instruction?" asked a booming voice.
"Yes, Sir. Master Scott's new slave is ready." Marcus sounded happy and relieved to issue this report.
"Very well, Marcus. Allow the new slave a good night's rest. Tomorrow he will be fitted with Master Scott's specified body jewelry. Then, we may let him get a taste of our special machine if his master is so inclined. Do you have the required inserts?"
"Yes, Sir, most definitely. Are we still planning to start training first thing in the morning?"
"Absolutely. I promised Master Scott that we would have his new slave properly trained within two or three weeks. At that point, 'it' should be ready to go home with its master." Master Trey laughed before he added, "Training begins at 0600."
"He'll be ready, Sir."
"You've got the new butt plug?" Master Trey asked.
"Yes, Sir. I'm going to lube the slave and insert it right now."
Bobby saw, out of the corner of his eye, Marcus retrieve a much larger, flared butt plug. "Oh, man,' he thought, 'this is not going to be fun.' He closed his eyes and felt a sudden rush of coldness when some sort of cold lube was squirted around his pucker and up his chute.
"Breathe in, slave." Marcus took at least three fingers and roughly inserted them up Bobby's asshole. After rotating the fingers inside for a few minutes, the tip of a large, cold, plastic plug replaced the warm fingers. "Now, push out." Without saying another word, Marcus plunged in the entire, ass-splitting butt plug.
"Urmph," Bobby uttered as the plug entered its new home. He knew that this was the longest and fattest object he had yet to experience. 'Something tells me that I'm in for more new experiences,' he thought grimly.
Marcus pushed Bobby forward to crawl to the cage. The door was opened and Bobby entered his new home. Except for a light, cotton blanket, the cage more resembled a home for a large dog. Once inside, Bobby was slightly alarmed when the door clanked to a close and Marcus inserted a heavy padlock on the door hasp. "Sweet dreams, slave," Marcus tenderly whispered. "Save your energy for tomorrow. There'll be several changes in your life, boy. I want this to be good for you. I feel a friendship developing."
Bobby turned inside the cage and maintained the slave bow until he heard footsteps ascend the stairs. 'What the fuck was that all about?' he questioned himself. "There's lots of games being played on several levels.' Bobby was determined to keep his cool and allow a favorable situation to present itself. They didn't know that they were fucking with a hardcore alpha male.
He lay on his side and closed his eyes. In spite of the butt plug that seemed to be jammed all the way to his tonsils, Bobby soon drifted off to sleep while he weighed his brother's hateful actions on one hand, and the initial warm feelings he experienced with Marcus on the other.
TO BE CONTINUED
Here's a moment of serious shit for your consideration excerpted from xeromag.com:
BDSM is NOT abuse! An abuser has no regard for the feelings, needs, or limits of the victim. A BDSM dominant is concerned above all else with the needs and desires of the submissive. A victim of abuse doesn't get a vote; the victim can't tell the abuser what to do or how much to do it. In a BDSM relationship a submissive sets all the limits: what kinds of things can be (and can't be) done, how much and for how long.
Therefore the dynamics of a BDSM relationship are driven by the submissive, not by the dominant. The submissive has the ability to call a halt to the scene. The dominant, in many ways, is simply a facilitator; he creates a setting to explore the submissive's fantasies.
The psychology of a healthy BDSM relationship is driven by the submissive as well as by the dominant. And a dominant can take pleasure from gratifying the needs of the submissive just as easily as the submissive can take pleasure from gratifying the needs of the dominant. This kind of thing is not one-directional.
Everything that happens in a BDSM relationship is consensual; it's not just about the dominant getting what he or she wants...it's more about the submissive getting what HE wants.