Date: Mon, 6 May 2002 16:04:11 +0100 (BST)
From: hugh masters <questorius@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: The Humiliator. Chapter 39 "Aftermath"

Chapter 39

AFTERMATH

My switch to being a master after so many years as a slave had a notable
effect on my day to day life (as well as my sex life!)  I became much more
confidant and ambitious.  I really enjoyed being in charge of situations
and set up in business on my own - very successfully I may say - so the
Brigadier really did me a favour by introducing me to the pleasures of
dominance before chucking me out.

I never had a long term slave.  Most were one night stands, a few lasted a
month or so and one, young Michael, I kept for over three months before I
got bored with him and turfed him out.  This suited me fine.  I enjoyed the
hunt and the process of training them to meet my needs.

I still thought of Hugh occasionally - even tossed off at the memory of his
magnificent brutality - and wondered how I would react if I met him again.
If he wanted me back would I go?  For a one-off certainly (you dont break
the habits of six years of such savage training easily) but I could no
longer be his total, long term slave.  I had grown beyond that and enjoyed
being a master too much.

I had to go to Amsterdam for a couple of days on business and naturally
checked out the scene.  A good looking 25 year old named Klaas made a
blatant play for me in a bar so I took him back to my hotel, gave him a
sound thrashing with his own belt and fucked him on the bathroom floor.  He
inspected himself in the mirror afterwards and said a cane would have left
better, more long-lasting marks so that he would have had something to
remember me by for a week!

I was not one to turn down such a blatant invitation so I told him to dress
and we'd go and find a sex shop where I'd make him choose a cane. No
problem finding a well stocked place full of kinky gear and sex toys in
Amsterdam of course.  He selected a cane and I ostentatiously tried it out,
swishing it through the air. "Not whippy enough" I decreed. Klaas selected
another and with delightful deference offered it for my inspection.  "Too
lightweight" I said and turning to the man behind the counter, a swarthy
Indian-looking character, I explained I needed something to mark this young
man with that would last till I got back next week.  "I like to leave my
mark on my property" I leered.  He went to the rack and offered me another,
smarmily giving me his assurance that he was sure he had something to suit
my taste.

Whilst I hefted it and tried a few practice swipes with it, a motorcycle
courier arrived with a parcel for the proprietor who opened the cardboard
casing with care and took out a large-format book which he handled with
seeming reverence.  He laid it on the counter and immediately got on the
phone.  "Highness" he said in english "I am having it for you at last
.... yes Sir, just arrived this instant minute from my dealer in
Hamburg.... Yes, Highness, perfect is the condition, still in its original
slip case....such a rarity, I'm being afraid it is a great deal I had to be
paying for it....no, of course not, Highness, just my usual 15%....er, 1800
Highness....no, not dollars, euros.

1800E for a porn book?  I was intrigued and, taking the cane to the desk to
pay for it, I looked down at the book.  For a moment I felt my head spin
and felt I had stumbled into some mad, surreal world for there on the front
cover was a photo of MY naked body from neck to belly button!  Indisputably
mine, for quite clear, across the chest were tattooed the words
                    I am H's
                   FUCK SLAVE
                for his use ONLY

and under the picture, the book's title, just one word in brutally heavy
black type: SLAVE.  Not, I noted "SLAVES".  Could it be that this entire
book was devoted to pictures of me? I asked the man to let me see it.  He
refused, quite heatedly, explaining that it was a special order - a limited
edition - very rare - only 100 printed.  Then, lowering his voice
conspiritorially, he whispered that it was for Prince Amliok, to replace
the one he had which was destroyed when his yacht was burned.  I learned
later that Prince Amliok was rumoured to be a cousin, though some said a
son, of the Sultan of Brunei, but whether this was true or not I have no
idea.

When further entreaties to be allowed to see the book proved fruitless I
did the only thing left to me - I unbuttoned my shirt to the waist and,
ripping it open, revealed to the startled shopkeeper my claim for special
consideration in the matter.  His eyes flicked from my tattooed chest to
the picture on the cover and back again.

Without a word he took a pair of white cotton gloves from under the
counter, passed them to me and turned the big book round to face me.  By
this time Klaas had joined me and looked on, goggle eyed as I turned the
pages.

The book was undoubtedly a very beautifully designed production on which no
expense had been spared in the quality of the materials and the artistry of
its presentation.  The contrast between the fastidious layout and the
crudity of the subject matter made the pictures all the more obscene.

As I feared, all were of myself and almost all I had never seen.  Some
pictures were blown up to full page, a few even as double page spreads.
Others were quite small, presented in the centre of a solid black page in
hideous isolation.  Some pages showed a collage of a sequence shots so that
you could follow a process whilst others reproduced a seeming scatter of
uncropped Polaroids "thrown" across the page with artful carelesness.  A
blood red page carried at its centre just a 2 inch square colour pic of the
needle piercing my nipple in wince-making close up, while the following
page showed a full page, life size shot of my chest with the heavy ring
inserted.

As I carefully turned the pages Klaas kept exclaiming at the horrors
revealed.  "You've never treated me like that" he commented, wistfully, at
a picture of my sweaty body strung up by the wrists from meat hooks and
bent back into an arc of pain by the cord tied around my balls and yanked
up to another ceiling hook.  Oh God, yes, I remembered that all too well,
AND what he did after...  I had to have this book.  I asked the man how
much he wanted but he shook his head saying it was already sold.  "You said
E1800 on the phone, I'll give you E3000" I said, thinking that was getting
on for £2000!  But he refused!  "Then get me another" I said.  "Two
years it is I have been for this one hunting" he said.  "It could be many
years before another one the market sees."

"Let me speak to your prince" I ordered, indicating the phone, "perhaps we
can come to an arrangement". He dialled and handed me the phone.  A
cultured voice in perfect, unaccented English identified himself as Prince
Amliok.  I explained who I was, where I was and what I wanted.

"My dear chap" said the Prince "I should be most fascinated to meet the man
in the photos!  Why don't you bring the book out here and we can go through
it together and you can tell me all about the pictures.  It is THE most
erotic thing I have ever seen and I just had to replace it when my previous
copy was destroyed.  Will you do that?  Will you bring it out here to me?
The man in the shop will give you my address."

I said there was a problem - I had my local boy with me.  "Bring him too"
he urged, and so it was that, hailing a taxi with a wave of the cane, we
found ourselves heading out into the leafy and exclusive suburbs of
Amsterdam, with Klaas' face clamped firmly into my crotch the while - let
the taxi driver think what he liked.

Prince Amliok's residence proved to be a sprawling Jugendstijl villa set in
parkland.  An impressive arab manservant named Khalid answered the door and
escorted us into the Presence where the prince greeted us informally and
offered us tea!  He led us to a table on which to lay the book.  He and I
sat but before Klaas could do likewise I snapped my fingers and pointed to
the floor between my feet where he knelt and nuzzled his face into my
crotch.

"I see you have him well trained" smiled the prince, opening the huge book
with something like reverence.  He lingered over the first full-length
pictures of me, stripped naked for inspection in the scullery of Manor Farm
on my first arrival, front and back, hooded and in the display position.
He stroked his rather pudgy, jewelled fingers down the picture commenting
that I had a very attractive body.  "That was ten years ago" I told him
"and I was only 26.  I have matured rather since then ... got rather more
solid!"

He moved on to other pictures I had never seen, of me lying in the bath,
wrists tied to the taps, my body wet, my face wrapped in that apalling jock
strap.  What was going on here? he wanted to know.  Why was I all wet?  And
what was that cloth thing over my face that looked like a jockstrap?  I
told him it was just that and he seemed both horrified and fascinated. "A
jockstrap over the FACE! he exclaimed, incredlously.

I explained that moreover it had been worn by three previous slaves who had
each oozed and dribbled and leaked and ejaculated into it - that it was
crusted with use and stank. His eyes glittered with excitement even as his
face gave a look of disgust.  Klaas too, only hearing this, started gnawing
at me with obvious arousal as if trying to eat his way through the fabric
of my trousers and I had to restrain him.

"But I would never have known this without meeting you!" exclaimed the
prince.  "I had often wondered exactly what was going on here"

And so it went on as the pages were slowly turned.  There were pictures of
the Corporal lashing me down to the bare bed-frame. "Ah, bondage.  I like
bondage" murmered my host and added "So this little man was your master?"
I explained that he most definitely was not, that the Brigadier was a fine,
big, powerful man and this was merely his batman, his personal servant.  I
could not imagine Brigadier Hugh allowing himself to appear in such a
sordid publiction, no matter how lavishly produced!

We came to huge close-ups of my savagely beaten thighs.  The prince was
greatly interested and peered intently at the viscious weals and welts.
"He often beat you as badly as this?" he asked and I explained that such
severe punishment was unusual and I had to go on to explain about the
"Court Martial" and the reason for it.  The prince made no attempt to hide
the evidence of his sexual arousal at this and I grabbed Klaas by the hair
and transferred his face to between the meaty royal thighs.  The prince
smiled his appreciation of my polite gesture.  "You are a gentleman!" he
murmered, turning the page.

When he came to the sequence of photographs detailing my tattooing at the
hands of the "pictorial man", the prince showed keen, almost obsessive,
interest.  Did it hurt?  Had I known what was going to be written?  Was I
embarrassed to be so indelibly labelled?  Did I go swimming in public?  Did
people ever comment?  How did my slaves feel about submitting to a man
marked as having been one of them?  Finally, with some diffidence, even
embarrassment, he asked could he see it for himself?

Unfazed, I calmly unbuttoned my shirt to the waist and bared my chest for
him. He reached out and gently touched my skin with its shameful message,
stroking his fingertips across the words as many other men had done, as if
unable to believe their eyes..  In almost a whisper he said "I never
dreamed that one day I would actually see - actually touch..." He seemed
not only sexually excited but quite moved and in awe!

We came eventually to page after page of me in the Breakers yard - me
stripped in the sunshine and being mauled by the bastard as he haggled over
my rental price - me in the inspection pit being whipped by the frightful
old gypsy as he "raced" me down through the oil and filth - me with his
cock in my mouth - me tied to the workbench - me being brutally flogged by
the bastard and worst of all, a series of three pictures showin in graphic
detail how he fucked my armpit.

The series made me relive the horror of that day and I felt again the
revulsion and nausea of it together with my anger at my master for hiring
me out to such a pig of a man.  The effect on Amliok was quite different
however.  Clearly the filth, brutality and perversion of that day had got
him really hot, for he had got his cock out for Klaas to work on and had
unbuttoned his shirt and was stroking his plump, copper-skinned chest and
pinching his nipple.

When we got to the four pages(!) of pictures showing me flogging the
strung-up, bag-headed body of Roger Murphy he got even more heated.  "I
want to thrash your boy" he panted, "may I thrash your boy?" and he
snatched up the cane with a shaking hand.

"And then fuck him too?" I enquired.

"Yes, yes!"

"Fine. You can keep him too if you like"

"Keep him?  May I?  May I really?"

"Certainly - in exchange for the book!"

He stopped dead for a moment.  Eager slave-boys like Klaas are ten a penny
after all, whereas the book was a rarity - and worth a lot of money, (not
that the money would mean anything to a cousin of the Sultan of Brunei!)

"Take it!" he said.  "Leave the boy AND the cane and take the book."  He
rang for the giant Khalid to show me out and already, as we crossed the
spacious hall I could hear behind me the unmistakable sound of a cane
striking flesh.  Very hard.

I smiled and tucked the book tightly under my arm.  We each had what we
most wanted - I the pictorial record of my six years of slavery to a most
remarkable master, Amliok had the new boy slave he wanted and Klaas had got
the caning he yearned for - though perhaps rather more than he bargained
for!  I wondered if he would be passed on to the awesome Khalid when his
master had tired of him, rather as I had been handed down to the
Corporal. Very probably, I decided, though being Khalid's fuck-boy was
likely to be considerably more onerous and demanding than serving the
Corporal had been, I suspected.  But that was not my problem.  I had what I
wanted.

                        END