Date: Wed, 27 Sep 2017 20:45:45 +0000 (UTC) From: Skorpio Subject: Black Magick Snowflake, part 2 (author, interr, fantasy) The erotic fable you are about to read falls under the genre of Black Domination brushed by the Supernatural. If this sort of thing is not your fantasy, fetish, or reality, turn back to enjoy any of the thousands of stories provided free of charge by the good folks at Nifty. Make a generous donation to Nifty now so this worthy library can continue to stimulate your imagination for years to come. Black Magick: Snowflake, by Skorpio Part Two: One Year Anniversary It was early morning. Master Shabaz stood at a window in the living room, looking out on the heavily falling snow. The land surrounding his house on the hill lay beneath a thick white blanket. The turnpike was visible in the distance since all the trees were bare. It was one year to the day since Danny Sullivan knocked on his door, frozen to the marrow after his terrifying brush with death. Shabaz wore a long, hooded bathrobe of black cotton cinched at the waist with a sash. One large, brown hand held a glass water-pipe, with a blend of opium and chanvre-indiens filling its brass bowl. He took a slow, deep inhalation of smoke, held it in his lungs for a minute before exhaling. The sweet-scented silvery fumes circled above his head like an evanescent halo. There was a roaring fire in the hearth, soft jazz saxophone on the stereo, just as there was a year ago. How swiftly the months had flown. Setting his pipe on a low, round table, Master Shabaz took a seat in front of the fireplace. Then, he took up a large, leather bound tome and leafed through it slowly, pausing over the full page illustrations. One caught his attention in particular, a very detailed drawing of an antique silver chalice labeled the Warren Cup. One side of the unusual vessel depicted a bearded man and beardless youth engaged in anal penetration. The lad appeared to be lowering himself by means of a strap onto the other's enormous phallus. Shabaz smiled with obvious delectation. How like the Romans, he mused, to have devised such an ingenious contraption, let alone adorn its likeness upon a silver cup. The purport of this craftsmanship was evidently designed to arouse concupiscence. Shabaz turned the page and lingered over another illustration of satyrs pursuing nymphs with small, pink-tipped breasts and ample, fleshy buttocks. Another page featured voluptuous, naked women with kohl-lined eyes and ruby-painted lips engaged in providing a swarthy sultan with oral pleasure. There were pictures of slim, smooth-skinned, handsome Ganymedes with girlish blond locks devoted to the same erotic task. Pink-lipped mouths hovering over enormous black members, frozen in time, poised on the brink of consummation. Not that Master Shabaz had need of stimulation. His nature rose of its own accord each morning, as testosterone naturally brought his blood to a boil, making its way to the sexual parts which produce and discharge the life-force seed of man. He lived in accord with that rhythm which modern man abjures in his over-active mentality. A solitary individual like Master Shabaz kept himself apart from the madding crowd lest he draw unwanted attention. His needs were simple, but even such a man may require companionship at times. Only a saint bound by vows of chastity and self-denial could dwell in isolation without someone to speak to now and then, or to slake his carnal urges when they naturally arose. That very hour of need was upon him. Shabaz closed the book, and took another deep puff of smoke from the water pipe. He undid the sash around his waist and parted the luxurious robe. His dark brown member stood erect like a long, thick, wooden baton. Jet-black hair curled about the base, thick and lustrous. His heavy testicles were the size and color of plums. "Snowflake!" he called. "Come here, boy! Come get your bone!" The young man formerly known as Danny Sullivan scampered into the room on his hands and knees. He was utterly naked save for a collar stitched with strange symbols and studded with lustrous black gems. A stainless steel cage to prevent self-abuse contained his cock and balls. In his rectum was inserted a black rubber plug with a long tail like that of an Irish setter. The simple, uncomplicated expression on Snowflake's pallid face was that of unquestioning devotion. "Good boy," said Shabaz, reaching out to stroke the youth's tousled brown hair, and to scratch behind his tender ears. "Did you sleep well? Did my little pup dream of chasing butterflies? Yes, you're a good boy, aren't you. Ready for your bone? Was that what you were dreaming about? Go on, little guy. Get your bone. Make your Master feel good. Do your job." With a soft, eager yip of delight, the human canine kneeled between his owner's powerful, thick, brown thighs, and began to expertly lick the large testicles and throbbing shaft of flesh until everything shone wet and glistening with saliva. He wrapped his avid, pale-pink lips upon the bulbous, dark-brown head and took it into his mouth, moving slowly downward until the massive shaft filled his throat. Master Shabaz grunted with deep, rumbling satisfaction. Snowflake, as he now answered to, enjoyed giving his Master head more than anything else in the world. It had taken awhile getting used to that massive pole of flesh inside his ass, but over time that became pleasurable as well. Yet even a long, hard, deep fuck was nothing compared to the fullness of his Master's big African bone massaging his gums, or the sweet, nutty, creamy reward which made his taste-buds tingle. The college boy's past life was little more than a half-remembered dream. It seemed as if he had always been the Master's faithful companion, house pet, and servant, and nothing else. At least nothing important. Nothing that held any real purpose. Sometimes when Snowflake was left alone for hours, curled up before the fire or waiting patiently by the door for his Master to return from a walk, vague snatches of memory came back to him. Images of faces, people he no longer recognized. The soft, friendly laughter of women. He had no memory at all of Master Shabaz directing him to write a letter to his parents explaining he dropped out of college because he was gay and living in Los Angeles with the man of his heart. They were not to try to contact him. That went without saying because Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan wanted nothing more to do with a homosexual son. He was dead to them. "You do that so well, boy," murmured Shabaz, as his member pulsed with sensual excitement. He was accustomed to these ministrations each and every morning from his pet. The perfect way to start off every day before sitting down to write in his study. Opium served to heighten the warm, wet sensation of Snowflake's mouth, but it was the application of his agile, fluent tongue which sent shivers throughout the Master's lower body. Snowflake sucked away knowing it was never up to him when Master Shabaz would ejaculate. That decision belonged to the Master alone, who let the act go on until he was ready. Dogs do not make decisions. A good dog simply obeys, for obedience is not a response but a state of mind. It was not long or did it take forever, Snowflake could not be sure, he felt his Master's member pulse and throb until it exploded with delicious nectar, thick, gooey, and sweet, rich in Nubian DNA. The sound of his Master's groans of pleasure made Snowflake happy. Sometimes Master Shabaz wanted the act to last for an hour or even longer as he reclined in a reverie of perfect contentment. At other times, he needed to get off quickly, which was always a disappointment to little Snowflake. Nonetheless, the good dog understood, as well as a subhuman creature can possibly understand anything abstract at all, that he had a lifetime ahead of providing service. His simple animal consciousness belonged to the everlasting present. He lived in the eternity of now. Sucking the Master's beautiful, juicy bone was not Snowflake's only duty in the remote farmhouse on the hill. When necessary Snowflake was permitted to stand on his hind legs in order to prepare meals and see to other chores. He had been well trained in that regard. In the finished basement, where Snowflake slept on a soft, clean, comfortable mattress littered with pillows, were free weights and a Solo-flex machine which he was expected to use to keep in good physical condition. And he ate nutritious meals and lapped spring water from the two bowls by the fireplace. During the warm summer months, Snowflake frolicked in the grassy field, playing fetch, chasing butterflies, barking at squirrels in the trees. In the evening after the dishes were washed and put away, Snowflake loved curling up at his Master's feet while Shabaz watched the news and occasionally movies and shows on the large screen TV in the den. He was so proud to be collared by a Man of such power and wisdom and compassion. The savior who took him in from the cold and gave him shelter, purpose, and meaning out of the goodness of his heart. He could not imagine any other existence. It was a good life, the perfect existence. On this morning of their anniversary, after Snowflake gulped his Master's exquisite semen, Shabaz brought out a number of gifts from an armoire. There was a thick warm, leopard-print blanket for Snowflake's bed. Rawhide chew toys. Tasty biscuits and milk bone treats. There were two new handsome tails attached to anal plugs. It was a very special day, and Snowflake was a very fortunate little dog indeed. He barked happily. "Do you know what day it is, little one?" cooed Master Shabaz, as if talking to an infant. "It has been a year since you came to live with me. I was lonely then. But I prayed to the gods for a new companion, and you showed up unannounced at my door. Oh, if you could have seen how you looked that fateful night. You were cold and wet, lost and scared...." Wagging his tail, Snowflake licked the outstretched hand of his loving Master. He sometimes understood what his Master was actually saying, but that was only when his Master wished it so. Mostly, it was the tone of voice that Snowflake heard and responded to. "You looked so pitiful, just a mongrel with nowhere to turn, a miserable subhuman thing pretending to be a man, left to perish in the cold by very bad men. But I saw your potential. I knew what you needed. Yes, I did. I saw it in your big green puppy dog eyes. So, I cleaned you up, and fed you, and put you to bed. I gave you the new life you needed. The life for which you were meant. Oh, you looked so endearingly foolish pretending to be a man. But you were never a man. You were always a dog, weren't you. Only you did not realize it at the time. But you know it now. You know what you are. "There are so many like you out there in the world wandering about like strays, pretending to be men, living empty lives without purpose or meaning. Taking without giving. You all need forever homes, but there just aren't enough Masters to go around. And my life was empty without you here to keep me company. My friends tell me that a good dog is not enough, that a man needs a special partner, an equal to share his life, and they may be right. But having you here with me makes up for that... a little. Enough for now. Quantum satis." For a brief moment, a melancholy shadow crossed the Master's chiseled features. He was a complex man. But the instant passed. He smiled, and his dark eyes kindled as he returned his full attention to the naked, white, simple creature squatting on the floor, proudly wagging its tail. "I have another anniversary gift for you, little one," he said, affectionately. "Roll over on your back." Using the key which hung around his neck on a silver chain, Master Shabaz unlocked the steel cage which contained Snowflake's cock and balls. The limp, white pizzle and low-hanging testicles dangled free for the first time in months. Snowflake looked up with a questioning glance. It was not an expression of Why, for being subhuman, the creature was incapable of asking that. The question Why was too abstract for him to manage. It was a simple gaze that inquired, What? What do you want of me? What will you tell me to do? What, Master? "I want you to play with yourself," said Master Shabaz. "Go on, boy. Use your front paws. Grasp that little thing between your legs and get it hard. That's your toy. It was never more than that. Just a toy-thing. But because it is our anniversary, and because you have been such a good puppy, you get to play with it." Snowflake seemed not to understand at first. It had been so long since he had used that slender tube of flesh to do anything but urinate when let outdoors. The toilet was off limits even on cold, snowy days like today. Twice a day, he was let out. There were several trees on the property marked with his distinctive scent. If his penis had any other purpose than that, he seemed to have forgotten. The steel chastity cage was simply a preventative measure. "Go on, boy. Get it hard," urged Shabaz. "You can do it. Do it for me. Get that little white piece of doggy meat nice and hard. You're a good boy. Play with it. You remember how that feels? Stroke it, my sweet little bitch. What's the matter? You can't get it hard? Has it been so long you don't know what to do with it? You better get it hard, little one. That's an order. Don't disobey your Owner. You hear me, Snowflake? Get that thing hard! I know your pizzle is only good for pissing, but if you don't get it hard, I'm going to get upset. Don't make me have to punish you on your special day. Unless you want to be punished. Is that you want? Don't make me get my belt. Because I will. There you go, little one. It's getting there. I knew you could do it if you tried. You're a good little dog. You can do it." Snowflake lay upon his back, milky white legs in the air, stroking his slender, pale penis desperately, looking up at his beloved Master with tears welling in his green eyes, dimly recalling how he used to masturbate in his former life. All those hours he once spent jerking off compulsively even when he had plenty of girlfriends to choose from because no pussy, no mouth, ever felt quite as good as his own right hand. He wanted to ejaculate for his Master so badly. He did not wish to be punished. Once when he took a shit inside the house, the Master rubbed his nose in it, and took a belt to his soft ass which stung for days. "Come on, boy. Think about sucking Master's big dick, think about how good it feels in your cunt-hole, and come for Daddy. I am going to count to three. And when I'm done, you are going to shoot, understand me? I am in control. When I say three, you are going to have your little orgasm, because that is my command. Are you ready, little guy? Are you gonna spurt for Master like a good puppy? One... stroke it harder... think about my black dick inside you... Two.... Feel your little nuts about to explode or I'm gonna have them cut off and you're never gonna need them again... Get ready.... Do what you're told.... Three!!!" At that very instant Snowflake released his quivering, thin rod and thin, milky semen gushed from the tip, spattering the hardwood floor. He remained on his back, panting awhile, before scrambling to all fours, looking at the puddle he made. Knowing not what else to do, he leaned forward with his tongue out, prepared to lap it up, but the Master stopped him with a firm rebuke. "Don't eat that, boy," said Master Shabaz. "It's nasty. Go fetch a rag and clean it up. Then, I want you to get dressed. The snow has stopped. The driveway has to be shoveled, and the porch cleared off." Clearing the long, twisting drive to the main road took three hours of arduous labor. It was ludicrous and unnatural standing on his hind legs for so long, not to mention wearing clothes. Denim overalls were tucked into rubber boots, and a long-sleeved thermal undershirt with waterproof mittens encased his front paws. During summer months when Snowflake mowed the yard and tended the garden he wore the same overalls absent a shirt. Garments of any kind made the canine feel like he was pretending to be something he was not. He could not wait to return inside to once again be naked and on all fours as his Master and nature intended. With one of his new tails plugged into his hole, Snowflake was provided lunch, two large cans of beef chunks and gravy warmed up and poured into the bowl which bore his name. It tasted delicious. Snowflake slept most of the afternoon, exhausted from his chores, curled up before the fireplace, while Master Shabaz watched a football game on the large screen TV. From time to time, Snowflake stirred, lifting his head to observe the helmeted figures in colorful uniforms but if their actions ever meant anything to him, it was not evident. That evening as the full moon shone bright upon the snow-clad hill, three guests arrived. It was rare that Master Shabaz had any visitors. But this was a special occasion. First to arrive was Master Antoine, a young man barely out of his teens, carob-skinned, of medium height with a wiry physique and shaved head. He was casually dressed in a knee-length black tee-shirt, loose gray cargo pants, and black Converse hightops. Antoine held a long leash attached to the collar of a much older, naked white male on his hands and knees. The hair on the creature's head, shoulders, chest, and belly was gray. Like Snowflake, he too proudly displayed a bushy tail plugged into his rectum. At the sight of this intruder, Snowflake instinctively bared his teeth and growled, only to be admonished by Shabaz with the threat of spending the night in the basement if he did not behave. Snowflake whimpered and fell silent, but did not take his eyes off this territorial imposition. Masters Antoine and Shabaz embraced fraternally. "I forget your pet's name," said Shabaz. "I just call him Mutt," replied the Black youth. His deep voice held a rural Southern accent. "He's a good boy. His previous owner was a faggot, can you imagine? Some white queer pretending to be a Master?" "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, they say." "I suppose," Antoine shrugged. "I have found when whites role-play Master and servant, they often take turns," said Master Shabaz. "Both want to be the submissive, so one of them has to pretend to be something he is not. It can't be very fulfilling for either." "As I understand it," said Antoine, "the so-called master married another fag who did not want this poor animal around. Fags marrying fags. That's something else I will never comprehend." "More role-playing," Shabaz opined, "in imitation of the exemplary bond only Real Man with mutual love and respect can feel for one another." "Ah, yes, warrior love. Very rare, but when it happens, it's said to run deeper and stronger than the bond between a man and woman. I have never known the pleasure, have you?" Shabaz smiled, but did not reply. No more needed to be said of this matter, for Nubian silence, as it is called, is more articulate than speech. "I see you do not keep his pizzle locked up," Shabaz observed. "It isn't necessary. He was already old when I got him. I have never seen him attain an erection." "They lose vigor with age. Their sexuality becomes more and more an act of the mind." Shabaz imparted knowledge like a professor learned in the mysteries of sub-anthropology. Antoine: "It surprises me that you keep your pet's little thing in a cage. If this one is anything like your last pet, he is more dog than man. I don't know how you do it. I have always admired your way with these subhumans." "I will share my secrets when the time is right," smiled Master Shabaz. "As for the cage of chastity, that is because me pet has only been with me for a year. Most of the time he does not function like a man at all, but when there is work to be done, it is necessary that some of his human wits are restored to him. It takes time and training to produce a servant worthy of the name. Today, for example, I had him shovel the driveway. There was a chance, a slim one, but a chance nonetheless, he might have remembered how to play with his little toy of flesh." "We can't have that," Antoine laughed. "Indeed not," said Shabaz. "The white man must be completely subdued. I tell him when to shit and piss, when to eat, when to work or rest." "And when to play with its toy." "Exactly." Master Antoine unhooked the leash from Mutt's collar and told it to get acquainted with Snowflake. The two creatures sniffed one another's hindquarters before curling up on the floor side by side before the fireplace. No sooner had Master Shabaz offered Antoine a snifter of Nigerian brandy, came a knock at the door. The next guest had arrived. Master Hieronymus was a tall, strapping man in his mid-thirties with gold-nut skin, dark brown curls, and eyes the color of the earth. Shabaz greeted him with an embrace. Their foreheads touched. Then Antoine reached out to dap the fist of the newcomer. "I am glad you could make it," said Shabaz. "It usually does not snow this time of year." "The weather was no obstacle," said Hieronymus as he removed his heavy coat and hung it on a rack beside the door. "Unfortunately, Omar could not make it. Hunter business." `That's unfortunate," said Shabaz. "I was looking forward to seeing Omar again. I appreciate what the Hunters do, but there are so many of these creatures running loose and wild. What is one more?" "Hunters serve at the pleasure of the Magistery," Hieronymus shrugged. "They take their job very seriously." "As do I." Hieronymus wore a biceps-bulging, short-sleeved crimson silk shirt that draped his broad shoulders and deep chest. Blunt nipples poked the fabric. His strong, thick legs were encased by black leather pants. A brown leather band was strapped to his left wrist. At his side was a naked white human canine on his hands and knees, about the same age as Mutt, shivering from the cold. His inquisitive nose wrinkled at the potpourri of new scents which greeted him: wood, leather, musk, black rose oil, and the stench of something else, something familiar but unpleasant. His round eyes narrowed at the other two naked subhumans. "You still have Kizingu, I see," Shabaz chuckled. The name Kizingu was Swahili for "little white man," an apt appellation indeed. Not only was the old fellow unimposing of stature, its fungus-white pizzle and testicles were shriveled almost to the point of non-existence. "Yes," nodded Hieronymus. "He isn't good for much anymore except to keep me company. Sleeps most of the time. But he is loyal to a fault. Still wants that bone, know what I'm saying? I don't have the heart to replace him." "Not to mention his pension and Social Security checks come in handy." "There is that," Hieronymus concurred. "I don't need the money, but it pays for his keep and medical bills." "You're a good man, my friend." "I try to be." At no point in their conversation, did Masters Shabaz and Hieronymus took away from one another. Their dark eyes met in an embrace of perfect understanding as if thoughts passed back and forth between them above and beyond the words they chose for speech. Nor did Master Antoine feel excluded. They were brothers linked by blood, history, revelation, and purpose. The third and last guest to arrive was Master Malchizedek, followed by his canine servant Boxer. Malchizedek was eldest of the four True Men assembled, although his rightful age could not be guessed without some idea of his unique nature and practical knowledge of the arcane. Although not tall and somewhat slight of frame, Malchizedek moved with vigor and vitality. His bespoke suit of gray tweed with its suede vest and the silver wolf's-head cane he carried bestowed an air of dignified, gentlemanly elegance. "I am glad you were able to come," said Master Shabaz, taking one of the elder's small hands in both of his. "It is always an honor." "The honor is mine, young one," said Malchizedek. "Not so young anymore." Despite the cordial disagreement, there was no mistaking the reverent tone. It was like that of a devoted pupil reunited after long years with his beloved teacher. "I will be the judge of that." Malchizedek settled the matter with executive authority, and then changed the subject. "This is an important night. There are forces at work which wait upon the outcome of this night with favor. One more white beast will be brought to heel of his own free will. The Gods will be pleased." "This is my hope," said Shabaz. "But I cannot be certain what little Snowflake will choose. The decision rests with him." "Can you not?" The ageless old man smiled. His dark brown face glowed with knowing reassurance. Shabaz thought awhile. His brow darkened with concern, but then he looked upon the venerable Master's face, and smiled. "Perhaps, I can." "Is Omar not here?" "I am told he is on Hunter's business." "Very good. I had hoped to see him, but that is more important. The Magistery wants those stray creatures rounded up. Left to their own devices, they are either a menace to themselves and others, or a perfectly good commodity going to waste." "But there are so many of them. More and more of these caucasians every day catching -- what do they call it? -- this jungle fever? It's an epidemic." Said Malchizedek solemnly, "As it was prophesized in the Book of Thoth. The first sign of the coming Age was foretold: `the white-skinned dwellers of caves from the frozen north shall return upon their knees begging forgiveness like frightened, disobedient household servants long astray.'" "It is also said: those who act like dogs will become as dogs." "So true, so true," roared Malchizedek, and his mirth filled the room. "Like this one here," he looked down at Boxer. The servant pet was maybe forty-five years old, hairy chested, hairy legged, hairy backed. The creature still retained some definition in his arms and legs but his hirsute belly was swollen to a paunch. His ugly little member resembled a white mushroom cap protruding from a thatch of fur. While the canines became cautiously acquainted, rubbing snouts and sniffing hindquarters, the Masters sat down to share a long-stemmed pipe of kef. Soon the room was canopied by billows of smoke. Master Shabaz brought out a silver tray laden with meat and cheese, along with crystal goblets and three bottles of imported Senegalese wine. The four men spoke in low voices casually punctuated with laughter. As the night wore on, the Masters fell silent, seated like grave kings of old upon their thrones, and only their dark eyes kindled. It was a fraternal communion the white pets would never be able to comprehend. The breed of homo sapiens these Masters chose to domesticate were limited creatures with weakened senses and lesser mind and body skills. So much went over their heads, so much was wasted on them. The pipe was refilled many times and passed around. They watched with attention a documentary (privately distributed by the Black Magistery) on the TV screen concerning the auction of white servants and plans already underway for building compounds all across North America in secret locales. All were in agreement, the future was looking bright. When the clock chimed midnight, it was time to get down to business. Four thick, tall, black candles were ceremoniously lit. The subhuman pets were commanded to squat beside their Masters, all but Snowflake who kneeled unknowingly, dim with doggy consciousness, in the center of the room with all eyes fixed upon him. While the other pets still retained a glimmer of human thought and awareness of self, Snowflake was deeply submerged in his canine identity. He crouched, naked save for his chastity cage and collar, looking around absently, patiently, heedless of the discussion taking place. "This is the long-awaited hour," announced Master Shabaz. "This is the reason I have asked you, my brothers, to convene. As you know, the white race is by its nature and history fated to be our servants, but we do not take them into service against their will. A year ago today, I called upon the Ancient Gods to deliver a servant to my door. Thus, by chance, as we sometimes call the winds of destiny, came to me this very creature you see before you. He was nearly naked, almost frozen to death. Surely he would have died that night if not for my compassion and pity. As you know, it takes little effort to peer into such minds as these creatures possess. What I beheld was a young man without plans, without a future, a selfish, hapless mongrel who was relying upon luck and the generosity of others to get through life. I would have given him the opportunity to choose his destiny at that time, but it was clear to me that he could not choose what he did not know. That is why I buckled the Collar of Obedience around his throat." The other Masters nodded and murmured in accord. Of the four assembled, the youngest, Master Antoine, knew the least about arcane matters, but he even he had heard of the legendary Collars. This was the first time he saw one. Hieronymus had some experience with Black Magick and a little knowledge of the Dark Arts, but did not practice. Of Melchizedek nothing further needs to be said. Whatever transcendental knowledge the old one acquired on his long sojourn through time does not suffer reduction. Only Master Shabaz had some idea. "The Collar of Obedience must only be used when absolutely required," affirmed Malchizedek with authority. "I find no fault with your decision. This poor creature would have perished without your timely beneficence." "The Collar has effectively dimmed the boy's memories," said Shabaz. "From time to time, I have lessened its power to enable him to perform simple human tasks. He has dreamlike glimpses of his former self when he can almost remember who he was, when he almost knows what he is doing, but that is but an echo of the past, it fades away. He is as you see him, a loyal, friendly, well-trained canine." "He seems like a good dog," smiled Malchizedek, patting Snowflake on the head. "When I remove the Collar, all his memories will return," Shabaz continued. " He will recall his human name and the life he lived. He will remember the last twelve months, as well. Only then will he be able to compare one existence with the other, and be sufficiently informed to select the life he prefers." "It shall be so," said Master Malchizedek, "but with one condition. If this creature chooses to return to his former life as a human being, you must return him to the outer world exactly as he came to you. Naked, helpless, at the pitiless mercy of the elements." "He will freeze to death outside," exclaimed Master Hieronymus. "Is that necessary?" "Master Malchizedek is correct," said Shabaz. "If little Snowflake does not wish to continue in my service, he must return into the world exactly as he left it. There can be no other way." Shabaz looked like a tall priest draped in his long, black thawb. He was a man of great stature with slow, deliberate moves, always mindful, always present. His deep voice wielded authority, yet his expression was ever one of patience, insight, and personal depth perception. This perfect balance of yin and yang inspired friendship among his peers, and devoted, servile obedience from lesser beings. "Will he be informed of this?" asked Master Antoine, also considering the moral implications. It was a fact many of Antoine's and Hieronymus's servants called them the Benevolent Dark Lords. Black Dominion does not have to be cruel. Letting whites serve and worship should be an act of mercy. Of course, it is also said: a Black Master's wrath and mercy are one and the same. "I am afraid not," said Master Shabaz, shaking his head. "That knowledge might influence his decision. It cannot be otherwise." Snowflake kneeled before the assembled Masters, wagging his tail as if oblivious to their stern faces. The other pets crouched on their haunches, apprehensive with abject awe. Once Master Shabaz unbuckled the Collar of Obedience from Snowflake's throat, a sudden change swept over the servant pet. His relaxed, happy, eager expression tensed. In his soft, adoring, unworried eyes was now a fractured gleam of light. He shook his tousled head like one waking from a deep sleep fraught with dreams. As his green eyes glanced over his nakedness, blood rushed to his cheeks. "Do you remember your name?" asked Master Shabaz. The naked servant cleared his throat, hesitating, not accustomed to forming words for the last twelve months. There was so much to process. He winced, realizing his anus with plugged with an Irish Setter's tail. "It's Danny," he uttered, at last. "I mean, it used to be. I'm not Danny anymore." "What is your name now?" "It's Snowflake." "What do you remember?" After another rush of hesitation, Danny spoke: "I remember all of it, but I don't like who I used to be. I was a real prick, only thinking of myself. I got into trouble and you rescued me. You helped me change. You gave me a better life. Now, I feel useful. I have a purpose." "I am pleased to hear you say that," smiled Shabaz, with genuine warmth. "The time has come for you to make a choice. Do you wish to return to the world as Danny, or remain here with me as Snowflake? Think it over, and choose your words carefully." "I don't have to think it over," gushed the naked servant. "I know where I belong. At your feet! Keeping you company, working for you, pleasing you any way that I can." The way Snowflake blushed at "pleasing" spoke of sudden embarrassment as if he had revealed more than he intended. "Tell my friends what it is you like to do to please me above all other things," said Master Shabaz. "Tell them what you love doing." "I love sucking your cock, sir." Master Antoine stirred in his high-backed seat. "That's what I'm talking about!" he exclaimed. The young brother in high tops believed vigorously in whiteboys sucking Black Dick by any means necessary. Having a Collar of Obedience would come in handy. Antoine was about to ask Shabaz how he could get his hands on a Collar of Obedience or make one, when Master Melchizedek held up his hand for silence. Hieronymus steepled his long brown fingers, and nodded with silent approval for Shabaz to continue. The three white, naked, caucasian service-dogs fidgeted. Snowflake straightened his carriage, although still on his knees. The Collar of Obedience made caging his genitals unnecessary, but Shabaz thought it necessary as a reminder for those times when he had Snowflake on his hind legs allowed to think a little more like a man than a dog for awhile. Shabaz resumed the interrogation with a statement of fact. "Before you came to live with me, you were a lover of women. You never gave a man sexual pleasure before. The thought of performing fellatio never crossed your mind. Is that true?" "Yes, sir," said Snowflake. "I thought sucking cock was something only females and faggots did." "You were right. Only females and faggots suck dick. Are you a female, Snowflake?" "No, sir. Guess now I'm a faggot. All I know is that I love when you give me permission to suck your cock. I love everything about it. I really do. I still feel straight, I like chicks or would if you would let me, but I go crazy thinking about your cock, wanting it in my mouth so bad like right now. I don't know what I am." "You're my cocksucker," said Master Shabaz. "And you have always been a faggot. You just never realized it. If I had physically forced you to worship my African phallus, you would have come to enjoy it eventually, but there may have been a struggle. The Collar simply helped you become what you always were. My faggot. My cocksucker. My dog. My servant. My bitch." "Yes, sir. Now I see it, I was a faggot, all my life." "Are you sure? We can't proceed unless you convince me you are." "I've always been a faggot, sir. All my life. I never realized it until you let me suck your cock, sir. I love your cock. I love sucking your cock. I love being your dog. I want to always be your bitch. I know that I don't deserve you, I'm just a faggot, but you mean everything to me." "I'm almost convinced," said Shabaz. He turned to the other masters. "Is anyone else convinced?" Antoine and Malchizedek were satisfied, but Hieronymus wanted to hear a little more before he could make up his mind. Shabaz warmed the brother in the red silk shirt with a dazzling smile. "Do you have more to say?" Shabaz asked of Snowflake. "I don't know what else to say," said Snowflake, sounding defeated. "I just want you to be my owner. If I left here, I would just find another Master whether I loved him or not, just to be owned. You showed me the truth about myself. I love you for that. I worship everything about you. If you let me be your dog, I'll never be any trouble, I'll be a good dog, you'll see. Please let me be your dog again." "I'm convinced," said Hiernonymus. "So am I," Shabaz concurred. "Thank you, Sir," said Snowflake with such sincerity there could be no doubt of his convictions. "One other decision remains," said Shabaz. "You have chosen to continue living and working as my servant. You may do this with or without the Collar of Obedience. It is your choice. If the Collar is restored, all memory of your human existence will be erased. You will have no choice but to obey my slightest command. Should you choose to go without the Collar, you will experience the joy that comes of willing servitude. You will be the same as these other humbled pets, retaining free will and awareness of self, but dedicated to the service of your master." What Snowflake said next brought raised brows of astonishment to Masters Hieronymus and Antoine. Even serene Malchizedek and stern Shabaz with their deeper insight into the minds of lesser beings, seemed somewhat surprised by something in this final development. "I choose the Collar, sir," announced Snowflake, emphatically. "I want to be under your power. I love being your obedient servant. I want to forget all about that sorry excuse for a human being I used to be. I need to be totally controlled. Use me, Master! Use me, Master!" Firelight flickered across Shabaz's noble features. He seemed to hear strains of celestial music, a remote ethereal choir acknowledging Snowflake's last three repeated words. "Use me, Master!" There was an old Swahili mantra taught to white servants as a sort of mission statement, "Kutumia me, Bwana," which means in English "Use me, Master!" But Master Shabaz never taught Snowflake that. It was uncanny. How did Snowflake know to say those words? Then again, those three words summed up a servant's existence. They were the answer to any question a servant could come up with. Use me, Master! That was always the answer. Maybe Snowflake was bound to say those three words sooner or later. It was a possibility. But maybe there were other forces at work. Sometimes the Ancient Gods do more than watch the sacred rituals of Man, sometimes they make things happen that cannot be reduced to coincidence. "Kutumia me, Bwana!" declared Shabaz in a loud, amused voice. When he smiled, all hearts turned toward him. "The true servant has spoken the three simple words that have ever been his birthright: Use me, Master!" The three white dogs yelped with happiness at the sound of those three magical words which they knew so well. Master Shabaz buckled the Collar of Obedience around Snowflakes tender, white throat. This was followed by a round of applause, and the pets yipped with joy. Snowflake gratefully licked his Master's hand. After the clock chimed one, Shabaz showed his distinguished guests to comfortable rooms on the second floor, each loyal, well-trained pet trotting a few precise paces behind its owner. What transpired behind closed doors was a tale told by the sound of slurping, choking, grunting, and firm flesh slapping soft. As for Snowflake, this was one of those rare occasions when he was permitted to curl up at the foot of his Master's large, luxurious, four-posted bed. But not, of course, before directing his eager, hungry mouth to Master Shabaz's large, rigid, brown member, rewarded for his labor of love with African Ambrosia. To be concluded in Part 3: The Final Test Author's Note: More about Omar the Hunter can be found at: https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/the-clearing-in-the-woods/ More about the Collars of Obedience can be found at: https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/master-of-black-magick.