Date: Sun, 03 Aug 2003 22:20:41 -0400
From: Savagetrainer@aol.com
Subject: 'Odessa Ranch 15'{Ian Jacobs}( MM, sm, ws, scat, bd )[15 of ?]

The second honeyroom was built hundreds of yards from the original.  The
first one was placed for the convenience of the hands and Buck.  The new
one was centrally located to fields worked by the field slaves and
monitored by the trustees.  The latest addition to the ranch's collection
of buildings was built not entirely with slave labor.  Sam got a contractor
to design it and provide some 'overseers' who would make sure that the
slaves who did labor on it, did so correctly, safely.  The contractor and
the 'overseers' were paid as all professionals who help Sam out around the
ranch.


New Protocol

	Little has been said specifically about how the trustees live.
They share three shanties-shacks with better walls, roof, and actual floor,
all wood, but it beats the dirt floor their charges must sleep on.  They
generally slept in the shanty nearest their slaves' shack, however, there
were no specific rules regarding this.  Typically they shared guard duty by
each shanty splitting night duties between two trustees each.  Except every
other year or so, the guard duty is more formality than need.  But after an
incident like the one between Dax and Ty, the guard duty takes on a little
more urgency than formality for a while.

Buck gathered the trustees together while their charges were getting their
lunch.  They had all seen the new building go up in a couple of days; they
each had to donate at least one slave to the task, but none of them knew
what it was or what it was for.

	Buck had them kneel as he presented them with the new conditions.
He said: "The new building is a new honeyroom, but instead of being for
hands, it is for you."  He paused to let this sink in.  "You will use it
the same way the hands use theirs.  The only differences are in the number
of slaves and the speed of their turn around.  Instead of the 6 that
service the hands, there will be 3-since there are fewer trustees than
hands, it didn't make sense to have the same number of slaves.  The
honeyboys in your honeyroom will be the new type of slave the man himself
wants to include here, the ones whose intention it is to be sold at
auction.  Their time in the honeyroom will be about half that of the slaves
intending to stay for the duration-about 10 days.  After they finish their
time, they will be circulated among you as normal slaves.  Their attitudes
might be different than your normal slave, but it is your responsibility to
remind them, with the whip or boot or whatever, that they are no different
and definitely no better than their permanent brethren."  He paused again.
Then, "One last thing, you now have something to reward your slaves with if
you think they deserve it; you can allow them supervised visits to the
honeyroom.  Dismissed!"

	Chip had been a trustee for about a year and a slave on the ranch
for 3.  He came from near by.  He had the look of a long time slave, mostly
muscle, dried and weathered skin and hair, attractive but worn.  He pretty
much summed up the majority opinion when he said: "I doubt I will try very
hard to be a trustee if I get to shower and use some honeyboys like they
used me way back when."

A New Perspective

	I know some things that I may not know when I finally get out of
here.  I know my name is Peter.  I know I chose to be here.  I know I was
hard all the time I thought of this place after chatting with Buck online.
I know that I have been here for two days.  I know that I might not make
it.

	I am naked except for the collar around my neck (chained to the
wall behind me) and the leather cuffs that have my hands bound behind me.
I am in a tile trough between two other slaves.  I do not know their names
and only barely know what they look like.  The one on my left is a bit
shorter than me (I am 5' 11"), short brown hair, cute in profile.  The one
to my right is a little shorter still, but it is hard to tell when we are
kneeling in a trough.  He has black hair and is kind of intense looking as
far as I can tell.

	The trough catches our waste.  The one drain is almost directly
below my asshole so their piss, along with the piss from the men who use us
that drips or sprays out of our mouths runs over me in some way.  They hose
us down once a day to take care of the shit in the trough-again, either
ours or theirs.  My only jobs are toilet, toilet paper, cock sucker,
whipping boy.

	I studied the Holocaust in college during my time as a history
major.  As sick as it might sound, it turned me on almost as much as it
disgusted me.  Like many slave types, Nazi storm troopers made me rock hard
as much from fear as from attraction.  After asking Buck some pointed
questions-which I have to say he answered truthfully so far-I got the
impression that the ranch was a little like the labor camps in Nazi
Germany.  So far it is.  The biggest differences are of course that I chose
to be here and none of the victims did, and once I leave this toilet, I can
leave the ranch if I choose.

	I may choose.

	I do not know the names of the men who use us.  They come in to do
their morning stuff.  They shower and shave, then they piss and shit in or
on us (if they choose, some seem to prefer the toilets we are chained next
to), whip us, scream at us, disappear.

	We are expected to kneel as much as attention as we can bound as we
are when the masters arrive.  This morning I snapped to when the door
opened and they came in.  One comes directly to me and screams: "Open
faggot!"  I said the "Sir yes sir" they seem to expect-this jock strap
wearing master didn't want it this morning.

	"I don't expect my toilet to speak to me!"  This was followed by
two quick swipes across my chest with his crop.  The pain was unexpected
and very hot, not hot like a good fuck, but hot like a match.  I opened my
mouth and he started pissing into it.  I couldn't do it yesterday or last
night and wasn't much better at it this morning.  He kept his cock away
from my mouth and just sprayed his stream into my open mouth.  I couldn't
swallow fast enough so much of the steamy and sour-salty piss after the
first couple of seconds ran down my chest.  He aimed the rest of his
bladder at my head and the rest of my face.  He unhooked my collar from the
wall and forced my head down.  He kept his boot on the side of my face, the
other side pushed into the pissy tile.  I knew what was coming but he said
nothing, just laid on the crop.  I stopped counting in my head after 8.  I
jerked a lot after each one, but they were all delivered fast like he was
swinging it in both directions over my back.  I squealed as I jerked which
moved my head and forced his boot slime to spread over my face.  He finally
stopped and pulled me up by my collar and reattached me.  I was bleary eyed
when he bellowed:

	"Hey Alex, Jake, get over here."  The sound in the all tile room is
astounding.  Two other masters in jocks come over.  "This piece of shit
hasn't learned to swallow yet.  You remember how to do that don't you?"
There is general laughter from the masters nearby.

	"Tom, I'm sick of that shit."

	"Not my fault you was in this things position a few weeks ago.  Haw
Haw.  Anyway, it needs a lesson, why don't you and Jake help it learn?"

	"Whatever."  Then to me.  "Position yourself so your throat makes a
straight line from your lips down to your gut."  I followed his order.
"Now make the guzzling motions with your throat, like you are thirsty as
hell and drinking lots of cold water."  I did as he commanded.  Then he
started pissing down my throat.  It was very difficult, but I was able to
get most of it down.  Some still spilled out and I was very nervous that he
would whip me too, but he just stepped aside and the other did the same
thing.  "Practice makes it a better urinal."  I was able to get his load of
piss, which was not that big-not nearly as big as the other two-all the way
in without spilling any.  He walked off with the others to shower.  I was
actually proud which made me alternately very ashamed and very proud.

	I didn't have time to consider it too much before I moved from
urinal to toilet paper.  A tightly crack presented itself.  I had to crane
my neck against the collar to reach the hole he gave me.  Thankfully it was
a hairless ass so not much shit was on it.  I licked quickly and tried not
to taste it.  He didn't bother to check anything, he just let me lick for a
few seconds and walked off.

	Another freshly showered master came over.  "He have much shit on
his hole slave?"

	"Sir no sir!"

	He presented his cut and semi hard cock.  I opened up and he fucked
my face like he was fucking a pussy, hard and without thought to anything.
I figured if I let my teeth graze any part of his fat pole, I would get
another beating and the last one was still stinging and beginning to itch.
He began to go faster, so I knew he was going to cum.  He grabbed my hair
with one hand and forced me back and jerked a huge load of cum onto my
face.  It was very hot and very thick.  It stuck like glue in all the steam
created by the showers and the heat of so many men.

	They all filed out after that.

	Now I wait for the hosedown and the food bowl.  There is no way to
tell time in here even if I believed that they delivered the food at the
same time every day.  During this time I have time to consider what
happened.

	In less than 5 minutes and with a back full of lashes, I was able
to learn to swallow piss coming straight from the cock.  My cock is hard as
hell thinking about the humiliation of it, my face is red and burning from
the humiliation and embarrassment.  This is a storm I don't understand.  I
want to be able to jerk off, I think this will help marry the conflict.
But my hands are behind me.  I want to talk with my trough mates about it
to see what they have done.  When forced to learn at the end of a lash,
only what is in front of me and the sight of the lash are in my vision, I
completely forgot that there were fellow slaves in here going through
similar stuff.  But I fear getting us all in trouble by saying anything at
all.  When Buck put us in he said he would whip us unconscious if anyone
caught us talking.  At the point I sort of took it seriously, after the
first use, I believed him totally.

	The master with the food arrives.  He puts the food by the door and
goes to the hose that is attached to the shower wall.  He turns it on and
without a word starts hosing us down with chilly water.  I open my mouth to
get some of the water in me, but it is spraying too hard for me to get any
really.  Then he moves to the trough and washes the waste down the drain
beneath me.

	Then he places the food bowls in front of us and unchains us-none
of us make any moves, we stay at kneeling attention-and says, "You know the
drill, you have 2 minutes."

	We throw ourselves down and wolf as fast as we can.  There is lots
of stuff in the bowl.  I eat as fast as I can because I don't realize until
I get the first mouthful just how hungry I am.  Just as with the piss and
shit, I don't bother thinking about the taste as it goes in me.  I am not
quite finished when he pulls the bowl back.  He orders us up and chains us
back to the wall.  He squirts a bit from the hose into our mouths to give
us some water to get the stuff down.  Then he leaves.

	The food has no real taste.  It is like plain oatmeal-I know it is
mostly oatmeal anyway.  But it has a sort of crushed vitamin taste to it
too.  Nothing that I have in my mouth has that much taste, it is all either
plane, salty, a little sweet, or really bitter.  Piss is salty mainly and a
bit bitter.  Cum is familiar and runs all tastes from none to salty,
bitter, sweet.  Shit, when it has a taste at all, is bitter and sour.  I
had no idea before being chained here, but it does not taste like it
smells-at least none of the stuff I've had does.

	I hear the slaves on either side position themselves and start
grunting.  One thing about the food, or the fear, or whatever, it makes the
shit coming out of us smell awful.  It isn't long after they start that my
guts start stirring.  It has to be by design that they hose us off and hose
down the trough before they feed us.  They want us in our shit and our
smell.

	Day night cock hose food cock piss crop ass piss hole licking shit
stink hose day hole lash boot day cock hose whip.  Cock running piss like a
fountain all the time, no longer with control over how it pisses or how the
ass pushes out the shit, mouth open all the time and dry except when filled
with piss cock cum SUCK SLAVE WEAR MY STRIPES SLAVE EAT THIS SLAVE SLAVE
SLAVESLAVESLAVE.  Meaning word with no out and else ouch sleep want ouch
want want want SLAVE SLAVE.

	"Slaves, time to get up."

	The master unbinds hands and neck.  I and my brothers struggle with
all we have to get on our feet, it seems to take forever, but it feels
fantastic.

New Perspective (The Annex, Colorado)

	I'm bound like this for a long time, not sure how long.  My legs
and hips are tied to one post, my torso is stretched parallel to the floor
and my wrists are tied to a rope whose other end is around another post.
Hanging on the post opposite is the flogger I have a relationship with-it
has hurt me more than any woman ever did.  I try not to look at it, to
focus on the floor, but my eyes keep moving to it like it was a car crash
you drive past and cannot make yourself not look at.  I know what's coming,
but I don't know when.  Scott tied me like this, then left.  Breathing is
taking effort now, sweat drips off all of me.  My legs are asleep, my feet
are so numb they are starting to hurt.  My back is cramping as is my back.
This general pain will be overrun soon.

	Noah calls this name training.  I've been out of the dungeon
working for three days now, but he is still not convinced I know my new
name.  I know my name.  I know both names and no amount of whipping will
erase Craig.  I can adjust to Rex like I adjusted to being called 'soldier'
which is another 'name' I hated.  I didn't mind being one, just didn't like
being called one-it was rarely used in a good way, mostly it was used as an
insult.

	Noah comes in.  I jerk as much as the ropes will allow.  I hate
myself for jerking-I can't help it because I know the pain that will come,
but I hate myself for the weakness.  He is in his normal uniform of Navy
shorts and combat boots and nothing else.  If I had a chest like his I
would walk around like that too.  I admire his body even if I hate the
person inside it.

	First day out of the cage, I worked with Crete.  Scott stayed along
side me as I carried the material from his truck to the site where we will
be building Scott's house.  I had only a collar and cuff on ankles and
wrists.  The only thing I did all day was to carry the wood from the truck
to the site.  Back and forth with Scott keeping pace whipping me with his
riding crop if I didn't do it fast enough.  It sucked, but it was at least
movement and I could sort of try to consider how I could make an escape,
especially on the trots back to the truck empty handed.

	Day two started the same way, but half way through the day Noah
called me Rex and I didn't respond, then he called me Craig and I looked
over to him.  Then I had my first session in here.  Today is the second.

	"Yesterday was just a warm up."  He says calmly as he takes the
flogger from the post.  My back is still stinging from yesterday.  I will
not make it long if he is going to make today worse.  I try to find the
place in my head that I made when I went through boot camp.  "Ready Craig?"
I lift my head slightly.  FUCK.

	"Christ."  He laughs.  I want to cry.  He pulls a sock from the
back of his shorts and forces it into my mouth.  "Had a bit to drink last
night and don't want your screams making my headache any worse."  The sock
smells like a zoo.  "Hope you like the taste Rex, it's been on Master
Scott's foot for three days."

	Yesterday he said Craig over and over again and whipped me as he
said it.  It may have gone on for half an hour or half a day.  Today starts
very differently.

	He spits into his hand and grabs my cock.  It immediately busts
rod.  I have been bound when not at work and have not been able to touch it
even to piss.  My eyes roll back in my head and the nasty taste of the sock
disappears.  He whispers "Rex" into my ear while stroking my cock.  My
whole body tingles and the asleep parts begin to wake-causing its own pain.
Then things take a very different tack.  He pulls his hand away, I moan
through the sock, it is the worst torture so far.  Then he says "Craig" and
lands lash after lash on my already fried back and ass.  Tears and snot
pour no matter how hard I try to stop them.  He stops the assault.  Spits
again in his hand and says "Rex" again softly in my ear as he rubs his hand
up and down my rod very slowly.  I want to buck, to thrust into his hand,
to cum like I never have before, but no movement is possible except for my
head which I do move like I was fucking a tight puss.

	Then "Craig" again and more pain.  Then he stops.  He goes out of
easy eyesight for a moment and comes back with a tube of some kind of
ointment.  He says "Rex" again.  He squirts some of the ointment onto his
palm and he rubs a little on my shoulders.  At first it stings, then it is
without pain.

	"Craig."  The whip starts again.  I can no longer feel the
individual lashes, they just increase the general pain running from the
middle of my ass to the part just below where the ointment was spread.  He
must know this because the flogger changes directions and he whips upward
and catches my pecs.  The pain is horrific.  I squeal through the sock
where before I just grunted.  He recognizes it and lashes me like that
again.  "Rex."  Again he palms my rod.  He says Rex over and over as he
does, and I am almost ready to shoot, he stops.  I scream "I HATE YOU" into
the sock over and over again, to me it sounds only like grunts, like I was
still being whipped.

	"You hate me?"  I can't believe he knows what I said.  I do
nothing.  He grabs my balls this time, my very blue balls that would burst
if a small breeze blew across them.  My stomach tries to leap out my back.
"I will ask again, I think you know how important it is to be honest if you
want to keep these intact.  You hate me?"  I don't want to pause, so I nod
my head.  I shut my eyes as tightly as I can anticipating him to either
whip my balls or squeeze them off.  Nothing happens, he just lets my balls
go and steps aside.

	"Good."  He laughs.  "It isn't a feeling you will have much longer,
but revel in it now slave."

	He pulls out the ointment tube again.  "Craig."  Then he squirts
some of the ointment.  Hehe he fucked up.  I'm still tied here but I can
enjoy his fuck up.  He rubs some on my balls and my asshole.  Immediately
it becomes evident that he didn't fuck up.  I've heard of icy hot on the
balls, but the pain is impossible.  Sweat pours from everywhere.  It starts
to hit the floor like rain.  I scream into the sock with everything I have.
He keeps saying Craig louder and louder he must know I couldn't hear it if
it was anything but a full on scream.

	"Rex."  He rubs some more ointment on my sac and my asshole.  The
pain subsides after a few seconds.  I am exhausted.  I am thirsty as hell,
mouth is totally dry and throat is ragged.  He whispers Rex over and over,
licks my ear as he says it.  He rubs a little ointment on my ass and the
sting from all the lashes goes away.  I collapse entirely and allow the
ropes to do all the work.  Any more pain and I will just pass out.  I don't
think he would let me pass out.  I am not giving up, I am not giving in, I
am doing I don't know what other than hurting and hanging.  This man is
standing next to me, he is larger than me, he can break any bone I have and
I can do nothing about it.  He has made me suck his cock.  I have tasted
cum for the first and second and all times in my life over the last couple
of days.  It won't be long before he takes that huge cock and puts it up my
ass.  At this point I don't think it matters that he is going to do that.
At this point it is just important that I get water, that I get down from
here.  I know I can do it, so I would suck his cock again if he would let
me down.  I would tell him so if he would take this disgusting sock out of
my mouth and gave me some water so I could say it.

	This makes no sense.  He has put his arm at my waist and is untying
that rope.  "I doubt your legs will work, but try not to flop when the rope
comes loose."  When the rope is loosened, I try not to flop, but don't
succeed, my legs aren't working at all.  He has zero problems keeping me
from falling though.  "I didn't think you would be able to."  He says this
like a nurse would, I don't get what's happening at all.  He places me on
my side as much as possible and unties the ankles next.  The feeling is
beginning to come back and my legs are jerking on their own, like fish in a
pan.  Then he unties my hands and lets me lay on the floor.  "Let me know
when the feeling comes back in your legs."  He takes the sock out of my
mouth as he says this.  I basically collapse and watch him walk out of the
room.

	He returns with a huge glass of water.  He sets it down next to me,
I can't keep my eyes off it as he lifts me by my underarms to a sitting
position.  My legs continue to jerk.  "Can you hold this glass?"  I move my
arms a little, but they are like spaghetti.  "Sir no sir" I rasp.  He takes
the glass of water and holds it for me as I guzzle it.  He is extremely
good at it, he doesn't spill any of it as it goes down my throat.  He pulls
it back, lets me catch my breath and tilts it again until it is drained.

	"Sir I can move my legs a little sir?"

	"Can you kneel?"  No slave?  He hasn't said that in a very long
time.  I am very confused.

	"Sir I will try sir."  It takes me a good minute to do it and takes
lots of energy to keep my balance, but with each movement, I gain more
control.

	"When was the last time you came?"

	"Sir before Master Scott brought me here sir, six days sir."  I
won't call him just Scott, I won't risk being tied like that again.

	"Well then, jerk, by all means take your time and enjoy it."

	"Sir yes sir."  I fist my rod, slowly and very tenderly because it
hurts like hell.  He wanders behind me and I can feel him looking over my
shoulder.  I care but don't care.  Jerking off is intensely private for all
but the strangest of men.  So having a guy look over your shoulder while
you do it doesn't make it easier, but I am so horned up I wouldn't care if
half the world was watching.

	He starts blowing in my ear, licking the top of it.  I tingle from
the top of my head to the tip of my cock.  The blowing gets a little better
and it starts taking on a sound.  He starts whispering Rex very softly, and
it gets louder and louder as I get closer to cumming.  My cock is about to
explode, just crack open at the top and explode in a mess of white goo.  I
fuck my fist with everything in me trying to hold the cum as long as I can
and he says Rex loudly and my cock hoses.  I fall over on my side.  My fist
keeps pumping my cock like it was its own machine.  I spurt and spurt and
spurt, some of my spooge shoots ten feet away.  I realize I am making
rutting noises that turn into a scream.  Finally the spooge stops but the
cock keeps jerking like it was going to start launching one of my balls out
of it.  My chest is heaving.  I am having lots of trouble staying
conscious.  This is like the first cum I ever had, better than that.  I
have a smile on my face and my whole body is hot and cool and gooey.

	"Craig."  My body jerks and tries to go fetal.

	"I didn't think it would take much longer Rex.  Master Scott will
come get you when it's time for dinner."  He walks out of the room without
a look back, he only makes sure to step over my spooge on his way.

	I think my name and I get a chill.  I think Crrrr and I get a cramp
in my gut like he whipped me across the chest again.  I start to cry.  He
took some dignity when he made Crete shit on me, he took more when I had to
suck their cocks.  I may still have a little somewhere in me, but now he
has taken my name.  I am now losing what I belongs to.  I used to be Cr,
Cr, me, but now it is Rex, I think.  I think, I think I need to sleep.
Having trouble keeping my eyes open, having trouble keeping my head and
heart hating Master Noah . . . . . .

Communications Overseas

	One unforeseen benefit of having Seth as part of the communications
team was the fact that he spoke three other languages.  He could easily
chat with French, German and Dutch slaves.  Yes they often could speak
English, but having someone chat with them in their native languages often
made them more comfortable.

Seth couldn't last long before having to check out the website for his
crew.  He put it together after all and wanted to see if it was being
maintained.  It was like a tongue searching out a missing tooth, it was
impossible for him to avoid staying while he searched throughout it to see
if it was being maintained.  It hadn't changed, but it was still up and
running.

	He noticed something when he went to the picture section though.
The group shot he was part of had him blacked out.  And below it there was
another picture of him, the one they took to mark him as Communications
Director.  It had this in red letters over his face: Wir ihm Tod mochten.
1000 euro.

	His blood ran cold.  He closed the window and tried to calm himself
down.  Fortunately he was already disappeared.  They would never be able to
track him to this piece of dusty Texas.  He told himself that over and over
again, but couldn't make himself really believe it.