Date: Sat, 29 Apr 2006 21:03:55 -0700
From: bamaboi2serve@charter.net
Subject: P-Boy Prelude & Chapter One

     The slim young man was on his knees, naked, hands cuffed behind his
back. His ankles were connected to each other with heavy black chain. A
third span ran from the ankles to a ring in the plain brown dog collar
circling his neck. His body was shaved; his nipples, cock and ears were
decorated with heavy gage silver rings. His smooth skin was pale, almost
ghostly white, with no lines to indicate exposure to the sun. His coloring
made his several stark black tattoos stand out even more. He was sweating.

His mouth was wide open, his tongue stuck out a far as it would go. His
eyes were focused downward at the hefty uncircumcised cock resting on his
tongue.

The more muscular, bigger man to whom the cock belonged was wearing only a
leather vest and heavy black engineers boots.  After he had been standing
there for fifteen minutes, making sure the slut slave below him would not
change position. Satisfied he was being obeyed, he began his lecture.

"I told you didn't I?"

"Sir?

"What is it you want me to do right now?"

"To let me have your piss, Sir."

"And you're begging me, aren't you?"

"Oh, yes sir! Please fill my mouth with you piss...please Sir!

"Again: told you, didn't I?"

The younger man paused, but only for a few seconds.

"Yes, sir, you told me. The first time you ordered me to drink your piss, I
resisted. I couldn't see myself doing it, sir. But you told me the time
would come when I would be begging for even a little drop. You said I would
offer to do anything."

"And is that what you're doing now, my little p-boy slave cunt?"

"Yes, Sir."

"So before you get my pee, there are a couple of little things I need you
to do."

"Yes, Sir, whatever you say, sir. Anything you say."


Chapter One


     "You know what happens if you're right, and you know what happens if
your wrong."

     There really wasn't any reason to remind me...I had been right AND
wrong many times since I came to this place, since I came to serve him. But
I wasn't about to say that, or anything, to HIM.

     Although the tightly laced leather mask on my head prevented me from
seeing, I knew the routine well enough that I could tell by sound what was
happening as he selected a vial and dripped some of it's contents on his
right index finger. Then he reached across to my chest and gently massaged
my right tit. Even though I was tied tightly to the wall of my cell, arms
and legs stretched to their limits, I tried to thrust my chest out to meet
his finger. My nipples have always been sensitive, but since He became my
Master, they had become a virtual extension of my cock. I moaned slightly,
automatically sticking out my tongue, curving it into a kind of scoop the
way he liked.

     He unsnapped the blindfold portion of the hood, and I could again see
the candlelit room that was my prison. He liked to watch my eyes during the
tests.

     Gently, he rubbed his wet finger on my tongue.

     I had been through his quiz so many times the I had developed several
methods...sometimes I would take a few minutes, analyzing; other times I
decided within a few seconds. But I always waited for The Question.

     "Well pissboy, who marked you today?" he growled.

     "The Dog Master, Sir", I replied immediately.

     He paused only a heartbeat: "Wrong pissboy, wrong AGAIN!"

     It was the first time I had been wrong in two weeks, and I knew I
would pay, so it did not surprise me when he abruptly turned around and
walked over to the bigger of the two large cabinets built into the walls on
either side of the metal door. My ass twitched in anticipation, waiting to
see how my failure would be treated.

@@@

     The marking test was simple. Each day at Noon, he would blindfold me
and mark my nipples with one of several samples of piss. He kept the
bottles in my room on display. There was a dim red spotlight above the
shelf, casting a slight glow on them. The bottles were held upright by a
black wooden holder, reminded me of the test tubes we used in High School
Chemistry, an event that seemed so distant from my current existence, and
yet had taken place only three years ago.

    There were only three bottles in the holder today, although there were
enough holes for a half-dozen containers. One held his own piss. Another,
piss from his German shepherd, collected by sponge from the metal tray he
had somehow trained the animal to go on. The third test-tube held my own
piss, collected daily. It had been much easier training me to piss when and
where he wanted. He had simply inserted a catheter and not allowed me to
piss without his say-so. Within two months, catheter removed, I would piss
on command, and only on command.

     Sometimes he would add a third or fourth bottle, or more, and raise
the stakes. He might obtain a specimen from another slave, or another
Master, and after giving me ample time to sample their piss "from the tap",
so to speak. After several months, I had actually gotten pretty good at
identifying the three main specimens. I was right about half the time now.

     When I was right, he would untie me and allow me to take a nap lying
on the cement floor of my cell. When I was wrong, he employed a variety of
punishments. Sometimes he would lash me, concentrating on my nipples and
cock. Or He might make me drink the entire contents of all three or four
bottles in very quick succession. Then he's piss on me and leaves me
hanging for the rest of the afternoon. I tried not to let him know I
preferred the latter punishment, although my arms would hurt terribly by
dinnertime, but I think he had guessed it anyway. Most of the time he used
the lash, leaving my chest and cock, or my ass, red and swollen. Or he
might insert one of the increasingly large butt plugs and require me to
keep it in the next night at work.

    Work? Oh yes, He wasn't going to have a slave like me literally hanging
around all of the time. I was required to work, and since he worked a night
shift, so did I. He arranged for the jobs...I use the plural because they
changed frequently as I'll explain later. Let me start at the beginning and
explain how I went from 9 to 5 office worker to pissboy slave.

@@@

Chapter Two

     My name is Evan Moreno, and even before I was aware that I was gay, I
knew I was slave material. I know how odd that sounds. It takes most gay
men years to develop the self-confidence needed to be involved in either
end of an S&M relationship. But by the time I was twelve, I was
intentionally misbehaving to prompt my Father to hand spank me. When that
stopped working as a deterrent, he started using a belt instead of his
hand. Preferring the feel of his bare hand on my ass, and the red image of
his fingers, I started behaving just enough to have him leave the belt in
the closet. I was manipulating him to punish me the way I wanted to be
punished, a process I've tried on my Master, without success. He's able to
see through my act, and seems to know intuitively which punishment turns me
on, and which is truly punitive. My father never saw through my
manipulations, never guessing that his teenaged son could possible want to
be punished.

    After puberty, it got harder to get the spanking I worked so hard to
earn, so I started turning to people other than my Father for that
satisfaction. At fourteen, that's not as easy as you might think. Telling
someone I was gay was hard enough, without getting into the curious
specialty that is S&M. For a year or so I was able to convince my older
brother to spank me. But being straight and not sadistically inclined, it
didn't work for long. When I was fifteen, he moved away to college and I
was left without a punisher.

     Finally, in my last year of High School, I had the luck to attract the
attention of the stereotypical class bully, Billy Morgan. He was certainly
a closet case, and would never in a million years admit it, but I could
tell from the bulge in his jeans that he enjoyed picking on me.

     "Hey Moreno! Get your ass over here." It was Billy, alone in his
Mustang calling to me from across the street.

      I crossed over to him, trying not to get hard thinking about the
extraordinarily remote possibility that Billy could become my
disciplinarian.

     Billy was my age, but much larger than I at six foot two. He weighed a
good twenty pounds more than me too, and I don't have to tell you that he
was mouth-watering good looking. He's inherited his jet-black hair and dark
complexion from his Father, a local construction worker known to be an
abusive drunk. Several times I had seen Billy at school with the evidence
on his face. Once I had spotted several angry red welts climbing up from
the back of his Speedos. I didn't go out much for sports, but wanting the
opportunities I knew existed only in the boy's locker room, I tried out for
and won a place on the swim team. Billy, of course, was the Captain.

     "What the fuck is you doing? He asked as I approached.

     "Just headed home, Billy," I stammered.

     "Well get the fuck in the car, I need you to do something for me", he
ordered.

     I got in and he took off toward downtown.

     "You really suck at swimming, you know that?" he asked.

     I didn't reply immediately, and he reached over and slapped me, not
hard, but enough to certainly gets my attention.

     "I asked you a question!"

     "I know I do Billy, but..." There didn't seem to be anything else to
say. He'd put me in my place and I had accepted it. I kept my hands on my
lap, not wanting him to see my growing crotch.

     "And don't think I haven't seen you looking at me in the locker room,
faggot!"

     This was truly a revelation. While I had spent a lot of time looking
at my teammates as they got in and out of their suits, I'd pretty much
ignored Billy, focusing on the two or three boys I thought might, just
might be inclined to lean gay. But I immediately accepted Billy's
accusation as true, not wanting to derail wherever this adventure was
headed.

I looked away and willed myself to blush.

     By the time we were in what was know as the "tenderloin" district of
downtown, a place with seedy bars and strip joints. Billy parked the car up
behind an adult shop I had been past many times, but never had the guts to
enter.

     "Here's the deal, fag. Tiff wants to try something new in bed, and
you're going to help me". "Tiff" was Billy's girlfriend, a stereotypical
cheerleader blond with early breast development.

     I was momentarily stunned, thinking that I was going to somehow end up
in bed with Billy and Tiff. Billy quickly dashed that fantasy.

     "First of all, if you ever tell anyone about this, you're
dead. D-e-a-d dead. I'll tell everybody on the team that you came on to me,
that I fucked you and you want all of them to fuck you. Understand?" Oh, I
understood alright, and the description of what would happen if I told was
almost exciting enough for me to open the car window and start shouting
right then and there, but I stayed quiet, anxious to see where all of this
was headed. As he issued his warning, Billy had grabbed my arm, and the
combination of my first skin-to-skin contact with him and the force with
which he held me pushed me over the edge. I was now fully erect and having
a difficult time hiding it.

     Billy, while gorgeous, was not the most mentally gifted student in
school. He couldn't see that being manhandled by him and fucked by the team
were not exactly be the worst things in the world as far as I was
concerned. Nonetheless I went along, swearing to him that I would never say
a word.

     "I can't be seen going into this crappy adult store, so you're going
to do it for me". He handed me a list, a hundred dollar bill, and
dispatched me into windowless adult bookstore. As I got out of the car I
adjusted my hard-on to make it a little less obvious.

     Inside, the skinny old guy at the counter gave me no more than a
glance and went back to reading some skin magazine. I glanced at Billy's
list: a black leather jock strap, a "triple ring cock cage", a vibrating
dildo, and leather arm and leg restraints.

     I had spent enough time looking at porn and reading online S&M stories
that I knew what to look for, except for the "triple ring" thing. For that
I needed "customer assistance".

    "Triple ring what?" smirked the clerk.

    "A triple ring cock cage", I offered.

     He thought about that for a moment, then reached into a drawer behind
the counter and produced a three ring chrome devise that looked more like a
fancy napkin ring than a sex toy. He totaled up my purchases, I paid, and
returned to Billy.

     "You get everything?"

     "Yes, Sir", I answered, watching for any sign of recognition from
Billy as to his new status as my "sir". There was none.

     "Good...get in."

     We drove away from downtown, but not towards our neighborhood. I
wondered where we were headed, but kept silent. Eventually he pulled into
the deserted parking lot of a state park and ordered me out of the
car. Through his open window, he told me to strip. As simple as that, I had
found myself in some kind of a scene with Billy. Somehow he sensed my need
to be controlled, and somewhere inside his own psych, he needed to do the
controlling. It was still early Fall, and not so cold that I would freeze,
but as I undressed, passing each item to him through the window, I felt the
chill. My nipples stood at attention, and when I finally got to my
underwear, it was obvious to Billy and anyone else who would happen by that
my rod was also at full mast.

     "Glad to see you like taking my orders, faggot."

     I did, but blushed anyway.

     "Go over to that tree near the fountain and wrap your arms around it."

     The tree was about fifty yards away, in clear view of the road that
led to various arts of the park. I would be visible to anyone else who
decided to pay a visit.

     I got to the tree and grabbed it, the rough bark adding to the
excitement of the moment. I stood there for several minutes, unsure what
Billy had in mind, but I expected him to tie my arms around the old
oak. But when I heard his footsteps crunching the fallen leaves, he came up
behind me and simply stood there quietly. My mind raced, envisioning him
with a whip, or a knife, or even a gun. But the next thing that happened
turned out to be much more exciting and much less injurious to my skin. I
felt liquid falling on my ass and legs, then somewhat higher on my
back. Billy was marking me, and sending me on a lifelong love of piss play.

When he was done, he zipped up his pants and handed me my jeans and shirt,
telling me to get dressed. I did, never turning around, feeling his piss
soak into my clothes and knowing I would never wash them again.

     Back in the car, he had thrown a plastic raincoat on the passenger
seat, not wanting to soil the fabric seats. Billy then became more sexually
conventional, and even a little polite, actually asking me if I would blow
him. My head was at his crotch in seconds, sniffing the remnants of his
piss, working his member out through the reopened zipper, and sucking like
I had been doing it all of my life, although it was my first. His
circumcised cock was smaller than I had imagined, but certainly adequate
with a nice head. I was also very, very hard. I worked it like a demon,
feeling my own precum leaking, feeling his piss on my jeans and shirt.

    Billy came quickly, returning to his Master role briefly as he held my
head down on his cock and ordered me not to swallow. Lifting my head off,
he told me to open my mouth and show him his seed. I opened wide, proud to
be obeying him. He reached into my mouth with a single finger, wet it with
his cum, and then marked my face, paying special attention to the area just
under my nose. I briefly considered never showering again, realizing
immediately that plan probably wouldn't work.

    We drove back home without a word. After I got out of the car, Billy
reminded me of my vow of silence, and drove off.

@@@

 The next week at school Billy ignored me. I tried to get his
attention...to get him to acknowledge me with a look or a smile...hell,
even a frown. No luck. It was as if I didn't exist. I figured he was
embarrassed over what had happened and didn't want to face up to it.

   Walking home, I was deep in thought...mostly about Billy and sex...and
didn't realize a car was near till it pulled up next to me and I head
Billy's voice ordering me to get in. The back door was open...and three of
Billy jock friends were inside. Billy repeated his command and I got in,
climbing over David Lee to a position between him and Jake Henry.

   "What's up Billy?" I offered, keeping it light.

  "Shut up." was the only reply. David and Jake were drinking beers,
smoking cigarettes, and pretty much ignoring me.

  "So what should we do with him Billy?" asked David after a few minutes.

  Billy didn't reply, so David tried again.

  "Billy...what should we do..."

  "You shut up too David."

  Clearly something was going on in this car that I was unaware of, perhaps
something had happened before I got in. One way or the other, I was truly
the odd man out. Todd, Billy's third hanger-on turned from the front seat
and offered me a can of cola.

  "Here Eeevan," he said, stretching out he "e" to make my name sound
almost obscene, "have a drink."

  I took the can and noticed right away it was warm. Not just warm as in
not cold, but warm as if it had been sitting in the bright sun for a few
hours. Suspicious, I put it up to my face and sniffed. Piss. It was filled
with piss.

  "Hey, I don't know what you're trying to do here, but..."

  Billy pulled the car over to a quick tire-skidding stop. We were out in
the boonies, not far from the park where he had tied me to the tree.

  "I told the guys how you came on to me and begged me to let you suck me
off how you even paid me fifty bucks to piss in your mouth. Now here's some
free piss for you...we won't even charge this time. Drink up."

  The other three were watching me like a trio of hooded-cobras stalking a
mongoose...you could actually hear the breathing in the car. I looked at
Billy and he held my gaze, daring me to call him a liar. I was angry that
he had put me in t his position, that he was betraying the scene we had
played out with his full cooperation just days before. He couldn't admit
his involvement...wouldn't let the other know I hadn't been the only one
enjoying the scene in the park. I knew there was money riding on the
piss-filled can. Not moving my eyes at all, I lifted the can to my lips and
started drinking. Other than a whispered "shit!" from one of the thugs with
Billy, the car interior was silent. I could hear my gurgling and gulping
sounds as I drank the entire can without pausing. When I was finished, I
held out the can for Billy. When he didn't take it, I dropped it to the
floor, reached across and opened the door and climbed out. On the sidewalk
I just stood and stared at Billy through the front window, telling him
without words what I though of his little stunt. On impulse, I pissed in my
jeans, a dark stain slowly spreading from my crotch to the bottom of the
legs.

    The car started up and sped off, burning rubber, hoots and hollers
coming from within as Billy and his friends celebrated their triumph over
nerdy me. I walked home, tying to avoid places where my pissed pants would
be seen. By the time I reached home, they had mostly dried. I took them
off, laid down in bed and jerked off, still tasting the boys' piss in my
mouth.

   I never saw Billy again. The next day my Father was transferred from
Chicago to the Deep South, and I found myself finishing up High School
among strangers.


Chapter Three


     I had never lived in the South before, so the move to Birmingham was a
jarring experience in more than one way. There was the new school and the
new students, the new environment...a very hot environment...and the new
life in a middle-sized city trying to be metropolitan. The school was on
the side of what the locals called "Red Mountain", though it was more of a
hill than anything else. The building was old, the student body mostly
white, and it seemed during my first few weeks that everyone in sight was
not only just straight but also missionary position straight.

   Then David was transferred and my life changed for the better.

   Davis was a Senior, like me, and he too found himself in Birmingham
because his father had been transferred. But that's about where the
similarities ended. David was black...I'm white. He was a good foot taller
than I, had a grade average about a foot higher than mine too, and while I
lumbered around trying to get through the day, he walked into the classroom
that first day as if he owned the place. He all but immediately locked eyes
with me, not even looking away when he answered the teacher's questions
about whom he was and why he was in her room. I blushed, could feel sweat
dripping down from my pits, and started getting an erection. I dropped a
book onto my lap to hide the bulge and figured the locked-eyes event had to
be obvious to everyone else...but if it was, nobody said anything and
eventually David looked away and sat across the room.

    After class I practically ran into the hall and to the boys room at the
end. I grabbed a stall and sat down, trying not to get dizzy. His eyes,
which I had had ample time to study, were a deep dark color that I haven't
seen since. Call them cobalt, I guess, or maybe titanium. David was about
the most gorgeous man I had ever seen. His skin was translucent...the color
of a antique light mahogany desk with lots of what they call patina, but
not so much as a single flaw. He wore his hair short.

   As I sat in the stall, trying to collect myself, there came a light
tapping on the door. I froze, trying to imagine who could have read my mind
and followed me in. I hadn't heard the door open, but I was still
recovering from the classroom and must have missed it.

The tapping was repeated, this time with an almost whispered comment:
"Don't you want some company?"

     I had only heard a dozen words out of David's mouth back in the
classroom, but knew instantly it was him. "Last chance," came another
whisper, slightly louder.

    I reached up and opened the latch. He squeezed through the doorway,
closed it behind him, opened his pants and pulled out an incredibly
gorgeous circumcised cock. It was soft, but beginning to show a thickening,
and I watched it like the mongoose and the cobra. I glanced up at him, and
he gave me the slightest of smiles and a tiny nod of the head. "Go on, suck
it," his look ordered wordlessly. I didn't need a second invitation.

    I gobbled the cock up like candy, sucking and running my tongue around
his big head, urged on when I heard him moan slightly. He leaned back
against the door and I leaned forward putting my hands around his legs to
cup his ass cheeks. But he was having none of that. He grabbed my hands and
pushed them back, placing them forcibly on the back of my neck. "Leave `em
there," he whispered, and it wasn't a request. I scooted down as much as I
could in the cramped space and continued to suck him, my elbows sticking
out out like wings. After only a moment or two I could feel him tense
up...he put his hands over mine and forced his now seven or eight inch hard
as steel monster deep into my throat. When he came he held my head still as
his spasms rocked the back of my throat, his jism pouring directly down
into me.

     After he was done, he pulled out and forced my head down so I was
looking at his shoes. He kept his hands over mine and said nothing...I
didn't know what to think, or what to do. So I did nothing, tasting the
remnants of him in my mouth. Then came the splash...a few well directed
sprays of piss on the back of my head, traveling around and down under my
shirt. "That makes yo mine," he said, laying on a black accent I hadn't
noticed before. He slapped my twice with his now softening but still large
cock,

 removed his hands, stuffed his big sausage back into his jeans, and zipped
up.

    I, of course, was still hard, so hard it almost hurt. It had all
happened so quickly I hadn't even opened my zipper, and I resisted taking
my hands down from my neck. David reached into his pocked and pulled out a
stiff leather cock ring. He forced my head up form the floor, pried open my
mouth and put it in around my teeth, giving me the look of a choirboy
singing in church...or a high school senior ready to suck cock.

   "Put this on your cock when I leave...and leave it on," he told me
softly. "I'll let you know when you can remove it. And wait till I'm out of
the bathroom before you jerk off. My name is David. You're pup...with a
small "p", and with my pee too. He chuckled at his own joke, and then he
left.

During the two years after I graduated from High School, but before I found
Master, I spent many a night creating orders from a make-believe one. I
would smoke some pot, get naked, and use my own toys on myself, imagining
orders from my fantasy owner. I discovered that my threshold expanded as I
played with the limits of pleasure and pain. Pulling on a pair of tit
clamps at my (nonexistent) Master's demand, there was a place at which it
actually started hurting more than feeling good. Each time I would push
that limit...pulling a little harder to cross the pleasure/pain boundary.

     I would drink dozens of glasses of water during the hours before I
wanted to play, eventually pissing into a large cup that held a
jockstrap. The jockstrap would go on wet, and I would pour some of the
remaining piss over my body, marking myself for the Master.

    Filling my ass with an enema hose in the bathtub, I pushed myself to
take more and more, eventually using a butt plug as an added incentive to
keep the water in for longer and longer periods of time. I made up new
rules for myself constantly, considering them orders from "him". I could
smoke a cigarette during my playtime, but only if I pulled hard on the tit
clamps while I was inhaling. I would allow myself to take a hit of poppers,
but only if I placed several clothespins on the head of my cock for fifteen
minutes before or after the hit.

    When the tit clamps had been on for more than an hour, I would allow
myself to take them off... IF I gulped from the remaining piss in the cup.

   That went on for a couple of years, with occasional tricks that I
thought and hoped would take control. None measured up to my fantasy
Master.

   Then came the year I turned 21 and could get into leather bars...


(MEETING THE MASTER)

(RESUME SCENE)


At Work


	As I mentioned, I wasn't allowed to spend all of the time just
shackled in my cell. Master arranged for me to work at least part-time. He
kept the money, of course, but even more important to him was using the
jobs as ways of humiliating me.

	For example one job he got for me was at an all-night diner. The
day I went for the interview, he had me dressed in a conservative pair of
slacks and a button-down blue shirt. I removed the earrings, and the rest
of my metal was covered up. The hair on my head had grown in a bit, so I
came off a little military in appearance.

	I got the job...or course. This truly wasn't rocket science, after
all, and I looked like a clean-cut trustworthy employee.

           Over the course of the next two months, Master would change my
appearance just a little bit each day I worked. First it was subtle...like
not allowing me to shave for a few days, then no shower for three or four
days. He would come by often for dinner and would get off watching the
other people at the diner trying to figure out where the stink was coming
from. One night he had me piss in my underwear and let it dry before
work. There were butt plugs to wear, larger and larger as the weeks went
by. My clothing ever so slowly became more and more sluttish...the jeans a
little tighter, the colors a little more flamboyant. Eventually the manager
got tired of it and fired me. It was just one in a series of jobs I lost as
Master played his games with my appearance.

	One device he used in several of those short lived jobs was a
special harness he constructed that included built in tit clamps, a butt
plug, and a plastic bag filled with his piss. What made it special was the
little box at the waist...a pager adapted so it would activate the plug or
tighten the tit clamps or cause the bag to leak when Master called and
inserted a code.

	He would come buy, never acknowledging that he knew me, and make
comments about me to other customers. "What a fag", was typical. One time
he was at a booth about 3:00am, with only a few customers in the place. He
called me over and then held his hand up, indicating I should wait a
moment. Just having him near me was giving me a hard on...he pressed speed
dial button on his phone and the bag of his pee squirted down my leg. I was
wearing black jeans, so it wasn't too noticeable to anyone else. Then he
started asking me about the pies...were they good? What kind did I like etc
etc, as he was interrogating me, he had made a show of taking his
half-filled water glass below the table...he'd apparently already zipped
his pants open...and as I recommended the blueberry pie, he lifted up the
now yellowed glass and held it out to me.

	"Here."

	I knew he meant more than "here's my glass"...he meant to "stay
here"...and to drink it. By that time in our relationship I was so into his
piss that I only regretted it had been half filled with water at the
beginning. I gulped it down nonstop, only then catching the night manager
out of the corner of my eye. He'd watched the entire thing play itself
out. I always thought George was gay...nothing particular about him said
homo, but I had caught him watching me enough times to have my
suspicions. He gestured to me, indicating I should come behind the
counter. Once there, George pointed down to the lowest shelf and told me to
find some double "A" batteries for his flashlight. I had no clue what he
was talking about, but the fact that I had not gotten fired was good
enough...I would dive down there and find whatever he wanted. After a
minute of not locating batteries of any kind. I turned to look up and tell
him that fact...and found myself facing George's rather substantial
cock. "Open wide," he told me...and it was a "told", not an ask. I did, and
George proceeded to fill my mouth. "Good boy," he said, petting the top of
my head like a dog when he finished peeing. What I found amazing is the
fact that a customer actually came to the counter, and George took his
order as he was filling my order for piss.

     I managed t keep that job for a while, thanks to George's appreciation
for my piss drinking capabilities. But eventually he took another job and I
was left without a protector. I was quickly fired and spent more time in
bondage at home, waiting for my Master to find me more work.

(MASTER USES ME>>LENDS ME OUT)

   Another of Master's favorite activities to keep me humiliated was
shaving. Shaving me, that is. Once I started livng under his roof, he
insisted that I keep my body shaved from the neck down. Since I couldn't
see well enough do get my ass shaved completely, he kept a supply of Nair
handy. The first time I used it I put it on my balls as well, since that
was the least favorite part of the shaving routine. Guess I should have
read the directions more carefully...I have never felt so much pain. I
thought I would die. Master came running when he heard my groans and
crying, but laughed after he found the reason. "Wash it off" was his only
advice...he knew the pain would fade and go away eventually, so he could be
cavalear about it. From then on I was very careful about where I applied
the paste, avoiding not only my balls, but the area around my hole as well.

     Now and then he would order me to let a certain part of my body hair
grow...like one pit or one arm. It was just another small humiliation for
when he sent me to work wearing a tank top. Once he ordered me not to shave
my body at all for several months. I wondered what it was about till one
night when I found out.

   I was tied Spread Eagle on a table, naked of course, and Master had
arranged clippers and shaving supplies on the table, including hot water in
a bowl. I was blindfolded, gagged with one of his favorite inflatable
rubber cock gags, and some of the electronica music he favored during a
scene started playing. For a long time nothing happened except the door
opened a few times.

   Then suddenly his voice, loud above the music:

  "Slut here wants to be a slave, but as you can see he doesn't look like
one. He's let his hair grow, an indication of manhood...and as we all know
he is not really a man.

   We? Was there someone else in the room?

   "All he is good for is serving real men. He's no better than a young
bitch who should be on his knees most of the day serving us. I've asked you
to join me here tonight to help me bring him back to his preferred state,
back to the shaved bitch-slave he is supposed to be. John, would you start
with the trimmers?"

   John? I knew only two of them...a former boss from an old job in another
state and John...my youngest brother! Master had never met him, and as far
as I knew he didn't know Master even existed. I had fallen out of touch
with him and the rest of my family when I entered his service.

   "Are they already plugged in?," asked a clearly adolescent voice. My
brother John would be sixteen now.

   "Sure...go right ahead."

   The trimmers started and I could feel the vibration as my bush was
quickly removed. Master voice in my ear, whispering: "You abandoned him
when you came here...you left him behind to deal with your Father's temper
and your Mother's coldness. He had just turned twelve when you came here to
serve me, and you didn't even have the courtesy to wrote him a goodby
note. He's not a happy boy, pig slave. I would stay very very still."

  John grabbed hold of my cock, which by now was rigid, and moved it this
way and that as he spread shaving cream around. Then came the cold feel of
the straight razor, slowly removing the stubble left behind after the
clipping.

   Then came the pits, the arms and legs, the temporary untying to turn me
over and to the rest. Twice John held the razor's edge near the base of my
cock and made little "Hmm?" sounds as if to say "want me to?" I didn't say
a word.

   When it appeared he was done, my gag was removed and he came to my side
to whisper, just loud enough for me to hear above the music:

   "You are a shit, you know that? Leaving me without a word. I know you
liked Dad's physical punishment, but I didn't. And he took it out on me
when you left."

   I was silent, as expected. Without permission from Master, I would have
to listen without responding, though to be honest I don't know what I could
say anyway. John was right. I had been a shit.

   "Here's a snack for you, part of my way of making sure you remember
me..."

His fingers pushed into my mouth and then moved back, leaving
behind...something. I couldn't quite place it...string? Thread?

   "I've asked you Master to make this a regular thing for you, so that
you'll have lots of reminders of what you did to me."

   Hair.

  "That's right, I'm feeding you your bush...and I don't want to find a
single hair stuck in your mouth. You swallow all of it...you don't deserve
to wear it, and it's not fair for your Master to have to take care of
it. Enjoy!"

   I didn't realize it till that night how difficult it is to eat hair. Of
course the entire idea of John shaving me and then forcing me to eat it was
a terribly humiliating, but also, naturally, a turn on. I used my tongue at
first, but then Master put the gag back in, making it even more
difficult. He turned off the music.  "I'm going to show John some of your
favorite video moments...we'll back in a while, and as your little brother
told you, don't let us find even one hair in your mouth. Maybe I`ll show
him your favorite toy too."

   That was a reference to Master's huge cock...and I cringed at thinking
of my little brother being forced to take it down his throat or up his ass.