Date: Thu, 9 Dec 2010 19:01:52 -0800 (PST)
From: Vincent Vincent <not_your_typical_master@yahoo.com>
Subject: Fagboy & Fagdad - Part 27

First, the disclaimers.  THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION, Copyright 2010.  The
narrative that follows did not happen to me or to anyone else I know.  The
characters in the story, like myself, are all of legal age.  Don't contact
Me to meet these slaves.  DO contact Me if you want to become one of these
slaves.  Also contact me with any praise, criticism, or suggestions.  All
feedback is good.

And, as mentioned before, details on life within the compound can be found
in My story "Satanic slave", found in Nifty/Gay/Authoritarian:
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/satanic-slave

And thanks for all your input thus far; at the conclusion of this chapter,
I've written how I'm taking votes for how this series should close up.
Read for details.

SIR Vincent


Fagboy & Fagdad - Part 27

Some subtle but profound switch had kicked in the fagboy's head that night.
Servicing unknown Men it couldn't even see.  Begging the homeless to be
nourished from Their fluids.  The fagboy began to truly come to terms with
its true place in the world: that of an object, a toy for the pleasure of
Others.  It, like the fagdad, had found an unforeseen validation and
acceptance of itself and a great peace inside what had previously been a
very restless, miserable soul.

And it knew its Master was instrumental in the process.  That without Him,
and without the Sirs who also lived in what used to be its (and its
father's) home, such euphoria and epiphany would never have been possible.
These three Men had performed something no less than a miracle.  If it felt
reborn -- truly born again -- as a fagslave, then They were its Gods.

Breakfast the following week was when it had found the opportunity to
display the depth of its newfound devotion.

The two fagslaves had spent the previous day being tortured online for the
amusement of still more unknowable Men, all for their Master's profit.  As
with every online usage, they ended the shift exhausted and agonized from
the electrical abuse their flesh had suffered.  They were denied rest and
sent immediately into the kitchen to begin dinner preparations.  During
dinner, they stood keeping their Owners' plates and glasses full and at the
ready.  After dinner, Master left for the evening and they knelt at the
ready of either of the Sirs as They watched TV.  They were used to retrieve
beer and snacks, as always-ready urinals, and as footstools for the two
young Men.  As was now always the case, they were now rarely spoken of,
never spoken to.  "I want a footrest."  "I want to take a piss."  "I want a
back massage."  The Men just had to express a desire; the fagslaves,
unnoticed and unmentioned, quietly fulfilled Them.

The lack of direct reference had made both slaves non-entities, mere
ghosts.  Even when alone, they now rarely even spoke to each other; it was
very uncomfortable to get that kind of recognition and attention.  That
night, as was now the custom, the two faggots slept in each other's arms,
comforting each other and acknowledging the brotherhood, more spiritual
than genetic, that made them feel related to each other.

The following morning during breakfast, they were stationed adoring the
buttholes of their Master and Sirs as Alexi described His night out.  He
had gained access to this mysterious compound they all had heard so much
about.  Nobody spoke to the fagslaves; their conversation was limited to
the assholes they licked and sucked.

"It was fucking amazing, guys.  I mean, I think we've done an excellent job
at cultivating our two fagslaves, but this institution puts us to shame.
There were dozens of faggots available 24/7 for any purpose you might want.
Have your body worshiped.  Take out your aggressions.  Indulge any fetish.
Anything at all."

"What could you do there that you couldn't do here?"

Master laughed.  "How many fag-tongues can lick your body at once -- do you
know?  I now know how many can lick mine.  I was fucking floating on a sea
of insatiably cock-starved queers.  All desperate for my hard-on, all
needing and praying for my cum."  The fagboy felt Master's hole open and
press harder against its tongue and it softly moaned as it got even deeper
inside Him.  "Besides, there's also the fun of sharing the experience with
other sadistic bastards just like me.  All there with the same idea.  To
use and exploit the faggots for what they needed.  The camaraderie of the
experience was fantastic.  There's actually a bar where you can sit and
have a view of faggots' faces as they're being raped in other rooms
... Jesus.  Fucking amazing."

"Will you be going back?"

"No doubt.  But that brings me to what's really been gnawing at my brain
since I got back.  I really think it's a place where our own faggots
belong.  A place where these cuntholes can truly worship cock and be
brought to their own fulfillment as holes."  Upon hearing this, the fagboy
felt an overwhelming sense of panic, but it knew better than to do anything
else but continue the worship of its Master's ass.  "As good as these
suckslaves are, these others were under something like a mass hypnosis,
drooling at the sight of dick, unable to look or think of anything else.
Their water fountains, for crissakes, are simply huge cocks that they
suckle for a sip of water.

"I mean, it's not like I don't like the faggots' service here.  I just
wonder if they wouldn't be better off someplace like that.  I spoke with
the guy in charge over there."  The fagboy's eyes were starting to tear up
in apprehension.  "If I hand over our two fagholes, the three of us will
get lifetime memberships to the worldwide chain."  The two Sirs whistled
their response.

The fagslave had to take drastic action.  It pulled its tongue from its
Master's delicious asshole and cleared its throat.  "Please, Master, Sirs,
please allow this lowly hole permission to speak.  Please, Master?"

It had been days since anyone had ever acknowledged it or heard from it.
The silence of the room was terrifying.  Master looked back and down and it
blushed from His stare.

"What could a fagboy want to say that any of us would care to hear?"

"Master, Sirs, please, Your fagslave begs Your permission to stay here in
service to You, Sir."

There was rustling beneath Sir Duncan's seat, where the fagdad had been
worshiping His hole.  The fagdad crawled out and knelt beside the fagboy,
nodding its head in agreement.

This gave the fagboy the courage to proceed.  "Master, Lord, You said it
best Yourself just now.  The faggots You spoke of, they worshiped Your
cock, but they also worship any other cock.  And although Your penis, all
of Your penises, are magnificent and worthy of constant worship by faggots
like us, we, the fagdad and itself, we worship You.  The Men You are.  The
Men who gave us this incredible gift of life spent in awe and worship of
You.

"Lord, Master, Sirs, we know you don't love us.  We know you can't love us.
We're nothing but mere things for Your use.  But we don't want Your love,
Sirs.  We're not worthy of Your love.  All we want, all we need, is the joy
of Your acceptance, the validation of Your use.  We understand the inequity
of life here: we need You; if we're doing our jobs well, you will merely
want us.  That, Sirs, is how it should be.  How we want it.  How we need
it."  The fagdad put its arm around it and looked up to Master, nodding its
head.

"Master, Sirs, we will do anything You ask, perform as the most depraved
whores, dutifully perform the most demeaning functions, be the lowliest of
servants.  We will do it not because we have to, not as means to some end,
Sirs.  We do it because it is what we have been trained to do.  We love
this life, Master, Sirs, and we love You for making it possible.  Please,
Sirs, taking us away from our home, not the house, but the home we have in
You, will be like killing us.

"We know You have no sexual desire for us.  We know You all could someday
abandon us to make lives for yourselves with women You love.  But maybe
those women would want to have our services, either as slave-servants for
all the stupid chores she'd never have to bother with, or even sexually.
After all, Sirs, the fagdad is straight.  And as for the fagboy, although
it could never be man enough to fuck a man or a woman ever again, it would
gladly pleasure a woman just to stay here with You.  It's all about Your
pleasure, Master and Sirs.  And perhaps, Master, Sirs, you'd take on a
female slave so you'd have her available to indulge your sexual desires."

The surprise on Master's face was in turn a surprise to the fagboy; it
hadn't realized that He had never considered that possibility.

"Sirs, Master, all it's asking here is that as long as we can serve a
purpose in Your lives, please allow us the joy of doing so.  Should You no
longer desire us, then we have failed to keep You entertained and deserve
to go to a place like You've described.  Master, Sirs, if it pleases You,
keep the threat hovering over our heads to further deepen our submission to
You.  But, please, Master, Sirs, Lords please...."  it blushed as tears
rolled down its face "... please give us the chance to stay."

Master stared down at the two fagslaves as they tried to read the myriad of
expressions across His face.  He seemed proud, puzzled, angered, all at
once.  He suddenly pulled his arm back and bitchslapped the two of them
hard across their faces.  The Sirs instinctively pushed back against the
table, never seeing such a response from Master.

"Stop wagging that stupid faggot tongue in the air and put it back to work
at my goddamn shit-hole.  Both of you -- worship your fucking superiors."
The fagslaves scurried to resume sucking ass, seeing neither Sir Duncan's
disgusted sneer nor Master's "we gotta talk where we won't be heard" motion
toward Their bedrooms.

Master and the Sirs left soon after that and the faggots did the post-meal
cleanup and ate their breakfast.  The fagboy noticed there was surprisingly
little piss in the cereal.  They then went into the bathroom to clean each
other out.  They returned from the bathroom to find the three Men of the
house standing impatiently awaiting them.  Sir Duncan spoke.

"What a fucking insolent fagboy we have, trying to tell us what to do with
our possessions.  I am so pissed off at your behavior, I'm ready to not
even be generous enough to throw you two into the compound, but instead
give our fagslaves to the Delta house to be with their bitch.  But I was
outvoted and it was decided we should give you two pifitul asswipes a
chance to prove yourselves.

"The fagboy should know by now that words are fucking cheap.  What we care
about are actions.  We heard all these `words' about how much we are loved
and worshiped and needed.  Fucking prove it.  I'm sure the fagboy remembers
the night we first locked it up in chastity.  The night the four of us
first met.  We played a game, gave it a test, to see how much of a
connoisseur it was of our tastes.  We've revised the game, fagsewer, and
upped the ante.  On the floor to the right are 4 glasses.  Go to them.
Both of you pathtetic wanna-be excuses for fagslaves."

The fagboy and the fagdad uncomfortably crawled to the glasses.  They were
translucent plastic and in different colors: red, yellow, blue and green.
The glasses were filled with what smelled like piss and what looked like a
load of cum swirling within the pissload.  "The three of us each took a
glass, emptied our bladder and then jerked off in it.  As to the fourth,"
Sir Duncan chuckled, "it contains the piss of one of us and the cum of a
different one of us.  Four faggot cocktails."

Master chimed in.  "So here's the test to prove the truth of those words.
Both fagslaves are to taste the contents of each glass, and decide whose
cum and piss is in each glass.  That means identifying the glass that is
the `mix' as well and deciding whose cum and whose piss made up that
cocktail.

"A perfect score means the words we heard were true and we'll be satisfied.
A score of less than two correct means the words were empty and we'll be
shipping both faggots off to the compound before sunset today.  And,"
Master's face erupted in sadistic glee, "a score of two or three correct
means those words were only half true, so we'll only ship one faggot, half
of the two.  We'll have a contest to determine which one.  Whoever leaves
will be replaced with some other asswipe faggot who'd happily slice off its
useless fagdick to be where one of you two were until this morning's
disgusting mouth-off."  The fagboy cringed at that.

"Understand this: although I make no guarantees about the compound, from
what I saw, there's no camaraderie amongst the faggots; it's likely the two
fagslaves would rarely, if ever, see each other again within those walls.
If we only ship one fagslave, then it's damn near certain you'll never see
each other again.  So make fucking sure and be confident of your decisions.
Now get to work.  This is your fucking, how was it put to us, `chance to
stay.' Make the most of it."

The two fagslaves turned away from the Men to begin assessing the contents
of the glasses.  The fagboy whispered to the fagdad, "It's so fucking
sorry."  The fagdad started back at it with resentment and resignation,
shaking its head sadly.

"Let's get to work and try to accomplish the impossible," he replied.

Master scolded them immediately.  "No discussion except regarding the
contents of the glasses.  Or else Duncan gets his way and its off to the
Delta house forever."

====================================

So, here's where it gets interesting.  (Well, I hope it's BEEN interesting.
Let's say, "Here's where it gets interactive.")

I'm taking votes on the outcome of their test.  Just send in a number, 1 -
4, as follows:

They fail and are both shipped off to the compound.  They get a middle
score and the fagboy gets shipped off.  They get a middle score and the
fagdad gets shipped off.  They pass the test with a perfect score.

Sorry, but no option to send them to the Delta house.  That belongs to
another writer.  I "borrowed" the house with his permission.

(And for those of you who aren't already aware and haven't read the
prefaces, life in the compound for one such slave has been documented in
"Satanic Slave":
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/satanic-slave )

Send in your vote to Not_your_Typical_Master@yahoo.com (note the underscore
between the words) BEFORE 11:59 CST on December 22nd, 2010.  Only one vote
(the last one, in case you change your mind) per email address.  Make My
life easier by making your subject line "My Vote: " followed by the number.
I'll still open the email to read any message you might have inside.

I will tally the votes and write this series' conclusion based on the most
popular option.  If anybody gets shipped off, I -may- write about their
life within the compound, but if I do, it'll be a separate series and won't
be anytime soon.

SIR Vincent