Date: Wed, 18 May 2016 17:30:31 +0200
From: sharp Harper <sharper@inorbit.com>
Subject: Story : Even The First - PART NINE

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Even The First - PART NINE

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Even The First - PART NINE

[quote]
Use your anger.
[unquote]

I stared at the cabinet.

Inside its drawer was Paul's book, "Foundations of Enslavement".

That book.

That book.

That book

That book had been dictating my whole life for the past seven years.

Sometimes I thought, I am so angry, I can never get over this.

Sometime I thought, I am so wounded, I can never recover.

Sometimes I even thought, The only way is to hurt him, to plot revenge.

Sometimes I thought, The only way is to hurt myself (but that's what I've
been doing all these years, just to please him!).

Sometimes I thought, All I wanted was to have an ordinary life with an
ordinary boyfriend with an ordinary job. Meet his parents. Spend xmas with
them. Go on holiday with him to cheap Mediterranean resorts. Sitges - well,
it isn't cheap, but you get the idea. That book had stolen that possibility
from me. It had stolen my future happiness. And my past happiness.

------

At last, I got up from the floor and went downstairs. I went down to the
basement, did some chin-ups and pushed some weights, just to lose some
little of the tension that was shaking me, and then I cold-showered, just
to calm myself down. Then I went back to the kitchen. I began to prepare
Paul his dinner.

I peeled some new potatoes. They looked silly in my big man's hands.

Tears of anger and desperation in my eyes, over and over again I thought,
"What can I do? Who can I turn to for help?" and I knew that there was no
one cs relying on other people is what had got me into this mess, relying
on my Army mates, relying on Paul; I'd never relied on myself. I'd never
stood up for myself. And now I thought to myself, "It's too late..."

Everyone has let me down. I let down myself. I have been abandoned. I have
abandoned myself. Idiot.

I threw one of the potatoes into the sink out of frustration. The water
splashed everywhere; I would have to clear that up.

I have no choices.

That book. That book. That book had ruined my life. Well, now I needed a
different book, a book I had written myself.

I wiped the area round the sink and put the potatoes on the stove. They
would cook later.

I tried to imagine a future, and I cast my mind back; I thought of all the
men I'd known. No one to help me. I felt all my attempts to reconstruct
myself collapse, like sticks. I was aghast at the gaping hole into which my
entire existence had just disappeared. I wanted it to stop. "I deserve
better."

I finished my chores and went back to the cold wooden cellar door at the
top of the stairs, switched the light on and descended. Paul had bought a
full length mirror, so that he can watch himself fucking me. He likes
that. He like to stand behind me in front of it and watch his hands groping
my groin and my chest. He kisses my neck and steals glances as he is doing
so to see how it looks. He likes it when I am on my back and he is fucking
me and he can look at himself fucking me, his wood going in and out of my
cunt, like he is watching himself in a porn movie. Or like when I have my
back to the mirror and he can watch himself whilst I am sucking him off and
he can see me from two sides at once. Paul fucking loves that mirror.

I looked at my face and my sad eyes: "This is real. This is actually
happening!"

My butt-plug was hurting. It needed adjusting.

I stood before the mirror and inspected myself, checking my appearance for
Paul's imminent return. My perfect face. My oval head. My gorgeous eyes, my
body which is so lovely, so muscled, so toned and lean - that's due to my
lifestyle now under Paul. He criticises everything. He points out where I'm
going wrong. He tells me, Less legs, more abs... or stuff like that. He
tells me when I need to run more or swim more to work off bulk, or do more
squats if I need that, you know, in my glutes.

Paul it was gave me my first butt-plug. I got used to having it in 24/7, if
I wasn't being used or shitting. I never thought about it unless it got to
be uncomfortable, which it sometimes did if I left it and didn't adjust
it. Sometimes I was on display or working and I couldn't adjust it; then it
could become uncomfortable.

My balls were strapped, and my cock tightly harnessed - like a horse's head
- so that it stood out vulnerably from my balls and legs, even when I
wearing clothes. So I was usually conscious of it.

I'd never worn stuff like that before Paul met me. He put it on me. He said
it made an improvement. He said I'd get used to the discomfort, and I'd
hardly be aware of it - not because it got comfortable, which it never did,
but because I'd got used to it, and I'd miss it if it wasn't there.

I usually tied my own cock and ball strap when it needed retying, but then
Paul checked me to make sure I had done it tight as necessary, you know, to
make it good. His hands on my genitals - this usually made me hard, if I
wasn't hard already. Paul liked that. He'd strap it so that it got even
harder, and that made it more painful, and that made it harder. But I
couldn't cum. And when I was nearly crippled he'd say. "Right. You like
that?"  And I'd say, "Yes Sir. Thankyou Sir."  He'd like that, and he'd
laugh, "Right. You're so transparent."

----

The army is different because of death. You might not think about it, as a
soldier, but the army is after all predicated on death: You are willing to
die. You are willing to be killed. The relationships you build are based on
this imminent fact. That and the ultimate aim, in the end, of avoiding it.

Squigger didn't die because he wanted to. He wanted to live. He told me so,
few days before it happened. He said we'd leave the army and make a
home. He said it when I brought him food. He said it when he fucked or
played with me. He had a plan. He wanted to live. But he was killed, and I
think, well, he didn't have a choice. What he wanted was to take his
payment and just get a job, 'in civvy street', with me as his ... well, his
I don't know what. But he wanted to look after me, I thought. I'm pretty
sure of that.

It's when I'm running I often think about it. It's complicated, but Paul
makes me wear these small white running shorts. Usually I wear a narrow
sleeveless top which gets wet - who needs a shirt when you're running hot
and sweat runs down? Even my shorts are wet pretty soon and the water in
them makes them like nearly see-thorough. People can see me, if they
look. And they do look. They look at me like I'm a piece of shit. That's
what reminds me of Squigger and what he said. Here's the story:

Well, for one thing, it was a dry sandy desert, so that was one thing. And
plus, in the tent, we were covered, so we were in the shade obviously, but
that retained the heat, and we couldn't have the walls off to let a breeze
in, for one thing there wasn't a breeze of much sort, but even if there was
we had to be careful or grit got blown into the food, which wasn't
nice. And then, cs it was the mess tent, well it got pretty hot anyway from
the heat of all the cooking. And the guys coming in and out all hot.

So it was like a sauna, so they said, Take your shirt and trousers off. It
might not be very hygienic, but we had to keep cool somehow or other and
the sweat was dripping off. So the guys in the kitchen habitually stripped
just to their shorts or underpants. We wore flipflops or went barefoot.

Even on the food counter, being heated, we often went with just the bare
minimum of clothing. That was accepted, even encouraged. No one wanted the
mess-sluts (that's what they called us) fainting before they'd served up
the grub! We had these little plastic pinneys to wear, just to protect the
food and stop getting scorched with splashes. But most of the guys didn't
bother. So I was told, just take everything off.

But I had these little briefs and everyone joked cs they were so
tiny. Squigger told me he liked it. And I used to wear the little plastic
pinney when I was serving on the counter; it was just this thin see-through
plastic sheet that you could see I was naked underneath. The guys joked cs
everything was see through.

And everyone joked cs it was like I was this piece of shit.

They had these stupid menu cards. Stupid cs the food was all there to see
and there was never any difference. The cards had been laminated so they
wouldn't get messed up, but they were often on the floor cs that's where
the lads threw them. They threw them about like frisbees. So this once when
it was really hot, I came out of the kitchen area and I was wearing just my
little pants, no plastic pinney, cs it was so hot, and the heat was
stifling, and I honestly didn't think anything of it. I saw Squigger
notice, though, and as soon as it was seen the guys were laughing in mock
disgust, as if it was so unusual as all that.

Then, when they all got their food and they'd woofed it all up and were
starting on these little custardy creamy tart things for afters, some of
them, I didn't realise, did something. Greggs was probably one. They were
up to something for ages but first thing I knew was when they they were
pointing to this menu card that was on the ground and said to come out from
behind the serving counter and pick it up, cs it was on the floor and
getting dirty.

Naturally, I said why didn't they pick it up and everyone laughed, and said
that they were not picking it up cs it was disgusting.

Instinctively, I looked at Squigger. Squigger was looking at the card lying
on the floor.  "Squigger?" I said, like to find out what he wanted. He
looked up at me for a steady moment and then he nodded and waved his finger
like, yeah, I should come and do like they said.

So I wasn't sure what all the fuss was, but I came out anyway, but only cs
Squigger told me, and I knelt down to pick up the card. I was near one of
their boots and I thought they would probably kick me, sort of thing they
would do. But that wasn't it. I picked up the card and then I saw it was
covered in this kind of phlegm - of course it was cum but from several
different soldiers, cs there was a whole lot of it and no one shit that
mich, to my certain knowledge. Plus, it was all different textures, runny,
thick, lines and gobs, etc.. I'm sure they just handed it round and wanked
onto it whilst everyone was distracted with getting their food and sitting
down and eating.

I was still kneeling and one of them said, "Eughh, that's disgusting, clean
it up, Cuntface." And they meant lick it up, these soldiers' cum, and eat
it.

I looked at Squigger.

"Do as you're told, Cuntface," he said.

So I did as I was told, but only cs Squigger said, and licked the cum wads
off the laminated menu card like they wanted me to and they thought that
was really, I mean really funny. And they called me cum-dump cs that's
basically what I was.

Cuntface cumdump.

And afterwards Squigger told me he was so pleased cs I'd only done what
they said once he'd told me it was ok, and I made sure he was ok before I
did anything, and he really liked that. He told me he was proud of me and
that everyone could see that I belonged to him fully. And that's when he
told me about his plans for the first time, to settle down and so forth.

And so that's what I think about when I'm running and my shorts are so wet
cs I've been running and they are filled with sweat, until they are
see-through, like my underpants were in the mess tent. So transparent.

----

[quote] Chapter Title : Return to the Wild.

When you are finished with your slave you may or may not have a problem.

If you can ditch your slave without recourse to any extreme measures, that
is obviously the best route. Otherwise the process can be messy and there
is no way round it. This chapter is advice on how to manoeuvre the
situation to your best advantage. There is no reason why you should be
inconvenienced.

Firstly, make sure that your slave relationship is truly exhausted. There
are obvious signs: Persistent disobedience that cannot be corrected;
sluggish morose behaviour; and so on. But the main sign is your own
inclination. Once you no longer wish to be burdened with your property, you
have the right do whatever you wish with it.

Return it to the wild, and be done.  [unquote]

Oh Christ. I'm so stupid.

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END OF Even The First - PART NINE
^^